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pinkypromisepascal · 7 months ago

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Handiwork - Jim Hopper x fem!reader

summary: Hopper shows up with a nasty cut so you lend a helping a hand and patch him up.

content: MDNI ofc, friends to lovers, subby!Hop, Hop has a hand kink, just minor descriptions of the cut, handjob, cum eating (oops), no physical description of reader except for pretty hands and jewelry

author's note: I had so many people look at this, thank you so much @strang3lov3 @umnitsa @endlessthxxghts @ievutebebe for looking at this and helping me work this out! Also I know the moodboard and title say fem!reader but technically this can be seen as gn!reader too, fem!reader's just my default mode.

word count: 2.6k ao3 link: here

You got home from work four hours ago, ready to bask in the comfort of your small home in Hawkins. Despite the beautiful sunny weather outside, you find yourself more comfortable on your couch with a big cup of your favorite tea and a new book you've been dying to read.

You haven't moved an inch in the last hour, too engrossed in the book's plot. A sharp knock at your door pulls you out of your thoughts. You have no clue who it is, but you don't wanna be rude and ignore the person, so you get up with a tired sigh and open the door, only to find Jim Hopper looking down at you, pressing a bloodied tissue to his head.

"Hop, hi, I-... wow, what happened?"

Jim looks at you, his blue eyes kind and warm as always when he's with you. "Might have gotten into a little brawl at the bar," he admits sheepishly with a little eye roll.

You step aside and let him in. "For good reason at least?"

He shrugs, "Just had to handle a drunk guy and you know... some glass broke." You take a look at him, peeling the tissue away just enough to look at the cut going diagonally from his left eyebrow. "Thought you might come in handy, I'm out of gauze," he says dryly, "And I really don't need a hospital bill right now."

Fair enough, you think.

He wordlessly follows you to the bathroom and just lets his eyes follow you as you gather the supplies you'll need. He notices the ring on your index finger, the one he got you for your birthday a few months back. He'd never admit to it, but he's always been a little fascinated by your hands. And that fascination has gotten stronger over the last months. He never really thought about hands that much, what they might say about people, but he's watched yours take care of El's scraped knee, watched them pet stray cats, seen those fingers wrap around a bottle of beer at his place. When he looks at his own hands, he just thinks of them as burly, callused.

But yours? They’re soft, gentle, even in the most mundane of tasks.

He snaps out of his thoughts when you clear your throat and turn around again, putting stuff on the vanity behind him. You cock your head and chuckle, "Need you to get a little more on my level, big guy." It takes a second for him to get the hint, but then he puts the bloodied tissue aside and sits down on the toilet lid, legs spread so you can step between them. You nod approvingly and can't hide a little smirk at the height difference between you two. Neither can he.

You grab a small towel and hold it under running water for a second before gently dabbing at the cut, cleaning the dried blood. He hums and closes his eyes. "Sorry," you mumble, your other hand tilting his head a little to get a better look at the cut. He feels the rings on his skin and suppresses a noise in his throat. The corner of his mouth twitches, "No, 's the cold that feels nice." "Enjoy the cold, only gets worse from here," you quip and snort when his eyes snap open. "Just some antiseptic and a few stitches, you can handle it. You're in good hands with me." "Hm, never doubted that," he retorts and closes his eyes again.

You pat the wound dry with another and then reach for the antiseptic, putting some of it onto a sterile gauze compress and then gently holding and dabbing it against the wound. He hums again and clears his throat in discomfort. "Ah come on, you've had worse," you tease softly. He smirks again and nudges your leg with his, "Shut up." "You shut up."

He feels a shiver down his spine when you carefully touch the area around the cut, checking for swelling or signs of infection. He slowly takes a deep breath, careful so you don't notice his tension. He feels the blood rushing through his body, his thoughts running a mile a minute. “You’re always so gentle with your hands,” he mutters softly, and you thank him bashfully. You mumble something, asking if he’s still good. When he opens his eyes, he catches your gaze, your eyes still warm despite the cold white light of your bathroom.

"Hope I'm not ruining your evening plans with this," he suddenly says. You put the compress aside and scoff, "Please, we both know I don't have plans. You're basically my highlight of the day." He cocks his eyebrow, immediately squinting as he feels the pain from the currently bad side of his face, "Oh really?" You smile proudly at him, "Mhm."

His heart skips a beat. If only you knew the effect you're having on him right now. He hasn't always felt for you like this, recently things have just been feeling different. He feels more at ease with himself. He's trying to allow himself a little more fun again, a little more peace. And in all the years he's known you, he can't remember when your presence hasn't brightened his day. You've always been the highlight of his day.

He smiles at you, and you realize your hand is still on his cheek like before. You pull away and take a deep breath, "Okay, so... stitching's gonna be a bitch." Hop just shrugs, "Someone told me I've had worse, so I think I can handle it." You laugh and nudge his belly with the back of your hand, "Can't be in too much pain if y'keep making bad jokes." The shiver runs from his spine between his legs. Jesus Christ.

He's drifting off again, gone in his thoughts about you, about your hands, your hands on him while you're so close to him, so focused on your task. He's sure you can hear how wild his heart is thumping in his chest, or feel the fluttering of his pulse in his neck where your hand is resting again, keeping his head in place and occasionally tilting it towards the light. And he hopes you don't look down. Anything but that. He's dying to move, to let his hands feel yours, feel them on his body, eagerly exploring him.

You say something, but he doesn't hear what, he's too far gone, imagining what it would be like to feel those heavenly hands wrapped around his co— A snap in front of his face brings him back yet again.

"Sorry, what?" You tut, "What's got you so distracted today? Did you hit your head during that fight? I was asking if you feel any pain." He suppresses a groan, then swallows and only replies with "No." Somehow the pain only makes him crazier for you. "Good, then you're all done," you say with a smile and start putting the supplies back.

Jim tries to shake off his thoughts without making his head throb too much and gets up, now leaning with his lower back against the vanity, right next to you. "How many times can I come here 'fore you start charging me?" You chuckle to yourself at first, and his heart skips a beat again. As you look at him, you only now notice his busted lip and grab the still damp towel to wipe the dried blood off, standing between his legs, then wipe your thumb along the spot. "You're free to show up here anytime, big guy," you smile, and he's sure you don't mean to sound so sultry. Maybe it's his mind playing tricks on him. Still, there's no more denying the near painful strain in his jeans now. He's hoping you don't feel it, almost embarrassed about it. Any move to adjust himself will just draw your attention to it.

"Much appreciated," he replies smugly as you look at him. Everything about you is just—

"You seem awfully tense, you okay? Feeling dizzy or something?" He cocks his head slightly and bites the inside of his cheek, crossing his arms in front of his big chest. "Little headache," he lies.

You smirk at him, "Hm, little headache or maybe something else bothering you?"

Before he can ask what you mean, he feels your hand press against the outline of his cock, making him draw in a breath.

Jackpot.

You can almost see his thoughts racing behind his gorgeous eyes. You close your hand around him, just a bit, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He's uncrossed his arms, his hands gripping the vanity's edge as he stares you down. Your eyebrow cocks up, challenging, daring him.

Your heart's beating in your throat, and you can feel his body heat. Part of you doesn't know if what you're doing is wrong, if you should talk about what's happening or just stop right here and never speak of it again. This is definitely crossing a line and you don't know how things will be after. Yet another part is screaming at you to keep going, and you think he feels the same.

"You need me to take a look at this, too?" You ask, your voice suddenly quiet, a new undertone to it that Hop hasn't heard from you yet. You're getting cocky. He risks a quick look down to where your hand is, smooth against the raging boner that's been straining his pants for at least fifteen minutes now, the ring he gifted you staring back at him. Oh, fuck. He clasps his big hand over yours and looks into your eyes again. God, yes. There's a glimmer in your eyes that almost undoes him then and there. "Don't look at me like that," he mutters.

His mind is racing, blood rushing through his body. He bites back a groan when you move your hand beneath his, your fingertips reaching his belt buckle. "What's wrong with how I look at you?"

He ignores your question, you're just teasing him right now, enjoying how he's losing himself. "You're what's distracting me. You and your damn hands." "My hands?"

He nods slowly and swallows. His body is screaming for some friction, some relief to the craziness that is this situation. You move your hand again and he lets it go, never breaking eye contact. You unbuckle his belt, popping the button of his jeans open. “You don’t have to–,” he starts, but you tut him. "What is it about my hands?" You ask innocently as you shove your fingertips behind the waistband of his boxers, slowly dragging them and his pants down just enough to wrap your hand around him. He breathes out with a hum as you oh so slowly drag your hand along his length, eyes fluttering close.

"This okay?"

He huffs out a laugh, not daring to look at you right now, his grip on the vanity tightening, "Yeah. More'n okay." "Now tell me what's so interesting about my hands that it's got you rock hard like this, Hopper," you say, and he can hear the damn smile in your voice. Your thumb wipes over the tip before you drag your hand down again, picking up the pace just a bit. He shakes his head and opens his eyes again to look at you. Oh, you're enjoying this a lot. His jaw tightens as he tries to find the right words. "Shut up," he grunts. "Aw, come on," you insist with a cheeky smile, "Just wanna know what goes on in that dirty Chief of Police mind of yours. What more is there when just my hands got you like this, hm?" You tighten your grip for a moment, and his belly tightens, keeping him from making a sound.

You murmur sweet nothings, encouraging him to indulge in his thoughts. His gaze drops down to your hand stroking him. “Your rings, fuck–” He loses his words as you twist your wrist just the right way, his knuckles turning white as he’s gripping the edge with all his power. “Oh, do you want me to take them off? Are they uncomfor–?” “No,” he replies, hips slightly moving towards your touch, a low groan rumbling in his chest, “Keep’em on.” “You like how they feel?” You ask. He takes another deep breath, focusing on just letting your hand work him. “Like how they look on you. ‘Specially that one,” he rumbles and you know which one he’s talking about. You bite the inside of your lip, but the smile still spreads as you look at him. “Hm, wonder why,” you muse, picking up your speed, urging him closer to the edge. He clears his throat hastily, “Don’t play stupid, you fucking know why.”

You stroke him faster, noticing his breath faltering a bit. One of his arms slings around your waist, pulling you closer to him to lean his forehead against yours, cussing under his breath. His hooded gaze bores into yours with such a carnal need and longing, almost making you lose momentum. Your free hand drifts up his torso, toying with the top button of his shirt and slowly popping it open, letting your fingertips lightly dance over his warm skin. Jim’s hips buck into your hand again and his eyes flutter close, he’s drawing in a sharp breath. “Tease,” he growls, followed by a short, breathless laugh. You chuckle softly, “What’s the matter, big guy?” He looks at you again, a light sparkle in his eyes, “Matter’s that I– hm, won’t be able t’stop myself ‘f you keep this up.”

“Then don’t.”

He scans your face for any signs of hesitation and just finds that maddening smile of yours again. His legs and belly tighten. His other hand cups your face and smashes your lips together for a heated, bruising kiss. His mustache scratches against your skin and you whimper at feeling him nip your bottom lip. Your body freezes momentarily, and you’re only brought back to reality by Jim’s hand wrapping around yours, tightening your grip around him even more, and moving your hand with his. “Just like that,” he hushes into your mouth and with a few more quick strokes the tension in his body finally snaps. He’s kissing you again, muffling his broken moan, tongue swiping over your lip.

You keep your fingers wrapped just below his tip, changing the grip in small pulses. Your thumb swipes over the sensitive head, making him shudder through his release, his warmth coating your hand and shirt. Your other hand is resting above his racing heart, beating so fast you’re worried he’s gonna be dizzy. He slowly tears his lips from yours, his thumb wiping softly over your cheek.

His eyes flick down for a second and his face flushes. “Sorry ‘bout the mess. Usually have better manners than that.” You look down and snort, tugging at your shirt, “Ah, this old thing’s seen worse.“ You smile as you bring your glistening fingers up, “As for these…”

Jim watches breathlessly as your tongue darts out to lick over each digit, releasing each with a wet pop. “You‘re enjoying yourself a lot right now,“ he notes with a smirk, smoothly tucking himself away. An innocent shrug is the only answer he gets. He rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance and clicks his tongue.

You grab his face to pull him in for another kiss. He can taste himself on your lips, feeling the blood rush through his body again, his fingertips tingling with eagerness to touch you. His hands drop to the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping beneath, shoving the fabric up your torso. You raise your arms, letting him go all the way till he tosses your shirt aside, lips immediately locking together again. You chuckle.

“Not done with you yet,” he hums with a content sigh, “Time for payback.” “Careful with that, big guy, you’re still hurt.” He pecks your lips and smirks, “Thought we’d agreed I’ve had worse?”

I'm a slut for feedback so don't hold back and tell me how you liked this! Like, comment, reblog, slide in my asks, whatever you prefer! Thank you for reading, I hope you're eager for more.

#jim hopper x reader #pinkysfics #jim hopper x fem!reader #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper smut #stranger things fanfic

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jjscrybaby · 2 months ago

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𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 💿 — 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔

masterlist.

steve harrington x fem!reader | angst/fluff | (a lot of reader x the other characters cause i’m a sucker for found family, i got way too into it and added full on lore so sort of messed up family warning, ptsd. shitty ending cause it was getting a bit long and i wanted to write something else lol.)

writing this made me want to write a full fic about it, but idk if anyone would be interested in that. let me know if you’d want to see something like it! it wouldn’t be exactly the same, obviously, but along the same lines.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Hawkins doesn’t look much different from when you left. The trees are caked in snow, the grass is all dead and icy, the buildings are locked up tight for the night with extra locks because no one ever truly feels safe anymore. You remember, back when you were young, your mom wouldn’t even lock the front door sometimes; it would be dangerous if you lived elsewhere, but Hawkins was known for it’s safety and lack of thugs and thieves.

Your eyes travelled over the empty streets as you drove, nausea sitting uncomfortably in your gut. It had been two years since you last stepped foot in your home-town, and yet everything feels exactly the same.

The house that sat in front of you was decorated head to toe in decorations, lights hanging on the roof and a blow-up snowman on the lawn. Hopper and Joyce loved going all out for their two teens, El never got to experience Christmas before a few years ago and Will deserves to have new memories of Christmas time. You climbed out your car and the front door was pulled open, Jonathon stepped out.

“There she is!” He beamed, stepping towards you with open arms. You grinned, wrapping your own arms around him excitedly.

“Long time no see,” you smiled, pulling away. The nausea settled now that you were seeing a familiar face.

“You’re two hours late, got scared you weren’t coming… again,” Jonathon stated, moving to open your trunk and get your bags for you. You sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m an asshole. I know,” you replied, a self-pitying smile on your face.

He shook his head, closing your trunk and carrying your suitcase under one arm. He ruffled your hair as he walked past and back inside the house, you following close behind. “No one thinks you’re an asshole. We just miss you around here.”

Before you could respond, you were getting bombarded by a girl who has definitely grown over the last two years. El’s arms wrapped around your waist, smiling up at you. “You’re here!”

“Hey,” you greet enthusiastically. She’d learnt a lot over the last couple years, you could tell from the monthly calls you have, but you didn’t think she fully understood why you hadn’t come back to visit yet — she may be the only one.

“Your hairs different,” she stated, tugging on the ends of your hair. You just laughed as Hopper, Joyce and Will also appeared in the hallway.

“Hi, honey,” Joyce said warmly, hugging you.

Hopper was next, kissing the top of your head; he’d definitely softened since the last battle. Will had grown the most, towering over you now as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Look at you,” you laughed. “Not 4’11 anymore, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, smiling sheepishly.

“How was the drive?” Joyce asked, arm wrapping around your waist as she lead you through the foreign house and into the kitchen.

They’d moved in here just after the final battle, but you’d also left at the same time. You’d seen pictures from El mailing them to you, but you’d never actually seen it with your own eyes. It was homely, comforting, a lot like the old Byers’ house. You were happy they’d made the decision to move back to Hawkins rather than go back to California, it was obvious no one was enjoying it there and Hopper didn’t want to leave.

“Exhausting,” you sighed, leaning against the counter as Joyce turned on the kettle.

“Well, we’re happy you’re here,” Hopper smiled. “It means those two can finally stop pacing the house.” He pointed to El and Will.

“We weren’t,” El argued, shaking her head.

“Not sure how your feet aren’t aching by now,” Hopper teased, making her stick her tongue out at him.

You smiled softly at the exchange. You could remember when you all thought he was dead, the effect it had on Eleven. It had broken your heart, for more reasons than one. Growing up, you’d spent countless hours in his office at the station; petty theft, underage drinking, cps calls. He became somewhat of a dad to you too, and yet you still left him behind.

“I missed you guys, too,” you smirk, ruffling both the teens hair. They groaned, pushing you away as if you were an overbearing mother.

“I think they all missed you. Robin and Dustin spent an entire week trying to talk their way into being here when you arrived, but we figured you’d be tired and those two are the last people you want to see when you’re tired,” Joyce explained.

Robin and Dustin, two of the ones you missed the most, but not the one. Seeing them would just remind you of him, although you were well aware you’d be seeing him as well. You’d been so close to cancelling, making up an excuse about having to work Christmas Day and promising to see them in the New year, but you did that last year. You felt guilty, and deep down you didn’t want to spend Christmas alone in your dingy apartment in a city you hate.

“I’ve put your bags in the guest room,” Jonathon said, walking into the kitchen just as Joyce started to pour cups of tea.

“The guest room? Damn, this place is fancy,” you joked.

“Technically it’s meant to be El’s room, but she spends most nights on a mattress on Will’s floor,” Hopper explained with a pointed look at his daughter. You couldn’t blame her, she’d grown up completely alone; it was about time she had people around her.

You sat around and drank tea in the living room, a Christmas movie playing as white noise in the background as you chatted about your life now, and theirs. You heard all about school for the teens, about Jonathon’s new job and him and Nancy thinking of getting their own place, about Hopper and Joyce’s wedding plans. That was another thing you’d have to visit for, but at least there would be more people; easier to hide in the shadows.

When you crawled into bed, pyjamas on and eye bags heavy, the door creaked open. Joyce stood there, coming to sit on the edge of the bed when you gave her a warm, sleepy smile.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” She asked quietly, incase anyone was listening in.

Tomorrow. Christmas Eve. The day you’ll have to see everyone again, the day you’ll have to see him.

“I’m feeling okay. I’m excited to see everyone,” you murmured back.

“You know we’re all here for you? If you need a break or anything…” she trailed off, but you knew what she meant.

“Thankyou, Joyce. And thankyou for letting me stay here. Robin offered, but I didn’t really want to stay with her and… y’know,” you explained softly.

“No worries, we’re happy to have you. We’d keep you forever if we could,” she joked, making you laugh tiredly. “Go on, get some rest. El will be waking you up nice and early, she’s been practicing making breakfast.”

“God help us,” you muttered, making her laugh. “Night, Joyce.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

As you’d been warned, El woke you up just past eight am to cook breakfast together. You’d all sat down and eaten the eggs and bacon, talking about the plans for the day. Today was supposed to be more chill, just meant for reuniting and getting more into the Christmas spirit. It was tomorrow, Christmas Day, when things would become more intense.

You showered and dressed, putting on some jeans and a white, long-sleeved top. When you went down the stairs, Nancy was already here. She gave you a welcoming hug. The two of you were never that close, but when you’ve fought literal demons together you become family.

Next was Mike, who gave you a hug and then an insult just to not cringe himself out. Then came Lucas and Max, her walking had improved by far; she barely had to use the crutches anymore. When the next knock on the door came, you held your breath. Joyce pulled it open and Dustin and Robin stood there, barging past her to get to you. You laughed as they tackled you in hugs, telling you how mean you were for not visiting more recently. When you looked up though, the smile dropped off your face. There he stood, holding a homemade pie with a stupid Christmas jumper on as he said hello to Joyce.

For a moment, time stood still. You were 17 again, utterly in love with Steve Harrington. He was just as in love with you, the two of you sat three years ago watching Christmas movies and feeding each other cookies after you’d cried in his arms over all the people you’d lost. Joyce and the kids had been in California, Max had been pretending you all didn’t exist as Lucas tried to get her to let him in, everything had sucked. It had sucked a little less with him by your side, though. You’d at least had a shoulder to cry on.

“Hi,” he murmured, a gentle smile on his lips as he stepped towards you. Joyce had taken the pie, that meant his arms were free. Were you supposed to hug him? Shake hands? How did you greet your former soulmate?

“Hi,” you echoed, just as softly as him. Eyes were on the two of you, everyone waiting to see what you would do; you felt just as lost as them.

He made the decision, strong arms wrapping around your waist in a fleeting hug. His cologne filled your nose, the same one he’d been wearing since he was fifteen. He pulled away, hands lingering just under your shirt as he stared down at you.

The breakup wasn’t his decision, which was why you’d been so anxious to see him. What if he hated you for how you left things? One second you were planning on moving in together, and the next you were telling him you couldn’t do this anymore and fleeing across the country. You hadn’t even heard his voice since that night.

“You look good,” he complimented, taking in your appearance.

“You too,” you smiled. He looked different, yet the same. His hair still perfect and eyes still warm. There was an exhaustion behind them, one that all of you shared. He was freshly shaved, very clean looking. He always had been, though. With his parents being so pristine, he had to be. You were the lucky one that got to see him before he was ready for the day, messy hair and sweats on. You always thought he looked perfect.

“Let’s go sit,” Joyce decided, noticing the slight awkwardness between the pair of you.

The large group of you moved to the living room, all squeezing in. Hopper sat in his armchair, the one you were positive used to sit in the cabin, with El on the arm of it. Joyce, Nancy and Jonathon on one couch, the kids young adults all on the floor and you, Robin and Steve on the other couch. Robin took the middle, thank god, you’d shoved yourself into the corner before she could force you into sitting next to him.

She wanted the two of you back together more than anyone, every time she called she’d bring him up; it was a ploy to force you into thinking about him. She didn’t understand why you left, why you ended things with him. She never blamed you, of course she didn’t, but you knew that sometimes she wanted to just scream down the phone at you for answers as to why you broke her best friend’s heart.

“It’s so weird to have you back here, good weird obviously, but weird,” Robin babbled, arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s weird for me too,” you laughed softly, looking around the living room.

There was a wall of pictures that you hadn’t noticed last night, ones of the family and also the rest of you. You featured in a few, and it made you smile. Even with you not living here, not seeing them in two years, they’d put you up there. One of the photos caught your eye, it was from before the Snowball dance, you, El and Steve from when he’d dropped you to the cabin to do her makeup. She had her dress on, and Hopper had wanted to snap a picture. Steve was stood behind you, looking down at you with a loving smile as you kissed El’s cheek. That same picture was on your wall in your apartment, the only thing that makes it feel like home.

You look back towards Robin, eyes meeting Steve’s. He just stares, it’s like now than no one’s watching the two of you his facade of being perfectly fine is gone. He’s staring at you like he wishes you were someone else, or wishes you weren’t there at all. You don’t blame him, you feel the same way.

“How’s Chicago?” Steve asked, but from the tone you could tell he didn’t really want to know — or he wanted you to tell him how terrible it is.

It was terrible, you hated it. You had a shitty job as a waitress in a diner by your apartment, your neighbour was a creepy old man who kept inviting you in for a chat and you had no friends. You felt completely alone, but the horrors that Hawkins held were just too much for you to deal with.

“It’s okay,” you replied quietly, nibbling on your red-painted nails.

“Great,” he replied sarcastically. You carried on smiling, it was strained and awkward but you didn’t want to make things even more uncomfortable by starting to cry.

The next few hours were a blur, catching up with your friends (mainly the ones four years younger than you) and helping Joyce make dinner just to get away from the conversation you knew you needed to have. He deserved closure, an explanation, but you weren’t ready to give it. You weren’t ready to open up.

“How are you doing?” The question caught you off guard, eyes going wide as you turned to look at Hopper. You were pouring yourself your third glass of wine, finally able to legally drink in front of the sheriff. “With the holidays, I mean. I know you’ve never really enjoyed them.”

“I’m okay,” you replied, sipping from your glass.

He didn’t believe you, the way his eyebrow raised told you that. “You know, you’ve always got a place here. I don’t know how Chicago is, you never really talk about it, but if you ever want to come home then you have a place to stay.”

“Thanks, Hop,” you murmured, tears welling up in your eyes as you gave him a soft smile. “I just— I think me coming back would be too weird.”

“You can’t not come back because you’re afraid it would be weird, if you want to be here then you have every right. This is your home, kid. Doesn’t matter what you left behind,” he argued firmly.

You spent the rest of the night going over his words. Was he right? He’d left once too, but that wasn’t by his own accord, everyone was thrilled to have him back. It wasn’t the same. You knew if you truly decided to move back to Hawkins you’d have to have that difficult conversation, and you’d have to deal with seeing Steve more than once every couple years. You didn’t even know anything about him anymore — was pizza still his favourite food, did he still hate horror movies, did he have a girlfriend? You hadn’t even thought about him moving on, but there was a possibility, you didn’t think he’d wait around for you forever.

It got to midnight and everyone was still there, you didn’t realise you were having some sort of group sleepover. Joyce and Hopper headed to bed, telling you all to behave, next was El and Max who headed to Will’s room. Lucas, Dustin and Mike were sharing the pull-out couches and Jonathon and Nancy were in his room. That left just you, Steve and Robin. What you should have expected was for Robin to fall asleep on the last couch, the place where Steve was supposed to sleep.

“Well, great,” Steve muttered, looking around. He tried to shake Robin, but she had one too many margaritas; she was out cold. “Guess I’m sleeping in the bathtub.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you sighed. You didn’t want to share your bed with Steve, but you didn’t feel like you had much of a choice. You couldn’t leave him to sleep on the floor, or the bath, in the middle of December. “Just come on.”

“What?” He looked over at you in confusion, before realisation hit him. “Uh…”

“Don’t be a child, Steve. You haven’t got any other options,” you argued, walking away from him to head up the stairs.

He followed you, walking into the bedroom behind you. You both looked at each other awkwardly, moving around to get changed and ready for bed. When you crawled into bed you felt your heart race pick up, the bed dipping beside you as he laid next to you silently.

Minutes ticked by, you thought maybe he’d fallen asleep from the soft sounds of his breathing that filled the room, but then he spoke up. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“What?” You whispered back, throat growing dry.

“When you left, you didn’t say goodbye. I had to find out that you were gone from Robin. I know we weren’t together anymore but… I thought I deserved a goodbye, at least,” he muttered.

“You did,” you murmured after a moment of silence. You felt him shift, turning to look at you. “But I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of seeing you, I thought if I told you what I was planning you’d manage to talk me out of it,” you explained quietly, squeezing your eyes closed as they filled with tears.

“Was that possible?” He asked.

You nodded your head, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your cheek. “Everything sucked, it still does, but… at the time… it was just—” you trailed off, a sob catching in your throat.

“We don’t gotta do this right now,” he reassured, concern filling his voice. He turned his body fully towards you, moving closer.

“Yeah, we do,” you argued. You were a little tipsy, you were in the dark and there was no way of escaping him. This was the perfect time. “After everything with my parents, I was terrified of losing people. It was like, my biggest fear. Then everything happened with Vecna, and for four years I had to lose countless people. I had to worry constantly that I was going to lose you.”

“You never—”

“Just let me finish,” you pleaded, voice full of pain. “After the final battle, after I nearly lost you and everyone, I was still terrified that it wasn’t over. I was having constant nightmares, seeing things, it was literally torture. I had to get away, and apart of that was leaving you.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me about this?” He asked softly, hand reaching towards you but hesitating at the last second.

“Because, Steve. You were doing so well, you were so happy. I didn’t want to drag you down with me,” you sobbed

“You wouldn’t have been,” he argued calmly, finally taking your hand in his to squeeze tightly. “You were the love of my life, you understand that? I could’ve helped. I— I still could.”

You looked up at him, lip wobbling. “You still could?”

“I love you. Always have always will. You don’t like it in Chicago, I know you don’t. Robin tells me how miserable you sound, and from seeing you today I agree with her. You’re not happy, but you could be,” he explained, leaning forward so your faces were only a couple inches apart.

“Even after everything I did?” You asked shakily.

He smiled softly at you in the darkness, moving further forward until his lips were brushing against yours. When you didn’t push him away, he leant in fully and his lips connected to yours. Your tears continued to run down your cheeks, but now they didn’t feel quite so sad.

“That answer your question?” He murmured against your lips, making you giggle quietly. You nodded your head and he grinned back. He looked over you at the clock that rested on the bedside table, his grin growing at the time. “Merry Christmas, beautiful.”

“Merry Christmas, Stevie,” you smiled, kissing him once again.

Chicago wasn’t for you. Hawkins would always be where you’d end up — because of the people that had been waiting there for you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #i hate this actually #my attention span is nonexistent

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sheisjoeschateau · 1 year ago

Text

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART IV

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Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: major character death (?), more plot-driven smut, strong language, anxiety-inducing themes, panic attacks, co-dependency, hot n heavy but low-key emotional s*x. MINORS, DNI. 18+

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

When you do manage to get yourself out of bed and dressed for the day, which consists of an oversized long sleeved shirt that you stole from your uncle (because you liked it) along with some leggings and long white socks, you tell yourself to take a deep breath and accept whatever fate awaits you.

You've made your bed (literally, and figuratively speaking) so now you have to... well, not lie in it...

Anyway.

You walk downstairs to smell Steve at work in the kitchen, cooking up something delicious. Eddie sees you first, on the couch.

He grins and waves. "Mornin’, princess.”

You smile and give him a little wave. "Howdy."

Robin walks in with a first aid kit to give him fresh bandages, visibly sagging with relief when she sees you.

“Oh thank God, you’re up. These kids are already on one...”

You can’t help but snort a laugh at that, taking in her frazzled state, and you ask her what you can do to help but she just says in a desperate voice, “Coffee, please, I love you.” You grin and nod, hearing her and Eddie fussing over his dressing as you make for a hot cup of coffee.

You can hear the kids all around the corner, chirping lively from the kitchen. Even El is in there participating. Hopper’s voice is in the mix somewhere, grunting something about “indoor voices.” Your uncle is arguing over something with Erica, balls deep in a heated debate.

When you round the corner, your eyes first land on Nancy. She’s sitting at the bar with Jonathan. She smiles at you shyly. Jonathan greets you out loud.

“Bauman Squared is up.”

The kids all get in a tizzy of excitement. Erica’s excitement is short-lived, given her intense debate with your uncle. But Dustin is rushing over to you, blabbering about something pertaining to the lifespan of canned goods, and Mike is chiming in from the table saying, “No, Dustin, hold up, okay? So, Bauman, this is actually how it started.”

But your uncle cuts him off, asking them why they call you that when you both share the same last name. Joyce teasingly points out that he’s Murray and you’re Bauman.

Hopper adds to that, “yeah man, get with the program. Your niece is our favorite.” He shoots you a wink, and you give him a finger gun of approval.

Your uncle is rolling his eyes, but shoots you a desperate look — “Coffee. Black. Strong. Gracias.” Erica resumes her debate with him.

You grin as you move to go get your uncle a much needed cup of coffee, finding that Steve has stopped flipping the pancakes to look at you with a soft smile and scooting over a hot mug of coffee to you.

But it’s not for your uncle. It’s for you.

“Two sugar, light cream, right?”

The way that Steve murmurs the question to you makes you weak in the knees. You settle for giving him a tight-lipped grin and nod.

“Yeah, thank you,” you murmur back.

Steve moves to grab another mug, moving to pour another cup of straight black coffee for your uncle. You can’t help but notice the curve of his biceps as he does, secretly admiring his face while the coffee pours from the pot. The way his white t-shirt fits him just right, his gray sweatpants sitting at the jusssst right point of his hips.

You swallow. Fuck.

You get a hold of yourself before he’s handing it over to you. He winks. “It’s strong. I promise.”

You smirk back at him, raising the glass in thanks before walking it over to your uncle.

You don’t notice the way that Steve tries to hide the overwhelming thoughts in his brain, signaling his evolving feelings for you.

And you also don’t notice now Nancy catches it, or how it uncomfortably makes her heart seize...

But you do notice your uncle staring at you with those damn all-knowing-eyes, while Erica incessantly jabbers on about whatever the hell they’re debating. You and Murray exchange the quietest but most intense glares.

And Hopper's got half a donut hanging out of his mouth as he happens to catch the tail end of this. He wants to ask, but decides it’s best to hold off on that.

***

The day goes well. The house is always staying busy, so it keeps you all that way. Hopper is calling for a family meeting in the living room, which gets everyone in a tizzy.

The boys will always, at some point, try to take over. It takes both Joyce and Hopper to set them straight.

Your uncle makes sure to throw in his usual statement: “peanut gallery hours will follow the meeting, thank you.”

This meeting is no exception, and it goes exactly like that.

Will makes great points, as always — and he is allowed to, along with El, given their ties to the supernatural.

Jonathan and Nancy always listen the best. One of them takes notes.

Normally, you sit next to your uncle or Eddie while Steve always takes a seat next to Robin.

But this time, as you sit next to Murray at the end of the couch listening to Hopper try to push through his conference lecture while Dustin interjects like crazy, your heart flutters as Steve moves from the staircase over to sit on the arm of the couch -- next to you.

You sit still, not letting yourself react or look up at him. But you also forget to breathe. Thankfully, he’s too busy telling Dustin to can it so he doesn’t notice.

Robin is slowly shifting back in her seated position in the large loveseat, having been prepared to make room for Steve. She’s too grateful to have it to herself to feel suspicious yet.

Eddie, however, clocks it. What “it” is, necessarily? He doesn’t know. Like honestly, he’s not even in the ballpark. But still, he notices so yay gold star.

Nancy does know what “it” is, though, when she catches it. Or at least she has an inkling. She’s not the note taker today, so she’s able to catch it. She wonders to herself if maybe she is just overthinking it, given her conflicted feelings for Steve while still with Jonathan.

Steve is actively participating in the conversation with the adults, and you chime in as well. Once you’ve gotten a grip on yourself.

Something is being said about needing to go on a supply run, but also how they need to get over to the main field and see what is happening at the lab — which is now squared off with all electric fencing. The kids are LOUD, demanding it be them. Hopper shuts that down real fast.

“So help me Goddddd, listentome.” — Hopper

“Kids, shh, calm down…” — Joyce

“FETUSES, SILENCIO.” — Murray

The kids relent with rolled eyes and groans of displeasure. Hopper rubs his temples, resetting. Then speaking —

“I will be assigning roles. You will hear them, and you will accept them. Deal?”

Everyone nods, agreeing. Even the kids. Great, you think, so they’ve learned to know better than push their luck that far…

Hopper is assigning 4 separate groups to 4 separate tasks.

In one group: Robin, Nancy, Will and Joyce. They will be making the supply run.

In the 2nd group: Dustin, Erica and Murray will be staying here to run the command center. Murray’s the boss. He grins, but also wants to jump off a cliff for the fact he has been assigned the responsibility of managing the two loudest kids in the group. Lucas will also stay with Max, while on lookout at base.

In the 3rd group: Hopper, El, Mike and Argyle as the driver. They’ll be assessing the damage done, pertaining to the gate re-opening. They’re on Vecna patrol.

In the 4th group: Jonathan, Steve, you and Eddie. You’ll all be venturing over the fence to spy on the lab and get a look at what is happening over there, while reporting back to Group 2.

This sends Dustin to a fit of determination, as he insists that he joins your group so that he can help with the walkie-talkie communication since Lucas and Erica can man the fort. (Murray definitely takes offense to that.)

Hopper huffs but doesn’t disagree with the suggestion. “Don’t let this give you any sort of false pretenses, kid. This is the one suggestion you’ve made that is sensible.”

Dustin just grins like a dopey idiot. Then he looks at Steve. “Yay!”

Steve rolls his eyes but honestly, he’s cool with having his buddy.

The plan is to go into effect early tomorrow morning. Meaning, everyone needs to get some good ass sleep and tuck in early.

You’re in your room now, having just showered and put on your pajamas with freshly brushed teeth. You’re putting together your combat outfit for tomorrow when there’s a knock at your door.

You expect it to be your uncle, since earlier he was going over strategies with you for an obscenely long time — which is his very awkward way of indirectly saying, “hey, you’re my niece and I love you and I’m worried about you because that’s what family does.” So you figure he’s drawn up another 10 plans to run by you, and you're happy to humor him on them.

But it’s Steve on the other side, looking shy and like he might’ve had to talk himself into doing this in fear of how you might react.

You give him a surprised but pleasant smile. He stands there, returning it timidly. There is a silence that falls over both of you. Then finally —

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

You have to literally restrain yourself from jumping at that question with a way-too-eager oh thank god, yes. Instead, you just give him a polite grin.

“Yeah, of course,” you say.

Steve lets himself in, and he looks over to see your outfit set aside for tomorrow. He nods at it as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Tryna look badass?”

You smirk. “I am a badass. I’m a Bauman.”

You expect Steve to scoff. To roll his eyes. Make some snide remark. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, with that same look on his face that he had this morning while you two laid in bed together. You can’t break away your gaze for a moment, almost hypnotized.

God, he is so beautiful. Why the fuck is he so beautiful?

Finally, you break the stare down by moving to get your combat boots out from the closet and place them beside the clothes.

And that’s when you feel it. His fingers brushing the edge of your t-shirt, hooking onto it so that you turn around. You do, letting him turn you to face him. He’s looking at you intently, and slowly he pulls you towards him to cage you between his spread legs as he sits on the edge of the bed. It’s half shy, half confident. Gentle but assertive. You stare down into his doe eyes, and you hold your breath when his fingers splay across your hips as they grip onto you. You’re so close to him now, too close yet somehow not close enough. You can’t breathe.

After soaking you in, Steve reaches one arm up to pull your neck down to his face so that he can brush the tip of his nose against yours, just like you did last night. Ever so slowly, be nuzzles. Eskimo kiss.

And then his lips are finding their way to be against yours.

Steve kisses you softly, taking his time and just breathing you in. Then he sighs into your mouth as he stands so that he can lift you up, making you swing your legs to wrap around his waist and hold yourself to him there. He turns you both around, effortlessly walking you over to sit on top of the chest of drawers. Damn, he's strong. Steve places you there, lips still on yours, before he finally pulls back. His hands glide down to the bottom of your shirt. Please, his eyes ask. But this time, he wrenches your shirt off of you with more vigor than last night. It’s urgent, and it’s still urgent when his lips crash back into yours before wrenching himself back again so that you can tug his shirt over his own head. He grunts impatiently, wanting to not be apart from you yet needing to be skin to skin. He paws and grabs at you, needy and greedy, but something about it feels a whole lot more like love than lust.

Steve tastes like summer. Sunscreen, popsicles and June. He smells like pool water and boyfriend. And he looks like a dream.

You wonder how in the world he would have felt if he’d been told during his King Steve era that one day, he’d be having sex with that one student who graduated a year early and didn’t belong to any niche crowd or group or clique. You wonder if he would scoff at that, wave it off. Say, nah, that girl? Never.

But the way that Steve keens into your neck right now, murmuring sinful names for you like angel and baby, makes you wonder if King Steve wouldn’t be able to understand that the new and improved Steve Harrington might just happen to be into things he never was into before. Maybe he’d gotten close with Nancy. Maybe you were a rebound. But he didn’t kiss you like that. Or treat you like that after your first time, for that matter...

And the second time was just as euphoric as the first time, just different. Steve was more in control, clinging to you and unafraid to go for it.

Before you know it, you’re up against the wall with your bare chest against it and your legs spread widely and his mouth on your ear. Tugging at your earlobe with his teeth and his shaky breathing, infused with his pleasured grunting humming inside of your eardrums. You pant and bite back the screams that you so fucking badly want to release. but you don't, not wanting to wake the entire household or get the attention anyone awake. However, you made sure that he knew you were in pure fucking bliss with the way you arched your back into him and dripped all over his girth.

“Been wanting to be here inside you all day,” he rasped, thrusting against you. “Didn’t wanna leave this room.” His words break up as he pounds himself deeper into your guts. “Needed to — to — n-n-need you —”

You throw your head back against him, climaxing at his words for the second time in a row tonight. His arm linked around your waist tightens, gripping you like a lifeline, and he chokes into your ears — which only sends you into an orgasm unlike anything you’ve ever felt in your life. And Steve shares the exact same experience as you do when he ejaculates inside of you.

You both pant and gasp for air, your heart rates racing at lightning speed and trying to level out. You’re both slick with sweat and sex, and as Steve rests his head against your shoulder it sends chills up your arms when his hair flops and tickles your bare skin.

Steve pulls out of you, and you shiver as you feel him leave your body, inch by inch. The loss of him is overwhelming, and your legs shake. But before you can even move to catch yourself, Steve is already turning you to him with a steady grasp on you.

The way that Steve strokes your hair, moving it out of your face as he stares into your eyes again, is priceless. You can’t help it…

“You’re beautiful, Steve Harrington.” You breathe it against his face, still catching your breath. The corners of your lips twitch, almost like you want to laugh or smile. “I can’t stand you.”

Steve looks at you like you’re all that matters in this world. The pads of his thumbs stroke the skin under your eyes, softly, gingerly. He moves to press his lips to the corner of your mouth, breathing against it, “I can’t stand you either.”

Feather-like kisses are pressed to the corner of your mouth and cheek, and you revel in the glory of it, pressing your skull into the wall with your eyes fluttering shut.

Steve falls asleep first that night, with you tucked underneath his chin and with his arms holding you protectively. You let the sound of his steady breathing lull you to sleep.

***

The next morning comes sooner than you’d like.

You feel someone squeeze you tightly to them, pressing their lips to the crown of your hair before they roll out of bed. You watch as Steve’s back muscles flex while he tugs his sweatpants back over his boxers, then throws his shirt back on and heads to your little en-suite bathroom for a few minutes. You force yourself to sit up, knowing that it’s time and you’ll need to get ready.

Hopper would be so mad if he knew about the 5 hours of sleep you got, versus the 8.

You’re pulling out a pair of socks to go with your boots when Steve emerges from the bathroom, and before you can stand up and move to switch places — he’s cupping your cheeks to kiss your forehead in two lingering pecks. You smile under his touch.

You give him the shyest of looks before going to brush your teeth, re-shower and get changed.

Steve quietly murmurs to you the promise of coffee as he leaves. And he is all you think about in the shower.

You get changed into your army pants, combat boots, and fitted t-shirt. You grab yourself a windbreaker and throw your go-bag over your shoulder, ready to face the day.

Dustin is securing the command center with Murray and Erica, while Mike comes over to you carrying snacks.

“Here, I set extra aside so that you have plenty.” Mike always treated you more like a sister than Nancy, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by her. You ruffle his hair and give him a quick squeeze, grateful.

Lucas and Will are asking you questions about the trip, along with Mike, and you assure your kiddos that you’ll all be fine.

Hopper comes over to you with Murray, entrusting you with one of their guns. “You’re the group's team lead today, along with Steve.”

Steve’s got his nail bat, along with a pistol.

Murray is going over the inner workings of the lab’s field layout with you and your group.

“The break switch is in this building,' he's saying. "But thanks to Erica and Dustin, we’ve got a way of hacking into it at exactly this time. You’ll have this much time to mount the electric fence and get to the other side. Seize. Those. Minutes. Haul ass. Get to the other side. No asking why the chicken crossed the road. Capiché?”

The way that Jonathan, Eddie and Steve repeat the word back to him makes you visibly bite back a laugh.

Joyce is giving everyone the nurturing mama bear talk, hugging everyone too many times — especially Jonathan. She has Will in her group, so she’ll be a little more sane in the head thankfully.

Nancy and Jonathan are giving each other an affectionate goodbye that Steve doesn’t even notice. Nancy wonders if he does. Silently, and selfishly, she hopes he does. But he doesn’t.

Robin is rambling about something having to do with a jump-ship plan in case the jump-ship plan doesn’t work, and if they need to establish not only a 2nd abort —

“— but maybe even a 3rd abort? and wait is there really enough backpacks that they’re taking to fit all the supplies and can goods that they — ”

“Oh my god, Robin, please breathe,” Steve cuts her off.

“Wait, what’s the jump ship plan?” Argyle’s question makes everyone whip their head in his direction with incredulous looks on their faces.

Hopper looks ready to slug someone but also like a nervous dad. After he goes back over the plan for everyone, giving the bullet points, he tells you all to eat your breakfasts and be by the front door within 30 minutes or else.

Lucas takes his plate up to sit with Max. El comes over to talk with you about the day, saying that she’ll send a signal if she sees anything dangerous headed your way at the lab. She gives you a tight hug, which tugs at Hopper’s heart. He and Murray share a very rare, quiet moment with an exchange in their eyes. Our girls.

Steve is telling the boys and Erica to follow him upstairs to Max’s room to join Lucas for a motherly pep talk, and they all follow him like chicks following a mother hen.

Eddie is being given strict instructions by Robin to follow orders and not rip his stitches that she’s worked hard at keeping in tact by mounting the wall --

...“and be on the damn lookout only so help me god or else I’ll rip them back open myself,” she threatens him.

Eddie visibly swallows and nods at that, believing her.

Suddenly Nancy is walking up to you, as you stand there still hugging El while looking over Murray’s shoulder at his computer system setup. She looks nervous as you turn to her.

“Hey, umm, keep an eye on them, will you?” she asks shyly, sheepishly. “I worry about them. Especially Dustin.”

You know she meant Steve. “Yeah. Of course.”

Nancy nods awkwardly, grateful you didn’t correct her and a little embarrassed. She points to the gun on your back, giving you a tight-lipped grin. “Glad it’s you handling that bad boy.”

She flashes the same one across her back. You chuckle lightly, agreeing with her. “Yeah, the last thing we need is for Eddie to get his hands on this or else he’ll murder the whole town.”

Nancy giggles.

Eddie snickers at the joke, appreciating your dark humor. He gives you a wry smile. “Thanks princess, but I only prefer bone crushing, eye sucking curses.”

You all eat some whole wheat eggos (even El) and some scrambled eggs. Plenty of water, plus some coffee.

Steve walks in to scoop up his plate during the last 10 minutes, and Hopper takes pity on him — given that he’s been with the kids.

“You get an extra 5,” Hopper tells him.

“Appreciate it, Hop.”

Steve carries his plate over to the table, moving to sit by you and Murray — who does his best to just stare down at his coffee and ignore catching this in his peripheral vision. Sip, slurp.

It’s a quiet breakfast. Tense. Stiff. Everyone is nervous. This stuff never does get easier…

***

The kids all boom back down the stairs, loud as ever.

And everyone is out the door on time, minus the extra 5 minutes that Hopper secretly gave for Steve’s benefit. Thankfully, it goes unremarked but the kids.

You all put their hands in a circle because Dustin insisted a while back that you cannot all part ways without a group huddle. So it’s now become tradition. Everyone fist bumps in unison, and the four groups embark on their separate journeys.

Group 1 does well, making it into town. They have the bottom tier level of risk, which Hopper did intentionally for Joyce and Will's sakes because those are his hearts. He also adores the two girls, Nancy and Robin, of course. They carefully fill up Joyce’s car in doses, trying not to attract attention as everyone has a strict evacuation mandate that goes into place next week along with a food supply limit. They’re ahead of the game, doing everything not to give away what Dr. Owens warned them about.

Group 2 is in full swing, back at Casa Harrington. Erica and Murray bicker like a married couple, but they also high five. Lucas makes sure that Max is safely tucked in, giving her a kiss on the forehead and a promise to be back upstairs in a few hours.

Group 3 is cautious. They have to calculate every single move, given the risks. El uses her senses to tap in, blindfold on and static on the van's radio ringing throughout the car. Mike keeps watch, along with Argyle at the wheel — and Hopper navigates.

Group 4, your group, is en route. You have the longest journey to make on foot, making sure to keep their strength. Jonathan keeps watch of time, and Dustin hangs into the walkie-talkie to keep contact. You scan the area, and so does Steve, as you all walk. Eddie sings to himself to keep from wigging out, and it’s definitely giving mumbled panic.

You are telling everyone the ETA, using the compass. Steve tells the gang to keep the same pace so that they make sure they aren’t there too soon or too late, wanting to time it right with Group 2’s orders.

At some point, you gesture for everyone to pivot directions, and when Steve steps in your direction — he instinctively reaches out to brush the small of your back. It’s so subtle… yet so telling.

Eddie cocks an eyebrow mid-song, ceasing the mumbling altogether for about 2 solid seconds, before resuming as he walks. Even Jonathan raises an eyebrow, silently smirking.

Dustin misses it entirely.

Then Dustin starts communicating back and forth on the walkie-talkie with Erica, and as they start to bicker Steve interjects.

“Hey, dingus, cool it and listen to what she’s saying, please.”

Dustin huffs, whining, “but she’s wronnnng...”

You squint in the sunlight as you look back at him, saying simply, “Listen to your mother.”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. You both just look back at your son expectantly. Dustin sighs but obeys.

Oh that definitely makes Eddie and Jonathan share a look.

Back at base, Murray is struggling to access the switch for the electric fence closest to where Group 4 (you guys) is approaching. He and Erica work hard at it, and Lucas helps as he keeps open the line of communication with Dustin via the walkie-talkie.

“This east side gate is a bitch,” Murray is griping over the channel. “Hang tight, just pause when you guys make it there.”

Dustin and Lucas are going back and forth, while Jonathan tries to keep up with what they are all saying.

You can see the fence up ahead, and so does Steve.

Eddie’s singing gets louder.

Nancy speaks over the walkie-talkie channel: “Group 1, reporting. Over.”

Dustin speaks. “Group 4, tuned in. Over.”

The other groups tune in, too. Nancy continues in a hushed voice. “Food supply is running low so we’re going to double up. The mandate will be really strict. Can’t take chances. Over.”

Jonathan tells her to keep them posted with the ETA.

El comes onto the walkie-talkie, asking for you.

You take it, speaking: “Bauman squared, I copy. Over.”

Eleven tells you that she can see you all headed there to the lab, and that no one is nearby. You’re safe.

Hopper adds: “But Eddie, make sure that you stay tuned into this channel and relay it to Dustin just in case. Over.”

Eddie’s song of woe dies on his lips with an anxious exhale. “Roger that, over.”

Steve speaks up, “Alright guys, we’re here.”

Dustin signals Murray, right on cue. You all stare up at the looming electric fence in front of you. It’s tall. At least 30 feet up. You gulp. So does Jonathan. For Steve, it’s easy. For Dustin, well, it’s exciting.

Jonathan adds to the relayed info, addressing Murray, saying, “Yeah, uhhh, it’s pretty high up man?”

Murray’s tone comes through, crisp. “How high is high?”

Jonathan visibly shrinks back as he squints in the sunlight. “Like...25-30 feet?”

Murray curses on the other side, frustrated. “Alright, hold please.”

Steve turns over to face you all, starting with you. “It’s gonna be a helluva climb.”

You nod. “We’ll have to double up the speed, guys. But for safety, let’s just do two at a time.”

Jonathan’s brow furrows. “Why?”

You tell them it’s safest this way. This way, two people can gauge the timing of it just in case. Dustin immediately demands to go in the first group, which Steve shuts down promptly — like all good mothers would with their favorite child. He starts to onboard Jonathan, but you’re already saying you’ll go as you tighten up your bag. Steve looks at you, hesitant.

You look back at him, giving him a nod. “No arguments.”

Steve sighs through his nose. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

He’s so sexy when he isn't actually hating you, and instead just consistently miffed with you…

“Group 4, listen up,” Murray’s voice comes over the walkie-talkie. “I’m signaling the switch now. On my mark, it will take exactly 3 minutes for it to activate. You’ll have 60 seconds to climb it. Up and down. That’s it. Remember what I said: haul ass.”

Dustin responded back with a sigh, “Steve and Bauman Squared insist on going two at a time so…” He dreads the next question, cringing before asking. “Any chance you guys can…do it…twice?”

You turn around, waiting to hear your uncle’s reply and wondering if you’ll need to step in. His befuddled response confirms, yes you will, and you walk over to take the walkie.

“Uncle Murray, it’s not very sturdy. It’s too big a risk, four at a time. If you can’t do it, then just me and Steve will go. What can we do? Over.”

You speak matter-of-factly, which Steve appreciates. He stands with his hands on his hips and tongue between his teeth, all hot and mom-like. Even though for you...he’s giving daddy.

Eddie has been pacing a trough into the grass. Please let me have company, he thinks.

Jonathan’s just quiet, wondering if now is a good time to tell everyone that he’s actually afraid of heights.

Dustin just wants to fucking climb already.

“Workin’ on it. Standby.” Your uncle’s monotone voice makes you all wait.

You stare up at the fence while you do. Then, turning your face over in Steve’s direction, you find that he’s already gazing over at you. That fondness in his eyes is back, and you feel your cheeks flush under the sun. But it’s not the sun making you blush. Steve's hands are still on his tips, and he gives you a tiny wink before turning to look back at Dustin with the walkie-talkie. He tells his kid not to stress about it if they can’t come, which only starts a back-and-forth argument between mother and son. But Erica’s voice cuts through it over the walkie.

“Group 4 nerds, listen up. We found a way to do it. Over.”

Dustin pumps his fist in glee. Jonathan doesn’t. Eddie realizes he’s doomed, back to being there all alone.

Steve takes the walkie, asking, “Same timeframes, Murray? Over?”

Your uncle confirms it, but then Lucas is in the background saying, “Wait, are you sure this will give them 60 seconds?”

Steve raises an eyebrow at that. But you’re looking at the top of the fence. The end of the other side of the line is quiet for a hot minute. No doubt, Murray and the kids are beefing. Re-calculating. Beefing some more. Getting attitudes. Then finally —

“Erica to group 4, confirming. Timeframes are exact. Wait for us to signal the 2nd climb. Standby and brace for 1st climb. Over.”

You and Steve look at each other. Here we go. He fastens his backpack, reaching out a hand to you and telling you to hand over yours. You go to protest, but he’s just insisting without budging and reaching anyway. It isn’t until his hand starts to slide the strap down your shoulder that you huff and relent.

“30 seconds to climb.”

“There’s a ledge up there, wide enough to stand on.” You nod up at it as you tell Steve. “If we run low on time, we hang there until the 2nd climb.”

Steve nods at you, agreeing. He turns and relays that to a very anxious Jonathan and a very antsy Dustin. You gesture over to Dustin, telling him to toss you his backpack. Steve goes to argue but you hold up a hand.

“Better me than him," you say quickly. It’s a parental thing that he would insist on too, so he lets you win that one.

Dustin obeys after seeing mom agree with…um…dad? Are you dad?

“10 seconds to climb.”

Steve talks fast, in position to pounce. “Eddie, on go, toss that branch to hit the fence. Double check for sparks.” Eddie nods, picking up the large branch nearby. You get in position with Steve.

“5…4…3…2…1…climb!”

Eddie tosses the branch. No electric shock. All systems go.

You and Steve hop as high as you can, climbing up like champs. You both hustle, swiftly making the climb like pro climbers. Steve is faster, planning to reach down and lift you the rest of the way if he gets to the top first. But you’re almost right at the same level with him, almost at the top.

…until your bag catches.

The strap of Dustin’s bag pulls you back down. Air catches in your throat, no scream escaping your mouth as it swings you around, unhooks and makes you fall back some feet. But you latch back onto the wall, back down to midway. Fuck.

Dustin gasps, Jonathan shouts your name. Eddie starts his shit-shit-shit chant.

You look down, realizing that it’s way too far of a drop to just fall back down and start over. You are literally back to the mid-way point.

You make up your mind within a few seconds: keep going.

Steve is hoisting himself up onto the thick ledge as this is happening, and when he turns to see you lower his heart stops.

“Bauman, what happened??"

But you keep climbing, shouting, “Steve, just keep going.”

But Steve is not having that. He’ll fucking wait. Hell, he’ll wait for Dustin too. He’s staying put. He shakes his head, clapping his hands and reaching for you even though you still have another fourth of the wall to mount before you reach him.

“30 more seconds.” Oh thank God, that’s plenty.

”You got this, Bauman, c’mon...” Steve’s ready to hold you again. Anxious. So fucking anxious.

Dustin is cheering too, along with Eddie and Jonathan. You’re fine. Almost there.

You look at Steve at the top, leaning over the side looking down at you. You can see the anxious anticipation in his brown eyed gaze.

“20 more seconds. Group 2, don’t forget to wait for our signal.”

But right as Murray stops talking — the wall buzzes.

Everything happens in slow motion. One second feels like a whole minute for all 5 of you in your group. Your ears perk up at the sound. That wasn’t an insect. That’s mechanic. That’s —

“Was that —” Eddie barely started to ask the question you were all wondering.

“Fuck, Bauman — !!! ” Jonathan’s voice is panicked with realization.

Steve’s brow furrowed, alarm and horror sweeping across his entire face.

You feel a scorch so hot, fire itself couldn’t have burned as badly as the electric shock that shot through your entire body did.

In that single second, you felt your brain short circuit.

You felt your hands get shoved away from the wall, throwing you off with blinding force.

You felt your throat snap, and you felt your heart rumble inside of your chest...

And then you felt it stop.

*****************************

:( im sorry, Steve.

author notes: I am sure that the fence thing might be weird and not accurate, but it helped my vision for how this chapter goes down. so I hope you all will be kind and not find it too "unrealistic." had to watch some stuff like the OG Jurassic Park, and get ideas for it.

tag list: @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @xprloki @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington stranger things #dustin henderson #stranger things fanfiction #murray bauman #enemies to lovers

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the-queen-of-hell-666 · 5 months ago

Text

Wanting

Kinktober 2024 - Day 3

Pairing: Alpha!Jim Hopper x Assistant!Omega!Fem!Reader

Kink: Knotting

Word Count: 1000+

Summary: Your new boss won't go home even though he's a stone's throw from his rut but you weren't going to complain.

Warning: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal sex, knotting, creampie, rough sex, doggy style, fingering, vaginal fingering, masturbation (m! receiving), breeding, squirting), feral!Jim, porn w/o much plot, a/b/o dynamics

a/n: Here is day 3! This is my first time writing for Hopper and I hope I did him justice! I hope you enjoy!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Hopper’s rut was about to come on, everyone in the office could smell it, no matter how many scent patches he slapped on his glands. He was leaking alpha pheromones all over the station, no one else cared that he was stinking up the place cause they all knew Hopper would bite the head off anyone who said anything about him going home. Hopper dreaded the thought of going home to his empty cabin, El was off at college, and his cabin smelled like frustrated Alpha and that was the last smell he wanted.

He’d rather stay at the station and smell the sickly sweet smell of his new young, omega, assistant. You smelled like lilacs, fresh rain, and something just uniquely you. He knew his smell was bothering you, he could tell when your scent spikes and his eyes caught how your thighs clenched. He could practically smell your slick wetting your panties. He wanted to grab you, bend you over his desk, and make you scream so that the entire station could hear you.

It was later that night, once everyone went home. Some went home early cause of the smell but you stayed. His smell wrapped you up in a nice safe blanket, like nothing could hurt you. You had files to give to Hopper when his smell spiked with lust and need and you heard a grunt coming from his office. You stood up, the files forgotten on the desk, and made your way to his office door. You peeked between the blinds and saw the most delicious sight you’ve ever seen. Hopper was sitting in his office chair, his slacks open and yanked down to middle thigh and he had his hand wrapped tightly around his monster cock and his knot was starting to swell at the base as he stroked himself from knot to tip, using his pre-cum to slick his way.

Your eyes traveled up to his face and his eyes were clenched shut with his mouth dropped open as small groans and grunts slipped past his lips. Your thighs clenched as slick pooled in the gusset of your panties and your hand moved before you could think and you opened the door. Hopper’s eyes snapped up to yours as the door swung open and hit the wall. He went to cover himself but you were quick to cross the room to him.

“Don’t cover yourself.” You whispered as you moved to straddle his lap, his cock slipping against your cunt under your skirt. “Wanna see you. All of you.” You purred as your pupils dilated and you ran your fingers through his hair gently.

He groaned softly as you scratched his scalp softly and his eyes met yours, his eyes as heated as yours. “Once I start, m’not gonna stop.” He practically growled at you making a shiver run down your spine and you ground your hips down against his hard cock making him grunt and jolted.

“Don’t want you to stop. Want all of you.” You murmured as you leaned down and pressed soft kisses to his neck and you quickly ripped off his used scent blocker and tossed it away. Your tongue immediately pressed against his mating gland and your cloudy eyes locked with his as he looked down at you.

The next events were quick, before you knew it, your clothes were shreds on the floor and you were pinned in between him and the desk. Hopper was curled over your back and he was two fingers deep in your sopping cunt, making you ready for his thick girth. You keened and ground your hips back on his hand as he pounded his fingers deeper into your quivering cunt. You gripped the desk hard as Hopper curled his fingers and rubbed them against your sweet spot. His other hand came up to your throat and squeezed your throat lightly making your eyes cross.

“Alpha, please.” You whined as slick ran down the back of your thighs. “Want your knot.”

He smirked as he nuzzled into your hair and nipped your ear playfully. “Patience, needy girl. Don’t wanna hurt you.” He hummed as he squeezed your throat tighter.

“M’ready. Please.” You squealed as your thighs tightened around his wrist pinning his hand against your cunt.

He chuckled and pulled his fingers out of your cunt and spanked it hard, making you cry out with pleasure. “Alright, ‘mega.” He chuckled and leaned closer to your ear. “You asked for it.” He growled before lining his cock up to your cunt and slamming into you.

You screamed his name and he chuckled darkly and yanked your legs up so your knees were pressed against your chest and your cunt was exposed to him fully. His strong hands gripped your hips tight to the point of almost painful but the pleasure of his cock overpowered it. You keened and squealed as he pounded in and out you fast and hard. His knot swelled at the base as your walls squeezed and pulsed around him. Hopper curled himself over you and turned your face to his and kissed you passionately, muffling your moans and cries. He spanked you over and over again making your end come quicker with each spank and thrust of his girthy cock.

“A-alpha, gonna cum. S-so close. Can I-I cum? Pl-please?” You whined against his lips as your hips ground back against him. Your walls fluttered as you came closer to your end and you gripped the desk tighter.

“Cum for me, ‘mega. M’close too. So close. Gonna knot you, baby. Fill you up.” He grunted with each thrust and you cried out as his swelling knot slipped inside and you both fell apart cumming with each other. Your cunt squirted on his cock as his knot swelled locking you two together and Hopper came deep in your wanting pussy. He slid his hands over yours and linked your fingers as you two slumped on the desk, locked together.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #kinktober #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #jim hopper #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fandom

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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 5 months ago

Text

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Venus

Good afternoon people of Hawkins I take hammer and I fix the canon so that Eddie and his love are there to save the day.

Alternatively: fuck people like Angela. Throw rocks at them.

Trigger Warnings: vomit mention, pregnancy

****

“What the hell are they doing to Mike’s girlfriend?!”

You sat up ramrod straight, looking directly at Mike Wheeler’s little flame as she’s accosted by a group of leering little bitches led by a trashy looking blonde named Angela. After being accosted one day in Bradley’s Big Buy, fate found you and your fiancé chaperoning Mike’s little trip to see his girlfriend and friend in California. Mrs. Wheeler had paid for the plane tickets and paid you and Eddie two hundred dollars, trusting you to take care of her baby boy and his little friends. Responsibility was something you took seriously. You felt protective, a far cry from your usual antisocial and avoidant demeanor.

The minute you landed in California was when you imprinted on the kiddos like a broody hen imprints on baby chicks. You took a particular liking to Mike’s little girlfriend: she was awkward and scared much like you were once upon a time. Jane Hopper was mousy and shy, and had been trying to be bubbly throughout the trip even though you kept insisting to Eddie something was wrong. You could recognize the signs of someone trying to hold it together. Eddie had insisted you were wrong. Despite his efforts to calm you down, nothing could make you feel safe.

You had been off the whole trip, and the way you were on high alert, the more it seemed like Eddie was right about the cause.

“Hey! Take it easy…” Eddie soothed, pulling at the hem of your Motörhead ringer tee, “Let’s not go berserker on them.”

“I don’t like the way they’re crowding her!” You hissed, pounding your clenched fist on the booth table.

Mike and Will Byers jumped, glancing from you to Eddie then to each other when you immediately stood up out of the booth seat. You were bouncing on the balls of your feet, crouched as though you were going to pounce on someone.

Everyone was already on edge because of you. Going to Rink-O-Mania had been an entire ordeal. Before you entered the parking lot, you were already bitching and moaning about the drive over. Then you started complaining that the rink smelled like feet, and then you complained that the grease from the hot dogs was too overpowering. Eddie had tried to be the peacekeeper. Settling your raging stomach with a thick strawberry milkshake when you started whining about wanting one, and then complaining that the chocolate and vanilla smelled rotten.

The shake helped settle your stomach, but once the nausea was gone you just got more broody and hypersensitive.

“Babe, take a second, okay?” He soothed, pulling you back down into the booth with him, “You’re gonna cause a scene.”

“I don’t like how they’re just grabbing her and lugging her around like a suitcase!” You said.

Will’s hands were shaking, and you could hear him whispering with Mike.

“What’s wrong with her…?”

“How the hell should I know?! She’s been insufferable ever since she got on the plane to California!”

Eddie glanced over at Mike, shaking his head and frowning.

“Mike, take it easy. She’s not feeling well.” He said.

“Eddie, this is stupid!” Mike said, “She complains about every little thing, whines that she doesn’t feel good, then snaps at you if you don’t answer her right away or do what she wants. I swear she’s on the rag! Now she won’t even let El hang with her friends.”

“Mike chill, you don’t understand-…”

You immediately snapped your head towards Will when you heard him make a strangled noise in his throat at the mention of Jane’s “friends”.

“What’s wrong?!” You demanded.

“Nothing!”

Will looked like he had a gun to his head. Hyperventilating. Pure panic on his face.

“Will…” you growled, moving in like a tiger.

“Sweetheart, please. Everything is fine. Don’t start up with the stress.” Eddie begged.

“Yeah, man! Stop freaking everyone out!”

Mike stared you down while Will looked left and right, as though hoping to be saved. A storm was brewing, both in your face and on the roller rink. And unfortunately he didn’t have the spoons or the know-how to quell both at once.

You glanced hatefully at both Eddie and Mike.

“Shut up.” You hissed, before turning back to Will.

He shrank in the booth, the faux leather squeaking.

“Those girls are not her friends… are they?” You whispered dangerously to Will.

He was avoiding your gaze. Fidgeting in his seat. You continued to stare him down until he finally, finally shook his head and muttered.

“No… they’re not her friends. Those are the ones that bully her at school…”

The air surrounding the booth seemed to shift; a cold front of anticipation hitting everyone. You began to quiver, while Mike and Eddie rounded on Will.

“Why didn’t you say something?!” Mike demanded.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell!” Will countered, while Eddie simultaneously tried to pacify Will and soothe Mike.

But you were done. You were so fucking done.

“Fuck this shit.”

You moved out of the booth and sat astride a nearby bench, kicking your shoes off and tying on your black skates. Your face was dark, stormy and murderous, and you looked like you were puffed up and ready to kill someone.

“No, no, no!” Eddie was scrambling out of the booth after you, trying to grab your arm, “Sweetheart, we need to stop and take a breath-…”

“Eddie’s right! What are you even doing?!” Mike demanded.

“I’m going to get my fucking kid.” You said.

“Since when is she your kid?!” Mike snapped.

“Since your mother told me to take care of all of you on this trip.” You snarled, nearly snapping the shoestrings on your skates as you tied them with a vengeance, “If anything happens to any of you, Eddie and I are the ones that are gonna catch hell.”

“You think I’m afraid of Karen Wheeler?!” Eddie interjected, trying to drag you back over to the table, “I get that we have a responsibility, but we need to take a deep breath and not go apeshit on a bunch of kids. You need to think of the situation we might be in...”

His voiced dropped to a whisper.

“I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“I’m just going to go get Jane.” You said.

“Dammit babe you can’t just go charging in-…”

Before Eddie could do anything, you had already secured your skates and began gliding out onto the rink. Vaguely over the sound of Bananarama, you could hear Eddie calling your name. You were skating a bit like shit. The motion was a little disorienting, and out in the middle of the rink you could smell everything mixed together with body sweat.

You whipped your head this way and that, before spotting Jane. Cornered by Angela, that bleach blonde jackass.

“Excuse me.” You called out, bumping the blonde with your hip.

The motion was so fluid it simply looked like you were just gliding on by, taking Jane by the upper arm and coasting with her for a turn around the rink. It was done swiftly, no muss no fuss, but you knew from years of experience that girls like Angela wouldn’t let you go so easily.

Jane looked a little frightened, and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a mirror. Your teased hair was waterlogged with sweat, and your sharp winged eyeliner was dribbling down your cheeks and getting into your sleep deprived red rimmed eyes. To Jane, you must have looked like a demon.

“Are you okay, sweetie?!” You called out to Jane over the intro to ‘Venus’.

She waited until the iconic screech passed before responding.

“I’m okay…” she nodded, clinging to your arm when she realized you had come to save her, not scream at her.

“What were they doing to you?” You called out, only to see the intended plan a second later as Jane’s bully and her cronies started tailing the two of you around the turn. You locked eyes with Eddie across the room, watching him stand up from putting on his inline skates and gliding towards you two.

“Don’t panic.” You told Jane, “Just skate towards Eddie, okay?”

She nodded and went forward obediently, nearly falling into his open arms when you gave her a little push. Jane’s bullies were closing in on either side of you, and just as you made for Eddie, you felt a tug at the back of your hair. It was soft at first, then someone yanked you backward.

You landed hard on your wrist and ass, and when you looked up, you were doused in chocolate shake.

The smell was more overpowering than the laughter of Jane’s bullies. Angela stood triumphantly over you, her friends circling all of you as they laughed and pointed.

“Look who it is!” She laughed, “The loser’s fat little mother hen!”

You didn’t say anything as you got to your feet. Watching the girls circle you was giving you motion sickness, and you slapped a hand over your mouth as the sickening smell of cheap cocoa ice cream and curdling milk invaded your nostrils.

“Aww look, she’s not saying anything.” Angela sneered, getting into your face, “Is Mommy feeling queasy?”

The hot dog grease, burnt popcorn, oil, Angela’s Love’s Baby Soft perfume, and the insoles of skates that had been sweated in since the sixties, were cumulatively gathering together into one rank whiff to make your stomach turn violently. The feeling of saliva flooding your mouth meant the end was nigh. You looked up at Angela, a sly grin on your face as one of her female friends went up behind you with a fist raised.

“Oh, Mama’s feeling queasy alright,” you hissed, spit dribbling out of your mouth.

“You stuck up little bitch.”

Angela only had one moment to react before her friend hit you hard in the middle of the back. The floodgates opened. The punch to the back knocked you forward, and you immediately threw up all over the front of Angela’s blue shirt.

You finally understood the meaning of a Kodak Moment. Her face changed in the span of a second from superior, to shock, to horror and then fear as she began gagging as the smell of vomit hit her nostrils. You coughed up the remains of the shake while her friends immediately vacated the rink, the music stopping mid riff and everyone clearing off the minute “ralph” was heard echoing through the roller rink. Angela began screaming as Eddie nearly bowled into you, laughing so hard he was crying.

“Holy hell!” He cried, his face red with laughter and his smile wide as he led you out of the rink by the arm, “Did you have to do that?!”

“She shouldn’t have doused me in shake.” Was your smug response.

“YOU DIRTY BITCH!”

Angela shrieked, alone in the center of the rink, covered and stinking, “You’re fucking gross! You’re disgusting!”

“Word of advice, sweetheart,” Eddie called over his shoulder, a smug smile on his face while leading you into the waiting arms of Will, Mike and Jane.

“Next time: don’t pick a fight with a pregnant woman!”

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things reader insert #jane hopper #mike wheeler #will byers #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #pregnant reader

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chloe-skywalker · 2 years ago

Text

Door Open (Part 2) - Billy Hargrove

Part 2

Billy x Fem!reader Hopper

Warnings: mentions of abuse

Word count: 1,647

Summary: Neil went to far this time and Y/n wants Billy out.

Authors Note: Here’s Part 2! So this is only 2 parts but maybe I’ll make more if you all like it and would like more.

Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

Part 1

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It had been months since the dinner and things were good. They didn’t have to hide anymore. Billy had been over practically every day since. And to surprise everyone, Hopper didn’t mind. He actually grew to like the boy and his daughter turned out to be right. He was very different behind closed doors. But Hopper had sensed something off with him and he just wished he could figure it out. Although he might find out soon.

It was around midnight when Y/n heard the sound of tapping against her window. She turned her head and out the dark window was her boyfriend. Y/n got up and opened her window, helping him into her room.

When Y/n looked up at Billy once he was fully standing to the best of his ability at the moment. She was shocked, he had never looked this bad before. And that was saying something. “Oh God- Billy.”

“Yeah, I know.” Billy let out a huffed laugh even though it really hurt. He was pretty sure he had some cracked ribs. “It’s bad this time.”

Y/n looked him over with wide extremely concerned eyes. There were bruises everywhere old and new but the new were really nasty looking, and they weren’t even done developing yet. “No kidding.”

Y/n was glad that her door was shut right now so no questions would be raised. Y/n grabbed all her medical stuff she stored in her room, with the upside down crap and her boyfriend it came in handy. As she cleaned the cuts Billy occasionally hissed. “Sorry.”

Billy shook his head. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt as bad right now.”

Y/n let out a sigh knowing what needed to be done. She’d have to convince him though. “I can’t let you live there anymore, Billy.”

With a sigh of his own Billy answered sadly. “There’s nothing you can do about it, Y/n/n.”

“We could tell my dad.” y/n told him, her dad was the sheriff after all. She knew he could do something. “He could help.”

“Hopper already barely tolerates me. Why would he help me?” Billy knew him and Hopper seemed to be on good terms but it always felt like the other shoe would drop at any time. Billy never felt safe around adults, for good reasons.

Y/n reached for his hands and monevered on herself to also sit on her bed, looking him in the eyes. “He’d do it for me. Because as you said he is tolerating you- well he’s doing that for me. Plus my father doesn’t think kindly about people who abuse their children or any person abusing one. Look at El and her situation.”

Billy sat there thinking about her words for a moment before asking. “You think he’d really help me?”

Y/n nodded. “I do. Even if we weren’t together, hell even if we weren’t even friends. He’d still help you.”

Billy knew it was time, he had to agree with Y/n. He couldn’t live under Neil anymore. “Okay.”

“Really? I know how you feel about telling people anything personal, let alone this.” Y/n asked, wanting to make sure he was sure.

“Yeah. I think its time. I need out and I can’t do it on my own. Plus I don’t want anything like this to also happen to Max. She may be a brat but no one deserves what he’s capable of.” Billy nodded looking Y/n in the eyes. It needed to be done.

^ ^ ^

“Hey, dad?” Y/n spoke, poking her head out her door. Not opening in enough for anymore to see into her room. She didn’t want El and Mike seeing Billy’s state or asking questions. This needed to be between the 3 of them only.

“Hmmm?” Hopper hummed, shifting his eyes off El and Mike and to his oldest daughter.

“Can you come to my room for a sec?” She nodded back towards her door with raised brows, giving her dad a look to tell him it was private and serious.

“Sure.” Hopper nodded, getting up and heading to Y/n’s room.

“Thanks.” Y/n thanked him before pulling him into her room.

Upon entering her room Hopper saw Billy and he could feel his blood boiling. But upon a longer second look his more pressing question became ‘what happened to his oldest’s boyfriend?’ Billy wasn’t known to lose a fight. More than half the time he walked away with barely any bruises or scratches. But right now, Billy was sporting a black eye forming, a cut on his head, split lip, bruises old and new, and his shirt was completely unbuttoned showing off a really nasty almost black bruise across his ribs. Meaning to Hopper that his ribs were either extremely bruised, cracked but most likely a few were broken.

“What’s?” He glanced down at his daughter. “What’s going on?”

Y/n walked around him to pull out her desk chair gesturing for her dad to sit. “Can you sit down? Billy, has something he wants to tell you.”

Hopper did as he asked as Y/n went and sat down next to Billy, grabbing his hand in hers for what Hopper preserved was reassurance. “What’s wrong, kid?”

With that Billy went on to explain to Hopper all about Niels abuse. Every detail and for how long it had been going on for. He told the older man everything, with Y/n’s support.

Hopper noticed when some things got hard for Billy to talk about he either looked to Y/n or she would squeeze his hand. He came to the conclusion that his daughter had become Billy’s safety blanket.

And he was proud of her for being there for the boy who had been through things that no child ever should go through.

“And I didn’t want to tell anyone or let anyone know because back in California no one seemed to notice or care so. . . My plan was just wait it out- till ya know, I turned 18.” Billy told the sheriff nervously bouncing his leg.

“But…” Y/n encouraged him to continue. He needed to get it out, she knew that.

“But, now he’s worse and the worse he gets I worry about him with Max now. He wouldn’t do anything before because of Susan, but he’s getting sloppy.” Billy appreciated more than he could ever put into words Y/n’s support. Everything she’s ever done for him, including loving him.

Y/n turned her attention to her dad with hopeful and nervous eyes. “Can you do anything to help?”

Hopper nodded, hell even if he couldn’t legally he’d find a way to get rid of that piece of shit. Niel Hargrove. “Yeah, I can help.”

Y/n nudged Billy shoulder to shoulder with a smile. “I told you.”

“Yeah, you did.” Billy nodded with a small smile on his lips as well.

“But for now you can’t let him or Susan know that anything is out of the ordinary.” Hopper spoke up, leaning back in the chair.

Billy looked back at Hopper confused. “Out of the ordinary?”

“What do you mean dad?” Y/n asked as well, confused like Billy.

“We have an extra room. I want you to slowly start moving your stuff into it. And I want Max to slowly start moving her stuff here too, into El’s room. I’m sure they’ll love becoming roommates.” he scoffed thinking of how that was going to go. And how he and Billy will be outnumbered.

“The sleepover that never ends.” Y/n laughed, shaking her head happily at the thought.

“Exactly.” Hopper smiled, letting out a huff of air.

“I’m still confused.” Billy stated with a furrowed brow looking between the father and daughter confused.

Y/n squeezed his hand and gently pulled him closer, if that was even possible. Smiling at him, she was very happy at this new found situation. “You and Max are moving in. Here. With us.”

“I-” Billy was speechless looking at Hopper in shock. But Hopper could see the hint of relief in the young man's eyes.

“Son.” Hopper felt bad for the boy. This had obviously been going on for a long time and it had affected Billy more than he showed or let on. No wonder he starters fights, Hopper thought, he needs a cover for the bruises and a way to vent out his anger about his father. “Once things are all ready to go and in motion, things are gonna move fast. And I'm not going to have you or Max in that house or anywhere near it when it happens. Max I consider already like a daughter, she’s over enough to be one. And you Billy. I like you more than I would care to admit. You're like a son to me, I think you need to know that.”

Billy could only sit and look at his girlfriend's dad in complete shock. He could never find the words to tell Hopper how much this and what he said meant to him. Billy was very appreciative for what he was willing to do to help him. “Thank you, sir.”

Hopper stood up and placed his hand on Billy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Son, you can call me Hopper.”

Billy nodded. “Thanks Hopper.”

“No problem. I’ll get you a shirt to sleep in. You are not going back to that house tonight.” Hopper stated exiting the room to do as he said. This was a night where the closed door rule for the couple wouldn’t apply. Hopper wasn’t going to split them up tonight.

“He called me son. More than once.” Billy’s voice cracked and his eyes held happy tears as he looked to Y/n with a watery smile.

“Yeah, he did.” Y/n smiled at him, things were going to be okay now.

taglist: @gruffle1 @padawancat97 @starkleila @goth-cowgirl-03

@callsignwidow

#y/n #imagine #imagines #billy #hargrove #billy hargrove x hopper reader #billy hargrove x hopper!reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hagrove imagines #x reader #stranger things #stranger #things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #netflix

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sailorwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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California girl. Jane Hopper x Fem!reader

Summary: El mets someone new in California and doesn't understand how her actions affect other people.

Warning: period typical homophobia, internalized homophobia, bullying, reader being called lesbo, cheating, lying, angst, slightly stalkerish behavior (but not in a bad way reader is just observate about El/Jane and nervous to talk to her.)

'Jane...' you watch closely as the girl passed you in the hall, her tranquil presence invading your personal space but you couldn't seem to make yourself unsettled by it. If anything the smell of Fresh linens, Maple Syrup, and slight undertones of smoke made you want her to come closer. It was peaceful. An aroma that had began growing more familiar by the day after sitting behind her in class for so long.

"Jane."

She stopped walking and her head turned around quickly to see who could possibly be calling for her. You stood completely frozen hand slammed over your own mouth. 'That wasn't supposed to happen' holding in a groan at your own idiocy you watch as her eyebrows knead together in confusion, her head tilts to the side, and her wide eyes wonder a little longer around the hall. Her Brother, Will, seemed to noticed she'd stopped walking and back tracked to check up on her. Placing his hand on her arm and pulling her over to the side of the hallway out of on coming traffic.

"El. Are you ok?" He mumbles gently, not quite a whisper but just loud enough that you could hear from the short distance between you. El. Learning something new about her made your stomach twirl. Maybe it was her middle name. Jane Elle Hopper? Perhaps it was short for something though...Jane Eleanor? Eleanor Jane? Your mind couldn't help but wonder off completely.

Unfortunately, The Warning bell sounded pulling you back to reality.

The rest of the day was blandly normal until your third period English. Your favorite class of the day where you got to sit behind Jane sometimes hearing her talk to her brother about their history class next . Or small things about home. Over the months you'd slowly been soaking in small details not completely on purpose you weren't necessarily spying on her you just happen to be right there. You had learn that they had an older brother named Jonathan, she really REALLY liked waffles but her favorite dinner was cheeseburgers so she got excited on days when her brother got fast food for dinner. They never outright said it but you learned that Jane was adopted by the numerous times she mentioned never having tried something and Will furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her as if she was crazy or the few times she referred to her mom as Joyce by accident. You learned that she loved the colors yellow and purple (much to teachers annoyance because she only did her homework in purple pen) but she hated the color red. All of it, every shade, but especially the dark ones. just small things you picked up were your favorite part about her.

But today was different, Will was gone from class which wasn't uncommon. He often went home due to bad headaches but Jane never stayed alone. The image of her sitting all alone at her desk was enough to throw you off when you came into the room. You pause In the doorway and stared at her for a moment but Jane always seemed to have some kind of sense. She always knew you were staring. she turned and met your eyes and flash you a smile. You felt relief, at least just a bit, she was so pretty. Your admiration for her had been cut off very quickly as you were pushed through the door by another rowdy teen and you quickly stumble to your seat apologizing to the person behind you class started normally nothing seemed wrong other than will not being present there was no talk between the two siblings but the chatter around you was enough to distract from the silent Jane. He wasn't until a few moments before the bell rang that everything went to shit. There was a tack on your shoulder and turned around to be met with a pretty girl with curly hair and a pair of glasses purse on her bulb shaped nose.

"Can you pass this to Jane?"

You took the note cautiously it wasn't a secret that Jane had been bullied often but the girl gave you a smile and winked, "it's good I promise."

You sigh and feel the strange inkling that you might regret this but you pass the note forward anyway and just a few seconds later there's cluttering and there's the sound of backpacks zipping and feet shuffling as most kids rush out of the classroom but Jane remains and her face turns bright red as she turns back to look at you packing your things.

"You think I'm pretty?" She whispers meekly staring at you with her big doe eyes.

You did think she was pretty but how did she know that? had you been obvious in your staring? No, that didn't make sense Jane was a pretty oblivious girl, naive in nature, she was very blunt and didn't understand things unless you said them to her directly. So how did she know? you fumble through a few phrases before you managed to get out

"I um...I...what?"

"The note? You said I'm...pretty."

"The note is-..." You felt your face get warm as you become overwhelmed you had gone from contently being in the background of her life to suddenly feeling like the center point of an episode in her show. You glance at the note hanging loosely Jane's hand. 'i think you're so pretty,Jane. I'm a huge lesbo for you." And in a handwriting not like your own at all was signed your name A couple of snickers could be heard from the door returned and see the girl from before the one with the glasses standing next to the asshole and mythic bitch that was Angela.

"aw look. They'll be on a date in no time." She smiled and it was wicked and sinister one of those looks that made you just want to wipe it off someone's face. filled with both embarrassment and rage you quickly collected your things, spilling a few empty papers for being too upset to go back as you roughly push past Angela and her posse and make it halfway to your locker before you could feel the tears in your eyes.

They'll be on a date in no time... The phrase rattled around in your head. You couldn't date Jane it didn't work that way. You'd gone quickly into the bathroom hiding away from the world... from Angela... from her.

You tuck your way into a stall and let the tears fall down your face with hush breaths and chest hiccups why did they have to say that why did you have to be involved? Jane probably thinks that you sent it to fuck with her. Your brain begins convincing you she probably thinks you're gay and in love with her. The realization makes your body shake. Were you in love with her?

"Y/n?" A voice called out from the door. "Are you in here? It's...Jane."

You hold your breath and wait hoping she'd leave. "Ok I guess not..."

"wait." Your voice is wet with tears and doesn't sound quite like you but you slide your body closer to the stall door and lean your back against it "Don't go."

Jane clammers down in front of the door and you can feel the heat of her back pressed against yours at the small opening at the bottom. "Are you...ok?"

"no."

"why not?"

"the Note." You grumbled. She really didn't understand.

"I think your note was very nice. I think you're pretty too." She beams.

"I...I didn't write the note."

The bathroom grew silent and then Jane let out a small "oh."

"not that I don't think you're pretty. I think you're gorgeous. Just... That word they called me."

"Lesbo?" She sounds innocent about it and you get a feeling that she doesn't know what it means but her tone seems displeased about it. Likes she's upset that it's upsetting you.

"is a mean word. For girls who like girls." You say and did silent for a while your brain starts to wander 'great now she thinks I'm weird'

"that's stupid." She finally decided

"what?"

"why can't girls like girls?"

"because..." You start. Why COULDN'T they? Because they couldn't have kids? Good you didn't want any anyway. "I don't know."

"I'd like to go on a date with you."

"huh?"

"Angela she said we'd be on a date soon" she stopped as if to let the information sink in "I'd like to go on a date. With you."

You push yourself away from the door quickly and unlock it forgetting that she was leaning on the other side. She falls inward and her head falls into your lap. She gives you a cheeky smile. "Hello."

"did you mean it?" You don't smile back and instead wipe away at your wet face in an attempted to look pretty for her.

"yes, a date! For cheese burgers."

"I...i think I...I'd like that." You manage slowly

"We are very late to class." Jane hums thoughtfully

"Yeah..."

"Maybe we can...skip?" She looks at you nervous as if not sure that that was the right word. But you just look at the "good girl" Jane in disbelief. "Hello?"

"y-yeah! We can go get freezy drinks from the corner store and be back before your ride is here to get you."

"freezy...drink?"

"you're going to love them!" The two of you pick up your things off the floor and scary to the entrance to the bathroom, you stick your head out and look both ways before pushing the door open grabbing Jane's soft hands and pulling her towards the school exit. Running past lockers and classrooms to make it out the door without being spotted. To your left you could hear Jane laughing once you made it outside of the building and you glace to see her head thrown back in genuine happiness she looked beautiful. The rest of the Walk was filled with banter. Jane trying to get to know you through her limited understanding of social norms asking things like your favorite color and what you liked to eat until you made the short walk from school to the nearest 7-Eleven just a few blocks away.

"ta-da" you wave your hands as if you cast it some sort of magic spell in front of you I should showcase the slushy machine filled with four flavors, the mandatory blue and red accompanied by Cherry Coke and green apple. "Freezy drink machine."

She seemed almost captivated by the way that the liquid swirled in the little containers. "Green is very pretty." She muttered. Tapping the plastic with her finger. You grab a cup from the sleeve on the wall and press it into her hand.

"here you just pull this down like this" you demonstrate carefully watching her face light up at the task. It was wonderful how she found joy in the mundane. You pick your own flavor and find the lid and straw before helping her do the same. "there. Perfect. Want a snack?"

Jane looked thoughtfully around the store until her eyes will be under rotating hot dog station. "Hotdog."

"one hot dog for the lady coming right up." You smile venturing up front to talk to the cashier a polite older lady who found the two of you cute. It wasn't often that she seen a kid at your age that hadn't tried a slushie before. She was a bit chatty but not nearly enough to stop you from smiling. You were on a sorta date.

The weekend that passed in anticipation of seeing Jane the following Monday was excruciatingly slow.

Weeks pass and new partnership became almost routine. Jane met you enthusiastically everyday at the front entrance of the school the two of you ate lunch together in the corner of the cafeteria just the two of you and her brother, Will. Sometimes in the morning you brought her a slushie. Blue or green but never red, Jane didn't like red. Sometimes in the morning she brought you a toasted waffle stored in a ziplock bag 'to keep the warm' she'd said. But everyday now you chatted in class instead of listening to her chatter with her brother. Everyday you walked her to her ride home.

And on the weekend you went to 7-Eleven. You had been planning to make time for a real cheeseburger date just like she had requested. But it seemed between the two of you something was always coming out if you were free Jane was busy hanging out with her brother if she was free you were busy with your extracurriculars it just never seemed to be a good time but this weekend you knew it it had to be perfect Jane hadn't expressed having any plans begin and you hadn't either

That's how you found yourself fidgeting on the Byer's front door anxiously holding three nearly perfect daisy's. It wasn't chained that opened the door what her older brother Jonathan met a couple of times when you walked her to his car. He looks high.

"Uh..." He glanced over his shoulder, you wince, he was definitely high. "Hey man."

"is Jane home?" You decide to play along talking to him as if you didn't know he was absolutely blitzed.

"Yeah...yeah she's got um....guests from back home though..." He explains with an empathetic frown. She hadn't said anything was happening this weekend a friend coming from home seemed like something you tell your girlfriend.

"Oh that's okay." you lie through your teeth. "Tell her I dropped by?"

"Yeah, yeah...I will."

"Jonathan, Will says who's at the door? Is it pizza..." A boy says he's tall, with long hair, and a face like he's hiding a frog in his mouth. He's holding hands with a girl. He's holding hands with Jane. Your brain swirls.

Jane comes around the corner holding hands with a boy you've never met before. He must be their...guest.

"Jane." You smile. Despite everything, upset she hadn't told you she had plans and being sad you hadn't been spending a lot of time together recently, you smile. She smiles back and gives a meek wave.

"y/n!" She rushes to hug you and the smell of maple syrup and markers is comforting.

"oh oh!" She pulled back excitedly once again grabbing the boys arm and pulling him towards you. "You have to meet Mike."

"This is Mike, my boyfriend. Mike this is Y/n, my Girlfriend." And your world shattered around you. Suddenly there was only Mike and El and how close they stood together. Your finger twitched in anger but your eyes felt heavy. It bugged you that you could tell Mike didn't feel angry, but maybe he just didn't understand. Maybe he thought girlfriend like friend who's a girl. they hang out they must be the best of friends. But you knew that wasn't right. There had been no way Jane only saw you as a friend. She had kissed you. You were meant to go on a date...for cheese burgers.

"hi, Mike." You extend your hand. "I'm sorry I must have gotten the wrong day I didn't know Jane had friends over. I thought we were supposed to hang out today...my mistake."

#sailor's dreamhouse #Jane hopper x reader #eleven hopper #eleven hopper x reader #eleven x reader #stranger things s4 #stranger things x reader

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louloulemons-posts · 1 year ago

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Oil At The Coffee Shop IX

Eddie X Fem!Reader

Summary : Eddie tells Reader about the Upside Down, but she still thinks he’s beautiful.

Word Count : 2.5k

Warnings : Not proofread, angst, 18+, SMUT, talks of the upside down, eddies issues, vecna, smutty smut, choking, dom!eddie, oral (fem receiving), unprotect sex(for the love of god use protection), sadness then smut, this part is sad and horny 🫶🏻

A/N : This is my first time writing smut so apologies if it’s awful, also if you don’t want to read it, you are more than welcome to skip it 🤍

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You pushed open the door, letting yourself and Eddie in, flicking on the lamps dotted around. You hung your bag back up, dropped your keys, going to the couch so you could take your shoes off.

Eddie mimicked these actions, hanging his leather jacket up, and sitting down next to you. “Do you anything to drink before?” you asked him. “No, thank you though. I think I should just get it out of the way.”

“Okay.”

“And if it’s okay, could you just let me speak before you ask any questions, you can ask me anything after. Is that alright?”

“That’s fine, anything you need Eds,” you could tell he was uncomfortable, frightened even.

He sighed, unable to begin talking, you took his hand gently. “Take your time Eds, do what you need to do.” He nodded, offering a weak smiled.

“Just before the Summer of 86, something started. It started in my life anyways, it actually began in 83. Anyways, I was a troubled kid, was on my third try of my senior year, barely passing anything.

“I was um … selling drugs so me and Wayne could get by easier. Then one day this girl, a cheerleader, her name was Chrissy, she came up and asked to buy from me. Wanted really strong stuff.

“I didn’t keep it on me, it was at my home. The trailer. So after school we went there … I um …” he paused, taking a deep and shaky breath. You squeezed his hand, rubbing your thumb on the back of it.

“Take your time,” you said softly. He nodded, before taking another breath and continuing. “I went to my room to grab the stuff and when I came back, she, Chrissy I mean … she um … was in some sort of trance.

“I tried to wake her up. Her body was thrown against the ceiling. Something pulled her apart from the inside out. Every bone in her body was broken, her eyes were … I ran. I ran out. I left her there.

“Everyone thought it was me, so I hid.” He continued, explained how Dustin had found him, along with Steve, Robin and Max.

He told you about Vecna, about El. About the two other kids who were killed at the monsters hands, Fred Benson and Patrick McKinney.

He told you about the Upside Down. About the great final battle. Him playing guitar.

“I broke the rope, Dustin was stuck in this world and me in the Upside Down. I ran. I made as much noise as I could. The bats they um … they attacked me.

“Ripped me apart. It’s why I look … it’s why I look the way I do. Vecna was doing the same thing to Max that he did to Chrissy. She barely survived, but she’s a strong kid.

“If it wasn’t for El, neither of us would be here. She killed Vecna, saved Max. She was hurt, but she was alive. Steve, Robs and Nance came back, dragged me to the trailer.

“The doctors saved me. Well El did most of the work. Then … then Hopper came back, vouched for me. It got blamed on someone else, Jason Carver.

“Not everyone believes that. I’m still the town freak. People think that I summoned Satan to destroy the town. I didn’t. I was so scared. Then the earthquakes, the landslides, I was just hoping Wayne made it out.

“I didn’t care if he hated me, I just needed him alive. He’s all I got.”

“All you had,” you corrected, “You’ve got me now.”

“I do? You believe me? You don’t hate me?”

“Yes, yes and no.”

“I was so scared that you’d never want to see me again.”

“I believe you. I’m sorry that all happened to you Eds and I’m sorry people still judge you for it.”

You could now recall the times people looked at him funny, or stopped talking when he entered the room, or when they crossed the road to avoid him.

“I um … I’ll let El and Max tell you their stories, it’s not for me to say anymore. I still don’t really understand myself.”

“Thank you for telling me. You did so well.”

“I-I’m sorry that I had to tell you, but you needed to know. I couldn’t have you see me and not know what happened. That’s if you still want to see me?”

“Eddie you might not think it, but you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I want to see you, I want to see all of you if you’ll let me. No matter what you’ll be beautiful to me.”

He pressed his mouth to yours, face damp after what he’d just told you. “We don’t have to do anything, but if you want to stay you can.”

“I’d like the company if that’s okay?” he says, almost shyly.

“That’s more than okay. Hey I’ve got Cherry turnovers downstairs, let’s go get some.”

“What time do you have to be up tomorrow?” he asked.

“Shop opens at 9, but the girls get here at 8. I have to finish up stuff so I’ll be up around 6:30.”

He hummed, nodding. “Okay, well I have to get to work too.”

“Okay, now come on. Let’s go get treats.”

He laughed, as you pulled him with you.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You headed into the kitchen and opened up a box full of the turnovers, handing one to Eddie and taking one off yourself. Both of you stood close together, chomping at the delicious pastry.

You smiled at Eddie before you eyes caught something else, “Oh my god,” you said.

“Hm? What?” he asked.

“That’s why you freaked out about the cake! Oh Eddie I’m so sorry!” you said, remembering the small fondant creatures.

“Hey, it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I was just having a rough day with it. Was dealing with my feelings about you too.”

“Oh yeah? How long have you had these feelings?”

“A while.”

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that Munson.”

“No way!”

“Mean,” you pouted.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you smiled.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, lifting your chin so you’d meet his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Mean,” you spoke, voice almost a whisper.

“Am I? Am I mean?” he asked.

“I-I …”

“Come on, what happened to the mouthy girl here a few minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

He kissed your forehead, “It’s sadly too late for that. I’ll show you how mean I can be.” He attacked your lips, holding you close to him. His lips traveled down to your neck, kissing and biting, just like how you’d been doing to him, hours before.

“E-Eddie we can’t h-here,” you stuttered, breathless at the feeling of his lips on your neck. “It’s n-not hygienic.”

“Not hygienic,” he laughed into your neck, “Okay then Sweetheart, jump for me.”

You did as he asked, he caught your thighs, legs wrapping around his waist. “Would your bed be more hygienic?” he asked.

“That does sound better.”

“Okay baby, whatever you want,” he said, stealing a kiss.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

As soon as you made it into the apartment, Eddie was in your room. Dropping you on the bed gently. Leaning up on your elbows you smiled at him. “God Sweetheart you’re so fucking beautiful,” he spoke, climbing onto the bed and between your legs.

Mouths on one another, tongues fighting, but somehow in sync with one another. Hands grabbing anything they could. “Can I take this off?” Eddie asked, playing with the hem of your shirt.

You nodded. “Use your words Sweetheart.”

“Yes.” Sliding off your cardigan first, you raised your arms above your head, letting him pull the shirt from your body.

Sat back on his knees, Eddies eyes were filled with lust. You were the most stunning person he’d ever seen. He began kissing down your chest, leaving marks along the top of your breasts.

“Can I?” he asked, dragging his fingers up to the back of your bra. “Yes,” you say, breathless. Undoing it, the bra was thrown somewhere in the room - frankly you couldn’t care less where it had landed.

“Fuck baby,” he said, taking your breasts in his hands, squeezing them lightly. You moaned out at the feeling. Leaning down, he placed his latched his mouth to one of your nipples. Sucking on it, twirling his tongue around.

“E-Eddie, oh fuck baby,” you cried out as he bit down lightly. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling on it, he nipped more. “God I feel like I’m neglecting the other, better fix that. Right Sweetheart?”

You hummed in agreement, making Eddie cock his brow. “Y-yeah better fix i-” You didn’t get chance to finish as Eddie already began his attack.

You hips bucked up into him, making him grind down his own. Feeling his bulge grow in his jeans, your hands wandered down, squeezing him through the denim.

With a pop, he let go of your nipple. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “I need you, please I need you,” you almost begged.

“I told you, I’ll give you anything you want. But you called me mean, so maybe I should make you work for it?” You eyes widened, you’d love to take him in your mouth, god he’d feel so good down your throat.

“Oh no, I’ll give you everything. You want me to make you work. Well no can do. You’ll take what I give you.” He began to unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs.

There you were, in only panties whilst he was fully clothed. He reached for the edge of his shirt, but hesitated. “It’s okay,” you said, sitting up to kiss his mouth.

Slowly you lifted his shirt up and off of him, there were scars and bite marks everywhere. You could see the doctors had done what they could, but the wounds were deep, ragged.

“You’re beautiful,” you spoke, kissing his chest, right above his heart. “So fucking beautiful Eds.” Your mouths connected again as Eddie climbed out of his jeans, pushing you down on the bed.

Lay in between your legs, his fingers trailed up your thighs. Biting, licking, sucking at your neck, his fingers found their way underneath your panties.

“God you’re so wet, all for me baby?”

“A-all for you.” You moaned when he brushed your clit, he smirked at that, rubbing again. “I bet I could just slide my fingers right in, better take the rings off.”

He went to move his hand, but you stopped him. “Please baby I need you,” you spoke, begging him. “What a dirty girl.” His fingers slid into you, making you cry out, the cold metal stretching you.

“F-fuck Eddie.”

“Already such a mess, better clean up,” he spoke, more to himself than anyone. Making his way down your body, he kissed everywhere he could.

Placing a gentle peck to each thigh, he let his tongue lick your slit. “Fuck!” you screamed, hands tangling in his hair. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking on it, as his fingers curled upwards hitting that spot over and over.

“F-fu-Fuck .. E-Ed .. oh my god,” you babbled. “Does it feel so good?”

“Mhm,” you moaned.

“I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes, it feel so fucking g-good,” his fingers hit the spot again. “Who’s making you feel so good?”

“You!”

“Who’s that?” You could feel his smirk on you thighs, mouth licking you again. “You Eddie fuck. I’m gonna c-cum, fuck Eddie I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah baby, give it to me. Cum for me, come on Sweetheart, cum.” You let out a cry of pleasure, clenching around Eddies fingers as you came. Legs shaking, he pressed soft kisses to your clit. Moving his fingers until your fingers weren’t so tight in his hair.

“Shit Sweetheart,” he laughed. You lay there trying to catch your breath. “You good?” he asked. You hummed, “Yeah.”

“Think you can take more?”

“Please,” you said, meeting his eyes.

“Do you uh … do you have a condom?”

“N-no, but I’m on birth control and I’m clean and I .. I trust you Eddie.”

He smiled softly, planting a kiss on your forehead. He slowly slid your panties down, his boxers following soon after. Fuck. You knew he’d be big, but fuck. He was thick and long and … well shit.

“Can you open up for me Sweetheart?” you legs spread for him, allowing him to line himself up. Slowly he slid into you. “F-fuck,” you moaned, he stretched you out so much. It felt so good.

“God baby you feel so good,” he moaned into your neck. Soon enough he was in you, bottoming out. “Can I move?”

“Please!” you cried out.

He did so, starting slowly, then building up a nice pace, nice and deep. You were squeezing around him. He smirked, taking hold of one of your legs, resting it over his shoulder.

Moving again, he was so deep, you could see him in your tummy. Each time, hitting that spot, making your body shake with pleasure. “Eddie oh my god,” you cried.

“I know, it just feels so good doesn’t it, fucking you so nice and deep,” his hips slammed into yours roughly, again and again, making you loose your voice.

You mouth was wide open and no sound was able to come out, eyes in the back of your head as he fucked you hard. His hand slid up to neck, squeezing softly. Rings cool, but sticky as they sat there.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum soon, your pussy’s gripping me so good,” Eddie moaned. “Cum-cum in me p-please,” you begged, voice weak as his hand squeezed.

“Yeah you want all my cum?”

“P-please,” you said nodding, crying out again, “I-I’m gonna cum again baby f-fuck!”

“Cum all over my cock, come on Sweetheart, squeeze that dick.”

You did just that, body shaking, a loud moan leaving your body as you came, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Eddie groaned, thrusting his hips a few more times, “Fuck Sweetheart, fuck fuck fuck fu-“ hot ropes of cum filled you up.

The curly haired man dropped into your shoulder. Both of you breathing heavily. He kissed your shoulder, and neck where his hand had been. “You okay Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay, are you?”

“I’m more than okay.”

He pulled out as gently as he could, making you whine. Climbing up from the bed, you reached out for him, “I’m coming, just getting a washcloth hang on.”

You closed your eyes, listening to the faucet run for a few moments. Footsteps came closer and soon enough a warm washcloth was being rubbed gently on your lower body.

“All clean baby,” he said, kissing your stomach. He slid his boxers back on and helped you into his t-shirt. Pulling you into him, you listened to his heart beat.

“I don’t think you’re mean,” you spoke up, which made him laugh. “Oh I know, but I wasn’t lying when I said, I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

“Kiss me?”

He chuckled, pressing his mouth against yours softly. “I adore you,” he said, making your face flush. “Now Sweetheart, let’s get some rest, we’ve gotta be up early.”

“Okay. Goodnight Eds.”

“Goodnight Sweetheart.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N : uhhhh so i may have got a little carried away 👀

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

taglist : @corrodedseraphine @flawiette @witchwolflea @emxxblog @plk-18 @vintagehellfire @lma1986 @squidscottjeans @eddiesguitarskills @nanas-lasagna @halialex1119

let me know if you want to be added 🤍

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reysdriver · 2 years ago

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Meeting The Dad | E.M.

Your police chief dad insists on meeting your misfit boyfriend, so you bring Eddie over for dinner — eddie x fem!hopper!reader fluff

warnings: just a stressful dinner and a mention of eddie dealing drugs

words: 1.2k

Eddie always insisted on getting out of the van first so he could open the door for you. After telling him it’s not necessary about a million times, you just gave up and let him do it.

You exhaled while it was just you in the car, waiting for him to walk around to your side. This dinner was nerve-wracking, but you didn’t want to show how nervous you were to Eddie and potentially scare him away.

When the passenger side door opened, you smiled at Eddie as he took the takeout bag from you and helped you down the step.

“So,” Eddie wondered as you started walking along the forest floor. “Remind me again why we have to do this? Your dad and I have already met.”

“Because the situations in which you two met weren’t… the most desirable. We want to show him that you’re a respectable person and a great boyfriend to his daughter.”

Eddie took an exaggerated step over a fallen branch on the ground. “It’s not like he’s going to change his mind about me.”

“But we can try getting him to see you differently.” You told him. “So that means you have to be on your best behaviour, remember?”

He rolled his eyes jokingly. "Shake his hand, call him 'Mr. Hopper’, and keep my elbows off the table. I remember all your training"

“Eds, I’m serious. I really want him to like you.”

He understood that you were nervous and dropped the teasing. “I know. I want it as much as you do, really. I promise I’ll try as hard as possible to become best friends with your dad.”

You laughed at that. “Well, you don’t have to get that close to him.”

“Oh, we’re gonna be super close. Soon, I’ll spend more time hanging with him than I do with you. He’ll let me sit in the front seat of his cop car as we cruise around town and share embarrassing stories about you.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. You both continued walking towards your cabin, and you pointed at the ground a few feet ahead of you. “There’s the tripwire, we have to go over that.”

“I know about the tripwire, sweetheart. How do you think I sneak in to see you?”

You lowered your voice to explain. “I know. I’m pointing at it in case my dad is watching from the window or something. We don’t need him knowing about you sneaking in through my window.”

“She’s too smart for me!” Eddie spoke dramatically into the forest. “Another reason I can’t slack in making a good impression with her father.”

You giggled at him as you both stepped up onto your porch. You took one deep inhale before opening your front door to reveal your dad and sister on the couch waiting for you. Your dad stood up and started walking to you with an unreadable expression, Eleven following closely behind.

“We’re here, and with food!” You said after Eddie shut the door behind the two of you. “Dad, El, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is my dad, and that’s my sister.”

Your boyfriend held out his hand to share a handshake with your dad. “Thank you so much for inviting me over, Mr. Hopper. It’s good to meet you in a different setting than we have before.”

He took his hand and spoke slightly more grumpily than you had hoped. “Yeah. It’s a pleasure.”

They broke the handshake and your dad moved out of the way, leaving Eddie and Eleven face to face.

“I know you.” She said to Eddie.

He and you both went slightly wide-eyed, remembering what happened a few weeks ago when Eddie snuck in at night. He came to show you his most recent tattoo—among other things—and your little sister had walked into your room to find you making out with a shirtless Eddie when she got up to get a midnight snack and heard voices behind your door. You had explained that you and Eddie were just playing a game but she couldn’t tell Hopper about what she saw.

She agreed not to say anything, but now she was forgetting her promise and you had to cover it up quickly.

“Yeah, you’ve probably seen him around town. Anyways, we brought waffles for you and we don’t want them to get cold, so let’s sit down to eat and you can figure out where you’ve seen Eddie later, okay?”

Eddie put the takeout bag on the table and sat down in the seat next to yours that you had gestured to a second ago. There were plates on the table for you already, so you started taking out the takeout boxes from the bag and handing them out.

“El, here’s your waffles. Eds, here’s our burgers. And, Dad, we got you a steak. Benny threw in extra fries but I got him to add vegetables for you too.”

He was obviously displeased. “Oh, yay. My daughter’s drug dealer boyfriend and I get a bunch of steamed vegetables? Best dinner ever.”

You chose to ignore his attitude, and you placed a calming hand on Eddie’s thigh. “You know, Dad, Eddie actually has a real job. He just started at the music store in the new mall. Right, Eds?”

Eddie dropped the fry in his hands before answering. “Yeah, I mean, I’m mostly just a stock boy, but at least it’s honest work.”

“And you’re saving?” Your dad asked. “Planning to move away, buy a house? At least pay off those student loans?”

There it was, the part you didn’t want to explain to your family. You avoided eye contact as you spoke. “Actually, Dad. Eddie doesn’t have student loans. He’s not going to college yet.”

“So, you’re both about to take a gap year?”

“Not exactly.” Eddie told him. “I’m staying at Hawkins High for another year. I just have a few credits left, but it’ll happen. Third time’s the charm, right?”

“This is gonna be your third senior year?” Your dad asked, looking surprised.

Even Eleven joined in. “That’s six years of high school!”

“Yeah, it is. Unfortunately, I didn’t put a lot of my focus into school, so I wasn’t always the best student. But I’m almost there.”

You were so scared about how your family would react to this information. Obviously, you didn’t care that Eddie was a year older but still in high school; you were just so proud of him for sticking to it and trying. You winced as your dad started to laugh.

“I guess I don’t need to worry about you running off with my daughter anytime soon ‘cause where the hell are you gonna go?”

You were about to tell him off for being mean about your boyfriend’s education journey, but Eddie sensed this and held your hand under the table. In fact, he seemed to find it funny too.

“No, sir. Not going anywhere yet.” Eddie responded. “In fact, I’ll even stay for a fourth year if it’ll put your mind at ease about me.”

You realised you were still holding your breath from when your dad asked the question, and you finally exhaled calmly. Maybe this dinner wouldn’t be as intimidating as you thought.

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x hopper!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #jim hopper #eleven #stranger things #stranger things fluff

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scarisd3ad · 5 months ago

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Scarisd3ad’s Halloween writing challenge | day three

Prompt - trick or treating

Pairing - Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Taglist

Masterlist

[Warnings] - cursing

Steves arm is wrapped around my shoulder as we walked down the dark street. mike, Lucas, will, Dustin, max, and El all walked a few feet Infront of us excitedly. this year the children who weren't much of children anymore all respectively being 15 and 16 years old now decided to trick or treat one last time before finally being a little too old to be celebrating this holiday trick or treating.

normally we'd be at some party getting drunk, and dancing with old high school friends in someone's basement. but we had also decided this year we were getting a little too old to be celebrating this holiday partying. hopper had also decided to recruit us to make sure El stayed safe seeing as El had never really trick or treated before.

at each house we stand at the end of the driveway watching as each kid goes up to the front porch to pick out a piece of candy. it's funny, us standing there, his arm wrapped around my waist and a smile on both our faces, almost like we were already parents.

at the end of the night, we all pile back into Steves car, each child's bag sufficiently filled with enough candy to last them until Christmas. Steve reaches back holding out his hand as the kids each began to dig into their bag to find the first piece of candy to eat. I hear Dustin groan from the back seat before mike mutters "he does this every time" before each kid drop a few pieces of candy in his hand.

he grins as he brings his hand back up to see how much he had gotten. 12 pieces. his grin widens as grabs a KitKat before dropping the rest into his cupholder. I roll my eyes as he opens the wrapper and stuffs the entire thing into his mouth. I laugh as I mutter "you're a monster" he shrugs before saying,

"it's the Steve tax"

#fanfics #x reader #fem!reader #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #female!reader #steve harrington x female!reader #halloween #scarisd3ad #scarisd3adhalloweenwritingchallenge

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kurokoros · 2 years ago

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into open flames | (s.h.)

Rated: M (smut, descriptions of blood/injury)

Words: 12.7K

Pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary: There’s a storm raging, winds howling and snow beating against the cabin walls. Outside a monster shrieks his name in an awful and warbled voice that sounds like you. And it shouldn’t be awkward, Steve thinks. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked.

You and Steve are almost something. Almost lovers. And it feels almost like hell; almost romantic.

OR: A blackout snowstorm and a monster force you and Steve to take shelter in Hopper’s old cabin. From there, everything starts slotting into place.

AN: the third and final part! enjoy!

Warnings: horror elements (the monster is modeled after the official illustration of the “bagman” from dnd). descriptions of blood and gore. smut. reader implied to be shorter than steve. reader is a hopper but there’s no mention of blood relation. cop!steve but it’s for monster hunting reasons. S3 and S4 never happened in this universe alteration, but upside down shenanigans have still been happening post-S2

Chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three

The chittering whispers from outside the cabin keep him awake.

After those first quiet calls of his name, that thing only grew louder, walking around outside and screeching loud enough to rattle the walls, making itself heard over the storm. You lurched away from his chest to the sound of your own voice shrieking, as if waking from a nightmare, only for unease to settle deep in your bones when you realized it wasn’t you screaming. Steve only pulled you back into his chest, murmuring gentle words against your ear, trying to coax you back into whatever comfort you’d found.

For what seemed like hours the creature paced outside, yelling, sometimes in voices that sounded like Steve. Like the kids. Like voices from town that he knows are familiar but can’t quite place. Voices that sounded like you. Asking questions. Calling out names. Statements hushed from the other side of the door. Long fingers tapping on the windows to get his attention. Other times, it would be silent over what Steve assumed were long stretches of time, like it grew bored with waiting and wandered off. In those moments, Steve would doze with you in his arms, waking to random taps and whispers and clicks, your body soft against his, but tense.

Outside, the wind howls. Shrill and savage, the storm rattles the cabin where it stands. Rattles Steve’s clenched teeth so hard that his jaw aches, because he can still hear it. That thing. Beneath the wind and the snow beating against the walls. Beneath the gentle sound of your breathing. The irregular taps on the windows from long, spindly fingers. From the front door. Others from the window near the fireplace. Some, muffled by the door to El’s old bedroom. Taunting. Circling. But it’s stopped screaming his name in that awful, warbled, terrified voice that sounds like you.

“Do you think it can get in?” you asked him earlier, whispered the words against his throat so he knew it was you, your bare chest pressed to his, your fingers tracing the lines between his ribs.

And Steve thought of the Demogorgon ripping holes between worlds and answered honestly. “I don’t know.”

Neither of you have spoken since, afraid of drawing the creature’s attention, luring it inside.

On the other side of the door, the creature calls out a quiet, muffled “hello?” and taps on the wood, knocking, wanting to be let in.

He makes a sound, muffled where his face is buried against the back of your head, and pulls you tighter to his chest. Injured arm slung over your waist, he keeps the other pressed to your naked chest, relishing in your soft skin and the steady rhythm of your breathing. A sigh slips between your parted lips as his thumb sweeps along the curve of your breast, his palm pressed flat against your sternum. When he focuses, he can feel your heart beating against his hand, slow now that you’re asleep.

Holding you like this, he thinks he might just make it through the night. The two of you can wait this out, come up with a plan in the morning. If it wanted to get inside, it would have done so by now. And he thinks back to what you said earlier when you found him. It could have killed you, but it didn’t. And it could have killed him, too, while he was lying there unconscious in the snow.

It’s not a predator; not like the Demogorgon.

“Steve?” that voice that sounds like you calls from outside for the first time in a while. “Steve? Please—please let me in! You have to let me in, it—it’s coming! Steve? Steve!”

Something inside him snaps.

The pistol is on the coffee table where he left it, and Steve stares at it for a long time, imagining the weight of it in his hand. Sixteen bullets. There are sixteen bullets left in the magazine. One shot scared it off earlier. Wounded it, if he got lucky. Clearly, it wasn’t enough to keep it away, not for long anyway. With the Glock, he could get a few more shots off, scare it off again, but there’s no running this time, and no guarantee the thing will run back off into the woods. And he knows better than to get his hopes up. Guns have been useless against the Upside Down since the beginning. Against the Demogorgon. The Mind Flayer. Most of the others, too. At least the handguns, anyway.

He watched you blow out the back of one of those juvenile Demogorgon’s heads with a shotgun that time in the junkyard. Watched the muzzle flash and heard the bang. Watched black blood and slimy skin splatter across the ground.

Outside, the creature calls out his name again, a wet sob begging him for help.

Steve slips his arm out from underneath you, careful not to shift you too much. A murmured sound of protest escapes your lips as cold air replaces his warmth against your back, and you shudder and shift against the blankets, fingers stretching and searching for him, even in your sleep. Your eyelids flutter, but don’t open, and Steve leans down to press his lips to your temple, lingering there longer than he means to. He strokes your hair away from your face, brushes his knuckles against your cheek one more time before reluctantly pulling away.

He’s careful to stay quiet as he grabs his pants from the floor and slips them back over his legs.

He leaves the Glock on the table.

The floorboards creak under his bare feet, groaning in answer to the whistling wind. A series of quick taps comes from the other side of the cabin, a long finger against the glass. His steps don’t falter as he pushes open the curtain to the small room where Hopper used to sleep.

Steve squints through the darkness, gaze sweeping over the cramped space, and grits his teeth when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. There’s not much left in the room. The mattress is stripped bare. The dresser shoved into the corner has its drawers askew, empty and gathering dust. No gun in sight.

Hopper kept one here. Steve knows he did. You keep a shotgun in the back of your closet. Steve has a nail-studded bat in the trunk of his car. And Hopper left guns in the cabin as a safety precaution, in case something like tonight were to happen. Damn smart of him, too, with your and Steve’s luck.

Getting down on his knees, Steve lowers himself onto the dusty floor, checking under the bed and—bingo. A humorless grin finds a place on Steve’s face as he sees the shotgun tucked against the far wall. There’s an open box of shells sitting beside it. He grabs both out from under the bed.

There are four shells left in the box. Steve cracks open the chamber and finds it empty from when you used it last summer, because the shotgun is your specialty. Blowing something to pieces. Quick and dirty. Steve has always preferred something blunt, something to hit hard and fast—something to help get the anger out—but tonight he’ll take what he can get.

When he comes back into the living room with the shotgun, you’re sitting up, a blanket pulled up to cover your bare chest. Blearily, you stare at him, brushing your hair back away from your face and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. A frown pinches your features, and you watch in confusion as he walks by the couch, heading towards the front door.

“Steve?” you call after him, soft voice rough with sleep.

“Stay there, honey,” he tells you. From the corner of his eye, he sees you tense when you notice the shotgun in his hands.

“Steve, what are you—”

Outside, the creature wails, cutting you off.

Steve wets his lips. “Just stay there,” he repeats himself, only half to you.

That thing is calling to him through the door, begging him to unlock it. Telling him it’s cold outside, that it hurts.

“You don’t—you don’t understand,” it wails, sobs tearing from deep in its chest, sounding so much like you that Steve has to bite down on his cheek hard enough to split open the laceration there to keep himself from ripping open the door to let it in. He’s suffered through unimaginable horrors in his young life, but nothing cuts him quite as deep as imagining you in pain and doing nothing to stop it.

“Understand what?” he asks before he can stop himself. He shouldn’t talk to it. He should just leave it alone. One wrong word and he could fall right for its tricks. It’s not you, but that doesn’t stop him from being a sucker for the sound of you crying.

“It’s not me.” This time, he isn’t sure if the voice comes from behind him or beyond the door, and he doesn’t dare turn around to check. He can hear you moving behind him, hear the rustle of clothes.

And then, “don’t let it inside, Steve. Why would you let it inside?”

“That’s not me.” And he thinks it’s you.

“Yeah? All right, honey,” he says, speaking to it. The first shell slides into the chamber. Then the second. The third. The fourth, Steve tucks into his back pocket. Just in case. “I’m gonna open the door.”

Your voice blends with the monster’s, words overlapping, talking over top of each other until he can’t tell which is which anymore. But it doesn’t matter. He knows what he needs to do. It’ll all be over soon.

And he thinks of his dream last night. Of your weight on his hips. The fear in your eyes. That hand reaching from the blackness and covering your face. Stealing your voice. Waking up. Not knowing if that was real either. Not knowing if this is real, because that thing has been driving him insane all night.

He cocks the shotgun and closes the gap between where he stood and the front door. It looms in front of him, cast in shadows. Half-a-dozen locks hold it shut. The knob clicks, shifting subtly like someone on the other side is trying to open it. Just once. A trick of the light. On the other side, someone is crying.

“Steve?”

He slides open the first lock.

“Steve, what the hell are you—don’t.”

“Please, let me in.”

The second clatters when he unlocks it, dangling on the end of a chain.

“Don’t open the door! Steve—”

“Please. Please. Please, you have to let me in. I think it—I think it’s out here with me.”

“Yeah? What makes you say that, baby?” he asks, working faster to force open the rest of the locks. He can still hear you moving behind him, and he knows you’ll try and talk sense into him. The thing is, Steve already knows he’s being reckless. He just doesn’t care about that anymore.

This is the only way. The only way to guarantee you walk away alive.

“I can hear it breathing.”

“Steve!”

Ignoring the high, panicked tone of your voice, Steve snaps open the top lock on the door. Outside, the creature sobs, still crying out his name and pleading with him to open the door. Behind him, you’re struggling to get to him quicker. The next lock slides open. You shout at him to stop; you beg him to keep going around a sob. Before you can stop him, Steve undoes the rest of the locks.

The door stays shut. All at once, the voices fall silent.

His hand hesitates over the knob, fingers grazing the grimy metal. And outside the wind howls, a lone, somber sound.

“Steve?”

With a twist, the door opens, the quiet click like a gunshot. Resolute.

Steve takes two steps back, leaving the door ajar, just a crack. The stitches in his arm protest as he raises the shotgun. Cocks it. Nothing happens. You’re silent behind him, holding your breath, the pistol in your hand aimed at the floor, the other clutching at the back of the couch. With a squeal, the door creaks open as a heavy gust whips through the front porch. It bangs against the wall. He grits his teeth and forces himself not to flinch.

The porch is vacant. A pristine layer of snow covers the wood, filling in the spaces where you and Steve stood earlier, covering the trail of red drips leading up the steps. Perfect and undisturbed. It’s pitch black outside. Even with the firelight behind him, he can’t see further than two feet into the yard. Slowly, he scans the dimly lit space. Silence. His hands shake on the gun.

Silence.

Snow blows by. The wind tussles his hair.

Silence.

Behind him, the floorboards creak.

A figure lunges from the shadows outside.

Steve pulls the trigger. The muzzle flashes. For a single instance, Steve sees a wide-open maw. Bared teeth. Milky eyes. Stringy locks of hair. His ears ring.

The creature crashes to the ground, shrieking. Long limbs writhe and kick up snow. Clawed fingers come up to cover its face. Inky blood spills across the ground.

Steve cocks the gun again, aiming a second shot. He squeezes the trigger as the creature scrambles backwards into the darkness. It wails as the shell rips through one of its skinny legs above the knee, tearing through sinew and bone. The thing skitters out of sight, a trail of blood left behind.

As soon as it disappears, he readjusts his position, keeping his back to the open doorway, not allowing any blind spots. Sobs echo around the front yard, great, heaving cries that he’s only heard you make once before. The drift between hiccups, thrown from one end of the porch to the next, so he can’t pin them down.

“Steve?”

He can’t tell if the cry comes from inside the house or not. Calls of his name come from all around him, overlapping into a cacophony of noise that makes his head throb, pressure rising behind his eyes. They keep coming. Louder and louder. Pitches shifting. He knows better than to track the sound with his gun. He can’t risk missing a shot.

Again, he cocks the shotgun. The spare shell in his pocket feels heavier than before.

A long arm swings at him from the left. Clawed fingers grope for the shotgun barrel, trying to yank the gun from his hands. Steve squeezes the trigger as the creature jerks the barrel towards itself.

The shell punches through the creature’s chest at point blank range. It wheezes as a hole tears through its organs, stumbling backwards and slipping against the slick ground. Tall and gangly, it loses its balance, crashing sideways against the railing before its feet slide out from underneath it. The creature goes down hard, snarling up at him.

“Hurts,” it chokes out, clutching at the wound on its chest.

Steve goes to take another shot, freezing as he immediately remembers he’s out. Instead, he opens the chamber, reaching behind him for the shell as the creature struggles to stand again.

A gun cocks behind him. “Get down!”

“Fuck,” he hisses between his teeth. Bare feet stumbling through the snow, Steve throws himself against the porch railing, getting out of the way just as the Glock goes off with a pop.

The creature flinches as the first bullet lodges somewhere in the gory mess Steve’s made of its face. It shrieks at you. Another bullet lands somewhere in its torso. Steve fumbles with the shell in his back pocket, nearly dropping it when he moves too fast and the stitches in his arm pull tightly at his skin. You keep firing until the magazine runs out, until he can hear the empty click as you continue to squeeze the trigger.

The monster stays on the ground, moaning in pain as it curls in on itself. It doesn’t sound like you anymore. Instead, it just sounds wild, like a feral animal as it thrashes and jerks in the snow.

Clicking the chamber back into place, Steve raises the shotgun again, aiming it at the mess of gangly limbs and oily blood wheezing on the ground. Weakly, it lifts its head. He still can’t see its face behind the hair covering its skull. The creature clicks at him, a rolling sound that turns into a chitter at the end, like the Demogorgon made all those years ago. One long arm stretches towards him, reaching out. Claws dig into the snow, shiny and wet with oozing liquid, thick and tinged purple.

“Please,” it tries one last time. “Please, Steve. Don’t. Don’t hurt me.” His aim falters. Just for a second. It sounds like you again. The words gut him, rip into his chest and leave his insides spilling out across the ground.

When Steve pulls the trigger, the barrel of the gun brushes against the stringy hair dangling in the monster’s eyes. Flesh and bone splatter across the porch.

The thing’s limbs twitch, spasming as blackish blood leaks from behind matted hair and a broken jaw. The monster’s mouth keeps moving, busted and hanging loosely where the shotgun obliterated half its jawbone. The sounds it makes are slurred, garbled and unintelligible now, reduced to sporadic clicks and gurgles as it chokes on its own blood. One of its eyes is gone. The left side of the creature’s head is a pulpy mess of grayish skin, jagged bone, and thick, black ooze. Sludgy bits of flesh slide down the monster’s face, seeping into the fresh snow in an ugly stain.

There are no shells left, but Steve keeps the shotgun aimed at the beast until its limbs finally slacken, intact eye staring sightlessly passed his shoulder. One last gurgling moan escapes what’s left of its mouth. The labored rise and fall of the creature’s chest cavity ceases.

Silence.

You’re standing in the doorway when he turns away from the carcass on the porch. The Glock is clenched in your fist, barrel trained on the ground. There’s a wild look in your eyes, your chest heaving as you watch the bloodstain grow, bits of brain matter leaking onto the porch and splattered across the walls and steps.

“Steve,” you call to him, voice small. You’re shivering, body shaking as the cold wind wraps around you. In your hurry to follow him, you’d only pulled your sweater over your bare torso. Though no longer damp, it provides no protection against the night, the air so cold it makes your bones ache.

There are dark droplets of blood splattered across Steve’s chest and neck. His face. His hands. Backspatter dusts his skin like the moles you’ve spent a lifetime mapping. The shotgun hangs limp in his hand, bits of flesh and bone dripping down the muzzle.

“Steve?” you say again when he doesn’t respond, bare feet shuffling in the snow.

It takes him back to last night. Those awful screams ring in his ears, and he thinks of you pressed up against him, arms wrapped around him, holding him together.

Steve crosses the distance between you this time, mouth meeting yours in a fierce clash of teeth and tongue as he backs you into the cabin. You respond in kind, surging up onto your toes to kiss him back just as hard. Teeth nip at his bottom lip, a far cry from the gentle way you kissed him earlier. The softness is gone, sweetness burned up by the heat bubbling inside him, wound tight and ready to burst.

It’s a frantic stumble through the doorway. Unbalanced on your toes, your feet slip against the hardwood, wet where snow blew inside. Steve holds you steady, cradling the back of your neck in his palm as he follows you inside. Shotgun heavy in his hand, he drops it against the wall beside the door as he slips his tongue into your mouth, savoring the tangy, metallic taste of blood in your mouth. Now empty, his other hand finds your back, twisting in the thick wool of your sweater. He kicks the door shut behind him as you arch into his chest and suck on his tongue.

Somehow, he gets the locks shut behind him, fumbling with them as you press yourself against him. Your free hand slides up his arm, gentle over the tender marks below his shoulder, and then your fingers sink into his hair and pull. A ragged sound tears from deep in his chest. Big hands grab your ass and squeeze. You keen, a breathy sound muffled by his mouth, and he’s quick to adjust his grip. Steve lifts you off the ground like it’s nothing, lean muscles straining, but he’s stronger than most people assume. He needs you closer, needs you wrapped around him like a vice. And you oblige. It’s instinctive, the way you curl your legs around his waist, nipping at his bottom lip as you wrap yourself around him, trusting him to hold you up, to keep you from falling.

The Glock is cold against his back, the metal digging into his spine in your desperation to touch him. One wrong twitch of your fingers and you could leave him paralyzed, blood and bone splattered across the floor like the creature on the porch. But you won’t. And he doesn’t give a damn as he stumbles through the dark with you in his arms. Guided by the firelight, he makes it back to the rumpled pile of blankets on the floor, thrown back and spread out in your haste to get dressed.

The floor is hard against his knees, as he lays you down on the makeshift bed, big hands cradling your lower back. The Glock is pried from you hand and sent skittering across the floor as he shoves it aside, lacing his fingers with yours and filling the gap where you held his gun like a lifeline. Fingernails scratch at his skin, your fingers digging into his back as your hips roll against his, needy and rough.

There’s no preamble, no hesitation as the two of you fall together, slotting into place against each other’s chests naturally, like puzzle pieces fitting together. His fingers dip under the hem of your sweater to touch your skin and your back curves off the blankets. From below, your breasts press against him, soft through your clothes. Separating from you with a wet sound, Steve is quick to press his lips to your jaw instead, hot, open-mouthed kisses making you whimper as he rucks up your sweater, bunching it just below your chest. Hands splayed across your sides, the tips of his fingers brush the underside of your breasts, sliding higher and higher as you tilt your head back and whisper his name, saccharine sweet and lilting, verging on a moan. Electricity crackles across your skin where he touches you, and you moan as his mouth trails wetly down your neck, his teeth grazing the side of your throat.

“Steve.” You gasp, arching your back as he shoves your sweater up higher, baring your breasts. You shiver like you did before, when you stripped off your wet clothes and the cold air stung your skin. His fingers brush the soft curve beneath your left breast.

The lips wandering down your neck reach the collar of your shirt, and Steve nips your collarbone with his teeth before he leans back, lifting his weight off of you, though he doesn’t go far. You whine at the loss, cold without him on top of you, and your arms fall limp to the floor above your head. There’s a pretty pout on your lips, a petulant crease between your brows that he wants to smooth away. Arms braced on either side of you, Steve rises onto his knees to get a better look at you, take in the sight of you with your kiss-swollen lips and heaving chest.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, running his knuckles along the painfully soft skin of your chest. You curve your back off the floor, trying to press your breasts into his hands and get him to touch you more, or just giving him a better look. Either way, he obliges you. Long fingers wrap around your left breast, squeezing gently. “Such pretty fucking tits.”

“Shut up,” you say, swatting at his good arm because you hate it when he calls them that, but you’re giggling, mirth in your eyes, and it makes your breasts bounce. “Don’t say tits.”

“What? You want me to say ‘boobies’ instead?”

“Steven!” It’s meant to be admonishing, but his name comes out breathy as he rolls your nipple between his rough fingers.

Laughing, he bats your hands away when you reach for him. Before you can pout, he fists his hand in your sweater and yanks the thick fabric over your head. You arch your back to help him, moaning as he kneads the tender flesh of your breast. Your sweater is tossed to the side, and then your hands are in his hair, your fingers weaving through the dirty strands and scratching at his scalp to make him groan.

With your sweater gone, there’s no barrier between Steve’s mouth and your chest. His lips burn against your collarbone, tongue laving over the soft hollow of your throat before he latches on and sucks harshly, intent on leaving a mark that you’ll feel later. A reminder. You cradle his head to your chest, eyes fluttering shut as he leaves a line of wet kisses down your sternum, scraping with his teeth and soothing with his tongue when you jolt.

Keeping one hand buried in his hair, the other ghosts over his shoulders, skimming over the bandages on his right arm, tracing the puckered scars on his back from another incident with the Upside Down. You always do that when Steve has you underneath him, run your fingertips over old wounds and silver scars. A healing touch. A reminder that he’s still alive. A reminder that he’s yours.

Leg hooking tighter around his waist, you roll your hips against his, your head dropping back as his bulge grinds against you. Your damp panties smear against the front of his uniform pants, staining the fabric a darker shade of blue.

You’re squirming by the time his lips wrap around your nipple. Steve takes the sensitive bud into his mouth, tongue swirling around the nub as you gasp and rut against his cock in search of friction.

Palming your other breast, Steve pinches your nipple, a little rough, just to make you whimper and writhe under him, anything to pull more of those little sounds from the back of your throat—to replace that awful, warped version of your voice still rattling around in his head. Beneath him, you’re unrestrained, like you know exactly what he needs. Maybe you need it, too. After everything tonight. And he wants you to hear yourself—wants you to hear all of the filthy sounds you make for him. Moans. Whimpers. That shuddering breath when his cock is deep inside you, stretching you out until it teeters on the point of pain.

Teeth nip at your nipple, just hard enough to make your thighs twitch around his hips, surprise more than pain. You tug at his hair again when his lips wrap around your nipple and suck. The whisper of a moan that tumbles from your mouth has Steve grinning against the curve of your breast. A shiver rolls down your spine as he blows cold air over your wet skin, kitten licking at your nipple before his attention shifts.

Steve kisses across your chest, switching his attention to your other breast. Head falling back against the blankets below you, you indulge him for a while, losing yourself in the feeling of his lips, still chapped and rough from the cold, scraping across your skin. Though you and Steve have fucked before, it’s rare that he gets to pay so much attention to your chest. Quick and dirty hookups in a near stranger’s bathroom doesn’t leave much time for mapping out each other’s skin with nothing but teeth and tongue. In the past, he’s usually stuck to his hands, groping and squeezing at your breasts, sucking bruises along the soft curve above your bra.

The last time Steve had you splayed out like this underneath him, letting his mouth wander over every inch of naked skin across your chest, was last summer. In the quiet stillness that followed everything, after the hospital and the blood and the fear, for the first time in a while he was able to take his time with you without the threat of monsters or teenagers interrupting. After you were both cleared and discharged from the hospital, alone in the trailer by the lake, everyone else gathered at Byers’ old house, he laid you out on your bed, just like this. And he laved attention to your breasts until you were sensitive and shaking from the stimulation before he finally sunk his cock into you.

Tonight, he does so again. His mouth doesn’t leave your chest until you’re quivering under him, needy sounds tumbling from your mouth and your fingernails biting into his back. Tears well on your lash lines, but don’t spill over, even as he trails his tongue around your nipple teasingly.

Unable to handle anymore, you tug at his hair until his mouth leaves your chest with a slick pop. Knowing what you want, slides back up your body smoothly. His mouth meets yours in another hungry kiss, teeth tugging at your lip before he slips his tongue back into your mouth, swallowing the soft gasps and coos bubbling out of your throat as his big hand slides along your ribcage.

Your lips leave his with a dirty, wet sound as you toss your head back and whimper when he slips his fingers under the hem of your panties. Eyes screwed shut in pleasure, you can feel his smirk against your cheek. The kiss he places there is sweet, a contrast to the way he spreads your lower lips.

“Fuck, honey, what’s got you so wet already?” he mumbles against the corner of your mouth, two fingers dragging along your dripping slit before they swirl around your clit. His palm presses down on your pelvis as your hips nearly buck off the floor, keeping you pinned down as he strokes his fingers over you teasingly. “Pussy’s always soaked after you watch me beat the shit out of those fucking things. That turn you on?”

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” you whisper, cunt clenching around nothing. Choking back a moan, you bite your bottom lip to hold back the whimpers threatening to spill from you.

Face hot with embarrassment, you close your eyes against the onslaught of sensation and the dirty insinuation spilling out of his mouth. Embarrassment because he has you pegged so easily. Because you once watched him slam some horrific batlike creature against the ground until something inside it cracked before he ripped it in half with his bare hands and feet, chest heaving as he spit out a mouthful of blood from where he sunk his teeth into the creature, and a small, nasty part of your brain itched with the need to have him pin you down and make you clench around his cock. And tonight, despite the terror and the bile burning in the back of your throat, seeing him standing there covered in a splatter of black blood with a shotgun in his hand still sent a pang of arousal straight to your belly.

And then he was on you, like he could hear the fleeting, dirty thoughts, all raw strength and ferocity as a part of him simply snapped with the overwhelming need to fight and protect and survive.

He mouths at your jaw until he finds a sensitive spot that makes you feel lightheaded and boneless beneath him. A quiet sound finally slips through, high-pitched and needy as he grinds the palm of his hand against your clit. A frustrated tear slides from the corner of your eye as he keeps your hips pinned, refusing to let you rock back against him.

“Yeah? Feel good?” The tone of his voice is more sincere than condescending, but you still huff, wriggling against the hand cupping your cunt. “Shit, you’re dripping all over me. You want it that bad, pretty girl?”

As his lips wander back to yours, you tilt your chin, eager for a kiss, but he’s careful to keep a whisper of space between you, wanting to hear you say it—needing you to say it.

And you do. A breathy, “please,” that ghosts across his lips, lingering there like a brand.

“So damn polite,” he mumbles against your mouth, kissing you hard just once before his lips start trailing down. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Taking the same path as before, Steve nips and kisses his way down your neck and chest, pausing to roll his tongue over your sensitive nipple. You pull his hair again, heel digging into his back, and he makes a sound that might be a laugh.

Two of his fingers slide into your dripping cunt as he bites down on the soft skin of your breast, right over your heavily beating heart. The sudden stretch makes you gasp, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve doesn’t waste any time before curling the tips of his fingers against your walls and setting a steady rhythm. Your back bows off the floor and your thighs squeeze around his waist as his thumb rubs circles over your clit, already sensitive from his teasing. The lick of pain from his teeth has you shuddering under him, and he’s quick to soothe the hurt with the tremble of his tongue and a gentle kiss.

“Steve.” One of your hands grasps his bicep, just shy of the wound on his arm, and tug at his arm, urging him back up to meet you, your hips rocking against his hand.

He spits out a curse under his breath, his cock twitching beneath his pants as you wriggle against him. With his palm between your legs, he holds you down against the blankets, fingers still pumping inside you, fast and unrelenting. “Not yet, honey. Need to get you ready for me. Don’t want it to hurt.”

The reasoning makes you whine. That nasty part of your brain rears up again, wishing he would be a little mean, make it hurt just enough for you to feel him lingering on your skin, muscles sore and aching from the way he splits you open and stretches you out so perfectly that you can feel him in your throat each time you breathe.

And maybe you mumble this out loud, or maybe he just knows, because he slips a third thick finger into your cunt without warning. The brief sting mixes with the pleasure, and you moan a strangled version of his name as he yanks your drenched panties down and tosses them over his shoulder.

Both of your hands anchor to him as he shifts, open mouth meeting your inner thigh. He bites down there, too, close to where our leg and hip meet, and then laps at your sensitive skin, licking up the slick dripping down your thighs with each shallow thrust of his fingers. And when his tongue finally—finally—flicks over your clit, your breath catches in your throat.

The fire crackles, and his fingers and tongue make lewd, wet sounds between your legs. Your hands never stop moving, never stop touching him, alternating between grasping his shoulders to ground yourself and weaving into his hair to pull him closer. Each twist of his fingers and lick of his tongue feeds into the tight ball of pleasure in your lower belly.

You lose track of time as he’s between your thighs. The moment feels long, a slow unraveling of a knot until the tension is pulled taut in your lower belly, your cunt clenching around his fingers as he fucks you slowly. It’s almost embarrassing how easily he has you coming apart under him, thighs shaking and fingers tugging at his hair. His tongue works over you gently, savoring every sensitive jolt and quiet moan of his name. He’s sloppier than usual, lapping at the arousal leaking from your cunt and spitting on your clit, spreading it with his thumb as he works a bruise onto your thigh. It’s hot and dirty and when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, that taut feeling snaps.

The sound you make is choked and throaty, and Steve works you through it, fucking you with his fingers and mouth until your thighs quiver around his head and he has to pin one of your legs to the floor to keep you spread open for him.

The tremble of his tongue against your sensitive, puffy clit has you yanking on his hair roughly, and Steve comes willingly, body sliding over yours in one smooth motion. His hips slot between your thighs, his bulge grinding into the tender space between your legs, and his lips find yours just in time to smother a breathless cry of his name. Wet fingers hook behind your knee and yank your leg higher around his waist, opening you up to the steady pressure of his cock grinding against you. Slick smears across your skin, hot and sticky. One of your hands slides down Steve’s bare chest, fingertips grazing the trail of dark hair leading down from his bellybutton to where his pants sit low on his hips.

Steve swears as your fingers run teasingly along the waist of his pants, dipping beneath the fabric to run along the sensitive skin hidden there. His hips buck into your hand, and you giggle as you pop open the button on his pants. The slow drag of his zipper being pulled down is loud. As soon as you have room, your hand slips into his pants and palms his heavy cock, stroking him slowly.

The way you thumb at the tip makes him shiver, and he’s quick to kick off the rest of his clothes as your palm drags from tip to base. He lets you touch him like that for a minute, relishing in the feel of your soft hands on his heavy cock. Your thumb smears precum around the flushed tip.

You whine as he pries your fingers from his cock.

Steve hushes you, lacing his fingers through yours and pinning your hands to the blankets on either side of your head. “Lay back for me, honey. That’s it. Just like that. Let me take care of you.” One of his hands slips from yours to brush wayward strands of hair away from your face. His knuckles brush against your cheek.

He starts slow, rolling his hips against yours, running his cock between your folds, getting himself nice and slick. Each upwards stroke makes his tip prod at your swollen clit, making little gasps crackle through your parted lips. Your legs tighten around his hips, heels digging in as you buck against him, silently begging him for more.

And then you’re begging out loud, lips moving, words tumbling out of your mouth, rapid and low. Steve grinds his dick between your legs, his free hand grabbing one of your legs to spread you open wider as he shifts his hips. His fingers dig into your thigh as the head of his cock prods at your soaked pussy. Your back arches as he feeds you the tip, working it inside of you slowly.

Needy hips roll against his, taking another inch of his cock, and he grabs your hip to still you. Without giving you another second to breathe, he shoves his dick inside of you roughly, slipping inside easily you’re so wet for him. You turn your head to moan into the blankets as he stretches you out, thick cock filling you perfectly, and Steve presses his lips to the side of your neck.

He swears as your pussy clenches around him like a vice, so hot and wet and tight inside that a low groan tears from somewhere deep in his chest. He holds your hips still, savoring the feeling of your warm, wet walls fluttering around him.

When he does move, you’re shaking by the second thrust.

The pace he picks up is brutal, hard and fast, sweat-slicked body sliding over yours. All of the anger and adrenaline from earlier is poured into the harsh snaps of his hips against yours. He needs to make you feel him in the morning. On your skin. Inside of you. Steve drives his cock into you over and over, finding your sweet spot with every harsh roll of his hips. Every thrust has your heels digging into his lower back. And your fingernails dig into the back of his hand where he still has yours pinned to the floor in a desperate grasp.

You bury your face deeper in the blankets, smothering your gasps and moans. You’ll have bruises by the time he’s done, but you don’t care, each slap of his hips against yours feeds into the tight knot of arousal in your lower belly.

He starts mumbling at one point. Half of what he says is lost on you, too low for you to hear and smothered against your throat, but it still sends a surge of heat into the pit of your stomach. It’s not until his mouth moves to the sensitive spot beneath your ear that you finally make out some of the words.

“I won’t lose you,” he chokes out around a moan, voice hoarse, and it makes your heart break. “I can’t—fuck. I won’t lose you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it like this, in the heat of the moment, your wet walls wrapped around him perfectly, dizzy with the way you’re clenched around him tightly, the taste of you on his tongue. And you believe him. You think he’d rip the entire world apart with his bare hands if it meant keeping you safe.

He wets his lips. “I won’t let them touch you again.” An empty declaration, one he wishes so badly that he could make into a promise.

For now, you pretend it can be. “You won’t,” you agree, swallowing a moan as his hips smack against yours wetly with every harsh thrust, brutal pace driving the air out of your lungs and leaving you lightheaded. You cup his cheeks, and Steve’s hips stutter against yours, rhythm faltering.

Seeing your chance, you grasp it.

Tightening your unsteady legs around him, you throw your weight to the side. Steve grunts as you knock him off balance, but lets you roll him over so that you’re on top. As you adjust, his cock slips out of you and slaps against his stomach.

You pry your hand out of his and cup his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you. Gently, your thumbs sweep over his cheeks, stroking back and forth gently.

All you can do is whisper his name into the darkness.

Underneath you, Steve’s chest heaves, his hands grabbing your sides roughly as you settle on his hips, head spinning from the sudden shift in balance. His cock twitches against your thigh, still hard and hot between your legs, slick with your arousal, and you grind down on him. Steve swears under his breath as your hips roll forward, sliding over him deliberately.

You say his name again.

His throat bobs with a harsh swallow as he turns his head into your open palm. “I can’t do this without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, taking one of your hands from his cheek and pressing it to his chest instead, needing to feel the reassuring beat of it under your palm. His brows pinch together. You run your knuckles down the side of his face.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” you roll your hips against his to punctuate your point. “Steve, I’m right here.”

He groans low in the back of his throat, eyes fluttering shut briefly as your body moves above his, slower than his pace before. Sweeter, maybe. With your hand pressed to his chest, you sigh as his heart beats steadily under your touch.

You’re gentle as you touch him, fingers grazing over his chest and neck, sliding over his shoulders and down his biceps. Painfully soft, your fingers brush over the gauze wrapped around his upper arm. There’s blood on the white bandage where he must have popped a stitch already. Before he can speak, you lean down, pressing your lips to his shoulder in a chaste kiss, a contrast to the way your pussy slides against his cock.

“Does it hurt?” you ask him, the question mumbled against his skin.

He sighs, closing his eyes as he soaks in the gentle affection. “Not anymore,” he says as you place another kiss on his shoulder.

Letting your lips wander over his skin, Steve closes his eyes as your kisses move down to his neck. You’re softer than him, less teeth and tongue, more tender as you press butterfly kisses down his throat, each brush of your lips fleeting and sweet. The way you touch him, so gently, makes his heart ache.

Your fingers ghost down his stomach like they did before, and his cock twitches, the swollen head bumping against your clit. A breath hiccups from your chest, your cunt clenching around nothing at the feeling.

Reaching between you, you brush the tips of your fingers against his cock, teasing the head for a moment before you wrap your smaller hand around his thick length, stroking him slowly. The sound of your hand moving against his cock, all slick with your arousal, makes his hips lurch off the floor. He thrusts into your hand lazily.

Steve grips your thighs, sweetly brushing his palm over the welts on your leg. You don’t flinch like you did last night. High on endorphins, the gentle touch of his hand only makes you shiver. And then, you shift on top of him, rising off of his lap and leaning forward.

And you’re so, so good to him, stroking him as you line his cock up with your cunt and sink down on him slowly, pussy warm and wet and relaxed. It’s an easy glide, but you still whimper as his big cock stretches you out again, rubbing against your walls in a grind that makes your thighs tremble. The new angle lets you take him deeper, until you swear you can feel him in your throat. He bottoms out inside you, and your legs shake by the time your hips meet his, your weight resting on top of him.

Palms pressed against his chest for balance, you roll yourself forward, tentatively grinding against him. His hands help your hips along, stroking and squeezing your soft skin as your lips part. You moan for him, quietly, and your pussy flutters around his cock, gripping him so well.

“That’s it,” he ends up saying out loud under his breath, watching through half-lidded eyes as you rise off his dick and drop back down, slowly fucking yourself on his cock. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

As one of his hands drops between your legs, fingers seeking out your slick clit, your fingers wrap around his wrist, stilling him. Steve thrusts up into you as you pull his hand from between your thighs, just to feel your legs tremble around his hips. You meet his gaze, your own eyes hazy with pleasure. His heart is still racing under your palm, beating faster as his hips move with yours.

His breath catches as you bring his hand to your lips, his hips stuttering slightly. Your expression is soft when you press your lips to the palm of his hand, placing a fleeting kiss there as his fingers curl into your cheek.

Your eyes find his in the darkness of the room, your features soft and hazy in the firelight. Eyes never leaving his, you trail your lips across his palm, leaving a path of feathery kisses that make his beating heart stick in his throat.

Your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, all kiss-bitten and raw, and his mouth goes dry as you shift your grip on his wrist, bringing his fingers to your mouth. His breath catches. Steve stares up at you with wide eyes as you press your lips to his fingertips. His cock throbs inside you as your lips part for him. Two of his fingers dip into your warm, wet mouth.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers around a shaky exhale, his hips snapping against yours as you suck on his fingers, your needy tongue lavishing attention to the tips. He can feel it tremble against the pads of his fingers before swirling around the digits. The sensation goes right to his cock. He groans as you pull his wrist closer, his fingers delving deeper into your mouth, long and thick. You hum around them, your teeth grazing against his knuckles possessively, and his head drops back against the blankets as your tongue swirls around his fingers.

Steve tugs his wet fingers free from your mouth with a little pop, still staring up at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Slick with spit, they brush against your jaw. You shiver at the chill it leaves behind.

“You’re so pretty, honey.” His fingers curl around your chin, guiding you down for a slow kiss that makes you melt into him. Your hips stutter against his as the angle changes, causing your clit to grind against his pelvis every time you rock against him. “Gonna cum for me, sweet girl?” he mumbles against your lips.

You keep hold of his wrist, bringing his hand down to your chest. Wetness smears along the curve of your breast, and you only let him go when his big hand wraps around your soft skin, squeezing gently as you arch into his touch.

“Steve,” you whimper, starting to tremble as he thrusts against you, matching your slow pace. That little ball of pleasure in your belly grows tighter, threatening to snap as the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushes against your clit. It’s not enough to send you over the edge. Not quite.

You ride him until your thighs quiver with the effort to lift yourself up, your pace slowing to a rough, dirty grind of your hips against his. Lazy circles are rubbed against your clit, Steve helping you along as you squeeze down on him, your walls snug around his cock, hot and wet.

And your clenching walls nearly make him cum right then, a low moan of your name on the tip of his tongue. But he needs you to get there first.

“Need some help, honey?” he asks. He grabs your hips with both hands, urging you to move faster for him. When you do, he slips one of his hands between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit. You moan in his ear, one hand fisted in the blankets beside his head. Your hips lurch into his hand as he plays with your clit, rubbing you with fast circles and mumbling praises under his breath as you squirm over his lap.

He catches you off guard when he grabs your ass and flips you over, pressing your back onto the floor again.

“Steve.” You whimper, back arching as his thrusts speed up. “Oh, fuck. Steve.”

“That’s it, honey,” he mumbles back, fucking you harder as pressure rises in the pit of his stomach, his cock twitching inside you. “Just like that. Keep saying my name just like that. You’re so good for me. So fucking good.” His breathing is ragged, and his thrusts grow uneven and rough as your pussy gets tighter around his cock, sucking him in deeper as he reaches between you to play with your clit. He rolls it between his fingers, pinching your swollen nerves until you cry out.

It doesn’t take much for him to have you crumbling into pieces underneath him. Little whimpers and gasps of his name roll off your tongue as his cock thrusts against your sweet spot. The pad of his thumb presses against your clit just right, and your hips jerk against his as you make that high-pitched, breathy moan he likes.

At once, all of the tension in your body snaps. The breath is slammed from your lungs, and you tense beneath him, shaking as your orgasm rips through you. You clench around Steve’s cock, and he moans as your slick walls grip him tightly.

He fucks you through it, even as his hips stutter, until a broken, overstimulate sob tears from your mouth and he shoves his cock deep inside you, dick twitching as he fills you with his cum.

Cock still inside you, Steve dips his chin to catch your mouth in a sweet kiss and swallow the moan still on your lips, reassured that the voice calling out his name is really you.

Steve’s fingers trace nonsensical patterns across your naked back. You’re tucked into his chest again, your head resting over his heart, hair fanned out around you, and he twirls a lock around his finger absentmindedly. It’s not often that he holds you after you’ve had sex. Most times you’ve slept together it’s been the heat of the moment, in public places, frantic and hot and then you part just as quickly, unable to settle into the delicate intimacy that blankets you both now. Even though he sleeps beside you most nights, it isn’t like this, naked and soft, his cum dripping down your thighs. Breaths slow and even, he can’t tell if you’re asleep again, worn from the last twenty-four hours, or if, like him, you’re still clinging to the last strands of wakefulness, lingering fear keeping your eyes open, or maybe just wanting to bask in this moment for a little longer.

“I’ve been thinking about buying a ring,” he mumbles suddenly, drowsy from the heat and the softness of your body against his, your shuddering breaths and moans still playing in his head on a soothing loop. It slips off his tongue before he can swallow it, confessed into the darkness, the firelight making him brave.

It’s the second time he’s said it. The first, whispered into a bottle of whiskey passed between him and Jonathan Byers last summer, his eyes wet and red because you were in the hospital and they wouldn’t let him see you. Jonathan didn’t seem surprised by Steve’s slurred confession, either too drunk to realize the weight of it or just having suspected as much. Steve has never been a subtle lover. He wears his heart on his sleeves and carries it in his hands, and for years now you’ve held it in your own, cradling it close to your chest. You’ve held all of him for years.

He could have lost you tonight. It’s not the first time he’s realized that, how easily you could be ripped away from him. It won’t be the last. Not so long as you both live in Hawkins. And he’s tired of doing things halfway. He’s tired of having you halfway.

Your head lifts from his chest and he holds his breath, staring up at the ceiling. The tips of your hair slide over his skin, tickling his ribs as you shift against his side. “Steve?” you say, so softly he almost doesn’t hear you over the crackling wood. You haven’t gone far, arm still draped over his stomach, your hand pressed against a scar there, your naked chest still flush with his.

Heart in his throat, he tears his gaze from the ceiling and finds your eyes in the flickering light. The blanket slips down your body as you sit up a little more, and you shudder as Steve’s palm slides along the length of your spine. “I love you,” he says, brushing the hair from your face with his other hand. “I—fuck, I’ve loved you for a long time. And I just…” With a shrug, he trails off, the implication left hanging there between you.

Because you know. After all these years, you know, even if it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. And he wants it with you. For the rest of his goddamned life, he wants it with you. All of it.

The fireplace crackles and pops, flames dancing and casting flickering shadows over the side of your face. You’re quiet for a while, staring down at him with an expression he can’t quite read. Half-disbelief; half-hope.

Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say, “Are you asking?”

“I…” He trails off again, because he doesn’t have a ring. Hell, the two of you aren’t even dating, really, but you’re looking at him like none of that matters, eyes alight with overwhelming affection that makes his chest ache. “Yeah,” he decides. “Yeah, I’m asking.”

“Yeah?” There’s a pleased curl at the edge of your mouth, growing larger the longer you look at him, and he wants to feel it on his skin. A part of you must know it, too, because you dip your chin, pressing a close-lipped kiss over his heart to hide your smile.

Steve huffs a laugh, hand sweeping up your spine to cup the back of your neck in his palm. “Yeah,” he tells you again, firm in his choice. “So, what do you think? Should I do it? You know, buy a ring and all?” he asks, because he wants to hear you say it.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you send him a look dripping with fondness. “Yes,” you say before he can complain, and when his lips quirk into a stupid grin, you lean in to kiss it off of him.

The hand on the back of your head holds you in place as Steve’s mouth moves against yours, matching your eagerness with his own. It doesn’t take much for him to urge you back on top of him. A nudge against your hip. A nip to your bottom lip. And you sigh into him, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks sweetly. The heat from earlier is tempered now, warm instead of an all-consuming burn. Gentler than before, Steve holds you to his chest.

“Dad said he’d let us keep the trailer, if we want it,” you whisper against his mouth when the two of you part long enough to breathe. “If—if we wanna stay in Hawkins for a while.”

You’re on his lap now, sitting up just enough to look at him, and you run your fingers through his hair, brushing the unruly strands away from his eyes. Bottom lip between your teeth, you wait for him to speak. Because you’ve talked in circles around starting a life together. After the kids graduate. Moving to Chicago, or New York. Close enough to come back, but with enough distance to soothe the hurt that lingers when you think about your hometown.

There’s no response that Steve can give you. Not tonight. He thinks he’d follow you anywhere, even straight to hell, if you asked him to. And maybe he already has. Instead, he nudges your nose with his own, catching your lips in another sweet kiss.

There are voices outside. Faint at first, but growing louder. Closer. A cluster of voices arguing and talking over one another from the other side of the door. They’re practically yelling by now, but muffled, thankfully.

They linger on the edge of his awareness, an annoying buzz in the back of his head. Still half-asleep, Steve wraps his arms around you tighter, burying his nose in your hair. You sigh in your sleep, cuddling closer to his side, your bare legs sliding against his under the blankets, cold toes tucked up against his calves even though he always complains when you do.

He groans as someone shouts his name, annoyance prickling at his skin. It’s too damn early to deal with the kids being shitheads. Especially on his day off. Usually, they sleep in late when they stay over, only crawling out of bed once you and Steve start scrounging around for breakfast.

The lock on the cabin door jiggles. Steve’s eyes snap open.

It’s like the ground drops out from underneath him, his stomach churning as he’s violently reminded of the previous twenty-four hours.

A split-second, that’s all he’s given once the realization strikes him, his eyes darting around the living room wildly in search of—

The front door is thrown open, and Steve lunges for the Glock tossed carelessly aside. Jostling awake from where you’re lying against his chest, your own wide-eyed gaze snaps to the wide-open door. A figure steps inside. You scramble to cover your bare chest, swearing. Steve cocks the gun, leveling the barrel towards the door as the floor groans under new weight.

“Hey, ass—holy shit!” the person who threw open the door cries out, stumbling backwards into the group of teenagers behind him as Steve points the gun at them, finger on the trigger.

Steve lowers the gun as soon as he recognizes the long, dark hair and angular features of the teenager cowering in the doorway. “Jesus—what the fuck were you thinking, Wheeler?” he snaps at the kid, lowering the pistol and hurrying to click the safety back on. “I could have shot you!”

Mike glares back at him like he wasn’t about to piss himself a second ago, suddenly all unfazed bravado, his mouth curling reproachfully like he wants to argue.

He doesn’t get the chance.

“Steve!” one of the other kids shouts, all of them shoving into the room behind Mike, who grumbles in annoyance and smacks away the set of hands trying to push him out of the way. Lucas shoves Mike back, calling out your name as well. “Are you guys alive? You didn’t come home last night and—”

“Will said it found you!” Dustin continues. “How could you guys let it find you? Aren’t you supposed to be professional monster hunters, or whatever? Man, you guys suck at this!”

Steve rolls his eyes, falling back onto the blankets with a huff. There’s a large part of him that wants to snap back at the younger boy and remind the little shit that he doesn’t even know what it was, but you place a hand on his arm, and that’s all it takes to soothe his easily riled temper.

The kids don’t stop asking questions.

Steve doesn’t pay them any attention until one of them asks why there’s a mutilated monster corpse on the porch, and that makes him groan. He’s pretty sure that one was just to fuck with him, but as much as he loves these kids, he’s long realized they’re a group of the stupidest smart people he’s ever met.

All six of them start arguing after that, and Steve tunes out. The familiar background noise calms his frayed nerves, and he hears you try and smother a giggle as the kids talk over each other. His head lolls to the side, tilted towards you. You’re sitting beside him now, legs pulled up to your chest, arm clutching the blanket to your breasts to keep yourself covered, body turned towards the kids. The angle gives him a perfect view of your bare back, and Steve eyes the dip of your spine, barely able to resist reaching out to touch you.

He’s too blatant with his staring, and the chatter comes to a screeching halt as Mike blurts, “eww, are you guys naked? Why are you naked?”

Steve groans and runs a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”

Max whacks the other teenager on the arm. “Shut up, Mike!” she hisses before turning her wide, blue eyes towards you and Steve. “Are you guys okay? Did… did that thing attack you? I mean, that’s a stupid question. There’s a body on the porch. Of course, it—”

“We’re fine,” you tell the kids, cutting off Max gently, and you offer them all a tight-lipped smile as you subtly adjust the blanket laying a little low on Steve’s hips. Careful not to linger near his stomach, your hand slides up his torso to the bandage on his chest, smoothing over the gauze gently. “Steve’s a little banged up, and he needs a doctor to check out his arm, but we’re both okay. Mostly.”

Physically, is what you mean, but don’t say. The welts on your leg will heal, and maybe they’ll scar over in places, but you’ll be fine. And, within a week, Steve will be shrugging off any concerns about the stitches in his arm, like there wasn’t real worry about him bleeding out, and he’ll have another scar to add to the collection of stories he can’t tell without risking being shot in the head, or disappeared, or being a casualty in a tragic accident. No, the wounds will heal with enough time and antibiotics.

It’s the nightmares that’ll keep him awake. Those screams are still ringing in his ears, echoing over and over, so deep down he’s not sure they’ll ever leave him. And he isn’t sure you’ll ever forget about what happened in the hours you were in the woods alone, the hours you haven’t told him about yet, or if you’ll ever be able to come out here alone again.

Steve’s stomach rolls as he remembers the monster on the ground, hemorrhaging and wheezing and begging in your voice for him not to pull the trigger. The way he didn’t listen. The way blood and bone and brain matter splattered across the snow. Bile surges into his throat when he pictures it being you on the ground instead, but he swallows it back down when your fingers lightly drag through the patch of hair on his chest.

Oblivious to his thoughts, a shared look of relief flits across each of the kids’ faces. Max keeps staring at the bandages on Steve’s arm and chest, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She’s been a worrier when it comes to the older boy since that night at the Byers’, with Billy. Steve is still as reckless with his own life as he was back then, maybe even more so now.

Mike is still staring at the pair of you awkwardly, and Lucas is pointedly keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him. El just looks somewhat confused, but mostly happy that you and Steve are okay. It’s Will that catches Steve’s attention. He’s been silent since he stepped into the cabin, unwavering gaze on you and Steve. That haunted look is still in his eyes, but it’s lighter than the last time Steve saw him. Less clouded with lingering fear.

Steve only hopes that Will can see the apology in his eyes. It was a fox, that’s what he said yesterday. Now, he wishes that was all it was. But Will doesn’t look angry, just relieved to see the both of you are still alive. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, damp and somewhat strained, but it’s there.

“I heard it,” Will tells them softly, quieter and calmer than the rest of the kids. When you and Steve each send him a look of confusion, he clears his throat and clarifies, “last night. I could… I could hear it. Talking.”

And it sounded like you, is what Steve thinks he wants to add, his eyes flickering towards you briefly, but he doesn’t say anything more than that. And Steve doesn’t ask for a how or a what. He’s long gotten used to the peculiarities of Will Byers, how sometimes he sees and hears things that aren’t here, on this side of reality.

Mike’s arm bumps against Will’s as he takes a step forward. “That’s how we knew you were here. Will… Will knew where to find you.” He’s looking at Will when he says this, and when he turns back to you and Steve, his expression immediately twists up again when he seems to realize for the second time that you’re both in a state of undress.

Predictably, it’s Dustin that decides to forego tip-toeing around the situation. “So, uh, is there a reason you’re both naked, or did we, you know, interrupt something?” He ends the question in a faux whisper, like there aren’t five other teenagers clustered around him.

The insinuation makes Steve groan outright. “Christ, Henderson. Our clothes got wet. We couldn’t exactly sleep in them,” he snaps at the teenager. He’s not wrong, exactly, but like hell Steve is going to tell him that. The shithead gloats enough as is, and Steve really doesn’t want to hear an I told you so from a kid who was telling Steve to just make a move already this time last week. “What the hell did you think this was, dipshit? A date?”

It would be a good excuse, if your sweater wasn’t lying in a heap on the floor, and your panties weren’t hanging off the edge of the coffee table where Steve tossed them last night. Maybe if the kids weren’t half as smart as they are, they wouldn’t be exchanging mortified looks at the compromising position they’ve caught the two of you in. Despite sharing a bed every night, you and Steve have always been mindful of the kids. As far as they were aware, you and Steve had never had sex at all, let alone in the trailer where anyone could walk in on you.

Things are quiet for a minute. The kids are all avoiding eye contact and trying not to gawk, and you sigh as you lean your elbows against your knees, careful to keep yourself covered up. Meanwhile, Steve is still flopped over on the floor beside you, far too sober to be having this conversation right now. There might be another bottle of that rum tucked away somewhere in the cabin, but his clothes are all the way across the room, and he’s pretty damn sure that’ll just make things even more awkward.

It’s El, too sweet for her own good and still not having quite as firm of a grasp on etiquette as the other kids, who asks, “are… are you two together now?”

Dustin blinks. “Well, that’s a polite way to ask if they’re fu—”

“Get out,” Steve says, cutting him off before he can say anything crude.

“We walked all the way out here—”

“Technically we took the Mustang,” Lucas admits sheepishly, glancing up at you apologetically before his gaze goes right back to the floor, the only one not staring openly at you and Steve.

You tense up beside Steve, small smile replaced with a murderous look you learned from Hopper. “You took my Mustang?” you ask, raising your voice. “Who drove?”

El says, “Max.”

“We left the top up!”

Dustin continues loudly over everyone else, acting like he hadn’t been interrupted in the first place. “We walked all the way out here to make sure you assholes were okay, and you’re kicking us out?”

“Yes,” Steve tells him bluntly. He sends the kids the most irritated look he can muster. “I’d like a moment of peace with my fiancée in the morning before you dickheads show up. Sue me. Now get out.” The title rolls off his tongue before he can think twice about it, bypassing girlfriend entirely and landing just shy of wife. It brings a stupid grin to his face, and he can see you biting your lip next to him, trying to smother the grin threatening to split your face.

The kids react like a Demogorgon to a drop of blood, rounding on him immediately.

“Fiancée?”

It’s Max who repeats the word, her eyes widening comically.

El gasps, hopping in place, unable to contain her excitement. “You’re getting married?” she asks, so softly that it makes Steve’s chest ache. She’s barely been able to contain her excitement over Hopper and Joyce’s upcoming wedding, and now she looks nothing short of over the damn moon. The younger girl took to you quickly after Hopper adopted her, and she’d thought you and Steve were dating when she first met him after the gate had been closed the first time. El had you and Steve clocked from day one, the two of you were just too stubborn and too scared to do anything about it.

El’s response just sets off more questions. Again, the kids start talking over each other. Steve huffs and loops an arm around your waist, dragging you down onto the floor beside him. Ignoring the kids, he tucks his face into your neck, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder as you shake with giggles. For a blissful moment, last night melts into the very back of his mind as your fingers weave into the hair at the base of his neck, idly twirling it around your fingers.

Steve stays like that until you manage to shoo the kids back out of the cabin, promising that you’ll follow as soon as the two of you are dressed. They grumble as they go, whining about being kicked out or needing suits for the wedding, Steve isn’t listening hard enough to make out the exact complaints.

The front door clicks shut behind them, and you and Steve are plunged into silence once more. The fire is burning low now, and with the curtains drawn, it’s darker inside than it was last night. Neither you nor Steve make a move to pull yourselves from the warm nest of blankets you’ve settled into. You sigh as he wanders the curve of your neck, chaste presses of his lips melting into hot, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck.

He pauses when he reaches your ear. “What do you think about a spring wedding?”

“Spring?” you repeat incredulously. Your fingers weave into his hair, your chin tilting to give him more access to your soft skin.

“Next year,” he clarifies, placing a deliberate kiss on one of the tender spots he found last night. “This summer.” Another kiss, this one on the edge of your jawline. “I’ll take you to the courthouse on Monday if you want.” It’s mumbled against your lips, low and gravely, and his big hand slides under the blanket to rest against your waist.

You hum, pretending to think it over. “I think my dad might have a conniption if we spring it on him that fast,” you tell him, unable to fight the grin on your face, overwhelming joy bursting in your chest.

Steve catches your mouth in a kiss, chaste because you’re both smiling like idiots. “Let him,” he jokes. “Whenever you want, honey.” He’ll marry you whenever you want. It doesn’t matter. He’s been yours for years already. He doesn’t need a piece of paper to prove that.

“June.” It’s nothing more than a whisper, as your hands slide around to cup his cheeks, cradling him gently, like he’s something precious. Something fragile. “A June wedding,” you tell him.

His only response is to roll on top of you, the solid weight of him pinning you down. His hand shifts low on your torso, gripping your thigh and tugging, spreading your legs apart wide enough for him to slip his body between them.

“Steve!” You giggle, gripping his shoulders as he attaches his mouth to your jaw again, kissing across your cheek with a grin. “They’re going to know what’s taking us so long!” Your protest lacks any real edge as you pull him closer. Your arm loops around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles into your mouth. You sigh as he settles over you, half-hard already, and rocks his hips against yours. He kisses you softly, lips moving against yours in a slow, gentle rhythm that makes your head spin. In the darkness, his hand finds your smaller one, his fingers lacing through yours. Intertwined, your hand rests in Steve’s beside your head.

He doesn’t let you go until the fire burns out.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #stranger things #steve harrington #st fic #stranger things fic #fic: into open flames

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inkheartedwanderer · 2 years ago

Text

a tally on the left || s.h.

in which the most embarrassing moment of steve’s life leads him to you.

steve x fem!reader.

content: tacky leotards, steve in a crop-top, a fitness class. summer of ‘85, instant crush, girly reader (kinda). not very good i’m sorry :( more steve-centric than reader-centric

word count: 4.2k

Steve Harrington never thought the most humiliating moment of his life would come at the hands of two fifteen-year-old girls. Pleading doe eyes, empty promises of never ever bothering him ever again and his own goodwill to blame, he agreed with barely a qualm, just a deep sigh followed by El’s skinny arms around his torso and a less vehement than usual pat on the back from Max.

If he had known what he was really getting into, he wouldn’t have acceded so fast.

It’s times like this, when he’s standing in the middle of the Starcourt Mall parking lot in very short shorts and a fucking crop top -courtesy of a very amused Dustin, and that he’s wearing god knows why-, that he deeply regrets having a soft spot for the kids.

Leaning against his car, hands on his hips and duffle gym bag on the concrete by his feet, Steve waits for El and Max to get out of the vehicle with their backpacks. He’s not exactly sure why Max wants to do this in the first place, it seems precisely like the type of activity she would hate, from the outfits down to the music; but El is very excited, has been since they asked the boy to tag along a few days ago, and has apparently talked Hopper’s ear off about it to a point of near madness.

“Okay,” Steve claps his hands and motions for the girls to get closer, “here’s the plan. We walk in fast, get over with this batshit insane idea of yours, and dip. Clear?”

While El is agreeable and nods, Max rolls her eyes, a smug smile gracing her lips. Steve raises a questioning eyebrow and she snorts, “I can’t take you seriously while you’re wearing that.” Her eyes travel up and down his body, settling on the dark hair that covers his abdomen.

It’s remarkably awkward to be ogled by a child. “It was the only clean t-shirt I had left.” Steve tugs at the end of his top, a muted blue monstrosity that he will burn as soon as he gets home, and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, eyes closed, willing himself to breathe deep and be a supportive friend. Babysitter. Whatever. “Let’s just do this, okay?”

El squeals with joy and laces her arm through Max’s, the girls leading the way towards the mall in their bright, colourful attires and matching leg warmers. They whisper with each other, heads close, their giggles reaching Steve, who’s a few feet behind thanking whoever was in charge of this whole mess for scheduling it so early that the parking lot is virtually empty.

We need an adult, they’d said, no one else is free. He can pinpoint now, as he replays the conversation in his head, all the times he could’ve said no. But he didn’t, because he’s an idiot (a good friend if he says so himself, but an idiot nonetheless); and now he’s crossing the upper level of Starcourt in the dead of summer, peak season in full swing, about to spend his morning doing aerobics.

The name of the small studio glows in pink neon letters, mocking Steve with the promise of cheesy music and cheesier moves. It’s a modest rectangular space that someone painted in bright coloured stripes, painful to the eyes, with wooden panel flooring and a large window wall facing -much to Steve’s dismay- the inside of the mall.

A small crowd of mostly middle-aged women is gathered on the left side of the room, all sporting leotards with tacky prints and tights. The only other man in the room is sitting down on a small bench, fastening his shoelaces. He’s very fit, all defined muscles and shiny hair, and seems delighted to be there.

Max pulls El to the far end of the studio, the designated space for everybody’s bags, and both girls giggle as they stare unabashedly at the others. Steve drops his stuff in the corner and stands next to them, grimacing. “Will you tell me why you really wanted to come here?” He’s beginning to question the girls’ motivations for this early-morning adventure.

El looks at Steve with a mischievous smile and whispers “The inst-” Her face drops and she looks at Max, frustration crossing her eyes, then sighs. “Uhm, the teacher is cute.”

“Instructor.” Max offers her friend, then turns to Steve. “He’s like, the hottest guy ever.”

Steve huffs, ignoring the not-so-hidden dig at him in her words, and crosses his arms. “What about your little boyfriends?”

“Mike is visiting his nana.” El’s hand fiddles with the yellow scrunchie holding her short hair up. She suddenly looks a little bit sad, her brown eyes clouding, eyebrows pinched together in the middle.

“I dumped Lucas last week.” The redhead shrugs nonchalantly at Steve’s bewildered look. “He forgot our seven-month anniversary. He’ll apologise soon. Meanwhile, we will enjoy the view.” She points towards the door, and Steve turns around.

The teacher can’t be much older than he is. He walks across the room with a powerful stride and too bright of a smile for this time of the morning, greeting the older, most likely regular attendees. His eyes land on the girls as he puts his stuff aside and takes his jacket off.

“Hey, you two,” he’s still beaming, a cheery tilt in his voice that makes Steve cringe, “aren’t you too young to be here?”

“We’re with him.” Max points at Steve, who gives the teacher a tight-lipped smile and a wave of acknowledgement, feeling entirely out of place.

That seemed to be enough for the guy, whose smile grew, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. “Well, alright. Some of the moves may be too intense, so just go at your own pace, alright?”

He claps twice, loudly, and motions for everyone to get into place. Like a well-oiled machine, every person knows their spot. Steve follows the girls to the back of the room, feeling all too exposed, and uncharacteristically nervous.

At the press of a button, loud, synth-heavy music starts playing from a brand-new shiny set of speakers. It’s exactly the kind of songs Steve was expecting, the ones he loves to scream in the car when no one’s watching, but not the kind he wants to jump and dance to, surrounded by complete strangers and two teenagers who will never let him live it down.

Maybe, he thinks, he can make a run for it and hide somewhere until the class is over. The backroom of Scoops Ahoy, he thinks, is perfect. If only his new co-worker and personal nightmare Robin Buckley weren’t working the morning shift today… she would pay good money, Steve’s sure, to see him right now. Possibly take a picture and send it to the local newspaper. They’ve only been working together for a little over two weeks and she’s made it her mission to keep track (literally, on her whiteboard, the words you lose earning tally after tally) of every single embarrassing moment of his life. She would have a field day with this.

Now, Steve’s always been athletic. He was a great swimmer, regularly winning races and regional championships as a preteen. Then, in high school, he moved on to basketball, and he was the star player until he graduated. He’s fought monsters with nothing but a bat and adrenaline and made it out alive.

This should be easy, right? Just moving around a little bit. That’s what he thought.

Fifteen minutes later, beads of sweat cover his forehead, light brown strands of hair falling over his eyes. Patches of perspiration stain his shirt, the cotton fabric hot against his clammy skin. To his right, El and Max are definitely going at their own pace, making up their own moves and laughing at each other.

Steve deeply regrets every single decision that’s brought him to this moment.

He doesn’t notice you, at first, too busy trying to follow the steps and not make a fool out of himself. It’s only when the instructor tells the class to grab a mat from the pile at the back of the room and sit down for the flexibility exercises that he finally sees you in his peripheral, to his left.

With your hair tied back in a ponytail that sways behind you every time you move, cascading over your shoulder when you crouch to settle on the floor; you’re a doll dressed in pale lavender and sunshine yellow, soft colours hugging your frame in all the right places as you sit down, legs apart, stretching your body towards your right, towards him.

Steve has to fight the urge to stare, failing miserably when you raise your head and your eyes lock. You smile, pretty pink lips curling upwards, turning your cheeks into round bright apples. He likes the way your nose scrunches, how you unintentionally try to hide behind your shoulder, shy under his gaze.

He can feel his face grow hotter, fire under his skin, a drum inside his ribcage. You’ve got the kind of face that makes him want to melt, the kind of smile that sends his heart into a frenzy; and he almost misses the small hi that leaves your lips. You blink up at him expectantly and stretch over the opposite leg.

Steve is frozen in place, knees bent awkwardly, a sweaty, heaving mess. But he reacts, and he hopes you keep on looking at him the same way. “Hey there.” He reaches out to touch the tip of his right foot unsuccessfully, his muscles protesting the pull, and winces.

You’re leaning forward now, your chest almost touching the floor, and your smile widens at his words. “You doing well over there?”

The boy inhales loudly and nods, a bashful smile across his lips. “I’m not very flexible, apparently.”

A chuckle floats between the two of you. “Here, let me help.” You crawl away from your mat and kneel behind him, placing one small hand on his back and another on his thigh. Your skin is warm as you press your whole body weight against him gently, helping him reach. He would complain about the sharp pain on the back of his legs, but he’s at a loss for words -it has been a long time since he felt the touch of a woman, and what once seemed as natural to him as breathing -chatting up pretty ladies, that is- is now nearly as scary as facing a hungry pack of demodogs ready to pounce at him.

"Hey, what's your name?" You whisper, close, very close to his ear, your breath hot on his nape, igniting his cheeks aflame. How he manages to mumble his answer is a mystery, but he does, and he can hear the smile in your words as you tell him your own name. A pretty one that suits you just right, he thinks.

Steve grunts when you lean back, relief washing over him as he sits up straight. It startles him, how he immediately misses your body on his body, your warmth on his skin. He wonders if you can see the effect you’ve had on him because you immediately place a gentle hand on his shoulder and ask, “Are you alright?”

“I- I think I just broke something.” A god, he wishes he doesn’t sound as profoundly mortified as he feels.

“Is this your first time?” Smiling, you sit back down on your mat and bring your tummy down to your knee. Although there’s genuine curiosity in your words, they come out low and raspy and they make Steve blush -again.

For the first time since the class started, he’s happy to be sweating, thankful for the loud music that conceals the loud thumps of his heart against his eardrums, and he prays that the flush that tints his skin is enough to camouflage his reaction. He swallows the lump in his throat, coughs, and nods. “It might be my last.”

Your giggle makes his breath hitch. "You just have to get used to it. It took me a few weeks."

Steve could tell since he first saw you you're not new to the class. As if it were muscle memory, your motions seem to flow from one to the next. It's methodical and easy; each movement calculated, almost innate. He forces himself to keep his eyes on yours and to answer with what little voice he finds. "I don't think this is my scene."

“And what is your scene, Steve?” You say his name with a lilt and a chuckle, like you’re hiding a secret and daring him to find it out. And maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, a little bit shy and a little bit daring, or the strands of hair that have fallen out of your ponytail and now frame your face all pretty. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s too overwhelmed and not thinking straight and you’re the only girl who hasn’t looked at him like he’s a complete loser in too long, but he wants to find out.

The class is nearing its end, the music now softer, and the instructor moves on to stretching. He’s running out of time. It’s now or never. So Steve smiles that smile that used to get him both into and out of trouble, the one that’s soft and warm and a little cheeky and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners; and he rejoices in the way a deep pink blush graces your face this time.

“Are you hungry?”

You raise an eyebrow and a wide smile -certainly a little playful, maybe a little smug- stretches across your lips. “Oh, I’m starving! I haven’t had breakfast yet.” You both stand up, mats forgotten on the floor.

That smile and the obvious enthusiasm in your words take Steve by surprise, his brief surge of courage crumbling down like a house of cards. When you get used to rejection, much to his dismay (and he would never admit it), it’s easy to set your expectations low; but your eyes are shining, and all too pretty, and his smirk falters.

Two loud claps from the front of the room signal the end of the session and a collective sigh of relief makes the corners of your mouth twitch in amusement. The instructor turns off the music, and Steve is sure he would feel ecstatic about the silence, finally, if he weren’t so flustered.

“I- Well, I…” The boy can feel his brain freeze and turn into mush. He throws a thumb over his shoulder and clears his throat. “Wanna go? Together? For breakfast?” Well done, Harrington, you dingus.

Cursing Robin mentally for how her jabs have begun to seep into his own vocabulary, Steve braces himself for your rejection because why would you want to hang out with such a babbling idiot?

To his surprise, however, you simply shrug one shoulder and say, “Now?”

Steve blinks once, then twice and, as if in a trance, he finally nods. “Yeah.”

You smile again, this time a wide, pretty smile that lights up your whole face, innocent and sweet. “Sure! Let me go grab my things.”

As you turn around and head towards the back of the class, a spring in your step and your ponytail bouncing behind you, Steve lets out a deep sigh and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands. He wants to kick himself silly. His plan was to ask you out on a nice date -breakfast at the diner right outside of town, pancakes and coffee; ideally, after a shower, when he’s not sweaty and, he remembers suddenly, wearing the ugliest outfit known to man.

A cough startles Steve. He turns around to find two sets of eyes fixed on him. Max’s eyebrows are furrowed, but Steve can see the barest hint of an amused smile tugging at her lips. El is giggling, hiding behind her friend’s shoulder, and the boy would buy the coy act if he didn’t know better.

“What?” He says, curtly, tugging at his shirt with a sour face.

“Pretty.” El states, voice soft, stealing glances at you while you stuff a small pink towel into your equally pink bag.

“I know.” Says Steve, still wary about the girls’ intentions. “I-”

Max, never one to not speak her mind, cuts him off way too loudly for his taste. “Are you taking her out or what?”

Steve huffs. He plays with the strands of hair that fall flat on his forehead, too damp to stand up in his usual quiff, then gives the redhead a stern look. “You cannot talk to me like that, alright?” The boy points his index finger at the pair of friends. “Not today.”

“You’re still wearing that,” Max says, waving her hand lazily at his outfit, “and I’m still not taking you seriously.”

“Ungrateful children…” Steve complains, throwing his head back with a whine.

“So, are you taking her out or what?”

“Yes, I am!”

“Then what about us?”

Steve’s head snaps back down and stares at the girls with raised eyebrows. Unbelievable. “What about you?”

“You said you’d drive us back home.” El giggles, her arm wrapped tightly around Max’s.

The boy’s mouth drops. “But… I can’t.”

“Is everything okay?” Your voice makes Steve turn around with a jump, and Max and El chuckle under their breaths. You’ve put on a soft-looking jacket and your bag rests at your feet, and you look lovely.

Steve grimaces. “Everything is fine, I just…”

You raise one eyebrow, eyes jumping from the boy to the two girls who now snicker unabashedly behind him. "I can just go home if you're busy or something-"

"No!" Steve waves his hands frantically in front of your face. "No! I just-"

Steve is certain his poor neurons have never ever worked this fast -not when Nancy pointed a gun right at his face, not when Billy Hargrove beat his ass-, yet so slow.

It feels like a movie reel in motion in his head, Steve travels the mall mentally to find a place to keep the kids entertained, just for an hour or two.

And just like a revelation, a miracle, an oasis in the desert, the light bulb turns on and he's never been so grateful for his job before.

He smiles. You smile back. Max and El take a step back. "Do you ladies like ice cream?"

The way from the studio on the top floor, down the mechanical stairs and across the food court to Scoops Ahoy takes your little group a dreadfully long time. For Steve, it’s never-ending. He’s not used to feeling self-conscious, quite the opposite, actually, but he’s struggling to cover his midriff with his duffel bag.

Steve leads the way, rushing towards the stairs, trying to avoid the families and groups of tweens that arrive early, hiding from the scorching late June sun inside the cool shade of the mall.

He sees Lucas Sinclair’s little sister, Erica, sitting on the steps across the big fountain and tries desperately to cover his face with his hand and stepping up the pace. She can be mean, has been mean before -when Robin refused to give her more free samples of cherry ice cream or whenever Lucas walks by, so Steve doesn’t want to risk being seen.

You’re happily chatting with the girls, who are bombarding you with questions about your outfit (from JCPenney) and your bag (Sears), where you live (on the other side of town, near the library), if you attend this class often (every weekend like clockwork).

It’s almost cute, Steve thinks, how El’s eyes shine with curiosity when you answer, and the genuine smile that has replaced Max’s smirk. Maybe, if his plan doesn’t work, you won’t mind them coming along.

When you finally reach the ice cream parlour, the mall is buzzing with energy. The calmness from earlier this morning has been disturbed by loud voices and laughter, babies crying and kids running around.

There’s a line already at the counter, and Steve can see his co-worker, Robin, a sullen look on her face, handing a chocolate cone to a young girl. He doesn’t really want to do this, because he’s certain her mockery will be endless.

But when he turns around, you’re standing there, so beautiful even after that workout, happy and patient, and he really, really wants to take you out. You’re looking at him with a smile so big your eyelashes touch. There they are again, those red apple cheeks of yours. He could just take a bite.

So Steve Harrington swallows his pride, squares his shoulders and takes one step ahead. "Wait here." He tells you. “You two, follow me. And behave. Please.”

El and Max follow him into the shop, ignoring the line and the objections -and threats- of those waiting.

“No-fucking-way.” Robin Buckley is already bending over laughing when Steve reaches the counter. Her eyes are settled on his top, a hand over her mouth to perfunctorily conceal her amusement. “Is this a dream, Harrington? Please, don’t pinch me. I love it.”

“Don’t say another word.” He pleads, brown eyes wide and desperate, one finger up in weak command. “I need a favour.”

Robin bites her lips, torn between her need to cackle as loudly as her lungs will allow her, and the pity she feels at how utterly hopeless the boy in front of her looks. She coughs, barely hiding her delight. “I’m all ears.”

“See that girl over there?” Steve turns around, waving discreetly at your figure while you look up at the Scoops Ahoy sign, amused. When Robin, who’s leaning on the counter, hums, but remains quiet otherwise, he goes on. “I’m taking her out. Like, right now.”

“Wow. You got a date with her wearing that? Right.” Robin takes a step back and grabs a cone from the glass display case by the cash register. She resumes her duties, scooping ice cream for the unhappy customers behind Steve with an even unhappier expression herself. “Comedy is not your forte, dingus.”

Steve rubs his face, sighs deeply and walks behind the counter. “I’m not joking, we’re having breakfast together.” He waves at you when you make eye contact with him, your smile perennial, your eyes bright. His legs are shaking, willing him to run towards you.

“And what’s this favour you need? Do you want me to go with you? Help you not mess up, Stevie boy?” She snorts, and so does Max from her spot, sitting on a boat-shaped booth.

“Ha-ha, funny, Buckley, really funny. No, I need you to keep an eye on these two.”

His younger friends smile, all fake innocence and girlish charm.

“You want me to babysit.” Robin deadpans, matter-of-factly.

“No.” Steve grimaces. “I mean, yes, kinda. But this is an emergency. Please?”

Robin looks at him, up and down, once, then twice. The boy can see the gears in her brain turning and plotting, and he knows nothing good will come from it. She stays silent as she grabs two cones and places them neatly on the metal holders, and as she takes two big scoops of chocolate brownie ice cream (Steve’s favourite, he notices with a sour look) and sticks a little plastic spoon on each one.

“What’s in it for me?” She finally says, placing a maraschino cherry on top of one of the scoops and looking at her work with a pleased smile.

“Anything.”

“Okay.” Robin takes the cones and hands them over to Steve, who looks at her, bewildered. “You’ll do the weekend morning shift the rest of the summer. Wait here.”

She walks into the backroom, leaving a perplexed Steve behind, and comes back shortly after holding her Polaroid camera and grinning maliciously. She’s too quick for Steve, the camera flashes before he even has time to react. The white paper rolls out from the front, and she snatches it and starts shaking it eagerly.

In any other circumstance, he would fight for that picture, he would tear it to pieces and burn them so nobody could ever see the Steve Harrington wearing a sweaty, ugly blue top.

But this is the nicest Robin’s ever been to him, the first time she’s agreed to help him without complaining, and Steve is not going to wait for her to start, so he shakes his head, still puzzled, and slowly walks back towards the door.

“The rest of the summer, Harrington!” Her voice travels across the store.

Getting up early every day for the next two months to work at an overrated ice cream parlour is almost as bad as getting up early on a Saturday to take two teenagers to an aerobics class. But your face lights up when you see the ice cream, and you thank him earnestly when he gives you the one with the bright red cherry on top that matches your cheeks.

Even though he knows she doesn’t like him, and even though he’s still not sure he likes her that much either, Steve turns around and gives his co-worker a thumbs up in gratitude. He smiles when he sees her take out her blackboard and draw a thin, black tally on the left.

🌷 🌷 🌷

a/n: i’m baaaaaaaaack. this is probably one of my worst stories (i like my original idea, but i’ll admit i wasn’t sure where to go with it) but i am a bit rusty and need to fall back into it.

i’ve missed writing so much, but i needed to get out of the house really badly. i hope you don’t hate this one. as always, likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. much love!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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sheisjoeschateau · 1 year ago

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning. Definitely before everyone else went to bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms. Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest. Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest. He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear.

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall. It kept him sane. It kept his eyes open. It kept him from letting the nightmare return. You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life. Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you. Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing.

“I can’t stand you either.”

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in. Something danced inside of his stomach. It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost. He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy. And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him. The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler. The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good. Robbed of love. True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler.

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive.

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies. The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray. He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves. Otherwise, he’d go berserk. Completely berserk. Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him. She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone. To everyone’s surprise, they operated well. Like chef and sous-chef. What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms. He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise. With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you. You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door. But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring.

Turns out, it was Murray. He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good.

Your uncle cleared his throat. “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls. Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed.

“She’s still out,” Steve told him.

Murray nodded. “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.” An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued. “Listen, why not come down? Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup. Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you.

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve. “Trust me. I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you. He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass. It took Steve by surprise. No wonder you two were related. With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce. She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing. Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway. Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor. She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort. She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile. She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen. “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat. Don’t even think about not eating, Steve. I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef. Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in. Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar. They all sat next to him happily. YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon. Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks. Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this. “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear.

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused. “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not. “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that. He knew King Steve, too. But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it. Jealousy. It’s subtle. Not toxic, or even remotely a threat.

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids. She looks enchanted, melancholy. Is she sad? Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows. Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking. Because he sees it too. Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick. I know. Told him so myself.” Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning. “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head. Shit, I did. I used to run away from alllllll my problems. Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big. Not in a bad way, though. Never mean. Just…immature. Y’know? Point is, I’ve been there too. Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…” He snorted. “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction. What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood. “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks. You know? Big ones. Small ones. Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan. Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself. “The point, the point. We uhh…we live and we learn. Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her. And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody.

It began to click for Jonathan. The longing stares. The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back. He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California. But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him. One look at her made it all go away. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too? For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms. Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again. No Byers in sight.

…was this karma? Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that. Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school? Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.” Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him. Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly. “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad. He never got mad at either of them. He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay. And he never said anything to Byers about it. Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence. Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing. But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then. Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger. Red hot and flaming. He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief. For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain. Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT. NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW? THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE? FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it. He completely deserved it. All of it. It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it. All of it. Even what was still left unsaid. Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen. He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate. Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat. Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been. But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again.

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler. He pined for you.

Not for long, though. Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual. The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his.

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table. Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things. But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile. Eddie watched them, knowing. Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike. They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind. He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him. He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table. Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze.

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee. “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee. Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm. Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said. “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat. “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll. “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes. “I really should have seen it coming, though. I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive.

Eddie smirked, uneasy. “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious. “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us. Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together. Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed. But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air. “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer. You know, found a way to get along. Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed. “Robin. He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared. “What?”

“When?” Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking. “Whenever we…brought her back. He — he kissed her. He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.”

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all. Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing. Even Eddie looked over at him.

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured. “Steve’s never sad. Not like that. I’ve never even seen him cry. Not once. Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought. She shook her head, realizing… “No. No, he didn’t. Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says. “Because he’s awesome. He’s brave, and cool, and awesome. Steve doesn’t cry. Today? He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy. “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today. I did. Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm. It made everyone go quiet again. “Not like that,” he repeated. “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died. Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back. How Hopper and Joyce would. How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff. But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug. “S’true,” he mumbled. “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty. Of course, it was the same for her. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed. Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain. “It’s a matter of when. When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that. Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t. She knew her best friend all too well. How had she not seen this coming? How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you? Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day. Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy. To get her back, win her over. But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course. He knew better than to cross that line. Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her. He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin. They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other. Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth. She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.”

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl. He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly. Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused.

Jonathan, however, was not. This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked.

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl. “The sexual tension. The incessant arguing. Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself. “But…why though? She didn’t do anything wrong. Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her. It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck. “Honey…really?”

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s. Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess. But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends. Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down. But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you. Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial. On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well. She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —” (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued. Because my niece isn’t stupid. She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna. She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie. She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve. So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' "

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do? He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What?

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all. Every lick of it. So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl? The person who told him to do it. Myyyyyy niece. Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life. And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension? But Steve had to hate someone. To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself. So he chose her. He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her. Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids. Which is to be expected. So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.”

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued.

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding. Trauma bonding. Forced alliance. The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive. And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears. Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back. And then…suddenly…” Murray snaps his fingers. “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world. At least, Hawkins. We all somehow manage to survive it. We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here. In a house, all underneath the same roof. Forced to coexist. Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters. Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker. Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in. Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following. “Magic.” He walks closer, slowly. “Some small talk becomes bigger talk. Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation. My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one. They both discover they’re the only child in both their families. His parents are absent. Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care. But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why? Because she’s listening. Relating. Understanding. Meanwhile, Steve feels heard. Seen. Relevant. Important. Like maybe whatever he has to say matters.�� Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape.

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together. Not that you knew that. You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet. Which is good. And they love that. Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her. And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same. Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you. Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more. Or at least, that’s what I observed. Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures. Just like you two were. She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her. She insists they are mortal enemies. That he hates her. Will forever hate her. And then…that rambling turns into truth. Admittance. Denial, still. But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue. She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve. But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler. Not forever, anyway. Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas. But it was her. You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve. And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop. The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing. They were stunned into shocked silence. With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…” He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup. Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again.

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah? Not yet. Not to them. Wanna do it with each other, go ahead. But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes. They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding. Robin did, too. Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now. Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them. Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin. Jonathan swigged his coffee. Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression. Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan. Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too. He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air. Steve squinted at his best friend. Finally, she found her voice. “Sorry. Got the jitters. Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip. Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin. She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself.

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head. He watched her go, curious.

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly. The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers. He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes. That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow. But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy. Really queasy. And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan. She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own. He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink. She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall. But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly. “Real early. Probably 6AM. Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad. Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked. “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back. “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind. Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection.

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce. After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain.

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there. Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place. They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both. The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep. Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground. He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time. Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew. He just knew. You two were crazy for one another. Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too. Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens. Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s. He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it. He felt it best not to push anything. Not yet. When Max woke up, he would. But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to. Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you. And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous. Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas. She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual. And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his. At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore. Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned. Steve grinned back.

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands. “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously. His wounds, I mean. I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip. God, she wanted to ask him so many questions. Hug him. Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans. Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her. To scream. To laugh. Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted. “Like – love you to death. Best friends forever. Just — just…” She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks. Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous. Robin sighed. “Just know that…I’m here. And I’m always gonna be here. Supporting you, with…whatever you need. Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions. Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs. His best friend of a soulmate. Platonic with a capital P. Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets. She sagged with relief. Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours. Spread out. Starfish. Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter. “Okay. Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death. He really did have the best friend in the world. They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace. Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair. He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide. Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin. She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms. Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit. He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell. There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully. Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair. He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position. Almost like you hadn’t moved at all. He looked at the clock. It’s…been hours. Several hours. At least 4. He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark.

His heart stopped. Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell. But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily. Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning. He melted.

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily.

“Hours,” he told you. “Which is good. You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear. “I can fix that. Want me to bring it up here?”

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully. Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return.

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication. You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard. You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl. Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close. His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter. “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two. Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring. Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town.

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple. You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window.

“Blue. Sky blue.”

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers. “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.” Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine. He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night. He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s. Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl. He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits. Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say. But regardless, your answers fascinated him. He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men. Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time. You were smart, but somehow underestimated. It was strange. You were strange. Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too. Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously. But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff. “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own. Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him. “God…no wonder you love those kids so much. You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows. He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk. Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another. Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone. Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god. How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting. Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla. He loved diners, and you did too. He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner. It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not. It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years. Maybe ever. Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration. Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding. “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk. “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah. Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly. “Yeah. It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness. But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly? Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else? Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him? He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever. You nodded eagerly. Yes. Those, or a border collie. A dog that felt like a true family member. Even a stray mutt who needed a home. You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids. Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku. When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household. Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard.

God, you were beautiful. You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud. “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased. “Yes, you are. You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious. How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now? You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek.

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper. “Not to you. I’ve been ugly. Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours. Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly. “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life. Well, your love life. But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you. Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.” He visibly winces at his own words. “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks. “Don’t. I’ve forgiven it. Really. You didn’t know. You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight. “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway. Worse. Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again. “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears. Still, he let the joke land. You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss. Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered. “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck. He sighed. “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly. “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it. Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him. It did, for the most part. Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same.

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you. “Hawkins. The country. The world.” He paused, breathing you in. “Just know I want you there. All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering. “Good. You’re stuck with me, Harrington. Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot. He felt happy. Absurdly happy. Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his. He waited, pulling back nervously. Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way. That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens. So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan? Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment. His childhood. His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed. He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him. It hadn’t been many. At least not many that meant anything to him. He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years. But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours. “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed. He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks. He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly. Little kisses peppering your face. “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul. Steve could bawl about it later. Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

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