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rustedhearts · 2 months ago

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black swan: a severed lamb continuation

(pastor!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: pastor steve pays you a visit at college "on behalf of your mother."

♰ roller girl’s pie stand! 🍒 ♰ severed lamb ♰ 'tis autumn

tags: this is a blurb, not a “part” of the series!!; age gap (steve is 35, reader is 19); religious manipulation + regular manipulation; fear + intimidation; stalking i guess; a loooot of religious guilt; actual scripture quoted; forced prayer; like almost dollification; pls do not read this if any of this makes you even the slightest bit uncomfortable. (did not edit, don’t come for my mistakes.)

for @softagardenblooms ⭐️ giving us all what we really want: more pastor!steve <3 sorry it took so long!

rural pennsvylvania, autumn, 1981

Outside the iron lattice of your Lane Hall window, an early winter brewed. The leaves turned and died quickly, and those that clung to their boughs appeared rusted and limp. Walking through campus was now a noisy feat. The soil seemed eternally damp and dull, what grass remained more blonde than green. The thing you missed most about Georgia was the robin's egg sky. Here, everything was grey.

The glass of the window fogged terribly. The girls in Lane cranked the heat up high enough to have an excuse for minimal clothing, yet the outdoors remained bitterly cold.

In an effort to enjoy a moment of quiet solitude in your room, you stood from the creaky wooden bed and wiped your palm over the window. It squeaked over the condensation, creating a streak of clarity to the street of houses below.

A maroon two-door waited on the curb across the black road. It had an Indiana license plate.

"Delilah? You got a visitor!" one of the girls called from outside your room.

You stepped back from the window, lowering your hand and its cold fingertips to your side. Another cold swept through you, settling somewhere in your chest. As bitter as a Pennsylvanian autumn, and as a sour as a cherry from your tree back home. The cherry that once stained his fingers, dipping between his mouth and your mouth.

Bloody fingers that delivered evil through pleasure.

Bred to obey the calling command of male visitors, you turned away from your bed and started toward the door. But you stopped on the toe of your socked foot.

You could feign slumber. But he came in when you were sick and tired.

You could hide in the closet. Your eyes darted toward the lone door near your desk. But he always knows where to find you.

You swallowed as your hand touched the door. It yawned open on its hinges. Immediately, the murmuring of the girls scattered amongst their rooms and the lower floor emitted in a low hum. The floor released little snaps with each step toward the stairs. The Hall was old and worn, taped over with celebrity posters and glittered name stamps.

As you took the first step, another cold gathered. This one in your belly, behind your navel where that sweet, sickening, nauseating pleasure festered under his hands and his touch. You pressed your hand there, pausing on the second step to take a breath.

You could feel him.

The way you felt him from the moment he arrived back home. How he lingered in every room with the omnipotence of his Savior. How his stare sat like hot coals upon your shoulders from across the room. How the promise of his hands came with the fleeting breeze of his body in your vicinity.

His presence had a warmth and a wholeness to it that made your throat tighten. Like being locked in a tight, black room that grows tighter and yet seemingly vaster with every second inside. As though the limits of the darkness are endless, though its bounds are tangibly sworn.

"Delilah? Deli—oh, here she is!" one of the older girls, Rachel, cooed as she collected you with a hand around your arm on the steps.

She came bounding down, and you swore it was only because she pulled you that your feet remembered to go.

He stood tall in the center of the lounge, barely past the doorframe, feet still angled to go further. They flocked around him like pigeons, pecking at the affections of his slow, sideways smile, and roaming gaze. It turned to you as your hall mate pulled you into the room.

You could have sworn something pierced your lung, eliminating all possibilities of keeping in air.

“Hello, Delilah.”

His voice hit you like the gong of a church bell at noon. Familiar, expected, but with a resonance of something to come. An image of his eyes hovering over you while his hands swept through your nightgown flashed through your mind. You had to pinch away a shudder.

“H-hi,” you murmured, and cast your eyes down to your socks.

“She’s always so shy,” another girl piped up. “Lilah, aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

A warmth spread to every inch of your face. It singed the tips of your ears. You fiddled with the strings on your bed shorts, suddenly feeling bare. Though he had seen you in far less—had seen you as bare as the day you were born—you could not fathom to stand before him like this with the audience growing in the lounge.

“I’m Steve,” he said for you, and cast a smile upon the girls that had them elbowing each other. “But I’m afraid we can’t stay for pleasantries, girls. Delilah and I were just headin’ out.”

Your eyes flitted toward him, a panic setting like stone in your limbs. “R-really?”

He seemed to only look at you, though the girls tipped and cocked their heads to assess him and his garb, alternating between his corduroy jacket and your tattered sleep clothes.

“Yes,” he purred, and the smile the others swooned at made you take the smallest step backwards. “I’ll wait while you change.”

♰ ♰

It took you another ten minutes to change, fumbling through every drawer and hanger knowing everything he'd ever touched you in was packed away and left back home, and nothing in your collection seemed worthy enough to dispense so easily.

When you met him on the lawn, his eyes went directly to your chest, where he became accustomed to finding the gleaming gold of a delicate cross. Today, it came up bare.

He said nothing of it as he turned toward the car, and you followed with silent, tip-toed steps. You kept a distance as you passed through the door he opened for you and took your place on the leather passenger seat.

The cold condensation of a milk carton between your thighs against the sticky heat of a Georgian summer haunted the car. Even in the white-breathed cold settling in the car, you felt a scorching heat crawling up your spine. You pulled at your sweater sleeves to invite the cold in.

The car jostled when he slammed the driver door. You kept your eyes on the dash, fingers curling into your palms as he turned the keys in the ignition.

"Your mama's worried about you," is the first thing he says to you.

You wet your lips, turning to the window to watch the street go by. The town was built for the university's accommodation. The library marked the edge of town, and everything past that was farmland and desolation. You hoped he wasn't taking you there.

HIs statement settled like spoiled milk. You wanted to proclaim it a lie immediately. Mama hadn't answered a letter once this semester. Every weekend phone call went unanswered. You called one of the neighbors and asked them to check on her in case the liquor finally got the best of her. But they assured you she was doing well. Just busy.

Yet, he wouldn't lie...right? He wouldn't drive the half day it took for his own pleasure, would he? He once told you that God sent you here for him, that God placing the pair of you in the same vicinity was no mistake. God does not make mistakes, he said. And He always has a plan.

You were His plan for Steve.

At least, that's what he told you.

"I can see why," he continued.

Your head moved on its own, and you were looking at the frown etched between his brows before you could stop yourself. He took glances every few moments as he headed away from the residence halls into campus. Few times they fell to your empty neck.

Your fingers ached to fiddle with the missing token. You hadn’t worn it in months. When you left home, you left the necklace on your dresser. It grew more and more difficult as the weeks went on—free of the Georgia heat and all that grey hazy because of it—to believe you were worthy of wearing the cross. Worthy of speaking to Him knowing what you’d done.

“Oh, Delilah,” he sighed and he shook his head out at the road. “You poor thing.”

He took a turn down the main strip of campus buildings and fit the car into a spot against the curb of your most-frequented. The ballet studio, unlike your splintered and rotting barb back home, nestled on the second floor of a red brick building home to the arts. Steve took his keys from the ignition and opened the door with the sureness of someone like you, who spent most of their days there.

“Come on,” he said when the passenger door was open.

You stepped onto the sidewalk, avoiding his outstretched hand. He placed it on the small of your back as he guided you up the steps and through the door. Your shoes, having collected the dampness of the pavement, squeaked over the gleaming tile. This hall always had a chemically lemon scent to it, and today it made you particularly queasy.

"Up here, isn't it?" He pushed the heavy door open to the stairwell and the steel latch echoed hollowly against the concrete.

His hand seemed to be locating your spine. Reaching for it, through the material of your cardigan, through the thickness of your flesh. The bone ached dully with every step upward. Around the chipped iron railings, winding through the twists of the building. His loafers were black and recently shined. He'd taken to wearing a gold band around his pinkie. His fingers were as long and slender as you remembered, but his skin appeared paler.

It was no longer summer and the cold was an affliction to the body.

Another door thrown open to another linoleum-tiled hall. You traced the black streak marks from boots and sneakers like a set path to the arched doorway to the studio. At the end of the hall, a large latticed window overlooked the yellowed lawn. Often after rehearsals, bundles of ballerinas squished within the bow of the windowsill and blew cigarette smoke against the glass. Permanent fog marks gathered at mouth-height.

The studio was empty. Four mirrored walls, ever-polished hardwood floors the color of sand. Barres cleaned of blood from blistered heels, and a cushioned folding chair near the head of the room, pressed against the mirror. It was the seat of Madame Celeste, the slender, wrinkled woman who commanded the company.

Today, it was empty.

You jolted when the wooden doors clamped shut behind you. The pressure in your spine released and when you turned, it became evident why. He stood before the doors with his hands behind his back, long coat unbuttoned to reveal the white band of his Roman collar. The black shirt of his permanent uniform remained buttoned to the top, snug against his throat.

He fixed his eyes upon you with the intention of a wolf.

Oh, yes. You remembered how this felt. It was almost as though you'd never left.

The blackness of your confinement began to close in around you.

He inhaled deeply and it whistled through his nose. Your own breath shuddered into the room. Madame Celeste did not believe in heat and kept the radiator off. Even when bolts of snow gathered on the window in the hall, the dancers were made to spin until sweat managed to appear. It never took long.

And now, a cold sweat festered under your sweater.

"I am fearful of what I see here," he proclaimed. His gaze left you to trace the room, taking a large step away from the door. The clunk of his shoe resounded like a gunshot.

"'What are you doing, you devastated one? Why dress yourself in scarlet and put on jewels of gold? Why highlight your eyes with makeup?'"

You swallowed as he began to pace the room. Hands settled against his back, one hand closed over the other. Each step like a bullet inching closer to your place in the center of the room. Each word like a slice against your flesh. Stinging, piercing, bleeding you out. He would not look at you and you grew smaller by the second.

"'You adorn yourself in vain,'" he emphasized, shaking his head down at his feet.

His hands had released to press his fingers together as they often did at mass. While he preached and prophesied, and chewed off more of your soul with every syllable. The room felt as off kilter as the chapel back home.

He stopped suddenly before the rear wall of mirrors and fanned his arms wide.

"Vanity!"

You stumbled back with another gasp. A vein protruded between his brows, eyes filled with serpentile venom.

"All this..." He spun slowly, a performative flair that rivaled even yours. His voice dropped to a whisper nearly drowned out by your own pulse. "...mere vanity."

He took a moment, eyes still trained on the mirrors behind you. The proclamation hung in the thin air of the room. Your fingers felt numb pressed into tight fists against your back.

He tipped his chin down and blinked at you. Slowly. There were no charming grins or sideways smiles. There was no softness to the beauty of his features.

“You’ve abandoned God.”

Your hand touched your bare chest. He tracked your movement with his eyes. Stepped closer. One, two—you could feel the warmth of him again. It buzzed in your feet. His proximity stirred a nausea in your gut.

“But I will save you,” he whispered, touching his hand to his chest.

His foot thumped on the floor. Another step. Inching his way to you. The gap between your bodies: shorter, shorter. You jerked backward when you could feel his breath.

He moved one hand your way, palm cupped and fingers bent as though approaching a kitten in the road. He hunched his shoulders a little, lowered a little closer to your eye-line. Every breath taken felt like a load on your lungs. Like at any moment they’d explode from the pressure.

“You will be saved,” he breathed.

The serpent had abandoned him, and its place was something dangerously soft. With warm, round eyes and cinched brows, he appeared transformed in a near instant.

How one gazes upon an infant in the cold. A thing to save. A token of helplessness.

Both hands approached you now, outstretched at shoulder length. You tipped your head away from his incoming presence, eyes squeezing shut when he took hold of your shoulders and spun you around. Every muscle in your body came to a cold front. They cemented together, and maneuvering your body felt like turning a mannequin.

“Kneel,” he murmured. “He wants us to pray.”

He guided you there, and your black tight-clad knees collided into the floorboards with a dull, painful thump. You kept your eyes shut, but heard another pair of knocks behind you. A mirrored vision of your kneeling, he kept arm’s length between your feet and his hands, now letting you go to retrieve the leather bound bible in the pocket of his coat.

The spine tapped on the floor. You could hear a nose drip in the silence. Your own blinks registered with tiny clicks.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

It was as though someone had scrubbed the inside of your mouth with sandpaper. With the vigor of a rusted pan and a woolite sponge, leaving the soft pink tissue of your inner cheeks and writhing tongue raw, useless, and scarred.

Your mouth could not utter the pastor’s words.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass us.”

His own voice was that of an instrument, hollowed with an echo that reverberated through your spine and around the room like a boomerang. Like whistling into a cave and waiting for the pitch to make its way back.

Your fingers curled over your knees and grabbed on tight. Every tiny bone in those ten ligaments began to ache.

“And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.”

In the lull, his breaths were heavy. Shallow gasps rasped in the emptiness behind you.

He waited, and he watched. He watched your shoulders rise and fall, your toes curl against the thin suede of a pair of ballet flats. You left your new pointe shoes back in Georgia. Against your every attempt to banish him to the past, Steve wriggled through the gaps.

The pointe shoes came in the mail a month ago.

Steve inhaled sharply, and you squinted one eye open to find him in the wall of mirrors. His chest ballooned, head tipped back to the florescents. After all this time, this was the first you'd seen him worship.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name," he began again, and you hung your head toward your knees with a wince.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass us.”

Tears stung behind your eyes. His Sunday Morning Mass bravado distorted every syllable of his prayer. Your eardrums quaked with the birth of a buzzing.

“And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory- say it!"

The bible slammed into the ground with a thundering boom. Your entire body lurched forward with a shriek, setting forth the cry building in your throat.

Through wavering vision, you watched him crawl forward and hover near your shoulders. It took only a moment for to realize that the horrible whining sound was coming from you.

“F-for ever a-and ever,” you croaked, blinking hot tears into the reflection before you.

The pastor stood, towering behind you in the mirror. A menacing shadow, once more the serpent with fangs.

You sniffled, bubbling forth a pitiful hiccup when he placed his hand on your shoulder. His fingers danced over the bone for only a moment before they swept under your chin. He turned your face toward him, shoes thumping around your knees until he stood beside you.

You gave in to his wishes, allowing your gaze to meet those reptilian eyes.

It was only a matter of time before your weakness divulged. Only a matter of time before he sunk his teeth in again.

The slightest pressure pulled on your chin, just as he stepped back and held out his hand, palm upended.

Each blink came with warmth on your cheeks, every breath with fire in your lungs. You slipped your hand into his palm and pressed to your feet.

He lifted your hands, only gently cupped together. Gave his wrist the smallest curve, enough space between your bodies for you to twirl.

You pressed to the tops of your toes and spun just once. A complete rotation, heels pressed down once more. You were met with a vision of yourself before you: red-eyed and puffy, and holding the hand of the devil.

From behind you, he collected both your hands. Held them upwards, bent the elbows with another feathered pressure. You sank back to the floor with graceful repose. Every fiber of your being yawned for relief. The weight of his presence fatigued.

On the glossy floor, you knelt in your former position of prayer. He caught your eye in the mirror and smiled.

From the inner lining of his pocket—where the bible conjured from only minutes ago—appeared a chain of gold.

Unclasping the adornment, he swept it over your head and toward your throat. The pendant clung to your chest like a magnet, kissing your flesh in relief to be home.

You knew what it was before you could even find it in the mirror.

He clasped the chain around your neck and laid your hair back in place. Gently fluffed around your face, meticulously drawn over your shoulders. He watched all the while in the mirror, intently observing his own craftsmanship.

He pinched two fingers under your chin and nudged it downward. He tipped your head a little to the left. He bent the elbows a little more, placed your clasped hands on your right knee.

He stepped back.

Patted you twice on the head, and in the mirror, smiled.

“My lovely Delilah.”

He smoothed his hand down the back of your hair just once.

And there you sat, soaking the cross on your chest in tears.

Foolish girl. You can never escape the mark of God.

#rolly!#pastor!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington blurb #dark!steve harrington

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wishing-on-a-staranise · 7 months ago

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Kiss it away, honey.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea. (get in your daily clicks, read about it, donate if you can.)

summary: you have a perfect and loving boyfriend, and everything should be great but something is just not right.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: use of y/n, no pronouns used (gn!reader), use of pet names (honey, etc), codependency, dark themes, a new flavor of jealousy, horror (spookies and scawies), gore, murder

a/n: yall remember when i was yapping about clones and all that? yeah. I went a lil feral while writing this lmao✌️🤪

another banger by @procrastinationprincesses and I on tumblr dot com. Thank her for listening to me babble on and just helping me sift through the different routes this could go and also being what is basically my proofreader

i might write a part two of this. do not ask me when.

masterlist

You haven’t changed out of your work clothes yet, staring at the phone on the wall.

It was silent now but it had rung, blaring, louder than you'd ever heard it before. Five times it had rung.

5 calls– 5 missed calls. Unknown number. No voicemail.

You hadn't picked up. You had just stared, you weren’t sure why– the ringing scared you. you weren't sure why but every fiber in your being had coloured you stuck– immovable even if you wanted to do otherwise.

Now it had stopped, empty as vacuum, dead quiet left in the wake of those shrill rings.

And just when you were about to let out a sigh of relief, just when you thought you could finally get to changing out of your work clothes, it started ringing again, your temples hurt from its shrill notes.

Your nostrils flared, you will not cower, no, you huff of frustration before stomping towards the phone. Its red plastic is just as bright as it had been when you had first gotten it with Steve.

It's probably just a prank call. It's a prank call. A stupid kid doing a stupid prank call. Why the hell is your heartbeat so loud?

You pick up the receiver, gripping it tight, ready to give the prank caller a piece of your mind.

Hello? Hey you stupid shithole, find something better to do with your stupid, pathetic life, why dont ya’? Good fucking night.

“He– hello?”, your voice comes out nowhere near as fierce as you had wanted it to be.

The line is silent for a second or two. But then you hear a gasp and then some rustling, crackle. You strain your ears, the sounds seemingly impossible to decipher, “hello, who– who is this?”

You think you hear muffled crying, after a few seconds they finally speak up, “y/n”, their voice is of a woman's. “y/n–” is all they choke out before breaking out into a sob. She says your name as if she hasn't said it in a long while, as if she can't believe she’s saying it. And you don’t know why but you feel your eyes sting. You press the receiver closer to your ears, the plastic creaks under your grip. you think you recognise her. The realisation hits you that you do. She sounds familiar.

“y/n, my baby where–” you hear a click, followed by beep beep beep beep, indicating that the call has been disconnected. This time you blink, a tear finally trickles down your cheek. You stare at the receiver, the beeping barely audible. You take in a deep breath, and dial the number again, waiting for the ring or the woman’s voice.

The ring never comes, her voice never comes. Invalid number.

You stare at it. If you were to look any harder, you think the plastic would melt. Too many thoughts were running through your head. And why the hell are you crying?

You hear the jingle of keys followed by the sound of the door opening. You tear your burning gaze away from the phone to the clock. 7:08 p.m.

“Steve?”

“Yeah!” he answers back immediately, you hear the door shut, the keys in his hand jingle again followed by the clink of them landing in the ceramic ashtray-turned-bowl next to the door where you keep your keys.

Any other day you would have walked to him, and even if he’d be in the middle of taking his shoes off he’d stop, give you a loving smile, hold his arms up, ready to engulf you into a hug. Any other day, you would have wrapped your arms around his torso, kissed his shoulder before burying your nose into his neck.

He is the only one who could ever fix you, everyday you come from work, bags under your eyes, tired to your bones and everyday he comes and puts you all back together as if it was the easiest thing to do, as if he was made for it. And you want to go to him so bad. Any other day, you would have. But today doesn't seem like any other day.

“Hey honey”, he finally comes around the corner and he gives you that smile you love being on the receiving end of, all lazy and adorning, “haven't changed out yet?”

You look back down at yourself, and you see that you had still been stuck, body still facing the wall where the phone hung. you indeed haven't changed out yet. You barely shake your head before his brows scrunch up, “You okay? Your eyes look all red”

You blink before shaking your head, “Uh, yeah, yeah. I’ll go ch–”

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

What you were saying is left abandoned, your head snaps towards where the phone is.

“I’ll get it. You go change,” Steve tells you, not noticing your immediate panic. As he ambles to the phone, you slowly shuffle away– moving towards the bathroom, making sure to listen in on the conversation. “Hello?” you hear him speak into the receiver, he pauses for a second and so do you in your tracks, “..oh hey, Henderson'', you breathe out in relief at hearing the familiar name, “Yeah, yep, doing good. How’s the new place treatin’ ya?”

The audibility of his words lessens as you continue on your way to the bathroom. In the small, tiled room, your own breathing echoes, it engulfs you. you immediately regret not just changing in your room because you can't hear Steve’s voice anymore. But you have already locked the door. You weren’t sure why you did– maybe it was your uneasiness and apprehension but normally you never lock the door because your ever clingy Steve loves joining you in, majority of the time there is nothing sexual about it. Most of the time he just stands there by the door, that same adorning smile on his lips.

When you step out of your jeans, it rings in your brain, again and again. The piercing ringing of the phone, the woman’s voice. You know that voice. You know that voice. You know that woman, you are certain. It is like its on the tip of your tongue, like it is obscured behind a frosted glass, like an itch you can’t scratch.

A knock on the bathroom door breaks you out of your thoughts, “uh honey?” the voice comes muffled through the wood, “Are you done? Need to take a piss.”

“Yeah, just–” you quickly hop into your shorts, balling up your dirty clothes and tossy them into the laundry basket before unlocking the door.

And he is there, that smile blooms across his face, “there you are”, and then his lips are on yours, his wide palm comes to hold your face, thumb rubbing softly at your cheeks— he’s a tactile being, your boyfriend, loves holding your face, loves holding you, touching you anywhere.

When his fingers burrow into your hair behind your ear, you somehow manage to breathe out between the deepening kisses, “Thought you had to take a piss”

“Don't bring up pissing when I’m kissing you”

“Oh, but its okay when you wanna hold my hand while pooping?” He once told you he’d hold your hand while pooping if you’d let him– he had been absolutely drunk, maybe high off weed– inebriated, really and didn't remember saying it the next day. you love to tease him about it. he groans at the mention.

“I was high”, he whines, embarrassed, “I told you I didn't mean it.”

“Drunk words… sober thoughts, honey.”

“You said it was endearing”

“It is endearing but still a weird thing to say”, you laugh all toothy and cute.

“Whatever, I gotta piss”, he mumbles trying his best to hide his smile before moving you by your shoulders to swap places with you so it’s him who is in the bathroom. He shuts the door, the sound of the lock clicking never reaches your ears.

You’re left alone with your thoughts again, and your smile fades away– you’re anxious, you know that much. You’re not so sure of what exactly. You plop down on the edge of the bed, leg bouncing restlessly, finger tracing over the pattern of the sheets. The pillows and comforter are set up perfectly for the night– every morning Steve sets the bed while you shower knowing you always get frustrated with the task.

Your back sinks into the mattress, you breathe out, deep and slow, eyes closing on their own accord. You almost fall asleep for a second, but the bathroom door clicks open. A few seconds later, the bed dips beside you, the fabric rustles, “tired?” the question is followed by a groan. When you peak a look, you find him stretching out his arms beside you.

“Absolutely”, you answer.

“Yeah, me too,” he sighs out.

“We still have to make food.”

He lets a frustrated groan tumble from his lips, “can't we just have mac and cheese today?”

…

The night goes by in a breeze, not a lot of talking.

The love is still there though, in the way that Steve holds the corner of the open cabinet door to make sure your head doesn't hit it, in the way he lets you sit on the countertop while waiting for the water to boil over, in the way you stare at him when you think he isn't looking, in the way you pull his hand over your lap and massage the tight muscles of his palm while he stirs the pot with his other hand.

You put on his favourite show when he plates the food, he makes sure to put some chives on your plate to make it look a little more pretty for you. You watch the show in silence, eating under the flickering light of the tv. You let it play in the background while you wash the dishes, it is Steve who watches you this time, his head resting against the cabinets behind him. and he thinks he could watch you all day. Something about doing the most mundane things with you makes him feel all warm and lovely. He is sure that past anything grand and dramatic, its the everyday things that show love. He hopes in every world, he gets to hold you and love you. He thinks he'll give it all up just to be with you, just to watch you wash dishes, just to have you sit beside him while he cooks.

When the dishes are done, he makes sure the doors are locked, you turn off the lights and the TV. Before you know it you’re in bed, and before you know it, you’re already falling asleep.

…

At first you weren’t sure why you were awake. Then you hear shuffling behind you, and you barely even roll over when there is a warm hand on your hip, “honey,” he whispers– voice all scratchy and low that makes you melt, you hum for a response, “I’m sorry honey, wake up please”, his tone is slightly rushed, you’re a bit more awake at that.

Barely did you sit up when he engulfs you in a tight hug. You hold him back without a thought or hesitation. Your hand rubs his back, his arms tighten around you, nose nudging into your neck, his skin warm. your fingers find their place in his messy head of hair like they always do, you card through the strands. He pulls you closer, and then you're in his lap. He holds you like a boy holds his favourite toy– like he doesn't plan on letting go.

“Want some water?” After some time you ask softly. You feel him nod into the junction of your neck.

He loosens his hold on you enough for you to climb out of his lap. Not saying a word, he follows you to the kitchen, and he stays close when you pour him a glass. He is mid-gulp when you ask, “nightmare?”

He nods once, the rogue strands on his forehead bouncing with the movement, and downs the water before saying a soft ‘yeah’.You take the glass from his hands and place it in the sink, and lead him back to bed.

You brush aside his disheveled hair. You tuck yourself into his side, an arm around him, “wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, fringernails scratching his faint stubble.

In the dim of the room, you see his adam's apple bob. Apparently, he does want to talk about it, because he nods– the movement barely noticeable but there. You put your head back on his chest and you wait patiently, trying your best not to fall back to slumber.

It takes him a while before he starts, “You were…” his hand moves to hold yours, “you were sick–in the hospital, these wires and tubes attached to you. Y-You had been there for months. You were sick and you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me. And– and…. Then the– the damn heart monitor–”

“Honey–”

His words are frantic and uneven, “I didnt– I didnt know what to do after. I didn’t–”

“Steve—” you hold his face to make him look at you, “I'm here.”

He licks his lips, then swallows, nodding. he pushes his face forward so your foreheads are touching. “I know", his nose is hot against yours, "it was still awful.”

You both lay that way for a while. Your thumb brushing against his red cheek, he sniffles a couple times. you hate seeing him this way, with his lashes clumped together, his beautiful eyes all red. The moisture glistening under his eyes doesn't let you fawn over his freckles like you'd normally wish to.

When his skin is a little less warm, and his heartbeat calmer beneath your fingertips, you kiss him. Your hand snakes up to hold his face. Fingers, softly rubbing over the spot behind his ear that makes him melt. You kiss him all slow and purposefully, so he knows that he has all the time in the world.

When you pull away, he murmurs, “Can we go back to sleep?” he pulls you closer, face burying into your neck, warm puffs of breath against your collarbones.

You land a quick kiss on his eyebrow before resting your chin above his head, “‘course”

...

You wake up to the alarm clock on Steve’s side of the bed. He turns off the thing before rolling around in your arms onto his back and then turning his head to face you. “Hi”, he smiles that way again and you do the same, sleepy as ever.

“Hi”, you say still half asleep– you ended up not getting a lot of sleep last night. Thankfully you had the day off today, so you plan on being unproductive and sleeping it away.

He stretches, a yawn escaping him, “Jesus, I so don't wanna go to work today”, your boyfriend laments.

You hum, “then don't go” you propose, eyes still closed, “We can both have a day off”

He turns his body so it faces you, leaning on his elbow. His hand moves to your waist before massaging the love handle there “hmm, tempting. I can't though”

“No fun”, you mumble groggily.

“Hey, don't fall asleep on me”, he brushes the hair that falls on your face with the back of his hand.

"But ‘m sleepy", you mumble into the pillow.

"Aw, don't worry, I will kiss it away, honey." He leans down, a smirk painted across his features. His soft lips land on your cheeks first, then one on your nose, they follow a trail that leads to your lips.

You hide your face in the pillow before your lips could meet though, “No, No kissing!” you giggle, holding up your palm to his face, effectively blocking his attacks, “no kissing before brushing your teeth!"

“You're no fun”, he rolls out of the twist of sheets. He stretches his arms, the muscles rippling beneath the skin– he's trying to entice you, seduce you. and if you weren't so damn sleepy, you would have climbed him up like a koala. He gets up to go to the bathroom. When he notices that you haven't moved, he pulls you by your ankle. You let out a surprised shriek that transforms into giggles when you feel his fingers creeping up your torso– tickling you. ”Here comes the tickle monster!”

A fit of giggles erupts from your throat, "What are you–", your question gets interrupted by your own laughs.

"The tickle monster will not relent unless you wake up!"

“No! Okay, okay, I'm awake! Steve! I am awake!”

The two of you share the cramped space of the bathroom. It is small, but its the best you could afford. So when you brush your teeth together, you try to relish it when your elbows bump. And when you're done, he kisses you as if he waited ages.

By now, you're a bit more awake so you decide to get his breakfast ready while he takes a shower. It's simple enough, waffles with banana and some coffee. When he comes back out, he kisses you again when he sees you at the stove, this time on the crown of your head.

When he is getting his keys to leave, he gives you another peck, “drive safe", you murmur against his lips..

“I will. You get some sleep, yeah?” you hum and nod in response. You both bid your goodbyes before he turns to leave.

You decide to eat the leftover waffles and clean up a little before returning to your bed. You make yourself a plate with the bananas neatly cut and placed beside the waffles. You drizzle maple syrup, and then start eating the sickly sweet breakfast, skipping the coffee. While you're pouring yourself a second helping of the maple syrup, the expiration date on the bottle catches your eye. expired more than a year ago. ew.

Your face scrunches in disgust before immediately throwing it in the trash. And you wonder how the hell either of you hadn't gotten food poisoning yet. then it hits you, from what you remember you bought that bottle only a couple months ago. Did you buy an already expired one?

You open the fridge, the condiments and bottles staring at you. One by one, you check each and every one; ketchup, expired. Hot sauce, expired. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, milk– expired, expired, expired.

What the fuck?

You throw it all out and make a point to call Steve later to buy everything as he often calls to ask if you had to get something from the store. And that makes you wonder, when was the last time you actually told him he needed to get something?

You try not to think too much about it. Honestly, you don't know what to make of it, so you decide to go back to sleep.

…

You hear your name. Its faint. It echoes. Like a whisper in a church.

“y/n”, you know that voice. “I– I know you’re there, y/n”, the woman says, all shaky but sure. “y/n”, she repeats. Its that voice… again.

Who are you?

“Its me, y/n! Its me!” she exclaims as if that would make you remember.

I don't ... understand.

“Baby, just tell me where you are– I'll find you.”

I’m home.

“Home? No– no baby, you’re not. You haven't been home—” her voice gets cut off. It becomes too loud. You feel as if the veins in your temple are going to explode. Its too loud to even tell what it is you’re hearing. Its a static like a radio or a TV, or maybe its wind, maybe its cars, maybe its screams. You think you hear sirens– you wonder if they’re the police or an ambulance. You hear your own breathing, your own heartbeat. Its deafening. And beneath it all, you hear….. Ringing.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

Your eyes fling open and you see your ceiling, you smell the faded mixture of your perfume and Steve's cologne. You’re in your bed. You still hear the ringing. The phone.

You are up in a second. Rushing towards the origin of the sound. When you’re there, you dont wait a second, the plastic is already to your ear.

“Hell– hello?” it comes out all out of breath and broken.

“Honey, you’re– you okay?” its not the voice of that woman.

“...Steve?”

“Who else?”, he chuckles, “you okay?”

“Uh– yeah,”you clear your throat, “I was um– sleeping. I think I just had a dream..” your hand creeps up to the back of your neck, scratching there to try to alleviate a little bit of the ache.

“Oh, well okay sleepy. I just wanted to check if you need me to buy anything? Like, groceries or whatever on my way back.” you give him the entire list of everything you wanted him to get. You would've talked more if Steve hadn't been interrupted by a customer. Nevertheless, you said your 'I love you's and the call ended.

Your heart is still loud in your ears but the ache has dulled down for the most part.

that voice. that woman.

Its me.

I’ll find you.

You haven't been home.

"Home..", you say out loud to yourself. Home.

...

Hours have passed. you think you’re losing your mind because you have turned the apartment upside down. you're surrounded by boxes, most of them filled with normal things, your tattered rollerskates, shoes, old clothes. Most of it was normal, except one.

One unlabeled box you found in the corner of your closet. You haven't touched that box in ages, not since your fallout with your family, lying out of sight and out of mind. It didn't have a lot, all packed in a hurry. things you'd had in your room. picture frames, some books, clothes, papers.

You pick up a frame. The picture was from when you were a twelve-year-old. Wearing what were your favourite clothes back then, your hair in a manner that made you feel a little sorry. You're so different now, yet somehow its still you. There's your older sister, her braces glimmering under the flash of the old camera– her smile wide. Your dad, who doesn't ever know how to pose in pictures. Your mom, she holds you and your sister by your shoulders, a soft smile on her lips, her makeup done perfectly. Another picture from your high school. Another of you with your sister and cousins.

You pull out the books, the pages are slightly yellowed and they have an earthy smell to them that you love. Pages you don't remember reading, dog-eared and written in.

Then there's the papers– some doodles, some notes, a few maps, some scraps and then.... a file. the file that has your name written on it. And when you open it; medical papers. medical bills. They are a little more than a year old. This wasn't a small stay apparently. From what you can tell from the dates on the bills, it lasted months. You don't remember going to the hospital.

Okay, what the actual fuck?

You find yourself reading through all the details of the paper on the floor of your closet.

months. you had been there for months. Steve's dream.

The entire time, you read and re-read the papers. Why don't you remember any of this? Why does Steve not remember any of this? Maybe he does, he had that dream after all, right? Why are there no discharge papers?

Hours pass. It's maddening, how slow the time passes. Its absolutely maddening. What the fuck does it mean that you haven't been home? You are home. and who the fuck was that woman?

You look through the box again, its contents scattered around you by now. The photos. Your family. Your parents. You miss them. You haven't seen them in so long...

Some broken memories have come to you. You had left– run away. You don't remember why. Then you met Steve when you were stopping by in Hawkins for a few months. You fell in love so quickly. Then one day, you asked if he wanted to run away with you. He said yes and you both left Hawkins and came here.

You don't remember much after that.

Wait, where is hawkins? and why did you go there?

...

It is 7 p.m. and you are pretty sure you have lost your mind. Why isn't Steve home yet? You need Steve. He's the only one who could ever fix you. And now, you need him to fix you again. You need him to fix this, to make some sense of this.

You are sitting by the door, eyes fixated on the hands of the clock.

7:01, nothing. Your arms fidget.

7:02, nothing. Your leg bounces.

7:03, 7:04, 7:05, 7:06, 7:07; nothing, nothing, nothing.

Then, 7:08 p.m., rattle of keys and the sound of the door being closed. Steve. Steve is home. Steve.

You're up on your feet instantly, Steve comes in holding a bag of groceries in one hand and his keys in the other, “I was so worried about you!” you say all hysterical.

“Worried, why?" he says, almost chuckling, but his brows furrow before he looks down at his wristwatch, shaking his head,"I don't think I’m late.” He leans in to land a kiss on your lips, but before he could do so, you turn your head away, “whats– whats wrong?”

“Can I ask you something?” you wrap your arms around your torso to somehow collect your thoughts a little better.

"Sure", he assures before moving to put the grocery bag on the beige kitchen counter.

You follow behind him with hurried steps, "When did we buy groceries before this?"

He starts taking out the groceries, "um.. I don't–” he pauses, looking up as if trying to remember himself, “last month probably?" Confusion paints his face, "why?"

"All the stuff in our fridge had gone bad ages ago."

"What?"

“Have you talked to your friends recently? Where are they?” All your attempts to collect your thoughts are all for nought as questions come tumbling out of your lips and you don't even wait for Steve to give a response.

“Honey, why are you–”

“Okay, okay– what about that nightmare you had?”

“Nightmare?” he echoes, brows scrunching together as if he had no idea what you were talking about, “what nightmare?” he asks like he hadn't cried in your arms the previous night.

“Last night! You had a nightmare that I was in a hospital and– and then I was looking through our closet and I find these medical bills–

“Woah, honey. I didn’t have a nightmare. I think I'd remember something like that.. And– what bills?”

Your feet are moving before he even finishes his sentence, you grab the bundle of papers, you show him everything. And he just... stares at them. After some time, all that comes out of his mouth is a “what the fuck...” under his breath.

“I don't understand Steve, I don't remember, you don't remember. And there was this call yesterday–”

“Call? what– from who?”

“From– “ you pause, trying to remember, “ I– I dont…” from who? And then you feel everything you had recalled leaving you. Who called you? What was Steve's nightmare?

“I don't remember!" you exclaim, frustrated, "why do– I'm so– I'm scared Steve. I’m–”

“Hey, it's okay. you have me honey, you have me”, he holds you by your shoulders, to provide you some semblance of comfort, "we'll figure something out.”

“Steve….”, you mumble, tears starting to collect on your lash line, “something's not right Steve…”

“Its okay..”

“No, no– I dont– I keep forgetting stuff. Why don't I remember anything?”

“Hey, honey—”

“And whatever I do remember; none of it makes sense– nothing makes sense!"

“Its okay–”

“Do not tell me to breathe–”, “breathe for me–” you warn him the exact same time he says it.

You have lost it. You have lost your mind. Eyes wide, you ask, “Why do I already know what you’re going to say? How is that– “

“Hey, hey look at me”, he holds your face in his warm palms, “Breathe for me”, he instructs, “please honey.”

“Steve”, you pull his hands away from your face not because you don't want him to hold you. You do, you want him to hold you forever, but dammit, you feel like you’re going crazy, “where did we meet?”

“Honey–”

“Where did we meet?”

“Family video! We met in Family Video! You just came in one day and asked if I could help you pick out a movie to lift your mood up”

“Where is family video? Like, what town? Wh– what state?”

“..Hawkins, Indiana”

“Steve.. There's no town named Hawkins in Indiana”

“Of course ther–”

“No– no. You can look in a map steve. There was a map in one of those boxes. No town named Hawkins. And then– those papers...” you gesture towards the papers in his hand. You stand there, impatiently so, as he scans over the papers once again. For a split second, you think you see a tinge of recognition in his eyes.

“What does it mean, Steve? Then your dream last night–”, he hands you the papers before turning towards the door.

“Steve, hey, steve!” He heads towards the apartment door. “Steve, come back here!” he doesn't stop, doesn't even spare a glance, his movement robotic. Your voice gets louder, more authoritative, angry “Steve! Come back here right the hell now.”

He doesn't stop, not for his keys, not to tie his shoes. Not for you. Tears cloud your vision and your words come out all desperate and weak, “Steve please! Please don't leave me..”

The door slams shut. Its loud, the silence after it.

“No..” you whimper to yourself. Tears, finally streaming down your face.

He'll come back, you know he'll come back, sooner or later. He’ll come back to you. Steve wouldn't leave you. He couldn't.

You wait by the door. hours pass. You fall asleep waiting for him.

…

You wake up to the smell of something sweet in the air. When you open your eyes, you’re on the couch. But you don't have time to think about whether your neck will hurt for the rest of the day because Steve is there, standing over the stove– his back facing you.

“Steve?” your voice comes out croaky.

“Y’wake baby?” he turns to take a glance at you. The furrow between his brows you saw the previous night gone. He smiles softly when you nod dumbly at the rhetorical question, “Well brush your teeth I’m making pancakes”

“Steve..”

He notices that you don’t move, your gaze fixed on him. “Hey, what's wrong?” he leaves the batter he was working on on the counter before walking towards you, “You okay?”

“I’m sorry”

He kneels down infront of you, holding your hands in his– he smells like vanilla from up this close, “Sorry, for what?”

“Yesterday… I didn't mean to upset you. I just– I was–”

“What would I be upset for?”

“Last night.. I–”

“baby, I’m not upset”

“But you just left and..” you sniffle, “when did you come back?”

“I didn't leave. I was here the entire time”, he shook his head, confused.

“But– I… “

“I think you had a dream honey. Freshen up, kay? I’ll bring breakfast. I think we should rot in bed the entire day today. Get some sleep. How’s that sound, honey?”

You nod, he smiles as he pulls you in for a quick kiss, “Good thing we both have the day off– thank jesus for sundays”

…

7:08 p.m. that is what Steve's wristwatch reads and he is standing at your apartment door. Steve isn't sure why he is back. He isn't sure why he left. Maybe he needed some time. And spending nearly an entire day alone... he remembers things. things he wishes he could forget again.

Although Steve is unsure about a lot of things. one thing is for certain. He loves you. He loves you like he was made for it... and he was.

He was made for loving you and not loving you is not living. He's been there before, not having you to love, he remembers the torture of it. You still don't recall it yet and he doesn't want you to, but he does. He remembers it all. All the hurt, the loneliness, the grief, the silence.

The grief that was too much to bear. Silence was unbearable when it wasn't mixed with your heartbeat.

When he turns the door handle– the door isn't locked. He steps in slowly.

He can hear the TV playing, you're on the couch. there's someone else with you. Its him.

Steve watches as he sits between your thighs on the couch– his place, your fingers playing with his hair. He readjusts his head as if can’t quite find a comfortable spot, “You okay?” you ask as gently as you always do.

“Uh, yeah its just–” he sounds just like him, “I just have this nick in my neck”, he says rubbing the back of his neck.

“Here, let me…” you mumble sweetly as your expert fingers move to where he said it ached.

He sees you dig that spot a little with your thumb, “Ah, thanks honey” he almost melts, and it makes him groan the way that always drew a groan out of Steve.

Steve doesn't mind you made him, you probably didn't even know you did, you're powerful like that. But Steve feels something bubble inside him– maybe this is what jealousy feels like. Steve watches, watches as you touch him. He digs his nails into his palm, he feels the urge to touch where you are touching him. He wonders what he would feel when his thumb would run over that area.

His fingers rise on their own accord. Skin barely touching skin, almost hovering. And then he feels… a bump. He isn't sure how to describe it but he knows that that isn't supposed to be there. Not normally, anyway.

He watches as your expert fingers move up into his hair, he always loved when you did that to him.

His own fingers move higher into his hair. He feels another– another protrusion, another bump.

Steve knows what those are, he knows not to press down on them. You have them too. You have them where he holds you when he kisses you. Its the reason you don't remember, its the reason he didn't remember. Just for a day, he didn't have you to hold him like the way you always do and now he remembers.

Steve watches as he leans down to kiss you. And all Steve sees is red. He doesn’t have control over him as he stomps over to where the two of you were. Your heads snap towards the sound. Confusion flashes through both your features.

“y/n”, Steve says. He watches as your eyes flick between himself and the other. Your eyes land on his. Of course you know he is the real Steve. You made him.

He holds a protective hand infront of you, “y/n”, he sounds like him, “y/n, get inside”, he nods towards your bedroom door.

“Look, man I dont know who the fuck you are. But you need to leave”, Steve hates him, he sounds nothing like him. objectively that might not be true, but he isn't him.

“You don't know who I am? Fucking look at me"

“y/n get inside”, Steve doesn't like how he says your name, how he shouts it. It sounds nothing like him.

Steve lets you go, he doesn’t want you to see this.

You can't look away despite not being able to see much through the sliver of the slightly ajar bedroom door. It is only when he lands a punch on Steve, that you move away from the door– eyes closing on themselves.

You hear shouts. Then thuds, knuckles hitting jaws. Some more thuds and then a loud crack. Then nothing. Its becomes too quiet.

You quietly step even further away from the door when you hear footsteps approaching, until you feel your back hit the wall.

The hinges of the slightly ajar door creak. and he is there. Your Steve.

He has a split lip, bruises blooming on his cheekbones. Blood splattered on his jeans, on his hands, his arms. He lifts his arm to wipe his bleeding lip, more so smearing the blood in the process. Your eyes water, heartbeat too damn loud in your ears, eyes wide as a doe.

“It's Steve. your Steve”, he reassures you, holding your face by your chin. From up this close, the blood on him doesn't look quite like blood. Its too dark, too shiny, more viscous than it should be and it doesn't seem to clot. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“But you already know that. dont you, honey?” Steve coos oh so gently as he thumbs over your cheeks to rid you of the tear stains. He feels sorry when the action instead makes the blood on his hands smear across your skin. He regrets it immediately, to have tainted you with it. He is sorry you have to see all this, to see him like this.

Steve knows he'll give it all up for you. If he ever had something to give, he would give it all up, just like you did.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

“It's for you, honey.”

He moves aside so you can go to the phone. It rings loud as it did earlier. You move past the kitchen, you don't see him– not entirely. He is on the floor, you see his hand around the corner of the kitchen counter, lifeless, a pool of that blood surrounding him. The corner of the kitchen counter drips with the liquid, forming a stark contrast against the light beige.

You move past the kitchen counter, eyes not daring to look at him or Steve, you don't turn around to see if Steve is there watching. You know he is.

You move to the bright red phone that is still ringing, blaring. You pick it and hold it up to your ear, “hello?”

“y– y/n? y/n its– it's me”, that woman says. And somehow, now, you know who she is. “it's me, do you–”

“Mom?” you say it before you even realise you did.

“Oh my goodness! Yes baby, it's– it's me!”

“I’m sorry mom, I had to.”

“y/n, what–”

“I have to go now.”

“y/n, no– no. Please don't hang up–” click.

“There you go honey", you feel Steve's warm hands on your shoulder, he rubs into the tense muscles there– surely staining your shirt with the liquid, "there you go."

You turn around and you see his eyes-- beautiful coffee coloured things, moles littered across his skin just the way you've memorized to heart. That smile, adorning and warm as ever. He holds you like he always does, thumb on your cheek, palm holding your face.

He holds you like he was made for it. Your cheek fit perfectly in his palm as if you were made for him. You were made for each other.

You lean in closer and then your lips meet. It isn't hard and fast. Its slow and deep. Like you have all the time in the world, and you do.

When you pull apart and look at him, its just him. Your Steve.

You don't even remember what it was you had been worried about. All you see is Steve, all you feel is Steve. Your lover, your home, your family, your everything. It's all Steve.

You smile up at Steve and everything is right. The blood he had smeared on you was gone. The counter was clean. He was gone. Everything is right, once again.

"So", he starts, walking towards the stove, "what are we feelin' today? pancakes with blueberries, strawberries, or plain ol' choco-chip?"

"Is there an ‘all of the above’ option?"

"For you? always."

...

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington hurt/comfort #stranger things #dark!steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x gn!reader

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strangererotica · 7 months ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Devil Worshipping Cultists Steve & Eddie x Virgin Sacrifice Fem!Reader

ADVISORY: This story contains dark content. Relevant tags are posted below the cut. Proceed only if you’re comfortable consuming content with intense themes and violent imagery. The canon is essentially flipped upside down (no pun intended) with Eddie and Steve behaving as villains in this story.

Eddie and Steve are the villains this story. They are depicted as the kind of devil-worshiping deviants the people of Hawkins accuse Eddie of being. In this story, ‘Hellfire,’ lives up to its name, with Eddie and Steve as a pair of friends who use their ‘devotion,’ to Satan as an excuse to carry out sinister actions.

Additional content warnings: words like bitch and cunt are used as insults against reader. Reader is touched against her will and a knife appears briefly. Reader’s virginity is mocked, as well as her desire to abstain from sex. She is threatened with assault. Misogyny, men being bastards, religious themes (Satan, a church, devil worship). And in the end, the bastards pay…

Eddie Munson’s eyes lick over you sinisterly. “She’s pretty and she’s a virgin?” he huffs, obviously pleased with your ‘credentials.’ “Looks like you hit the jackpot with this one, Steve.”

You hear Steve Harrington, your ‘boyfriend,’ chuckle softly behind you. You’re tempted to turn and face him, but you refuse. He has betrayed you, completely. After three months of dating who you thought was a normal, nice young man, Steve allowed his true personality to emerge. He and his twisted friend Eddie have brought you to a remote location against your will…an abandoned, decaying church. You can’t say for certain what their plans for you are, but it’s obvious they intend to harm you.

Eddie slides a fingertip under your chin, tilting your face upward. Dying sunlight streams through a window on the ceiling. Its rose-tinted glass casts a haunting glow over the room. “See that?” Eddie asks, pointing to the window. “Up there? That’s the only way out of this room-.” He glances mischievously at Steve. “-For her, anyway,” he laughs, then to you, “So unless you’ve got a set of wings I don’t know about...” Eddie moves behind you and abruptly tugs the collar of your shirt downward, splitting the fabric down your back. “…Nope, no wings,” he confirms. Eddie’s eyes feel like snakes slithering over your exposed skin. “…I guess that means you’re dying tonight,” he concludes.

As quickly as it appeared, Eddie’s dark expression turns crudely joyful, a maniacal laughter bursting from inside him. “M’just fucking with you, sweetheart!” he clarifies, but it does nothing to tame the tension in the room. “Something in you is going to die tonight,” Eddie adds, his voice a taunting lilt. “That much is true…”

Steve’s hands close over your shoulders, a familiar touch that had once felt protective. Now, you realize that every gesture of softness, every gentle word from him, has been a lie. Steve’s voice is chillingly calm as he explains: “Your innocence is dying, tonight.” You force yourself to willingly look at Steve. His hazel eyes are filled with a false sincerity. He never cared for you, at all.

Assuming you don’t understand what’s being implied, Eddie chimes in. “We’re taking your virginity tonight, (y/n).” You shake your head at Steve, whose flat expression betrays any sense of remorse. “Why?” you ask, your voice breaking. “Is this because I made you wait?? Because I’m saving that experience…having sex…for my wedding night??”

Eddie laughs out loud at your words; he finds your standards of morality equal parts hilarious and pathetic.

“Christ, Steve!” he chortles. “Where’d you find this one? Behind a pulpit??”

“Trust me (y/n),” Steve tells you. “Eddie and I aren’t doing this because you wouldn’t sleep with me the whole time we were dating. I could have taken what I wanted from you anytime during those three months.” Steve’s lips pout down at you; he’s mocking you now, just like Eddie. “Besides,” Steve continues. “It’s not like I wasn’t fucking around with other bitches the whole time, (y/n). Girls who didn’t have one damn problem spreading their legs for me…”

Eddie slaps Steve’s back in a toxic, macho sort of congratulation. “That’s my boy,” he sings. “Now, let’s get to the best part, Steve.”

Eddie reaches for the front of your shirt and yanks it down, revealing your breasts blooming over a push-up bra. “Well how about that??” he balks. “What kind of virgin wears sexy shit like that under her clothes?”

You glare at Eddie. “Believe it or not, women wear clothes for themselves,” you bite back. “Not everything’s for men and especially not you, asshole!”

Eddie shudders, pretending to be intimidated. “My apologies, y-your highness, your l-ladyship,” he stutters, holding his palms in front of him in surrender. “You got me. I’ll change my ways, I swear.”

Eddie’s open hands close suddenly over your breasts, clutching them firmly, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips. “…But not today,” he grins smugly, continuing to grope you. “Now tell me, did Stevie here at least make it to second base?”

Steve blows a drawn-out raspberry. “Not a chance,” he jeers. “This bitch is as uptight as they come. Barely let me put my tongue in her fuckin’ mouth.” Steve cups your cheek in his hand, making you flinch. “Isn’t that right, baby?” he murmurs, closing the space between you, the tip of his nose nuzzling yours. “You and those fucking standards of yours…But I guess in the end, all your stupid morals made you the best sacrifice of all…”

You lurch back from Steve, right into Eddie’s arms, unfortunately. He spins you around to face him, a sadistic glimmer in his eyes when he speaks. “That’s right (y/n), we’re sacrificing your purity tonight,” Eddie explains. “And the fact that you’re a goody-two shoes little cunt actually makes it all the better.”

“What are you talking about?” you snap. “Sacrificing my purity? Who the hell talks like that? Fucking weirdos-”

“DON’T-,” Eddie shouts, shoving a finger at you. “-DISRESPECT…the RITUAL.” His eyes are like fire; Eddie is seething. “DON’T-disrespect-HIM…”

The sunlight has faded completely by this point. The only illumination in the room is coming from Eddie’s lighter, a thin flame twitching in his unsteady grip.

You stare stone-faced at Steve, your Judas Iscariot, your betrayer, the man whose lies outshine even his beauty. The window blinks above you, lightning flashing nearby.

“Satan,” Steve utters in a low, reverent tone. As if on cue in a cheesy horror movie, thunder rumbles outside the church.

You roll your eyes at Steve, earning you an even harsher glare from Eddie. “Satan?” you parrot back at Steve. “As in, the Devil? Are you serious?”

“-Is this fucking serious enough for you?” Eddie shouts. He pulls a pocket knife from his pants and juts its tip against your throat. “This is how it has to happen. We prayed to Satan, and He told us.”

“Told you what?” you sneer. “That if you fucked a virgin in the sanctuary of an old church, the Devil will give you magic powers or something? You really believe in that kind of shit?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, tugging your arm towards him. “Because it’s real. And you’re about to find out how real it is.”

He yanks you by the wrist, ordering you onto the ground . A bolt of lightning crackles outside, close enough that it makes Steve and Eddie jump. The brief pulse of light illuminates the three of you, and maybe Eddie’s imagining it, but he could swear your eyes look…different. Darker, somehow.

He assumes it’s just a shadow, a trick of the light, and tries to ignore it. Steve pulls at your arm again, trying to force you onto the floor. But you won’t budge. He can’t understand how you’re fighting him; he’s clearly stronger than you are. Thunder shakes the ground beneath your feet, a low hum bellowing from below as if the earth itself is groaning.

“You hear that?” Eddie asks excitedly, his pulse racing. “It’s Him, Steve. It’s fucking Him!”

Wind whips around the old church, its wooden beams creaking like tired bones. Eddie’s lighter begins to flicker in and out; he curses and smacks it against his palm, trying again.

When the flame ignites, its amber glow illuminates only Steve and Eddie’s faces. You appear to have vanished.

“Where the fuck did she go?? She was right-”

“-Well you were the one holding her fucking arm, Steve-how should I-.”

“HEY!” you call from behind the pulpit. Both men whip their bodies to face you, another burst of lightning revealing their wide eyes gazing up at yours.

“H-how did you do that?” Steve asks, his voice wavering. Eddie shakes the bewilderment from his mind, now even more determined to see his plan through. “You little bitch,” he growls. “I don’t know how you did that, how you got up there that fast, but you’re still ours, and we’re still in control!”

Eddie starts for the podium, but finds himself frozen, unable to move an inch. His eyes go wide as saucers, fear washing over his face.

“You both look so small from up here,” you tell them, leaning over the pulpit, your breasts pressed against it. “Small and weak. Pathetic, actually.”

Eddie smacks Steve’s shoulder, telling him to grab you; but try as he might, Steve is frozen in place as well.

The glow from Eddie’s lighter flicks in and out as his hand shakes uncontrollably. “What the hell is this?” Steve asks in a small, timid voice. But Eddie has no answer to give him.

“All those hours the two of you spent praying,” you speculate, getting high on their fear. “I wonder who you were actually praying to? Because it certainly wasn’t me…”

Steve’s jaw goes slack, sweat dripping from his hairline. Eddie wants to know…has to know, if what you’re implying is true. “L…Lord,” he begins tentatively, his voice trembling. “I had no idea-we-had no idea, it was You-.”

“SILENCE,” you order, and Eddie’s lips seal shut. “Bow to your Master, if it’s Satan you praise. Or can you not bring yourself to kneel at the feet of a woman?” A dry laughter rumbles from your chest, filling the room with heat, rattling the church’s bony frame.

Steve and Eddie tremble beneath you. Lightning strikes above the church; you watch its glare in the ceiling window, how it floods the terrified faces of the men at your feet. A tall tree beside the church is struck; it catches fire immediately.

“You bastards would need a taste of Hell, to understand how sick you are,” you tell Steve and Eddie. “Therefore, it’s what I’ll give you.”

The tree collapses against the roof of the church, setting it ablaze. Eddie and Steve whirl their heads to see it, but their feet are still stuck in place.

You remain calm, as if the decrepit old building isn’t going up like a box of matchsticks around you. “Legend says,” you preach to the men. “That the Devil wears a suit and tie…” You lean forward against the pulpit, your black eyes glaring down at them. “…But sometimes, She wears a push-up bra…”

A beam of rotting wood detaches from the ceiling, falling directly in front of Steve and Eddie, blowing dust and smoke into their eyes. As they cough and sputter and try to make out the shape of you behind the pulpit, they realize you’ve vanished. Panic seizes them both as flames draw closer and closer to the place their feet are locked, immovable. Sweat pours down their faces, eyes wide with tears that evaporate as soon as they form. The heat is suffocating, clogging their throats, smoke filling their lungs to bursting…

…And just as the first touch of fire licks at their skin, it STOPS.

Eddie and Steve are laying in the field outside the church, their backs burning, bits of clothing singed off around them. They gulp the fresh air into their mouths, weeping tears that can finally fall, drinking in the rain as it begins to cascade above them.

They watch the church, as the last of its pillars and beams are consumed by fire, brought down to its foundation. Rain puts out the flames remaining, as darkness swallows the area once more. Smoke rises like a prayer to Heaven, along with the tearful utterances of two men forever changed in one night, asking God to forgive them, two sinners grateful to still be breathing…

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mochiroreo · 1 year ago

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Oh goodie! Pt.1 [cherry pies, vanilla, and cigars]

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson x innocent!nerdy!reader (afab!reader) x Older!Steve Harrington

Wordcount: 5.4k

Summary: being a latchkey child, you are used to being alone. So when your parents announced that your whole family is moving to Hawkins, you paid them no mind and just packed up your bags. What you are not expecting was that the house that your family just bought comes with two neighbours that are in dire need to have you in any way.

Trigger Warnings: [this chapter: manipulation. Gaslighting. Fingering. Titty sucking. Taking advantage of reader’s vulnerable state.] she/her pronouns. DUBCON. NONCON. 100% FILTH. Smut. Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it). Hidden relationships. Age gap. Cream pie. Size kink. Degradation. Corruption. Choking/slapping (in a pleasurable way). Pet names (no use of y/n). Fingering. Squirting. Overstimulation. Public sex. Non-consented Recording.

Author’s note: hello hello~ sorry for the long wait! Steddie are now on the move~! As usual, thank you so much for your support on my first fanfic ever! And sorry in advance for the grammar mistakes as English is not my first language. Not beta’d as well (we die like Nanam— *gets mugged in Shibuya arc*) Enjoy! 💖

“Hi..?” Ever so softly,you whispered and let it hang onto the air. Both men just looking at you with wide eyes and an expression that you aren’t sure if its embarrassment because they know you have heard what they were talking about or they just don’t expect a woman like you to be in front of their door around this time. Both of them staring at you with intensity, making you unconsciously grab the boxes a little bit tighter,feeling your palms sweat before turning your head away slightly to try and ease the warmth that is slowly creeping up your body from being ogled openly. One of the them,the one with thick,luscious hair ran his eyes all over you,unconsciously biting his bottom lip. The other,arms littered with tattoos,doing the same thing, holding such intense stare that you cannot stand it anymore which made you clear your throat and snap them out of their trance.

“Hi..?” The tattooed man answered,also clearing his throat before leaning against the door frame. Taking a deep breath, he looks like he is about to say something before closing his mouth again. He ran his fingers through his shoulder length hair upwards,clearly in distraught on what to say to you,not minding how it ruined his hair a bit. He did not expect someone,a woman (who is definitely his type) to be standing in front of his friend’s door. Hell,his best friend looks like he did not expect someone at all too with how he is standing awkwardly beside him.

“Uhm.. are you lost? I— we—“ stumbling on his words, he looked at his friend with annoyance “fuck— help me out here man!” He whispered harshly to his best fried beside him with a bit of a shove,which seemed to take his friend out of his staring competition against you and made him fold his arms over his chest. “Uh,sorry, I’m Steve. Steve Harrington. and this is Eddie Munson” Steve introduced his friend and himself politely before extending his hand,which he retreated back after noticing how you’re balancing two boxes. He wanted to help you but does not want to seem like he is already overstepping his boundaries. “Is there anything we can do for you?” Steve combed his hair,a nervous habit of his,but you only stared at him.

With the presence of both men and the slowly cooling air of Hawkins,your cheeks slowly grew red. You snapped out of it when it felt like minutes has passed after his question,making your cheeks warmer in embarrassment “I uhm.. we just moved here and my mom baked these pies for you and uh the other neighbor.. I’m just here to give you yours.” Eddie clenched his jaw with how soft you spoke. God forbid him for already having feral thoughts about someone he just met. The way your cheeks grew red, the way your eyes slowly raked over him and Steve’s frame before tilting your head to stop staring at them, and how your skirt fits perfectly and shows the meaty expense of your thighs. He knows he is fucked with the palpable attraction that he is already holding for you. And its seems like his best friend holds it for you too with the way Steve looks at you. Hearing you say the statement though made him and Steve feel like they won a million bucks. What are the odds of leaving next to someone looking so divine?

“Oh-!” Steve exclaimed,grabbing both boxes from your hands,to which shocked you and almost made you fell. Eddie quickly managed to grab your arm,immediately shooting Steve a glare. “Jesus” he mumbled. His hand is warm,firmly holding you and making sure you’re standing properly before gently letting go. Your eyes widened with the sudden physical contact,mumbling a “thank you” and looking down to fiddle with your fingers,trying to calm your nerves and the odd sensation in your stomach. Steve only eyed you and Eddie sheepishly,giving you a small chuckle “Sorry. I just really wanna help you out the moment I’ve noticed you were having a hard time with these boxes” he leaned onto the door to open it wider “if you’re planning to give the other pie to the other neighbor, you’re in luck cause this guy—“ he paused before pointing his head to Eddie “this guy is your other neighbor.” Eddie gave you the friendliest smile he can muster, before extending his hand. Blaming your nerves for short circuiting because of the full blown interaction, you grabbed his hand with both of your hands and shook it gently. “Nice to meet you both.” You tried to answer sternly but your voice just won’t come out clearly. He lets out a booming laugh, looking at both of your hands before copying you and shaking both of your hands with his.

“Its nicer to meet you.”

Noticing how his voice dropped a tad bit when he said the statement,you cannot help the slight shiver that crawled under your skin. It already felt so wrong. Standing in front of two men that are literally strangers and knowing that you are already infatuated with how good-looking they are is definitely not what you expected on the first day of moving to a different state that you barely knew exist. And definitely how you reacted to someone before. Biting your lip out of embarrassment,you just nodded to him and let go of his hands. Steve,smirking with the interaction,gestured towards inside his house “would you like something to drink-? You must have been standing there for a while.” The question took you off guard,looking at them both with hesitation while you struggle to answer. “I don’t want to bother—“ before you can even finish your sentence,Steve had already cut you off “nonsense. Its alright,you’re not bothering anyone.” He waved you off,carrying the boxes with ease. “Come on in,honey.” With a boyish smile given your way, you took the invitation,the nickname making the odd feeling inside you growing stronger and hard to ignore. You followed him,stepping inside the house while Eddie closed the door with a knowing smile, which Steve returned when he looked at him.

“You just moved here today..?” Steve started as he put down the boxes on the countertop. The design of his house is very modern,neutral colours were dominating every space but not without a pop of colour here and there which just screamed like him with how he’s dressed with some brown slacks and a pale yellow sweater. You stopped looking around,realising you haven’t told them your name yet so you did,taking a seat on one of the bar stools to which Eddie followed and sat beside you.

“Aww, what a pretty name.” He cooed,chuckling with the way you immediately blushed. Both men took the opportunity to look at you closer. Glasses sitting perfectly on your face, red pouty lips that looks like they will feel like heaven once they kiss you, the soft pink skirt that fits you perfectly and shows of your curves. Something akin to feral were slowly being awaken with just your presence.

“Uh yeah,just moved in. Me and my parents.” Adjusting your glasses,you gave Steve a small smile when he handed you and Eddie some lemonade. “I see..” he nodded,taking a sip out of his own glass before continuing “are you planning to continue your studies here then,hon? Hawkins doesn’t have much to offer but the universities and public colleges here and surrounding areas are quite nice— or are you still in high school?” Eddie knows what Steve is really asking you without all the formalities. He gulped his drink,slowly taking small sips while he waits for your answer. He is hoping that if the heavenly beings are real,that they are on his side on this. Him and Steve would be disgusted with themselves inside and out if you choose the latter as the answer to Steve’s question,already planning to drop you home just in case.

“Oh no” you quickly answered,shaking your head “I am planning to attend a university here but I haven’t decided what to pursue yet.. which kind of explains why I’m out here on what should’ve been a school night. I’m turning 19 this summer” politely answering before focusing on your lemonade and removing the slice of lemon wedged at the edge of your glass. Steve sighed in relief,a little too loud, with how quick you looked at him. “Are you alright?” You asked him, tilting your head in concern to which Eddie answered “He’s fine sweetheart” the nickname rolled too easy at Eddie’s tongue, giving you a smirk. “He’s just really happy that his lemonade tastes good.” Steve only chuckled, agreeing to Eddie’s statement before he moves to open a cupboard and a drawer for some plates and cutlery for the pies. Noticing him grabbing 3 plates, you started feeling restless that you are overstaying “I uh— sorry Sir, I’m alright. I- I can just eat the pie at home. My mom bakes them all the time.” Slowly getting down from the bar stool, you grabbed your glass that was once full, along with the coaster “I don’t want to over stay, your family might come home and ask why a stranger is inside their house.” You tried to joke with them, smiling and mentally giving yourself a pat on the back for thinking that you’re really doing well at socializing, oblivious to the effects of what you called Steve. Eddie shifted uncomfortably on his seat, easing the growing pain behind his jeans while Steve took some deep breaths to steady himself. Sir. Fucking Sir. That was said with the most innocent intent but went quickly to their groins. If they thought that hearing you speak earlier was like the loveliest melody wrapped in honey, what more would it be when you’re breathless and a moaning mess underneath them?

“No, you don’t need to worry about that” Steve clarified. “Me and Eddie live alone, so you can just call us by our names. No need to be too polite,sweetie.” Walking towards where you are, he gave you a firm squeeze on your shoulder, to which you looked at him in surprise “We’re already neighbors, we’re going to see each other every day starting tonight. Might as well be comfortable around us already.” Shyly looking at him with doe-eyes, you can only give him a sincere smile while staring at him to which him and Eddie gave you a grin. Steve is ecstatic. His eyes can’t hide the emotions that he is trying to keep at bay. His excitement. Curiosity. All the things he already wants to do with you to open you up to him is slowly filling his mind. Excusing yourself to put your glass on the sink and to wash your hands, Eddie gave Steve a look. A knowing look that they’re going to talk about important things later, forgetting about all the things he laid out tonight that he said he will finish before the day ends. Wiping your hands on a tea towel, you asked them “would you perhaps know any stores around that are hiring? I would really like to apply to one..” Eddie never thought that he will smile so wide that he felt his cheeks starting to hurt. If he felt like a million bucks earlier, he felt like a million times luckier than Steve now. What are the chances that he owns a record store that clearly doesn’t need any employees except you-?

“I own a record store, if you wanna apply? No need for a resume. You look trustworthy enough.” You gasped then squealed,forgetting where you are before giving him a quick hug. You were too happy about already landing a job without going store to store and talking to every manager to notice how Eddie’s eyes widened, before slightly hugging you back. You pulled away immediately,mumbling sorry’s continuously,cheeks now back to being red at what you just did. “I’m so sorry,I’m just—“ you mumbled too quickly,while he just gave you a grin. You felt him rest his hand on the curve of your back,acting as if it doesn’t give him the same gnawing feeling at the pit of your stomach. “You’re alright. Like Stevie here said, we’re going to see each other now every day. Might as well feel comfortable,right?” You nodded at his words,relief evident on your face when you thought you ruined the night with your sudden bold move. “I- thank you so much.” You gave them both a genuine smile,to which they cannot help but be in awe with how cute you look. You feel giddy,not only did you think they’re handsome but they are also the nicest neighbours already. You cannot think how it will make your parents pretty proud. Your mom’s voice ringing inside your head “I told you so.”

Both of them guided you towards the door,you cannot stop yourself from thanking them. You stepped out of Steve’s house before turning around to look at them with a shy smile on your face. “I will bring more pies in the future. It was so nice meeting you both!” You promised to them,waving your hand goodbye as your feet found the asphalt once again,skipping on your way home.

They both waved goodbye before Steve closes the door shut,releasing a breath he’s been holding before giving Eddie a look to which he returned. Eddie clasped both of his hands on his chest. “Whoever divine being is in heaven. They are fucking real.” Steve cannot help but to run his fingers through his hair while figuring out what just happened and what he is currently feeling. He had never been smitten with someone he just met. Even with his beloved ex,Nancy, it took him a few weeks to figure out how attracted he is to her. He groaned,running his hand on his face. “I take back what I said to Robin. I take it back” he walked towards his fridge, opening it to grab a pack of beer for him and Eddie. Sitting down, he opened his beer and quickly chugged almost half of it “we were fucking teasing her with how quick it was for her to be smitten when she met Vicky. And now—“ Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, grabbing a beer as well “we are way more worse.” He shook his head,sighing at how his mind seem to drift towards a particular neighbor already. “I want her.” Eddie stated, there was no hint of playfulness nor humour in his eyes while he looks at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Steve stood up, drinking the last of his beer before crushing the metal can and chucking it in his bin. Sighing,he plopped down on the sofa and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I want her too.” He gave Eddie a sly smile, having a mutual understanding on what they want to do.

And how they want to do it.

Tonight is like a fever dream.

You immediately changed your clothes back to your sleeping ones with a smile on your face. Laying down, it sinks on you that you’re alone now, so you had let your mind wonder to the things you felt earlier. The feelings that were foreign to you but mixed with uncertainty. You touched your arm that was squeezed gently by Steve while the feeling of Eddie’s hand that rested on your backside felt like it’s still there. Butterflies still erupting at the pit of your stomach though laced with uneasiness and doubt. You try to calm yourself, telling yourself that they’re just your awfully nice neighbours and that they don’t deserve the doubts you’re thinking about them. Finding sleep at last.

A week went by quickly. Days filled with sticky shirts and the smell of chlorine.

Immediately telling your parents the next day how you managed to land a job after meeting your neighbors, they were proud and happy for you. “They are just the kindest” you told them,saying how they did not hesitate to offer it to you without even getting to know you. You busy yourself with arranging your things from the move, helping your parents decide which curtains fit the living area better, and going to some good spots around Hawkins. Your days being spent mostly with your parents while they enjoy their days off with you before they go back to working again.

You went out with your mom to grab some groceries, the car slowly coming to a stop as she parks on the driveway. Talking about the things you’ve noticed about Hawkins that you did not have from where you used to live. The town kept tons of things that made it look like its stuck in the 80s and 90s. Drive through movies, vintage theaters, a mall called “Starcourt” that have a vibrant blue and red retro sign. You quickly hopped out went straight to the car trunk and opened it,trying to grab as many bags as you can. Hearing your dad’s voice not too far, you turned around to call and ask him for help before noticing that there’s two familiar silhouettes in front of him that he is currently talking too. “Dad?” Calling him a bit louder than earlier, he turned around before Steve and Eddie followed. Your eyes widened a bit, feeling the warmth that you felt that day when you met them,both of them giving you a small wave. Awfully conscious with your choice of short shorts and oversized shirt, you turned back around and focused your gaze on the bags you are trying to carry.

“Need some help,sweetheart?” The deep timbre of Eddie’s voice made you shiver, goosebumps trailing over your arms. He’s already grabbing some bags, taking the ones on your hands too. “T-thanks..” you mumbled, trying to put some space between you and him so he can carry the bags easier. Quickly shutting the trunk, you see your parents talking to Steve,clearly laughing at whatever he said. You and Eddie walked towards them, trying to grab some bags on the way even though he’s too stubborn. “Oh goodness, thank you!” Your mom exclaimed “would you gentlemen like to come in and stay for dinner? I’ll be making my casserole,which everyone says that they love. I’ll love to put that statement to the test.” Your mom asked them both,already opening the door with your dad following her “It’ll be our pleasure” Steve answered,throwing a grin on your way which made you give him a small smile back when your dad grabbed his attention,letting his eyes wander on your body for the last time before immersing himself on another round of sports talk.

Everything’s going well on their end,it seems.

Dinner went by smoothly.

Your parents seem to love them both already,smooth talking their way on several topics that mostly focused on you in which your parents are happy to tell them about. Your mom was telling them how you are always on top of your class and subjects you find interesting. Your hobbies, your achievements, your preference in food even. While your dad tells them how you kicked a bully on 8th grade, when you did something funny in the middle of the grocery aisle that your mom snorted too loud. This made Steve and Eddie looked at you while you try to hide your face, blushing while whining “mom, dad, my god stop”. They were both taking mental notes, thinking of ways how to pamper you, how to take care of you while also how to defile you. It was a mixture of gentleness and filth, the gentle part only there to make you open up to them and their desires. After helping you mom in cleaning up and washing the dishes, you excused yourself and said goodnight to everyone, yawning on the way to the stairs to go up to your room.

Througout the dinner, Eddie cannot help but steal glances your way. How lovely you look in that oversize shirt that he wishes was his, how it showcases your neck and enough skin to leave it in his imagination, already looking forward to painting it with hickeys. He hates the fact that this is Steve’s “plan”. He hates the fact that he needs to take things slow, but he knows that all this planning and acting on it will be worth it.

And seeing Steve’s massive grin when your parents asked them after a week if both of them can look after you as they work all the time and how they don’t want you to feel alone in a new town, it is indeed worth it.

By the time your parents left after a few days of getting told that they will be out of town for a week, you quickly found yourself in your room, burying your whole body underneath your blanket. That gnawing feeling of loneliness is now back after feeling your happiest for the past few weeks.

Your eyes slowly becoming blurry as your tears cascade down your cheeks, your hands trying to wipe every single tear away though it just kept on coming. You hated how the empty house kind of made your sobs grow louder in your ears, covering your mouth to muffle it out. The ringing of the doorbell halted your sobs, turning into sniffles while you stand up and try to look presentable on the way to your door. Only wearing your oversized sweater, you adjusted it and wore your house slippers. With one last look at a mirror near your hallway, you opened the door to find Steve and Eddie.

“Hey, sweetheart! We were supposed to come here earlier but got stucked in traffic.” Eddie explained,looking down while adjusting his watch that kept on getting too loose for his liking,. “Yeah, sorry for the sudden visit honey. They have mentioned that they’re leaving for a week and if we can look after you— why are your eyes red?” Steve asked, looking at your face intently, his smile now replaced with a scowl. The statement made Eddie look up quickly, his soft demeanor quickly changing like Steve’s. Your lower lip was jutted in a pout, trembling while you try to stop yourself from crying. “I- I’m— Mr. Harrington.. Mr. Munson—“ you tried to answer that you’re fine, just feeling off but your voice wobbled and suddenly you cannot stop your tears from spilling. Both men went rigid because of what you called them before snapping themselves out of it. They can appreciate your tear-stained cheeks later if it was in a different situation.

Steve immediately stepped inside and wrapped his arms around you, his bigger frame enveloping your body in a warm embrace. All the emotions that you were trying to keep at bay now coming out, sobbing in his chest. Steve had one of his arms wrapped around you, his hand resting on your lower back while the other holds your nape gently, drawing soft circles to calm you down. The action made you cry harder, your hands finding its way on his shirt, clutching on it tightly. “Oh baby, its okay. Its okay. We’re here” He tried to calm you down, feeling his breath on top of your head as he continue to gently rub your back. Eddie closed the door, concern written on his face as he watches his friend hold you. “How about we move to the couch, pretty girl?” Steve said, his voice laced with softness. He felt you nod on his chest, still sniffling as him and Eddie guided you to the couch. You already missed Steve’s warmth. His scent,a mix of something sweet and tart, like cherries laced with vanilla, filled your senses the moment he wrapped his arms around you. You did not dare to look at them once you sat down, feeling embarrassed about crying, and about wanting to be hugged by either of them. “Sweetheart, can you please tell us whats wrong?” Eddie softly asks, placing his hand on your knee while Steve sat down on the other side, holding your arm and rubbing it in an comforting manner. “I just— I feel so lonely.” Wiping your tears using the sleeves of your sweater, you continue “I can usually ignore it but today I’m—“ you covered your face out of embarrassment, out of thinking that they must have been annoyed by now with how much of a crybaby you are. “Oh sweet girl, come here. You don’t need to feel shy about this” Eddie said, shuffling closed to you and wrapping his arms around you, he rested his head on top of yours. Your smell intoxicating him as he take deep breaths. You gripped his arms, letting his scent consume you like Steve’s. His is a mix of cigars and grapefruit. You looked up at him with doe-eyes, his hand quickly catching your falling tears. “Me and Steve are here now, yeah? You won’t feel alone now.”

He whispered, hand now caressing your cheek in a loving manner while he looks straight to your eyes. You stared at his long lashes, pink lips that looks too soft, cheeks kissed by the sun with how there are freckles here and there up close. Steve’s arm wrapped themselves around you as you face Eddie, resting his head on your shoulder. He had let his hands wander, playing with the hem of your sweater. “Our sweet girl..” he whispered directly to your ear. You shivered, a foreign feeling crawling under your skin while you gasped. Your stomach twisting into something that is uncomfortable but at the same time pleasurable.

“No more days and nights feeling lonely..” Eddie swiped his thumb on your lips, watching you let go of your bottom lip that you did not realized you’ve been biting. “We’re now with you all the time, your parents told us to look after you. Take care of you..” Steve’s hands began to crawl their way upwards, his hands now caressing your bare thighs, before realizing you’re only wearing an underwear underneath which made him release a deep groan. You froze, feeling wetness pool in the middle of your legs. “M- Mr. Harrington..” you tried to close your legs, changing your position on the sofa before Eddie stopped you and held your face to make you look back at him again “Shhh.. its alright, sweetheart. This is how you forget. This is how you can forget how lonely and sad you’ve felt.” You tried to focus on what he was saying but Steve’s hands are now playing with the lace of your panties while also peppering soft kisses on your neck, making you release a whimper. You felt Steve’s smirk on your neck before sucking your skin, leaving his mark on you, Eddie’s pupils now blown wide with lust and desire. You continued to whimper before feeling Eddie’s lips on you. You gripped his arms, trying to control his pace, as the rational part of your brain screams how wrong it is to kiss your neighbors that were just trying to comfort you. Eddie grabbed both of your arms with one hand and pinned it to your side, while the other held your face to crane your head back a bit to let him kiss you deeper.

Steve continued his assault on your underwear, pushing your underwear down before hiking your sweater up to expose your pussy. He moaned on your neck when he touched your bare cunt that is soaking wet, fingers swiping your juicy lips before he lifted it to know what you taste like. “God, honey. You taste so sweet. So fucking sweet.” One of his hand now holds your hip still, the other going back to play with your pussy. He found your clit and kept on rubbing it in a pace that made you buck your hips. You threw your head back, Eddie quickly latching his mouth on the other side of your neck. You moaned at all the sensations you’re feeling, everything foreign but welcomed with how you unconsciously try to open your legs wider to let Steve’s thick fingers play with you more. Your mind is slowly becoming blank, pleasure numbing all the other emotions you were feeling earlier with how good they’re touching you. Eddie’s kisses travelled lower, hiking your sweater up to release your breasts before him. His mouth quickly finding your hardened nipple, sucking it hard while your other nipple gets toyed with his calloused fingers, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Breathy moans left spit-slicked lips, catching hold of Steve’s hair. The tight hold on his hair urged Steve to finally soak his fingers on your cunt, one thick finger breaching its way inside you. “Fuck!” Steve exclaimed as you moaned loudly, watching how his finger disappears while he build his pace.

Feeling you relaxed, he added another finger that made your eyes roll back. With Eddie still sucking your nipples and leaving hickeys all over your chest, and Steve’s unforgiving fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, you were starting to see white. “Yes baby, that’s it. Oh, how can you be this pretty? Even the sounds you’re making— jesus, I’m gonna explode.” Eddie mumbled on your skin, continuing his actions to your sensitive nipples. “Fucking perfect for us, made for us—“ Steve grunted, rubbing your clit using his thumb. You clenched on his fingers, the pleasure slowly becoming too much for you. “Mr. Harrington—“ you tried to call out to him, wanting to grab his arm but forgetting that Eddie is still holding it in place. “Yeah, baby? Feeling too good?” Drool pooled around your lips, losing your train of thought. High-pitched moans leaving your lips continously as Steve furrowed his eyebows in concentration. He felt you clench on his fingers, hips bucking to meet his fingers to which he knows that you’re close to cumming. “S-stop please— M-Mr. Harrington- it feels weird,I’m gonna pee—“ you tell him with shaky breaths, trying to stop the urge to not embarrass your self further. Steve chuckled, quickening his pace. Eddie inserted his thumb on your mouth, to which you immediately suck. He groaned at the feeling of your tongue enveloping his thumb and to the sight of your tear-stained cheeks and drooling mouth with how fucked out you are. One thrust of Steve’s fingers towards the spongey texture made you trembled, releasing Eddie’s thumb to let out a high-pitched moan. Steve continued before whispering on your ear. “Let go, our good girl.” He gave your neck a kiss, before feeling you still underneath them with your eyes rolled at the back of your head. Your legs quiver, creamy white cum now coating Steve’s fingers.

You whined when Steve took out his fingers, lapping your up your cum before offering his fingers to Eddie. “Taste her.” He said, Eddie quickly lapping your creamy release on Steve’s fingers while staring at your figure. He let out a deep groan, closing his eyes while he savours your flavor on his tongue. “Like fucking honey.” Both men looked at you, body coated in sweat, eyes closed with drool on your lips. Eddie took of his shirt, wiping the remnants of your cum between your legs before standing up and grabbing water for the three of you while Steve slowly arranged your position to lay you down comfortably on the sofa.

“See, honey? We got you. No more crying every night or day..” he softly talked to you, brushing your hair out of your face. He cupped your cheek on his hand, “we will be here,okay? This is what we’ll do when you feel sad and lonely. So you can forget all those.” Leaning on to his touch, you slowly opened your eyes. “B-but what about mom and dad..” you looking at him so innocently made his forgotten boner throb underneath his slacks. Not today, he told himself. “This is our little secret, yeah? Mommy and Daddy doesn’t have to know.” He gave your lips a quick peck, smiling when he watched your cheeks go pink. Eddie walked in, handing Steve your water and his. Steve made you drink a bit before letting you drift to sleep, cheeks squished on a throw pillow.

Eddie drank his water, plopping down on another chair while Steve does the same. “This is like a fucking drug.” He groaned, putting his hair in a low, messy bun. “Tell me about it” Steve combed his hair, both men watching your sleeping form in awe. “You think she won’t tell her parents?” Eddie asked, the idea making him a little nervous. “Mhm, I doubt. Besides—“ Steve looked at Eddie with a smirk, before he moves to fix your sweater from exposing your bare ass more to them. “You still have that video camera, right, Munson?” Eddie chuckled darkly to his friend, nodding his head. “Yeah. I still have it.” He looked directly at Steve’s eyes, mimicking the devilish grin of the other.

“You’re evil. And you know it. Don’t you, big boy?”

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wroteclassicaly · 9 months ago

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Summary: The summer of 1996 is one of change. You don’t do well with change, and you loathe a forced move to Los Angeles for college. That is, until you meet Steve Harrington - the perfect guy, the charmer, or so you think. But things always find a way to unravel, don’t they?

Based off the 1996 movie Fear, I bring you my first ever Dark!Steve AU. Chapters will be posted on Fear Fridays!

Warnings: Language, smut, anal sex, vaginal sex, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, stalking, rough sex, dark!Steve, drug usage, public sex, violence (not against reader), arguing, manipulation, oral sex, vaginal fingering, handjobs, and MORE (hah)!

Track listing:

Wild Horses (coming SOON)

Sugar Water

Heart Shaped Box

Creep

Zombie

Closer

Friday I’m In Love

Santa Monica

Right Now

Champagne Supernova

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years ago

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angel and evil steddie au where, for whatever reason, reader has put them on a sex ban/something of the sort, but one of them end up convincing her about ‘just the tip’. I think this could be both of them, but they slowly inch further and further in, swearing it’s just the top, but then u feel their balls fully pressed to u, and their only excuse is that ‘doesn’t it just feel so good/right though??’

A/N: i kinda went a bit crazy with this one, couldn’t just write a little blurb… the “just the tip” thing is just so nomnomnom yummy and i need it like i need oxygen.

word count: 2022

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | devil & angel AU masterlist

“Come on Y/n,” with yielding hands, Eddie carefully sat down next to you, “look, I know I fucked up, I am well aware of that,” he emphasized, “but it’s not fair for Steve,” he motioned to the creature sulking in the corner, staring out the cracked bedroom window, “he doesn’t deserve to undergo the same punishment, my punishment, I should take the full of it, not him,” he gesticulated, “fuck, I mean, just look at him. I think if you don’t do something now, relieve him even a little bit, he will just snap and trust me, you don’t wanna see that,” even from here you could see his ivory knuckles as the angel dug his fingernails into his palms hard enough to draw blood, “please, at least just kiss him a little bit.”

“Fine,” you huffed, snapping the angel out of his daze. Pointing a threatening finger towards him as he turned in your direction, “but you’re still not getting any, you got that?” you warned.

His stoic frown instantly melting away, he breathed out a soft smile, “got it,” slowly moving towards you as felt the devil crawl away.

“I will just give you one kiss, alright?” your finger was still raised as he sat down beside you, his presents causing your arm to retract as he moved in closer.

“Yep,” like coming up for air, his hands slid up to each side of your face, “one kiss,” and the next thing you knew, the angel dove in, and desperately pressed his lips against your own.

Like a man starved, Steve didn’t let his touch falter for even a second, not even parting to catch his breath as his fevered kiss quickly grew out of control. His hands soon wandered all over your form, making you dizzy and causing you not to notice fully when he desperately tilted your body down, pressing you into the mattress with his own weight, just barely hovering above you as he attacked you with his ravenous lips.

“O-okay,” you uttered weakly, his touch succeeding as usual in being extremely persuasive, “I think that counts as way more than one kiss,” your breath ragged as you turned your head for your kiss to be out of his reach.

Your legs naturally rested on either side of him, curled up and hugging his hips as he brashly melted further into you, letting you feel the previously only suspected tent in his pants press against your hot panties, your short dress haven ridden up completely. Ignoring your comment completely, he simply moved on to your neck as he began to grind down against you, needily scratching his itch and making your breath grow more wild.

“Just a little bit more, please,” he croaked, smearing his plea all over where your pulse hammered on the side of your neck, “just give me a little bit more, sweetheart,” his fingers digging into your soft thigh for support as he rocked against the growing wet spot on your exposed underwear.

“Steve,” you tried to fight how your eyes fluttered closed, still determined to keep the disappointment alive, that you had taken out on the both of them, though your arms still reluctantly slid up around his neck and fervently grabbed onto his broad shoulders.

Roaming a hand up to squeeze your tit, your nipples standing proud and visible through your thin dress, he purred, “come on, honey,” catching one of the pebbles between his fingers and tugging on it teasingly, causing your thighs to clench around his form, “I know you need this as much as I do.”

“Steve…” the rest of your words fell short as he raised himself up, hovering above you with his forearms strong on either side of your head, letting you stare into his breathtaking eyes.

Looking down at you as if you were turning into his favourite meal, he continued, “and maybe this could be a way to up his punishment…” with a finger on your jaw, he tilted your head over for you to gaze at the devil, silently watching from the corner of the room, “just let him sit there and watch you get off, while he knows he can’t have you. Wouldn’t that make it much worse for him? Don’t you want him to learn his lesson? Don’t you want him to suffer?”

“I-… fuck, fine,” you gave up in a huff, him haven driven your mind so fuzzy that you couldn’t comprehend saying anything else, “but you are not fucking me,” you said firmly, “not with your tentacles, not with your cock, not even with your finger. You stay out of my pussy, okay?”

Victory seeping across his face in the form of a sly grin, he chuckled, “okay,” agreeing hazily as he dipped back down to catch your lips.

Sneaking a hand down between your close bodies, you felt him tug your sodden panties to the side and rapidly after that heard him impatiently freeing his hard cock, a low sigh leaving his lungs as he felt the intimate contact of his throbbing length rest directly against your weeping folds, leaning his torso far enough back for him to get a good view.

“Oh my god, what did I just say?” you groaned as he, with a grip firm at the base, swiped his leaking tip through your petals, pursing your pretty pussy lips apart for him.

“Don’t worry, honey,” he laughed, holding the soaked cotton to the side, hooked in his thumb, as he rubbed his length all over your cunt, relishing in your juices, “I’m not gonna put it in you. I just wanna feel you, please. It’s been so long.”

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes, “it’s been like a few days, a week max.”

“I don’t care, that’s still too long,” you sucked in a sharp breath as he suddenly tapped his heavy cock against your buzzing clit, making your whole body jolt in need.

“Yeah, I bet if it was up to you, I would just stay like this,” you joked, “never go to school or work again, just let you two play with me for the rest of my days.”

“Is that a proposition?” he smirked, cocking his eyebrows and pinching your plump folds on either side of his girth, letting him fuck it and glide the bulbous head over your swollen clit.

“Urgh,” you sighed, lifting your hands up and hiding your flushed face from him, “just shut up and cum so I can go back to studying.”

“Oh, yeah, you want me to be quiet all of a sudden?” you peeked down through your fingers and glanced at the sloppy mess he was making of you, “I thought you liked listening to me, listening to what you do to me…” he fucked his fist, angling his thrusts so he slid through your slick folds every time, ending each movement with a persistent nudge at your clit, “don’t lie, I know how much it pushes you over the edge.”

Maybe it was your abundant wetness causing his thrusts to go sloppy or perhaps it was just him being greedy and angling further down, accidentally catching your weeping hole on his way through your folds.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, just the sensation of him rubbing himself over your entrance made your legs quiver, “don’t do that,” you warned as it barely breached one too many times for it to have been accidental.

“Oh, come on,” he flicked against your opening, purposefully getting caught every time, “what if it’s just the tip, huh? Would that be alright? I just wanna feel you squeeze me, even if it’s just the tip.”

Biting down on your lip, his teasing becoming simply too much, you let out a whimper and nodded your head meekly at him.

The thing was, Steve was huge. There wasn’t any other way to put it. He was a powerful creature from beyond this realm and his assents made that painfully obvious. The tip of him didn’t just feel like the tip. The fat head was so big and staggering that it had your whole body just quit on you, the severe stretch being too much for it not to give out. It was always like that. It was so overwhelming that even just a whisper of him felt like he was rearranging your guts. If you didn’t look down, you never truly knew how much of him he had given you till you felt his pelvis rut against your clit and his tip bully your cervix.

Pressing his lips against your own, he muffled your pathetic whimpers as he slowly fucked you with the tip of him, rudely yanking it out just to slap the heavy length against your puffy petals, filling the bedroom with the sloppy music of your need.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned as you melted into the mattress, losing yourself completely to the moment, “missed your little holes so much.”

“Don’t push in any more, promise me you won’t,” you panted, wiggling under his weight.

“I won’t, don’t worry.” he hazily shook his head, capturing your lips once more.

“Promise me,” you turned your cheek to demand.

“I promise, I promise,” his empty answer rushed out as he continued to prod your needy little hole.

Keeping his lips pressed against yours, lapping up your whimpering moans, he crushed you with his body in a way that made the rest of the world just fall away from under you, making your whole universe be just him, the agonising feeling of him bullying your opening, and his warm eyes staring back into your own as you melted into a puddle beneath him.

“Fuck,” you suddenly exclaimed as all the air in your lungs was forced out, “you asshole!” the all too familiar overwhelming sensation of him reaching the end of what you had to offer, making you doubt if you were on the verge of cumming or about to punch him, “I knew you were gonna do that!”

Grinding his pelvis against your own, burying himself so deep that it hurt, he taunted, “if you were really so smart, then why did you let me?” relishing in the feeling of your cunt clambering down around him.

Trying not to give him the satisfaction, you muttered, “god, I hate you,” though your conviction was lost completely as his sudden and powerful thrust made you moan out in enchanted ecstasy.

“Aw, I love you too, honey,” he chuckled, kissing your fuzzy features as he found his greedy rhythm, “doesn’t this feel so much better, though?”

“I can feel you in my fucking throat,” you gasped, a statement true of every time he had filled you up.

Adoring eyes soaking in your every reaction, he growled in response, “exactly.”

His hands then swiftly grabbed yours as they began to claw at his back, hauling them up above your head and locking them in his tight grip.

“This pretty little pussy just needed to be stuffed,” he cooed against your lips, “it’s what she deserves,” his balls, dripping with your juices, slapped against your heat with every needy slam, “deserves to be treated like this,” he empathized with his hips, “deserves to be used,” he shifted his grip on your wrists, gliding up to weave his fingers with yours, “to be loved,” his nose rhythmically bumped against yours as he pushed you over the edge, “to be worshipped,” he fervently captured your lips, silencing the guttural cry that escaped as you trembled violently beneath him, soaking the bedsheets and gushing all over his cock.

Letting your eyes flutter shut, his gruff moans washed over you as your clenching cunt milked him of all of his worth.

“Fuck,” he panted, forehead resting against your own as he insatiably continued to roll into you, sloppily fucking his cum even deeper and forcing it to spill out as your pussy clambered around him, “I love you so much…”

“You are so terrible,” you said light-heartedly as a dazed smile bloomed upon your blissed-out face, your brows swiftly knitting together at his excessive and relentless desire.

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dearramiel · 2 years ago

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𝐓𝐚𝐠, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐭 | 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

✧ - fluff in the beginning of the story, will eventually get dark, undertones of off setting steve, he's kinda stalking her in the beginning, anxiety/paranoia, steve is 28, reader is at least 21, yes I want to be steve's housewife(a lot of those undertones are present throughout the story so steve has a housewife kink), we listen to stevie nicks and honestly it was by pure coincidence, domestic vibes,

You look beautiful..

In that cute little dress, you'd make the prettiest housewife in town, if you'd just let him in. But all he can do is look, as you walk down the driveway of your house, a little empty basket on your arm. He figures that you're running Saturday morning errands. He shuts the blinds of his window, quickly running out of his own house.

"Y/n!" His voice calls out to you, you whip your head around and spot Steve Harrington jogging towards you, car keys in hand. The rattling of his keys come to an end when he catches up to you.

"Steve, Good morning!" You greet, your voice melting his insides.

"Morning, Sweetheart." He says, trying to ease his nerves when he notices the visible reddening on your face, or the way your smile gets bigger.

"Heading out to the markets?" Steve asks, to which you nod.

"I need to pick some stuff up for dinner today." You reply.

"In that little thing?" He motions to the basket.

"Well I'm only making something for myself, my mom and dad are out on vacation.." You giggle, "Unless, you want to join me?"

The older male is a little shocked, is that even a question?

"I don't wanna bother, but I also wouldn't want a little lady like you to be all alone." He grins. "How about I drive you there?"

The next two hours were spent with you trying to politely decline Steve paying for your groceries. You couldn't deny what it made you feel. You felt like you and him were together, walking around the market places as you picked fresh vegetables and canned goods, shoulders bumping by accident, accidentally brushing your fingers against his, even eying a dress.

All which Steve noticed, encouraging you to try them on in a makeshift dressing room that looked to be an extra storage room, mirrors in place where you could twirl in the dress. After deciding on a couple, you step out, showing Steve who was sat on a chair.

"What do we think?" You say, "it's a little long but maybe I'll grow into it." You joke. Steve doesn't speak for a solid second or two, his heart is racing because you look gorgeous.

"I think you look amazing. You should definitely get it." He smiled, looking at how it hugged your upper body, hoping one day he would see underneath.

"There's another, but I'll save it for later." You say, twirling another time to really show him everything. And again, he's nearly speechless.

"I'll be back." You say, going into the room to change back into your own dress. Carefully untying the little bow, blushing when you remember Steve's face.

Once out, you see Steve with the old lady, the owner of the shop. He's smiling to her as he gently pushes her hands full of change back to her, where she then bows her head to him, smiling ever so gratefully. The act is enough to make your pulse pick up, she hands him a bag big enough to fit the articles of clothing on your arm.

Steve noticed you close the door of the dressing room. "Here." He opens the bag, to which you then put everything in.

"You didn't have to, you know ..pay for it.." you say, feeling bad that he's practically been spoiling you all day. You weren't fortunate to have the money he did, and you definitely didn't want to make it look like you were trying to take advantage of his generosity. Most of what you did have was hard earned money coming from your parents, the house you lived in from your grandparents. It's why you pushed them to take a vacation for themselves.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, besides, I think that little dinner will make up for it." He suggests, a sweet smile on his face. You return it.

"Well, thank you for doing this." You play with your fingers, forgetting that he's holding everything. And he doesn't mind because it plays more into his fantasy.

"It's really not a problem."

It's 12 p.m by the time you get back home, Steve has walked you to your front steps, promising to stop by at 6:30 for dinner with you. The thought has you excited, almost throwing yourself into the shower before remembering that you already had, prior to stepping out.

After the excitement settles down, you realize that an unsettling feeling begins to wash over you. Being alone in a big house comes with perks like those, paranoia.

It leaves you feeling unnerved, and it's hard to shake off. It's not the first time you've felt this way, but it's also never been so intense.

You figure that the only way to ease the tension that begins to weigh down on your shoulders is by putting a vinyl into its player. A sense of relief comes down as Stevie Nicks plays throughout the living room, spilling into the kitchen. It helps just enough that you're able to focus on what you want to make, especially now that you want to impress Steve.

You settle on spaghetti and meatballs, after that, a pie to go as dessert.

1:00 p.m. becomes 2 p.m., which becomes 3 p.m., 4 p.m, and then 5:30 p.m, cleaning, cooking, and baking had you distracted, you wash your hands before quickly rushing upstairs to your room, bag in hand, the dresses Steve had bought you now on your bed. You figured that wearing the one he hadn't seen you in would be perfect.

You weren't sure why you were trying to impress Steve, maybe it was the growing crush you had on him, whatever it was, it began to make you feel a little insecure. Trying to live up to his standards, he was known to have any woman wanted, and they were usually really pretty.

You shake away your nagging and negative thoughts, choosing to put on very light makeup, a little bit of eyeliner, lipstick, blush, and eyeshadow, going for a natural look.

You slip out of your dress, embarrassed as you think about also changing your undergarments. It's not like Steve would see you in your underwear anyway.

But.. just in case...

You pick out a matching white lace bra and panties set, then slipping the dress on. You button up the dress, until you reach the last two buttons, leaving a very visible sight for your cleavage. Your chest on display, collarbone showing. Your hair is simple, a low messy bun with some loose hair scattered everywhere aside from your face. By the time your done, it's barely 6:15 p.m, giving you 15 minutes to yourself. With those spared minutes, you slip into your black flats, hanging the other dress in your closet, walking to the kitchen, serving two plates of food, two cups of water, and taking the pie out of the oven, setting it on the counter for it to cool off.

Setting the plates and cups on the table, you're finally done.

Then the ring of the doorbell has your heart jumping out of your chest. You smile and pat down your dress, quickly rushing to the door, opening it swiftly, face heating up when you see him.

Steve Harrington in a suit, holding roses in one hand, the other in his pocket, and you can tell that he's nervous.

He's not moving, stuck in a trance as he looks at the dress you're wearing, down to your legs, before looking back up to your face. An innocent smile on your pink lips, Steve finally moves.

"Hey Sweetheart."

#stalker!steve #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve x reader #stranger things x reader smut #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve harrington #tw stalking #tw anxiety

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cream0fwheat1998 · 11 months ago

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Girl from the Band 1 (Yandere!Jason Carver x Band Geek!Reader)

WARNINGS: dark, yandere, non-consensual intimacy (next chapter), maybe death (haven't decided yet), violence

This was random but honestly I think Mason Dye is a very handsome man so I really wanted to make a Jason Fanfic

Alternate AU but still 80's, No upside down fantasy stuff.

(Y/N) held her trumpet at attention while during the anthem which was sung by a previous student that has since graduated. Y/n rolled her eyes; she remembered Tammy Thompson from a science class long ago.

"This girl has no talent, why are they letting her perform?" y/n said under her breath but a laugh to her left caught her attention.

Robin Buckley shook her head with a smile on her face. For some reason, this made y/n feel warm. She was happy that she had made someone smile, even though she barely knew Robin and Robin's group of odd-ball friends outside of band.

How weird that Robin hung out with Steve Harrington; a man that graduated last year but still hang out with high school kids. Y/n shook her head, feeling sour at her own bitchy thoughts. People are allowed to have friends and just because she didn't have any, didn't mean she could judge everyone else for it.

When the game ended, all of the Hawkins Students fled to the courtroom to celebrate with the Basketball team on their win. Specifically, everyone cheered for Lucas Sinclair who'd made the winning shot and even though Y/n wasn't much of a participator; she found herself cheering along with her classmates.

It was until an object bounced infront of her, pulling y/n out of her own daze. A basketball had flown its way to her and one of the players rushed to her to collect it.

Jason Carver was a handsome guy. A classically handsome highschool athlete you'd see in any John Hughes movie. Y/n felt her cheeks warm at the thought of him coming towards her, looking her in the eye. It was an intimate feeling that she wasn't use too. She felt weak not wanting to look him in the eye but felt she lacked the type of beauty he'd want to look at.

"Sorry about that; it's the championship game-ball and we lost it in the celebration." Jason said, grabbing the ball from y/n's feet.

His voice was deep and warm; his damp hair sticking to his moist skin reminded her of a model posing by the sea. He was a dream and she lived in reality.

"It's okay." Y/n said, staring at the ground. She didn't feel like making eye contact.

Jason chuckled while heading back to his team; he'd seen this girl before but had no interest moving forward; his girlfriend was the queen of Hawkins High anyway. Chrissy Cunningham. For some reason, she was nowhere to be seen since the ending of the game.

The following week, Y/n had noticed Jason's demeanor change. Once a confident, prideful man to callous, irritated ass. You'd think he'd be at his best since the big win but instead he's acting like he lost completely. In Jason's perspective; he did.

Chrissy Cunningham had been hand in hand with one of Jason's basketball friends down the hallway. Clearly, they were still in the honey moon stage of their affair. It wasn't an adult kind of affair; Chrissy had broken up with Jason the night of the game for someone who'd swept her off her feet in his absence.

Y/n kept her opinions to herself, even during lunch when the loud whispers from all the lunch room increased at either Jasons or Chrissy's appearance. However, even with an increased attitude Jason kept his cool. He had to; his reputation depended on it. Sure, his first real love tore out his heart and stomped on it on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life; but he considered himself the man of the school. He'd be damned if he didn't hold his head up high and looked for a replacement soon.

If Chrissy could move on within seconds, so could he. He felt himself getting heated; looking at the other girls in the school. While they werent Chrissy, he knew he could find someone to love him just as much. There were 2 obstacles;

There was only 1 Chrissy Cunningham.

He'd have to pick someone who respected his position as top-dog but it seemed like most of the girls in school were laughing at him now.

It was Study Hall. Y/n had been planning out an idea. She didn't want to graduate this year without doing something new and had been researching DnD for the past few months. There was a Dnd club called Hellfire ran by an eccentric classmate of hers' Eddie Munson. Yeah he was cute too. But Y/n didn't WANT to think about that; she just wanted to do what she wants and then graduate. Don't cause attention, don't put yourself out there. Those were her rules.

However; it wasn't up to her to not stand out as Jason Carver had remembered her genuine shyness from gameday. It was cute and honest. So many girls in school pretend to be cool or bitchy to seem higher class without realizing that they were just unpleasant rather than interesting.

Looking at her, Jason really believed there was something there and was determined to make her his arm piece for the rest of the year. In the deepest parts of his mind he decided y/n had no choice.

part 2

#dark!Jason Carver #Yandere jason carver #stranger things #bully!Jason #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Yandere! Stranger Things #dark!steve harrington #dark!eddie munson #billy hargrove #max hargrove #dnd #yandere male

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marvelobsessed134 · 1 year ago

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Domesticated

A/n: first Steve fic it doesn’t really have a plot but yeah.

Dark!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of smut, dub/con, murder, housewife kink, breeding kink (not really), pregnancy, Stockholm syndrome, reader is held hostage kind of lol, kidnapping, manipulation, both Steve and reader are 18 but still in high school.

Summary: what happens when Steve gets so obsessed with you?

It was a normal day in Hawkins, or so you thought. You were walking along the street to school. You’ve been on your own for quite some time now ever since you were 16 so the loneliness didn’t bother you.

Little did you know that Steve Harrington has been watching you for a long time now. Ever since you transferred to Hawkins High he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You’re just so sweet and innocent. He’d love to have you as his pregnant, submissive little housewife.

And well, to pull off what he needed, he had to kill his parents. But it’s ok they never were around for him anyways. And he made enough money working two jobs to keep the house and such. Now all he had to do was get you.

And the perfect opportunity was right there, you walking alone by the woods. It was 7 in the morning and most people weren’t up yet.

You heard a twig snap and you looked in the direction it came from, seeing nothing. You shrugged and kept walking, maybe even a little faster than before.

You felt someone come up behind you with a cloth and you screamed before you saw black.

And now, you live in Steve’s house. Completely isolated. You don’t go to school anymore. But it’s ok school sucks.

Slowly but surely you gave into Steve and started to even fall in love with him. The dirty blonde couldn’t be happier. He loved coming home from a long day to see you vacuuming the floor, your hand resting over your pregnant belly.

When people asked where you were he just said you dropped out and are now living with him. And people can’t see you because you don’t feel well at the moment.

But finally at some point he let you go grocery shopping. You were so excited, looking at the small store as if it was Disneyland. You pushed the shopping cart down the aisles garnering look’s because you’re so young and clearly pregnant.

You ended up running into Nancy Wheeler and her mom.

“Y/n? Oh my god it’s been so long hi!” Nancy said happily as she hugged you. Her mom smiled but noticed your stomach.

Nancy did too, “Wow um, you’re very….pregnant.”

You smiled and rubbed an affectionate hand over your tummy, “Yeah.”

“Who’s the father?” Karen asked curiously.

“Steve. We’re getting married after the baby is born. It wasn’t planned but I love him and couldn’t ask for anything more.” You replied.

Her eyes widened, “Well…um I’m happy that it’s working out for you if you need any help let me know, I am a mother of 3 after all.” The pair quickly made an escape. Nancy got a lecture in the car about how to not end up like that soon.

When you got home, Steve jumped you in an instant and made love to you on the kitchen floor.

#steve stranger things #stranger things #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #dark!steve harrington #dark!steve harrington x reader

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ghostofacraving · 1 year ago

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Rlyyyyy wanna see some dark!Steddie where reader sleeps with Steve and stalker/yandere/toxic bf Eddie finds out and makes reader let him check their holes. Ofc Steve has a breeding kink so he came inside and Eddie is PISSED. just rails them while choking them out n every now and then he lets up saying smth downright diabolical

“you’re lucky I love you baby, if you were anybody else I’d fuckin kill you”

“Hold still, I’m not even started with you yet. Gonna fill you up over and over, make sure mine’s the one that sticks. You want that, right? Tell me how bad you want me to ruin you for everyone else”

#last line makes no sense but it sounded hot lol #eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things smut #dark!eddie munson #dark!steve harrington #marked Steve as dark Steve cause cheating

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wishing-on-a-staranise · 25 days ago

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Kiss it away, honey. pt.2

(s.h. x gn!reader)

part 1

Warnings: use of y/n; no pronouns used (gn!reader); half of this fic is flashbacks so soz if u have a problem with that; dark themes, horror/psychological horror, murder, death, hospitals; ignore any and all medical inaccuracies pls thenks; nightmares; arguing/shouting; gaslighting(?); bad familial relations; codependency; a general sense of dread :)

Word count: 12.8k

a/n: the world sucks, i'm sad, spaced out a lot and wanna jump off the face of the earth. here are my lil codependent babies to mess with ur mind a bit. enjoy!

also shoutout to sanjana for helping me out with going through ideas of this fic, ily<3

masterlist

…

Everything was supposed to be right. And it is.

Everything is right. Almost. Everything is right except Steve still remembers everything.

He thought he’d forget with you. He was supposed to. Like he always had before.

But he still remembers everything. everything; seeing you for the first time, kissing you for the first time, touching you for the first time.

The story goes that he first saw you in Family video. He didn’t. But he also did.

He didnt in the sense that there is no family video. no town named hawkins. he has no real memories of it. just stories and moments in his head, none backed up by actual memories.

Nothing before you.

what he does remember is you recounting it all with a spark in your eyes. So it might as well be real.

so, he did meet you in family video, Hawkins, when you came in looking for a movie to cheer yourself up. You did become friends and then you kept coming. And then one day, you had asked him to run away with you and he had said yes. That is how the story goes. because you said it.

he can almost imagine it too, if he tries hard enough.

His true first memory however, is of the two of you sharing the bed in this very same apartment.

It was dawn. lights out. quiet. The first thing he heard was your breaths while you slept. the dim sunlight filtered through the curtains, he found himself entranced by the vision of you. He could see your chest rising and falling with your breaths, your lashes brushed over your cheeks, hair a mess above you.

He loves you. That's all he knew then. Somehow he just knew. That's still all he knows.

His fingers searched for your hand underneath the blanket he was sharing with you. And when he found them, he pulled them up, warm and soft lips moving over the back of your palm, landing small and sweet pecks on every knuckle.

You'd stirred in your sleep before your eyes opened, nose burying further into the pillow, “honey, what are you doing?” Your voice came through a smile. You looked at him with sleepy eyes like he was your everything. Like you love him. like you've loved him for a while.

“‘m sorry, honey. Was just lovin’ on you”, his own voice came out rough and sleepy, nose burying its way back to the back of your hands.

“Loving on me…”, you had repeated with the corners of your mouth curling up.

The action made something blinding and warm spread through his chest. it made him want to see more of that smile of yours. He had let out a playful hum through the butterflies, a smirk of his own spreading across his lips, “that so wrong?”

“Not at all”, the pillows rustled when you shook your head, biting your lips but your grin spilled through it regardless.

He had pulled you closer, your hands squished between your warm bodies. You had smiled up at him all adoring as if you had done it for ages. And in that moment, all that rang in his head and heart was– you’re his. his person.

You had tilted your head, lips connecting to his. And it all just fit. slow at first, then deep. as if it was a dance you had done a billion times before. It was all fizzing and buzzing in his chest.

You’re his person. And it's all love.

Like two puzzle pieces, his hands reached up to fit your cheek and yours found their way to fit the nape of his neck. it all had felt so damn right. It was perfect.

like you were made for each other.

He’d laugh at that now if it didn't fill him with dread.

He doesn't mind that memory though. it's the other shit he loathes— all of this remembering. the silence he wants to forget. the truth he wants to forget. You being sick. you telling him that's none of it is real. Its you dying, he wants to forget. the days after. the loneliness. the silence.

it's his own dead face, he wants to forget.

He wants to forget all that. it's the ignorance that he needs back. the bliss of it.

For now, he remembers. He will fix everything though. He will make you make him forget.

But right now, you're kissing him by the apartment door.

after having just come back from a grocery run, your hands are all over him. it's taunting how you don't hold him how he wants you to. you don't hold him like you used to, with your fingers in his hair and massaging the nape of his neck, your lips on his. The way that makes him forget. The way you used to before you forgot that night. He just wants you to make him forget. the truth. the blood. the silence.

He even tried doing it himself, tried to do it like you used to. He tried forgetting. Nothing happened. He still fucking remembers. He reckons its only you who can make him forget– like you're two pieces of a puzzle, or the opposite poles of a magnet, moth to a flame or some other poetic shit like that.

your kisses are lovely against his neck, the slight graze of your teeth on the moles dotting his skin could pull a groan out of him. your free hand goes to knead at the muscle of his shoulder, nowhere near where he needs you. But all he can think about is your cold lips, lifeless hands, tubes, wires. how he's seen those same hands fragile and lifeless. the flicks of your hot tongue could make him melt away if he wasn't thinking about hearing your last breath. the long unending beep of the heart monitor flatlining.

God, he just wants to forget it.

Your fingers are wrapped around his bicep now, other hand flat on his chest. your lips are soft and warm, nose digging into his jawline, he can smell your shampoo and it's all so damn dizzying. It's great but it's not quite right.

every time you kiss him, he doesn't forget. You don't hold him like you did. It's different now. It just isn’t right. your fingers dont snake their way into his hair like they used to, they don't stop at that spot near the nape of his neck that always made him melt. your fingertips don't rub into the skin there anymore, feeling the pulse underneath. You don't kiss him like you did. the way that makes him forget.

you pause when you realise that he isn't quite reciprocating, pulling away slightly to look at him, eyes flitting over his features. His eyes are closed shut, hair a mess. brows pulled together, lips slightly parted. “Steve… you okay?” you ask with your brows knitted.

He blinks before wrapping his arm around you and pulling you back in. you’re warm under his touch. He nods quickly, a smile flashing across so quickly you aren't able to tell if it's real or not. He leans in, lips connecting to yours.

It's still you, he hates that he has to remind himself.

It's still you, who always makes an effort to make the simplest meals look a little pretty. It's still your adorable smile. You still hold his hand the same when he is cooking, kiss his knuckles when he hums a random tune. He still catches you looking at him when you think he isn't looking. You still smell the same. You still say his name the same, moan it the same.

when you lean to kiss him deeper, he unconsciously pulls away again, “Steve if you don't want to then–”

He shakes his head a little, “C-can I change first?”

…

When he steps out of the bathroom, he finds you already on the bed. “Hey”, he murmurs, you've changed out of your clothes now, a pair of comfy shorts on and Steve's old Hawkins t-shirt that he refuses to wear, saying it was too damn large and he hates wearing loose fitting clothes. as comfy as you look, the sight of the shirt only reminds him of one thing. Hawkins. Hawkins isn't real. He isn't real. you aren't real– well, that part is complicated.

“Hey”, you smile softly as he settles on the bed beside you.

“We can kiss now”, he says awkwardly.

You move to lie on your back, sinking into the mattress, “I figured you don't exactly want to right now”

“I… uh– it's not that I don't want to, I just– it's not the mood right now, you know?” he stutters through it, avoiding your eyes.

You hand reaches for his without even thinking about it. “That's fine. what ‘bout cuddling, that the mood?”

He is silent for a second and fuck he suddenly wants to kiss you now. Instead he nods, “Mhmm”, he hums as your thumb rubs over the veins of the back of his hand. God, he doesn’t fucking deserve this. he fucking killed infront of you.

“Come here, then”, you tug at his hand. He bends at his waist, face finding its place on your stomach. His nose pokes into the soft of your belly. You’re warm underneath the t-shirt. His t-shirt. He sighs into the fabric. God, he just wants to kiss you.

You both stay that way for a while. It's quiet, no words, no other noise. Just your breaths and his. Your heartbeat and his.

You are almost asleep when you feel his warm fingers creep their way under the hem of the t-shirt before they move to pull the fabric up a bit. A hot kiss on your tummy accompanied by another deep sigh is what makes you ask with a light chuckle, “What're you doing?”

He just wants to forget. He wants you to make him forget.

“Nothing, just loving on you”, his words are muffled as he noses his way up your torso before they find their place on the side of your neck.

“Steve…", your voice tapers off as his lips and teeth work on the skin of your neck, "y-you just said–”

“Just, let me honey", he pulls away only a little to look you in the eyes. His eyes are dark yet tender. right now, you can barely see the honey in them, but they're there. "Please?” he licks his lips.

All you do is nod before his hands are all over you again, lips on yours so quickly that it makes you dizzy. too quick. It's like he gets hungrier as every second that passes. Hungrier and deeper.

“Hey, woah, slow down”, he doesn’t. You push his chest a little, trying to make your voice sterner, “hey, Steve– Honey!”

He is still then. Looks at you with his pupils blown, lips parted and red from kissing you. His chest heaves, heart loud and fast under your palm. you're both sitting up when you ask, “you okay? You-your heart’s beating so fast."

“Huh, I have– y-you can feel my heartbeat?”, he looks at you as if he'll believe whatever you say and follows it blindly with devotion. I have a heartbeat?

You nod once.

“I feel... Okay?” he answers, face scrunching, unsure.

“You're not supposed to say it like a question, honey”, you try to joke, to lighten the obvious weird mood.

“I’m okay”, he doesn’t smile back before moving in to kiss you again. But before his lips could touch yours, you stop him– hands on either side of his face.

“Hey, just breathe, Steve”, you brush aside his hair even though it falls right back. he frowns when you don't let him connect his lips to yours like you're depriving him of air itself. like you're taking God away from a man devoted.

you tuck his strands again, trying to make him look at you, to make him slow down. “Hey, look at me? Breathe…” his eyes finally find yours, the haze in his gaze lifts a little as he tries to match his breathing to yours. “good", you praise him, rubbing his cheek. its when his breathing is close to even when you start, “Look, let's just not…”

“But I–”

“Steve...”, he doesn't listen. instead, he takes your hand and pulls it up to his shoulder, “Steve–”

“I’m not doing– I just– I just have this crick in my neck.” he freezes for what is a fraction of a second. because he said that. the other steve. the one he killed. His palm goes up to the nape of his neck, rubbing the skin there, “Can you uh..”, he trails off. He just wants to forget. “Can you give me a massage like you always do?”

After a few moments, you answer, “okay.” you sit up saying that, turning him around by his shoulders. The air is weird as you ask him where the hurt is. And as he pulls your hand up to where he needs you, his own hands shake.

You are gentle as your thumbs rub into the skin. Slowly, his muscles relax up. The atmosphere feels a little better when he lets out a satisfied groan when hit a particular spot.

That is when you feel it, “Weird..”, you mumble.

“What?”

“I dont know", your fingernails scrape a little over the raised skin, "you have these... I guess, bumps?”

you feel him tense under you but he still says calmly, “They've... always been there, haven't they?”

“I… I never noticed.”

“Well, maybe pay attention to me then”, it comes out more bitter than he would ever intend for you. He regrets it immediately. hates himself even more when your fingers stop. “Sorry, that was rude”, he instantly tries to backtrack.

you clear your throat, “You're fine. I should've paid more attention", shaking your head dismissively before as if saying it's no big deal. but your hands stay still where they were, not moving back to their rhythm they had on his muscles.

You feel his hand snake its way to yours. Once he has the fingers intertwined, he pulls you forward. “Hey…”, you almost admonish.

“Honey”, his thumbs rubbing over your knuckles as he turns to face you, looking at you with pleading eyes, “Please just let me kiss you, honey.”

"Steve..."

"please, y/n–"

"Steve, I don't think–", he won't listen.

“Just do it, honey, please?”

"Steve, why are you--"

“Oh my god, please honey, can you just do what I FUCKING TELL YOU!” His voice is loud. And angry. You shift away from him a smidge as your face falls, he feels your hand retract from his shoulder.

Everything is still then. Steve regrets it's soon as the frustrated words leave him. “No, no, no– I’m sorry," he starts, one hand moving to pull you back in to where you had been, the other going up to your cheek. "honey, please–”

You duck away from his hands, moving off of the bed, “Don’t shout at me.” you're frowning and it's all his fault.

His hand reaches out again before he stops himself, “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry, i’m just stressed, I didn't mean it like that– I didn't mean it like anything, I swear”

“I think I’m gonna go for a walk”, you state moving further away from him before trying to slip past him to the door.

He rushes to stand in your way, blocking the door, “No, no you can’t go–”, your nostrils flare a little at that despite your glassy eyes. He clears his throat, “I mean-- I'll go, honey. I’ll go, okay?" he bargains, holding his hands up as if surrendering and taking a step back. "I’m sorry”

And as he walks out the apartment door, you don't stop him.

…

Steve. he hasn't been back for a while now. you hate he shouted at you, but you really wish he'd come back so you could talk it out already.

The phone rings.

“Hello?” you say, expecting probably from one of Steve's friends’ voice; likely robin or dustin. But all that reaches your ears is the dial tone. There have been a lot of calls like this lately. Especially when its you picking up.

“Hello?” you ask again, brows scrunching in confusion. You wait for a few more seconds, before hanging up. prank call. Or the phones gone to shit.

You barely walk away a few steps when the phone starts ringing again. You let out an annoyed sigh and hold it up to your ear, not even bothering to say a greeting.

Beep. beep. Beep.

Furious, you slam the receiver onto the switch. Stupid fucking phone.

…

Some things don't change. It's 7:08 p.m. and he is here again. standing infront of the apartment door.

Theres things like that about you too. majority of the time, he isnt there when you come home, but on his days off, he always notes you walking in at 5:48 p.m.

When he walks in, he finds you by the kitchen island, making dinner. The kitchen counter. Blood on the kitchen counter. A cracked open skull. His own blood on the kitchen counter. He swallows. You have the cutting board in front of you, cutting vegetables.

When he looks up, he finds you smiling at him. And he wants to smile back, jesus, he wants to see more of yours, but couldn't make himself. He licks his lips, gaze falling to the floor. Blood on the floor. Fuck, he’s getting dizzy. His own blood on the floor.

“You’re home”, you say and he all but nods. "c'mere honey. help me out?" you say sickly sweet, nodding towards the ingredients infront of you. "gonna cut up some stuff, make us a little drink, please?"

he nods silently. Eyes ashamed and not meeting yours. He starts walking over to where you are in the kitchen. His toe catching at the corner of the wooden floorboard poking out, close to the kitchen island, making him stumble. A dead him on the floor with his insides spilling out. Half open eyes, jaw hanging. So much fucking blood. He definitely wasnt fucking jealous anymore.

“You okay?” you ask immediately, looking up from the onions on the cutting board.

He barely casts you a glance before his gaze falls back on the floor where he had just tripped. He mumbles a barely there “yeah”, before continuing to make his way towards the fridge.

You keep looking at him, hoping to see his eyes. Wishing he'd stop hiding them from you. But he smelled of shame. His shoulders drooped, making himself busy, preparing the drinks.

You sigh softly to yourself before turning back to the vegetables infront of you. You’ll talk later. You adjust your hold on the knife, continuing your work on dicing the onions.

The kitchen echoes of the knife against the wooden board and pouring of drinks. The metal in your hand glints when it slips a little. A shriek falls from your lips when the sharp blade lands on the tip of your finger. it stings and burns.

You hear steve drop the ice tray back on the counter. "oh shit, honey. hold on." he is so quick as he pulls you towards the sink, turning on the faucet. Though it hurts, you don’t even know if you're bleeding. Still the water changes colour to an orangish pink as it runs over your finger. As Steve holds your hand under the flow, you realise his fingers that wrapped around your wrist are shaking. You let him do whatever he needs to do. but damnit you also need him to calm down, he looks like he’s tending to a slit across your wrist rather than an accidental knick.

When the water runs clear, he turns to grab a paper towel. he's frantic as he does so. He applies the pressure a bit too hard. you hiss but try to reassure him nonetheless, "Steve, honey, it's fine."

"no, no. I gotta stop the bleeding." he doesnt look up at you as he dabs away the last drop of blood, he doesn't look up as he bandages you up. You wait for him to look at you as he looks down at where his hands hold yours. Or maybe its yours holding his.

the still after he's done kills you.

you cup his cheeks with your other hand. he is stiff under you yet he keeps looking at your hurt finger. you brush aside his messy coffee brown strands. tucking some of his hair behind his ear even though it falls right back. your hold his face for a bit, trying to make him look at you. your pinkie rests behind his ear, thumb tracing over a freckle on his cheek.

so close, Steve thinks, so damn close. your fingers are right there, your lips are right there.

he hears you sigh softly, eyes still not meeting yours before you close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder, nose nuzzling into his collar.

"you ok? feeling dizzy?" he is quick to ask.

"Steve. it was just a little cut. I'm not gonna get dizzy from that”, you smile at his overprotective worry, warm nose nudging into the crook of his neck. “besides, I can't not be fine. I have got the best nurse from Hawkins with me."

Hawkins. Hawkins is not real.

his shoulders go rigid and it makes you lift your head up, pulling back to look at him. You're looking up at him so sweetly, silently asking 'do you want me to stop?'

He smiles back at you after a second before landing a soft and slow kiss on the apple of your cheek. You put your head back where it had been earlier. Something spreads in his chest, then it tightens. He realises, you’re trying to calm him down. To ground him. As if he actually deserves it. fuck, he fucking loves you so much.

“I’m so sorry”, it comes out of him as a whimper.

“Its okay, Honey”, your voice is calm and soothing, “We’re okay.”

He leans in, putting his head on your shoulder as well. Your scent fills his senses. The tightness transforms into a warmth for just a second. He breathes out, exhausted.

“Steve, what is it? Just talk to me.“

He sniffs, “Think i’m tired. I’m just tired.” his voice comes out all thick and weary.

“From work?” you run a soothing palm across his back.

“I'm just tired honey. Tired”, and scared. “I… I don't know… it's the stress probably I–” he cant tell you, he cant. He cant lose you. Let you leave. He needs you. You need him. you're supposed to need him.

“Honey, don't hide stuff from me”

But he could never lie to you. You're his person. But you cant know. You cant fucking know.

“my baby, my honey, please don't cry”, he blinks. only now, realising that his eyes are wet and red, tears running down his cheek. He had murdered. In front of you.

"hey, c'mere", you try to pull him into a hug.

“I’m not good to you, y/n”, you shake your head, trying to shush him as he repeats himself, “I’m not”

"Steve. You are, honey. you are so good to me. d'you know how good you are to me? you treat me better than anyone ever has." you hold his face so he looks at you. "you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You're my steve." His face scrunches up, chin quivering as if he was on the verge of sobbing out loud. "you're my everything, honey."

He is finally looking at you, right in the eyes. his brown pools glisten like honey with his unshed tears. his eyes sunken, “You look so tired”

"Tell you what, honey, forget the drink, let's just have dinner, and sleep, okay? I'll even give you that massage you wanted"

"n- no, you don't have to-"

“I didnt ask.” You're looking at him, the way you always have. All sweet and loving like he’s your every and all. And he is.

The food tasted of guilt.

it is when you're washing the dishes, you say, “Hey, can you see the phone? It kept ringing earlier but then when i picked it up it was just a dial tone again”

“I’ll check it tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

He has ‘fixed’ the phone before. The day after that awful night. The night of tears and blood and phone calls.

She hasn't called since then. The new thing is empty calls. They only happen when its just you. And when picked up they're just that, empty. The dial tone.

He’ll fix that too.

He’ll carry the horrible things he remembers with him forever as long as you’re in that forever. If you leave then…. He’ll… he isnt sure what will happen. He’ll die maybe. If he ever was alive in the first place. He wont survive. He won’t be.

You need to stay. You’re happier this way.

Right?

It creeps up his throat. guilt. shame. What if you aren’t happy? what if you forgot that you aren't happy? He’s been selfish, he knows but what if he’s being selfish and making you live through something that you don't want? What if you don’t want it but just don’t know it yet?

He’ll fix this mess, he promises. He’ll fix it all. He'll fix the phone, clean up everything and make a nice dinner for you when you come back from work.

In bed now, your fingers rub over his skin-- fingers going nowhere near where he needs you to forget it all. “Feel better?” you check in.

He doesn’t. He nods anyway. He can’t lie out loud.

its as if he felt nothing as you rubbed at his skin. When you're done, you kiss him all over. the kisses taste of guilt. it all tastes of guilt.

…

“y/n get inside”,

Everything's a blur. There was steve. Then someone else as well. You weren't sure who.

You are hiding in your shared room. Peaking through the slightly ajar door. They both face each other, squared shoulders, loud voices.

You can't look away.

Steve lunges forward with a rolled up fist. His knuckles connect hard with the other’s cheek. There’s a shout. There are thuds. More knuckles hitting jaws. More grunts. They all sound the same.

it's Steve. Your steve. they both are.

it happens too fast and then it's over. Quiet.

Your back is to the wall, its like you cant breathe. The door creaks open. your steve. With a little blood on him, but he’s your steve.

He gives you that smile thats all endearment and adoration, yet the words that come out of those same lips contradict his easygoing and soft expression. “you can't stay hiding forever, honey”

you weren't sure how, but you find yourself beside the kitchen counter. your eyes land on the countertop. The deep, dark blood a stark contrast against the plain beige granite. The blood is viscous, almost brown. it doesn't look like actual blood.

When you look down, its steve. Except he’s not yours. He’s disfigured. Lips parted, eyes half open, lifeless.

And blood. A pool of the too-dark blood around his skull. Spilling from it. His skull, Steve’s skull. Tears blur your vision, bile rising up your throat. But the insides you expected to be there aren't there. It's hard to tell with the blood, but it looks nothing like flesh, you aren't even sure what it looks like. you just know it makes you want to look away. just when you're about to, he moves.

the disfigured Steve. his neck turns, facing you. his broken jaw moves as he horrifyingly chokes out, “You can't stay here forever.”

Its sickening, all of it. You feel yourself stumble back, bumping into the other Steve, “Honey”, you turn around and you are met with a face you're all too familiar with. Steve's face, alive and fine except for the blood thats splattered on his face and hands.

“Steve?”

ring-ring. ring-ring.

your gaze snaps towards the source of the noise. the bright red phone rings blaring loud from its place on the wall.

“it's for you honey”, this steve– your Steve says. you walk closer to the phone, it's ringing deafening yet you don't pick it up. it scares you, you realise.

and as the plastic of it clammers against itself with each passing ring, you stare at it, fists balled up beside you, heartbeat loud in your ears, breathing out of control. your mind shouts at you to pick it up.

pick it up. Pick it up. Pick. It. Up. PICK IT–

Beep. Beep. Beep. the phone is to your ear now, your hold tightly on it. and beneath the beeping you hear something else. or rather someone.

“I am not going to let you do that”, you hear a woman say. its faint. you really have to strain your ears to hear it. you aren't sure from where, but you recognize that voice.

“I’m thinking of the future, you can't stay here forever”, it's a younger woman. You know her too. You know both of them. it's voices shouting at one another. it feels as if you’re listening in on an argument. they are voices you think you've heard before. voices you haven't heard in a long while. it's all overlapping voices. all familiar.

just when you were about to put the receiver back up, blood. you see blood, seeping from the phone, bleeding through the wallpaper. it's dark and thick as it slowly trickles down the wall. you flinch away from it.

When you blink, you’re back in your room. Your heart practically beating out of your chest. you sit up straight immediately.

“Honey, what–” Steve is awake beside you, hair sleep mussed and concern etched onto his features.

“Steve?”, you say his name through a heaving chest.

“What is it?” he moves in closer, brushing aside the hair that was falling infront of your eyes.

You don't answer him, instead you hug him. your arms going around his shoulder, body draping over his.

“You okay?” he asks dumbly despite knowing you arent.

“I had– I just had the most horrible dream. it was–”, you stutter, burying your burning face into his neck. It's pretty damn hard to get the image of the cracked open skull of your lover out of your head. "god, it was horrible", you sniffle, shaky hands cradling the back of his head.

“Its okay, you're okay”, he says softly, hand rubbing your back to try to give you any semblance of comfort. for a while, the room just sounds of your sniffles. he speaks up after a while, “do you want to talk about–”

“no.” Your arms tighten around him.

“... well, whatever it was. it wasn't real, honey.”

This is another thing he learned. no memory ever truly gets erased. that moment where you saw him do what he did to the other him, although forgotten is still hidden somewhere in the recesses of your mind. it's some subconscious or unconscious mind bullshit.

he had killed. murdered. in front of you. for you. and he hates to admit it to himself, but he knows damn well he'll do it again. a million times. as long as you're there.

the floorboards can creak, stick up and trip him. his own visage can haunt him if it must. as long as you're his.

If lying is what keeps you here then so be it. He’ll lie a billion times. if it makes you stay.

…

Your eyes burn as you grab your keys but its not from sadness, no, its pure unadulterated anger. The straps of your duffel bag and backpack dig into your shoulders. Your entire room is in these bags now– your entire childhood, all your teenage years.

You’re as quiet as can be as you walk to your car, you spare one last look at the house you grew up in, where your parents and sister still sleep unaware that they won't find you the next morning.

You don't feel sorry for them. You don't feel remorse. You don’t feel regret. Not a single iota.

When you turn the key, the ignition is not nearly as quiet as you want it to be. You shift the gear, foot on the pedal, hoping that by the time anyone realises you’re far enough that they don’t get ahold of you.

It is when you drive past the sign that reads ‘visit again’ does it really hit you. You’ve left. You’ve done it. A grin spreads itself across your face, tears now dried. Finally, you laugh to yourself. You don’t plan on ever visiting again.

The ecstasy only lasts for so long, though. Because its around 3 am and the roads are dark, eerie and worst of all empty. On one hand, its a good thing, there’s no one to witness you, no chances of anyone reporting you. But on the other side, your instincts shout at you to find some light. The highway is way too damn dark.

Thankfully, the adrenaline is still high, you’re nowhere near sleepy to worry about stopping in the middle of nowhere or falling asleep on the wheel.

You put in one of the mixtape that was lying in the glove box. Songs you had listened to thousands of times before.

You plan on driving for a couple more hours then around sunrise, stop at a diner when it’ll be more busy, filled with mostly truck drivers, maybe some travelling families. More busy means less chances of anyone paying attention to you. That's what you want.

…

You’re sitting in your car, fingers tracing over the roads of the map. You have no idea where you’re going to go. You really should've planned something.

You take a huge bite of the breakfast sandwich you hold in your other hand. Its greasy smell made you realise just how hungry you really were. A piping hot coffee sits in the cup holder after you had burned your tongue with it.

Despite the warm orange light of the sunrise shining on your face, you were definitely sleepy now. But despite how much you wanted you, you couldn't rest. Not yet. You’re not far away enough. You’re lucky, the news of you running away probably hasn’t reached people's ears yet. But you’re going to run out of luck soon. Your dad has probably already called the police. They’ve probably started looking for you, or maybe not. You hope to god that the cops do an awful job like they mostly tend to do.

To throw them off your trail, you got off the highway and decided to take a more convoluted route away from your town. You still don't know where you’re going. You're not sure where you’ll go. just somewhere far, far away, never to return.

You drive among what are mostly trucks and maybe a few cars here and there. With the windows down, your hair flows with the wind. the smell of the fresh morning, aroma of the coffee you occasionally take a sip from, and the exhaust from the other vehicles fills the car.

you'd grown tired of your stupid mixtape somewhere around 6 am. and now that quiet eats at you as well, your hand reaches for the console to turn on the radio instead.

“--think the coffee I just made is a laxative level threat, so, if I end up shitting my pants in the middle of the show, I expect you lovely people to hold my hand." the radio host rambles on before pausing for a moment as if realising what he had just said. "I… pardon my french. I really hope my boss didn’t hear… any of this, he’s going to give me another strike..”, you hear a sigh and find yourself letting out a chuckle at that unexpected rambling.

the man clears his throat before he turns on his professional radio-show host voice, “Anyway! moving away from talks of the gut– Hello, hello, to my lovely ladies and my handsome gentlemen. this is Steve over here and you're listening to me and my ramblings.. and maybe a song or two in between– Based on your requests of course. Anyway, before we move onto the next song, my nerd friend– I'm saying that endearingly of course– he told me something about Stephen Hawking the other day…” he drones on and on, he really did mean the part about the rambling.

…

You need gas.

You’ve been driving for hours with little to no breaks in between. You suppose you’re far enough. Both you and your car need a breather.

You’re grateful that the gas station you pull into is mostly empty except for one car. You park and first make your way into the convenience store. Your eyes scan over the store, one employee, two teenagers. You sigh of relief, if you play your cards right, you won't get noticed as anything out of the ordinary.

as you scour through the snack aisle, the only other customers– two teenagers do so as well. Fortunately they were too engrossed in their own conversation to pay any heed to you.

“.. yeah, I mean I had left the room for like a minute!" the teen boy exclaims in a hushed tone, "and my mom was already showing suzie our family videos from when I was little. Even the ones in which I'm butt-naked, I was six months old but still..." the other boy snickers at that.

before you could hear more of their exchange, you make your way onto the counter where the cashier whose badge read Dustin was. You need to be out of here. Even if no one notices you, it only now has dawned on you that this place most definitely has security cameras. Once you check out and pay for the gas, you are out the door like the wind.

The sun had set about an hour ago, its getting dark quick and your eyes are heavy. Steve is back on the radio again, talking about god knows what. Yet you find yourself enjoying it, the baritone of his voice, the snippets he shares from his life. Almost like having a friend despite the empty car.

you don't know what happened. you were on the road. you had just blinked for a second.

Steve is no longer talking.

The alarm of your car screeches. the smell of smoke, dirt, and metal, pungent. Something is digging into your collarbone, your seatbelt. Your sides hurt.

You’re upside down.

The pain only gets worse when you try to move. Its blinding. You’re cold and lightheaded. Your eyes weigh heavier and heavier. It was already too dark yet it got darker and darker. God knows how long you are that way before the darkness fully envelops your vision.

...

The first thing you hear is sirens. then its a voice.

“..Can you– Can you hear me?”, you hear it drift in and out. Your ears ring. The sirens– whether its police or an ambulance, you're not sure. It's hard to breathe, hard to see. the back of your neck feels sticky. You feel something drip from the back of your neck to your cheek.

“Robs, I don't see much of a response”, the man says to his partner. You squint your eyes closed when a blinding light shines, burning your retina– a flashlight.

You groan.

you hear a curse from one of them. “Hey– hey, can you hear me? I need a response, can you–” you nod, barely before another wave of cold hits you. you cant help the shivers that runs through you. You whimper in pain.

you hear the crunch of boots over shards of glass, “Okay, okay. Don't move around too much. We’ll make sure you're alright.”

“shit, that's a lot of blood”, you hear another voice say.

your vision is too dark, too bright. Everything is a blur, the only thing you can see through your tunnel vision is the man in front of you. you look him in his determined eyes, “Am I...", you gasp through the numbing pain, "Will I … die?”

“What– no. no, no", his hair flops as he shakes his head. his voice like a rock in your delirium, you hold on to it. his brown eyes stare at you, trying his best to reassure and calm you down. "I'll fix this, okay? I’ll fix this.” And the strong willed arch of his brow makes you believe in him. “Think you can get to your belt?”

You shake your head weakly as you still try to reach for the buckle, the movement eliciting an exhausted wince out of you, “I can't feel… I can't– it hurts…”

“Okay, okay. breath for me, okay? Try your best to. I don't want you to do anything else, okay? Just breathe and– and stay awake. I’ll get you out in just a sec”, though his words reach your ears, you don't really hear them. a ringing settles in your ears.

The darkness starts spreading once again. you're so tired. you just want to sleep.

“Hey! Hey! Keep your eyes open, keep breathing. Hey! Do you hear me? Hey!”

…

“Hey."

“Hi", the boy looks up from his stack of tapes, his honeyed eyes go wide for just a second before he smiles at you, "how can I help you?”

“I’m…", you start, hands fidgety, drawing circles over the grain of the wooden counter, "I'm not from around here. Been having a bad time recently. Can you recommend any movies to...”

“Cheer you up?” he suggests with raised eyebrows.

a smile spreads across your features, cheeks warm before you nod.

He grins back even wider, features rounding up, “Well, you're in luck”, he says as he leads you to the romcom aisle.

…

The first thing you hear is the beep. beep. beep. of the heart monitor. When you look around you are met with dull walls, white lights, and scratchy sheets.

and then you see her. “mom?” your voice comes out rough, broken and barely there. she hears it regardless. she looks up from the magazine she had been mindlessly reading. her eyes go wide as something close to relief flashes across her face. She leaves the uncomfortable sofa she had been on, rushing to the side of your bed. You feel something in your stomach, its a weird feeling. Crazy as it seems, you think you’ve missed her, a lot. “you found me”, your words aren't exactly excited, they aren't devastated either. they come out monotonous, just stating it as it is.

“Yes, my baby, I did." her fingers are gripped tightly around the side of the bed you're on, "we did”, she adds, glancing at a corner of the room. when you look over, you're met with your sister. she doesn't smile at you like your mother does, she doesn't frown either, just stands by the foot of the bed. barely acknowledging that you're there.

your brows pull together as you feel your mother's fingers grab ahold of your hand. you look back at your mother and all that comes out is, “how?”

“the paramedics that found you, they recognized you from the news", her thumb rubs right above where the iv drip is hooked into you, "Called us immediately after they brought you to the hospital”

“Wh–what happened?” you ask through your husky voice.

“They stitched you up, its gonna scar pretty bad”, it doesn't really answer your question. She's always like this. of course it'll scar. you don't need her to point out how bad and ugly it looks and will look. The weird feeling you had in the pit of your stomach is gone now. “and doctor Henderson is gonna get you better and then we can get you back home”, you go stiff, pulling your hand to yourself and turning onto your side despite the pain that flashes in your bones.

“Honey...”, she starts without continuing, tired hands reaching for your shoulder.

It's like the switch completely flips. Home. that's not your fucking home. “I'm not going back with you. leave." Your voice is cold. you frown like you're a child. you feel like one.

The softness of her features disappear, her brows arch, “y/n, don't make a scene in front of everyone", her voice is clipped as well, not as warm as it had been just a second ago, "you're tired.”

“mom? it's okay,” your sister finally speaks up. her voice is calm, elegant and absolutely fucking annoying. “take a walk. call the doctors on your way back”,

you refuse to look at your mother as she leaves the room hesitantly, leaving just you and your sister.

“Where's dad?” you ask after a while.

“cafeteria”, she says, nonchalantly plopping herself on the sofa. she picks up a magazine from your mothers bag, she does so like you aren't half dead on the bed in front of her.

"What happened to me?" you question. But the only sound you hear is the machine beside you and turning of a glossy page. You try to turn to face her, but another wave of throbbing pain spreads through you. "Hey”, your voice shakes, “i'm talking to you."

"oh, you're talking to me? sorry, I couldn't tell with the heaps of people in this room."

If you could get up and leave with a huff, you would have. Instead you face away from her. You take a breath in, a pain blooms in your chest. you cough out that breath with a pained grunt.

“hurts? That's 'cause you aren't supposed to be on your side yet. broken bones. guess you're just used to making things worse."

you try to turn back again, but only makes the pain even more blinding. your hands shake, bones weak, the tangled mess of tubes and wires makes you want to fucking cry. tears spring up in your eyes, your heartbeat starts to spike on the machine, the machines scream.

It's like your chest is caving in on itself. Your breathing was rapid, yet you couldn't really breathe, you felt lightheaded, “god, what were you thinking? you really thought we would never find you?”

“Please–”, you call out her name.

“oh, right, you did it all for attention. guess running away wasn't enough, you just had to crash your car into a tree.”

you gulp. your head buzzes with the lack of oxygen. “fuck you”, that’s the last you manage to get out as you feel your lungs collapse in on themselves. The machines beside you start beeping even more wildly. You feel your chest move up and down restlessly trying to get some oxygen but soon blackness overtakes your vision.

It becomes just blackness. It's like you're underwater. You still hear the beeping. You hear voices, ones that don't belong to your sister, your mother or father.

…

“Wanna get out of here with me?”

He stops mid-chew of his cheeseburger for a second before he swallows it down and quips while gesturing around you with a fry, “The diner not your scene?”

“No– I mean, do you want to leave this town with me?”

your breakfast sandwich lays unattended in front of you. He says your name but he doesn't say anything after.

“You hate it here, Steve. Don't you want to start something new," your fingers reach for his, asking for his hand, you look at him expectedly, "with me?”

he looks down at his hands, licking his lips, brows pulled slightly together. you can tell he is trying to find an answer, you just hope to whatever higher power there is that he says yes.

you feel his fingers intertwine with yours and then tighten. He looks up at you with nothing but pure devotion in his eyes, like he'll follow you anywhere, “...where would we go?”

…

There's that beeping again.

You’re in a different room now. you hear people moving around you, talking amongst themselves. Voices you don’t recognise. “I don't know you”, you croak out, looking at the two people who have white coats on.

both their heads snap towards you. The woman with curly red hair walks up to your bedside with a smile, “you do now, I'm Dr Maxine Henderson, in charge of your case.”

“I’m Dr. Lucas Harrington", the man says as he adjusts the drip of your iv before he looks at you, "how're you feeling?’

“doped out”, you say through a smirk.

“might have something to do with all the drugs we gave you.", dr. Harrington jokes before he questions, "how's the pain?”

“mostly dull.”

their brows furrow. “but still there?” Dr. Henderson asks.

“Mhm", your throat hurts like hell, the more you talk-- pain finally catching up to you, "more on the left side.”

“Well, not enough drugs, I guess”, the man quips before he gets a new vial from the cabinet and a sterile syringe.

“what happened?” the question leaves your lips without you even realising. you were with Steve. you were supposed to leave with steve.

“what, the first time or the second time?” the woman asks as the man taps the syringe to get rid of any air bubbles.

Your brows pull together, “um, both?”

“you got in an accident. you were there for a while before the paramedics got to you.", she explains as she looks over a pad-- what you assume is your medical file. "hit your head pretty hard, lot of blood in your brain”

“Wait, blood isn't supposed to be in there?”

“I was surprised too when I found out in med school. turns out its supposed to be in your veins."

"semantics", you mumble.

she chuckles to herself before her eyes start skimming over the details of your file again-- her smile falling as she tells you everything. "You broke a rib and your clavicle. the trauma was pretty bad, you came here with your brains practically spilling out. your spine got messed up as well.”

Dr. Harrington moves to inject the syringe into the iv cannula. pain erupts in the vein when he pushes the medicine in, eyes screwing shut as you wince out loud, "great.” he rubs gently at the vein. The warmth soothes away the pain for the most part. you whisper out a thank you to him, he flashes you a small smile.

“After that when you woke up here, your lungs almost collapsed." Dr. Henderson continues, "went hypoxic for a while. we had to work on your brain in the surgery, the intracerebral haemorrhage was bad. worse than before. mostly affected the temporal lobe and the brain stem–”

“big words”, you croak out with a smile and droopy eyes.

“Too nerdy, isn't she?” The two of them share a smirk like it's an inside joke. He looks at her how Steve looks at you, all adoring.

You blink, eyes a little less sleepy, “... where–where's Steve?”

her brows furrow, “um, Steve?” Dr. Henderson gets another look at your file. her features morph into that of confusion, “your family–”

“My family isn't here." you immediately say, "I need Steve, can you call him?”

“.. there's no– I don't see a Steve here. your family is–”

you push up onto your elbow despite the pain, despite the fact the iv tube and the catheter attached pulls. “I need Steve!”

Dr. Harrington tries to push your shoulder to hold you back down, “Can you give us a full name?”

“Steve…", you rack your brain for a last name. nothing. you look at the other doctor in desperation before you repeat again, "Steve!"

"ok, y/n I need you to calm down– you're going to have another seizure."

your vision blurs. the grating sound of the machines, the bright lights, the people shouting at you-- it all mixes into a cacophony of unbearable stimulation. "I need Steve!”

it's the last thing you say before pain consumes you. It hurts so damn much. then it doesn't. it fades. all of it. then it's all nothing.

…

“Is there anything you can do?” Steve is tired. The doctors most definitely see it too. It probably emanates from him at this point. The pitiful boy with a dying partner who cant seem to catch a break.

“The damage is pretty bad. We did all we could with the surgery, Mr. Harrington. Its highly risky doing it again, and we aren’t even sure it’ll do any good at all. We’ve sedated the patient for now but once it wears off…”

“It’ll result in another seizure”, the other doctor chimes in.

“So”, Steve gulps, “there’s nothing?”

“There is…” the doctor shares a look with the other before looking back at Steve, “one option.”

“What?”

“Medically induced coma. it'll give the brain time to rest and maybe regenerate–”

“Okay.” it comes out immediately. Anything. He’ll do anything to have you back.

“Sir, I need you to know that the odds of this working are… low.” the other doctor who had been quiet, warns.

“So you're just taking a chance?”

He nods, “our only chance.”

…

Steve was both glad and loathing of the heart monitor. On one hand, it meant that you were alive, that your heart was still beating despite your still body. On the other, it was all there was of you now. All he heard of you for the past six months was the beep beep beep of the heart monitor. All he saw of you was when your eyes would move a little sometimes under your lids. All he felt from you was your faint pulse under his fingers.

He missed your voice, your laugh. He missed your eyes, your smile, the way that you look at him. He missed your touch, your kisses, the way you brush aside his messy strands.

And right now sitting on the chair beside you, wearing your perfume, he waits for you to wake up– like he has done for months now. You have to wake up. You have to. He can’t think of what he would do if you don’t– no. you will wake up.

Its been months. The doctors seem to have given up for the most part, the nurses send him pitying eyes– he hates them all.

With your hand in his, he clips your nails– he had never stopped to wonder before if people in comatose grew their hair and nails, surprisingly, they did. When he is done, he uses a moisturiser on your skin, it looked so dry lately. He does so gently, the skin felt so thin like it would tear if he pulled too hard. Your hands felt so light in his, so fragile, so…. lifeless. He tried his best to avoid the IV in your hand, the wire that was attached to the heart monitor, the tubes that helped your breathe.

He moves aside the wisps of hair on your cheeks. Rubbing the skin there, he gulps, fingers reaching for yours, rubbing over your knuckles.

When they first put you into coma, when the doctors were hopeful, they’d tell him to talk to you, that you could possibly hear everything. that it could bring you back.

“y/n…. honey, I miss you so much. everything is at a standstill. I just need you, honey. the doctors are very hopeful though," he lies. they aren't. They haven’t been for a long while. You aren’t getting better. But then again, you aren’t getting worse either. "They say any moment now, you're gonna get up and kiss me stupid", his face is overcome with a mixture of grief and nostalgia, a heartbroken smile.

It's so damn silent.

His ‘smile’ crumbles, "honey, please. I– I just miss you too damn much." he laments.

He stays that way, like he is everyday– sobbing silently, waiting on some sort of miracle. After a while, he finally sniffles, wiping his tear-stained cheeks and red nose, "I'm gonna bring us some of that shitty coffee and... should i go for the sandwich or bagel?" He kisses your knuckles and pauses as if you’ll actually answer back.

"... you're right like always”, he smiles again as if you’ve said something, as if there was a sound other than the machines by your bed, “breakfast sandwich it is."

He is almost out the door when he hears your voice, “Steve...”, it comes out barely audible but he hears it anyway. At first he thinks it's his mind playing tricks on him, he's officially gone insane. but he turns around anyway and there he finds you, weak, fragile but awake.

“honey? y-you're awake. I– I'll call the doctor–”

“No, steve”, you hold your hand up for him to take, “I’m sorry. I need to tell you something”

“Don’t move around too much. You need a doctor y/n–”

“I just need you Steve please, honey”, he finally takes your hand in his and finds that he's shaking. “Listen to me Steve. Please. I can't stay here forever. they're working quick."

"they? who's they?"

“Steve, what I'm about– about to tell you is… it's very important. I know I never told you much about my life before hawkins–”, the heart monitor's beeps start spiking.

“Hey, slow down–”

“I don’t have the time. Listen– I don't remember much after I left my parents house. I just remember leaving. And then….. The next thing I remember is you. I don't know how I–" your voice cracks, you pause to take a couple deep breaths in, "I don't know how… it happened. But you were there. And you were perfect and all I needed." your chest rises and falls wildly, you don't even take a second to wince in pain, “It took me a while to figure it out. I’ve hid things. I have been selfish. I’ve lied to you a lot, Steve. I– I can't anymore.”

"i dont understand..."

"this isn't real." you gulp, "none of this is."

"wha– of course its real, I'm right here"

"you aren't real, Steve. none of this is", you repeat again, as it will make sense suddenly. "I'm dying."

"you're not going to die–"

"no, honey. out there, I'm dying. they've kept me asleep so I don't. but they're going to wake me again. and I don't- I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to come back to you. I'm sorry. But you–”, your voice cracks again, your lip quivers, eyes red and glassy, “You can have your own life now. Anything you want– you can do whatever you want to do.”

“I– I’m calling the doctors.”

“Steve… I just want you to know– I love you, honey. More than anything. More than anyone, than the entire world.”

“Just hold on ok? Just breathe okay?” he tells you as he rushes to get ahold of any doctors or nurses. By the time he comes back, you're already gone.

…

Your mother cried when you woke up.

You’re getting better. That's what the doctors say. They’re all happy. Everyday they tell you family with a smile that you’re getting better. That they only need to monitor you for just a week or two more before they discharge you.

You lied. When they asked you who Steve was and why you had been asking for him. you told them you don't remember. but you do remember.

You miss him.

You miss him in the calls for dr. Harrington. You miss him when you saw the paramedic that saved you passing by. You miss him when you turn on the radio. Steve, the real Steve, the Steve who is a radio host.

But they’re not your steve. Your steve.

you're sitting up on the side of your bed, phone in hand. Now that you're doing better, most of your family is at home, it was your sister's turn to stay the night and she was down in the cafeteria or maybe she's somewhere else, not that you cared.

After being kept on hold for a while, you finally hear his voice, “Hello, this is Steve, what’s your name?” his tone is all chipper and professional like it always is on these calls.

“I’m…", you swallow, "I'm y/n l/n.”

“Thanks for calling in, y/n, anything you want to share with us before we take your request?”

“Uh, yeah. I– I just wanted you to know that your show…", you trail off for a second, trying to blink away the sting in your eyes, "it means a lot to me, your show.” your voice is quiet, still hoarse, you don't really talk a lot to anyone. “I love… your show”, you can't help the shaky smile that grows on your features.

The line is silent for a while, you doubt he's heard such sincerity on these calls, most of the times it's just fun jokes and small talk. “Oh… well, thank you so much. I… I really appreciate that. If I can provide any type of solace or comfort– that's… that's my goal, always. So– uh, sorry…", he clears his throat. you imagine its your Steve on the other side of the call. a twinge settles in your chest, "um what is your song request y/n?”

You don’t know why you hang up then. If anything, you wanted to hear him more.

you turn on the radio, “--lost the connection with y/n. But I really did appreciate that so much. y/n, if you call us again, I’d love to take your request. Let's– uh… let's move on to the next caller...”

The phone stays in your hand. Half of the numbers dialed already. You don’t move to add the rest. It isn’t him. He isn’t your Steve. You let out a shuddered breath as put you the phone down.

He’s not real. How can he not be real? If he isn’t real then why does he feel more real than anyone else in your life?

The back of your neck hurts, your stitches pull when you lie back down on your bed. and when you fall asleep, you wish to see Steve in your dreams.

…

You were gone. You had told Steve everything, you told him that you made him, that he never was real, that there is no Hawkins.

You can have your own life.

How could you have said that? You created him, didnt you know that you were his life? You were his purpose. He was made for loving you. He loves you like he was made for it… because he was.

The apartment is quiet, no heartbeat, no heart monitor. He feels empty, hollow. He needs you to hold him, he needs to put his head on your chest so he could hear your heartbeat.The silence is grating, it eats at him. It's unbearable, insufferable. All he has is your lingering scent on the pillows and the sheets. He holds your pillow at night. But sleep never comes. He doesn't sleep. He doesnt wake up. He doesn't go to work.

Anything you want.

He just wants you. Despite everything, he just wants you. Just you.

he'll fix you. He'll bring you back.

He isn’t sure when he succumbs to sleep, but he does remember his last thought before he does so. He will fix this. He will fix everything.

he falls asleep with tired red rimmed eyes. and when he wakes up, you're there. and you kiss him the way that he loves, the way that makes him forget. and he forgot. He forgot, but he had you. so it didn't fucking matter.

…

You are at work, whatever that is– Steve for the life of him can’t remember.

He has his day off and is keeping his promise– he has already fixed the phone, atleast he hopes he has. He has no idea how he would do it though.

Now, he is cleaning. He is already done with the bedroom and living room. He had left the dreaded kitchen for last.

He puts away yesterday's groceries in their respective places. Its all a little bleak. After everything that happened last time, he has made it a point to timely go to grocery shopping. Technically, you don’t really need it. Technically, you’re not real, neither is the food. Neither is anything he has ever experienced.

You are all he has experienced. And he is fine with that. He is more than fine with that. You are all he needs.

He is wiping the kitchen counter when his toe catches on something. When he looks down, its the floorboard, he tripped over the previous night. The wood pokes up at the corner.

That’s where his head had been.

The dread creeps up his spine.

He can't tell you. It's for your own good.

his jaw tightens. What's this rationalization anyway? Fuck this. you're happy. here with him. He is all you need.

The floorboard that sticks up mocks him. He is supposed to be all you need.

He stomps his foot over the corner of the wood. It hurts more than he expected. It doesn't budge. He can't let you notice. He stomps at it again. Pain flashes in his heel. Why the fuck does he feel pain? How can he feel pain if he isn't fucking real? The wood stays the same.

His nostrils flare. He moves away with a heavy stride to get his toolbox. The same toolbox he used to make sure you don't get any more ‘prank calls’. You can't know. He can't let you know. You're happy here.

You're supposed to be happy here. You're supposed to be here. You're his person. You're his purpose.

and just with a final heavy hit of the hammer, the corner of the plank settles into its place. and though it doesn't stick out anymore, it's far from smooth. It's definitely noticeable.

he can't let you notice. He can't let you leave.

the nagging thought embeds itself in him. what if you want to leave?

…

You’re kissing him.

He feels lightheaded in the best way possible. Because you have your one hand buried in his hair and the other starting to rub at the bumps on the nape of his neck. Right where he needs you.

God, he's finally going to forget. Everything is going to be normal now.

"th-thank you, honey”, a sigh of relief leaves him as you deepen the kiss. Your teeth scrape over the soft of his bottom lip. His arms tighten around you as he kisses you back, "thank you so much."

“Steve”, you almost whimper out and it makes him go deeper and harder. "Steve?” it's your tone the second time, one that didn’t sound so much of pleasure, that's what makes him slow down and pull away a little. When he looks at your face a pit settles in his stomach because you look absolutely terrified as you look at him with wide eyes. He feels you pulling away from his hold and he isn’t sure why, but he feels the back of his eyes start to sting. “Steve!--" when you are out of his arms, you look down at your hands which are painted a deep dark red. his breaths are too loud, his thoughts are too loud, it's all too much and you look at him so scared, "Steve, what is happening?" you ask with horror in your eyes.

That terror in your eyes is the last thing he sees before his eyes open. He finds himself sitting upright in bed with his chest heaving. He runs a hand over his face and through his hair as he tries to calm his breathing.

When he looks over, hoping to find you cozy and fast asleep under the shared blanket, he instead finds your eyes looking back at him, sitting with your back against the headboard..

"Why–” he clears his throat, “why are you awake?'

you pick at the skin around your nails, "couldn't sleep..."

“do you want to–"

"no." You shut him down immediately, eyes still on your hands. It takes you a while before you look back up at him. "You had a nightmare”, it isn’t really a question.

"It was nothing. I'm okay.”

“Steve…”, he knows that tone, he knows you'll ask him if he wants to tell you about it. he doesn't. he fucking doesn't.

“Can we go back to sleep?"

you both look at each other. there's something in the air, something so thick. but something neither of you want to address. “Of course.”

…

The next morning is your day off.

you aren't sure what to make of your dream from last night. you aren't sure why you didn't tell Steve. you aren't sure what there even is to tell. Hey, honey, I had a dream where I got a call on the phone and when I picked it up it sounded like people arguing over god knows what. they all sounded familiar to you. they're the same voices you always hear in your dreams.

you're making your breakfast when your gaze lands on the floorboard by the kitchen counter. one of the panels is caved in and discolored a little around the corner. when you step on it, it creaks.

something in you shouts at you to inspect closer.

The rest of the day is spent with mostly you trying to silence that voice in your head that keeps telling you to rip apart the floors.

...

When Steve gets back at 7:08 p.m., he finds you on the floor with tools around you.

“Honey? wh-what are you–”, he doesn't bother to take his shoes off or his jacket when he sees the blood on your hands, “are you hurt?”

“No, it's the floor–”

He doesn't even hear what you're saying, 'cause there's just so much blood. “of course you're hurt; look at all this blood, I've gotta clean you up–”

“Steve", it makes him look up at your face and he finds your brows furrowed, "what blood?” When he looks back down at where his hands hold yours. your hands are clean and untainted. no blood. "Steve?"

"What the fuck were you doing?" he himself doesn’t expect the harsh words that leave him.

"Excuse me?"

“it's like you're being intentionally fucking stupid.”

“Steve–” if he would’ve stopped for even a fraction of a second he would’ve noticed the rage creeping up your neck.

“If there was something wrong then why the hell did you not wait for me? It's my job. I'm supposed to fix everything. why can't you listen to me FOR ONCE."

“don't. shout. at me.” you warn, holding up a finger. but he's all anger. you were so close to knowing. you can't know.

“... go to the bedroom.” he can't let you know. you're happy here.

you shake your head once with your nostrils flared before stomping towards the apartment door.

“Honey", you start putting your shoes on. and he regrets it, of course he regrets it. but he can't let you leave. “Honey. I didn't–”

“didn't mean it? I know. I know you didn't mean it and you're so sorry and that it's because of stress." your other shoe is on, and your grasp tight around the door knob, "stress about God knows what, cause you sure as hell don't tell me about it!”

“y/n–"

“What is going on with you”, you finally turn to look him in the eyes. In that moment, Steve almost crumbles down into a heap infront of you to beg for your forgiveness. To beg for you to stay. to beg for you to punish however you deem fit but not leave him.

“nothing–”

“from the last–I don't know–month or two, you've just been so out of it. it's like I'm talking to a wall and you're in your own head, and when you're not doing that, you're lashing out on me." you frown at him but your palm finds its place on his cheek anyway. "just tell me what's going on with you.”

He can't tell you. He pulls your hand down, ignoring the burning in his throat, “nothing. nothing is going on.”

you swallow, looking down at where your hands intertwine, “what's under those floorboards?”

“nothing.”

“Stop lying, Steve”

“I'm being honest. it's nothing.”

“no you're not,” you look up at him and he just knows you can see right through him.

“You… you don't wanna know. trust me.”

“I do. I want to know. tell me.”

“you don't– you don't mean that.”

“I mean it Steve. I want to know”

he nods. his palm rises, thumb finding its place on your cheek. you can't know. he is sorry. he is so fucking sorry. And he will repent and pay his punishment but he can't fucking let you know. he leans in. He just has to make you forget. But just when your lips are about to touch, you turn away. He can't help but beg, “honey, please. just–”

“No. Tell me what's under there Steve.”

he isn't sure how, but looking you in your eyes convinces him. you want to know. He could never lie to you. He’ll do whatever you ask him to. He would lie, beg, steal and kill for you. And if you just asked, he’d tell you the truth, “okay, I'll tell you”, he gives in and he means it.

He leads you to where he had found you earlier by the kitchen counter. He picks up a hammer. He steals a glance at you. This could be the last time he does it. he is going to lose you. He couldn't fix this.

He sticks the hammerhead's claw into the dented corner of the floorboard. with a grunt, he pulls at it. the wood splinters as he pulls it out.

and there it is.

the files. the pictures. the maps.

“What's all this? what does this mean?”

“'re you still sure you wanna know?”

You nod and he tells you. He tells you everything. from the beginning. to now. the end.

And you listen. and as he tells you, he can see the memories slowly coming back to you as shiny tears pool your eyes– threatening to fall.

fuck, he's going to lose you.

"How come I don't remember anything?" When he is done explaining, you finally question with red, wide eyes.

He walks closer, fingers barely brushing behind your ear and over your cheek. over the raised skin, “you feel that?” You curl a smidge into his warmth without even thinking as you nod. “These bumps... I have ‘em too." he gestures to the back of his neck, "they make you forget.”

“Forget? forget what?”

“everything. they're why you don't remember”, he pulls his hand back to himself. "But you remember now, don't you?"

you nod as a tear finally runs down your cheek, leaving a wet trail behind. He has lost you.

"I'm not going to take the choice away from you. it's up to you." he blinks to get rid of the tears that blind his vision. He instead lets them roll down his face. He doesn't care if he looks like a pathetic mess, he just wants to see as much of you as he can, for as long as he can. " If you want to leave, you can", he swallows the rest of his oncoming tears as he continues, "but just– kiss me one last time before you go? just make me forget it all, please."

you walk a step closer to him. He feels your warm hands nestle his face and he can't help but lean in one last time. "Thank you", he lets out shakily as your thumb rubs over his cheekbone.

He is waiting for you to connect your lips to his when he feels your other hand reach for his. He watches dumbfounded as you place his palm on your own face, "what're you doing?"

"Nothing", you smile, all adoring and lovesick, "just loving on you."

"What?"

“it's okay, honey", you reassure him as you feel his hand find its place like puzzle pieces. or magnets. it just fit. like you were made for each other, because you were.

you remember now.

You had run away. You had left all ifs and buts. All uncertainties. You live with your one certain now, Steve. Your Steve.

“You know why I made you?” you say, lashes clumped together. and through them you looked at Steve as if he hung the stars. “because I hated the world. Hated everyone in it. I wanted it to burn. I left it for you. then why the hell would I ever leave the one thing I ever loved for a world that doesn't care?”

Steve is stunned. He didn't lose you. and you're still here and looking at him like you have all the time in the world. and maybe, you do.

"Please, just kiss me?" you blink away the last of your tears as you ask so sweetly. and who is he to deny you. He could never deny you.

When he leans in, so do you. and your hands are in their place, and his are in theirs. and it all just fits. it's all just perfect. his lips meet yours. it all feels like his first memory. slow then deep. a dance you'd done a million times, a dance you'll do a billion times.

you're his person.

and when you both pull away and look at each other, it's all adoring smiles. It's all love.

"So, what're we making for dinner?"

...

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