#especially wildfire steve

[superblysubpar]

I AM NOT FINE AT ALL WHY DID I READ THIS BEFORE BED IT'S 11. I HAVE TO SLEEP. BUT I HAVE TO READ THE WHOLE THING?????

Amanda, this is phenomenal. I need this on my book shelf and in my TV and just wow. Your writing and this world you've created is so immersive. I am scared and hurt and anxious and angry and confused and it's just chapter one??? And your descriptions of the setting, the people, the feelings - just crazy beautiful and visceral.

I can't wait to uncover more of this story 💛

Just so I don't spoil things, please enjoy my rambling and gifs and reactions below the cut 💛

Harrington sat too far forward, broad shoulders hunched, apparently fresh from the gym. You spotted the wet patch staining his t-shirt between his shoulder blades and under his arms. Beneath an elbow, his hairy thigh bounced at an unrelenting pace. You thought his sneakers might rub a hole through the linoleum flooring, clear to the Upside Down.

I am insanely in love with this description. Right off the bat, I'm sold 💛

...and the boy merely gaped at it, all sass, no action.

Only, one meathead stood between you and the stairwell, hands poised on hips, lips upturned into the bitchiest snarl you’d seen since junior high. 

“What?” You barked, no longer having time for him when you had flatter asses to chew.

He stared down at you like he could see her too, like he felt her lingering thirty feet behind him, fire red hair and a crooked smile - uncanny. His nostrils flared like he smelled her too, hair on fire, skin bubbling. 

I am losing it already. Like I'm unraveling my brain with theories and feelings and wow. I will never sleep tonight 🤷‍♀️

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Eddie touched you, a hand to your forearm, calloused fingertips and sad brown eyes. God, you hated that look. 

You looked up at him from the mess you were mopping and noticed the fondness in those big brown eyes, the crease carving itself beneath pepper speckled bangs. 

I love Eddie so much in this 😭😭😭😭

“Besides, haven’t you two already fucked? Just stir up some of that old sexual tension and make peace with each other.”

You smacked him with your spork as hard as you could, just over his left eye, and he swatted your arm away with a voracious laugh. You fought back the warmth spreading up your throat and to your ears, drowning more memories in a gulp of beer before they could surface fully.

“Speaking of fucking,” Eddie changed the subject, eyebrows waggled beneath his curtain bangs. “I talked to Sandra today.” 

Harrington beefed up, shoulders impossibly square, chest broad, centered on the balls of sneakered feet. And alongside the wall of muscles, he’d grown relentless. You swung again, and again, and again, huffs of disdain escaping your lips with each stuttered breath, and your fists were caught, forearms blocked, shoulders checked. He worked lithely, without effort, all defense, prepared, like he’d been studying, but not just the fight, studying you.

You shook it off, rounded to the left. “What’s the matter, Harrington?” Your voice brought some life back into his eyes, interest piqued. Yes, this was better, this was safe. “Scared to hit a girl?” 

You swung left, and he dodged, but you felt the hairs on his cheek prickle your wrist. You swung right, but he’d predicted it, catching both wrists and pulling them up and over your head. 

His face was inches from yours, glistening with sweat and rough with stubble. The bags under his eyes were more prominent from this distance, and you wondered if he’d slept at all himself. “I want you on the offense before I even consider teaching you defensive moves.” He shoved you back again, readying his stance. “Again.” 

Enemies to lovers is my shit, it's my favorite thing to read. But enemies to lovers who actually physically fight? The trash talking? The sweat? The muscles? THE MOMENTS LIKE THE ONE ABOVE.

“Yes, there’s no doubt you’re dedicated to your cause.” Her tone seemed clipped, almost as if she’d picked up some of Harrington’s sass in their sessions. She set her tiny watering can atop a large wooden desk and moved to sit in the rickety chair across from you. “I just think it’s healthy for you to consider a contingency plan. What would you do if it all ended tomorrow? You’re on the sparring mats and they announce it’s done, they’ve got him, the Gates are closed. Then what?” 

Okay, Linda makes a fair point 🙄 but I need to know every detail of this world so like, as much as I want everyone to be happy and safe, nah, like let's go. Time to fight.

He stepped to the edge of the pool, upcast in pearly blues, and dove in. The arch of his lithe frame was perfect in silhouette, minimizing the splash and the ripple as he went in fingertips first to break the surface. You watched the shape of him approach before his head broke through, hair in his eyes, mouth agape to refill his lungs. He scrubbed chlorine from his eyes and pushed wet hair back out of his eyes. 

You're sick for this description. SICK!

His voice was the softest you’d heard it, patient. It was the way he talked to the kids, without the snark and the sass of someone pretending to be irritated with them. It was unnerving.

I want to hate him, and yet....

Your lungs burned and your thighs ached, and he timed your held breath from the side of the pool, feet dangled in the water, broad shoulders slumped. You felt the heat of competition, the dopamine of getting better and better each time. Your final try, brick dumped beside him to scrape against the cold flooring, you wiped water from your eyes and had to fight back the smirk of success you felt itching at the corners of your mouth. 

YOU LOVE EACH OTHER.

He leaned forward to press a button, and just as the door slid closed, you saw a face, glowing blue in the light from the pool, eyes dark and smile menacing.

Yeah, that's cool, I didn't really like sleeping peacefully anyways 🤷‍♀️

“How’s your head?” He asked after a long moment’s pause, vowels stilted like he’d forgotten how to be nice to you. You suppose you both had. It’d been so long. 

*unidentified screeching noises*

When the door clicked closed, you let out a yell of frustration, swatted at a nearby chair until it tipped to the ground, clanging loudly as the metal bounced.

My face like wait, it's 11, I gotta keep reading?! I can't end there!!!!

Wildfire • Ember

When Hawkins opened up and slowly slipped into the Ether, you were there on the front lines. Now, nearly two years later, after the tragic loss of your best friend, you're left without a partner and a rage building inside you like a wildfire. When you're given the option to retire or partner with your rival, Steve Harrington, you struggle to put aside your differences for the sake of the world.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 11,315

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Two: Spark

---

THEN

March 1988

A strong forearm caught your waist, ripping you backward and back to reality. The ringing in your ears faded to the crackle of fire, the roar of an engine, the gut wrenching wails of heartache. You resisted the force at your ribs, rooted to your spot, slack jaw tightened, hands clenched into fists, but they were stronger. You were lifted off your feet, kicking, clawing at the air, desperate to reach the figure thirty feet in front of you. Your best friend lay there, pale skin to asphalt, shock of red hair caked in mud, a pattern of thick black veins across freckled features. Your nostrils filled with the acrid stench of charred flesh. Your mouth tasted of blood and ash and bile.

“She’s gone,” Harrington’s voice roared in your ear, chest pressed to your back as he wrestled you toward the Getaway. “We’ve gotta get out of here. We can’t risk infection. Let’s go!” He loosened his grip to hoist himself into the truck bed, extending a hand to help you up.

You had every reason to stay, every reason to hold her head in your lap and scream and sob and apologize for what happened to her, for what you did to her. 

Harrington yelled your name, drawing your attention back to him. His skin was stained black around the edges, coated in grime and oil slick with sweat. His jaw was clenched, hand still extended, and you noticed the flash of his eyes into the bed behind him.

Wheeler was there, and Byers, both staring at you wide-eyed, jaws clenched. Wheeler’s hair had never been bushier. The circles beneath Byers’s eyes never deeper. And in their arms, Robin buried her face and muffled her sobs in the crook of an elbow, blue eyes flooded, tear stains streaked through ash and char across freckled cheeks and down her chest. 

What had you done?

You swallowed.

Then, Robin reached a hand out, beckoning, commanding, begging for you to get in the truck. Her fingers trembled. 

Something deep, something hidden, subconscious, compelled you to grip Harrington’s forearm and allow him to hoist you into the truck bed, and with two slams of Byers’s fist to the roof, you were off, nearly teetering off the side as you found your seat on a wheel well. Fingers found your palm, wet, and you glanced up to gape at Robin, throat filling with too much emotion to make sound. But she held your gaze, those soulful blue eyes locked on yours so you couldn’t look away, couldn’t watch the figure of your best friend’s lifeless form fade into the horizon.

—

FIVE MONTHS LATER

August 1988

The smoke from Hopper’s cigarette wafted passed the bottle brush mustache and receding hairline until it hit the yellowed ceiling of his office and permeated the room in a thick fog. The smell, acrid and unfiltered, reminded you of your paternal grandmother’s kitchen, and it mixed with the spice of sweat from the boy perched beside you. 

Harrington sat too far forward, broad shoulders hunched, apparently fresh from the gym. You spotted the wet patch staining his t-shirt between his shoulder blades and under his arms. Beneath an elbow, his hairy thigh bounced at an unrelenting pace. You thought his sneakers might rub a hole through the linoleum flooring, clear to the Upside Down.

It took everything in your power not to slam a hand down to his knee to stop the anxious movements, your own hands clamming with sweat. You restrained, remaining poised, stoic, as you peered over Harrington’s shoulder while he rubbernecked the paperwork Hopper leafed through.

A photograph had been paper clipped to the inside cover of a forest green envelope. Two faces, pinched in stifled laughter, stared back at you, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. You recognized yourself and your best friend, full of innocence and zest and life. Hop’s meaty fingers slammed the folder shut. You swallowed.

“What’s going on, Hop?” Harrington finally vocalized, his voice a little strained. 

Hopper didn’t acknowledge him, merely stared right through the younger man to make eye contact with you, steely blue with a hint of mischief you’d maybe once appreciated. Now it made your blood run cold. “You passed your psych eval. Flying colors.”

You could feel your heart in your chest, taste the smoke on your tongue. 

Harrington’s movements stopped in your periphery.

Hopper leaned back in his seat, the metal groaning beneath his frame, and he scattered a few ashes into a full-to-the-brim ashtray. “And, as I’m sure you’ve heard, Buckley retired last week.” 

Your heartbeat halted. You wet dry lips, ventured a glance Harrington’s direction. 

He rolled his eyes, looked away, caught. A scoff spilled from his mouth.

You hadn’t known. You hadn’t spoken to Robin in months. How could you, after what you’d done? 

Hopper continued before you could respond. “So I’ve called you here with good news.” Again, mischief. The man seemed as jolly as ole Saint Nick, downright chipper. “You’re going back out there, kid.” 

You’d been asking for months, begging on bended knee, desperate for a taste of that sickly sweet air, for ash in your lungs and sweat on your brow. You’d worked your ass off for months, and yet the news, matched with the look on his face and Harrington’s presence bittered the taste of relief in your mouth. 

Again, the commander spoke before you could open your mouth to respond, his words strained through smoke blown upward. “The two of you need to log a hundred training hours starting tomorrow. After that you’ll be trialed, and you’ll undergo a double psych eval. You know the drill.” 

As his words set in, with the curl of his upper lip, your words finally burst forth, spilling from your before you could hold them back. “Are you fucking insane?” 

Slow on the uptake, Harrington’s arms swung out in front of you, and droplets of sweat from his temples splattered against your cheek with the velocity of his head shake. “No, no way. Absolutely not.” 

Hopper sighed, sitting upright again to punch out the butt of his cigarette. He shuffled the papers on his desk once more, tossing them onto a nearby filing cabinet with a hearty thwack. “Knock it off.” A meaty finger pointed directly into Harrington’s face, and the boy merely gaped at it, all sass, no action. “You two will do this because I know how bad you want back out there.”

“Besides,” Hopper made eye contact with you again, over Harrington’s shoulder, and the mischief had burned to pity, “no one else has gone through the shit that the two of you have been through.”

It hurt too much to look at him, eyes bleary and throat lumped, so instead you stared at the back of Harrington’s head, where his hair stuck up at odd angles, where it met the collar of his t-shirt. A part of you, small, wondered what exactly he’d been through, if he’d held Robin while she wept, if he cried too. A much bigger part of you tasted the anguish as it burned in your lungs. You blinked away the emotion and tried to swallow back the disdain. He’d never understand, never know what you’d been through. 

“The good news is, you’ve got a hundred hours to learn to like each other. I want you closer than the fucking Sinclairs. You hear me?” Hopper broke the tension with another groan of his chair while he reached to another stack of file folders in a little metal inbox. “Bad news is, we’ve got northbound spread and my two best Scorchers have been out for months.”

You glanced at the map behind Hopper’s head, black spreading north to the lakes, vines creeping ever closer to Chicago, Green Bay, too far. No one was safe. 

“We’ve all got work to do. So get the hell out of my office,” the receiver of his phone rang when he picked it up, pressing the plastic to his cheek while he began punching numbers. 

Harrington was up first, an exaggerated sigh falling from his lips while his slender frame made for the door. His jaw and fists tensed, brows furrowed, and he glanced at you before eliciting an eye roll that would make Wheeler envious. He turned the handle and the smoke escaped from the top of the door in a pool above the bounce of his hair. 

You matched his sigh, peeling yourself from the vinyl chair backing to exit the office. You caught a few of Hopper’s grumblings over the phone in snippets before he called your name. When you turned on your heel, he held the phone between large hands and kept a crease between his brow. 

“I know you can do this,” he nodded,  “Munson said - “ He was cut off by the voice on the phone and waved you off before he could finish his thought. 

He’d said enough to get your blood pumping. You grit your teeth and exited, ready to make a B-line from Hop’s office to the War Room to enact revenge on one Edward Munson.

Only, one meathead stood between you and the stairwell, hands poised on hips, lips upturned into the bitchiest snarl you’d seen since junior high. 

“What?” You barked, no longer having time for him when you had flatter asses to chew. You slipped past him, barely, into the well, the slap of your sneakers echoing up and down tens of floors.

“I work out in the afternoons,” Harrington responded, long legs keeping pace.

“Yeah, no shit,” you gestured to his get-up, sweat stain on his tee now dried to a normal shade of blue. 

“So, sparring mats at 2?” 

You halted your mission at the floor you needed and barred him from exiting before you. The heavy door swung closed against your hip, and you crossed your arms over your chest with a snort. “No, no way. I run in the mornings and then do weight training. We’ll spar at 5.” 

“Absolutely not,” Harrington offered a sour laugh. 

“Scorchers drop at 4.” You hoped he didn’t notice your confidence falter. It’d been so long, months, you didn’t know if they’d changed it without you, accommodated others. 

“Fine,” he seethed. “Can you swim?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Relevance? No water in the Upside Down.” 

“Seventy percent of the gates are in bodies of water. If we get stuck on the other side, our best way out is up.” 

You hated that he had a point, hated the ice that filled your stomach at the thought, hated the way your mind flashed back to that place, that time, wondering if there were any gates you missed. 

“So we should split our hours evenly between the gym, swimming, and scorch.”

Your mouth went dry, considering the heft of a fuel pack, the trigger beneath your forefinger, the acrid smell of burned flesh, the screams. 

You stumbled back against the door, but the steel didn’t sway under your weight. Harrington’s oversized hand was holding it closed, his face inches from yours, dark eyes observing your features with scrutiny. 

“How’d you pass your psych eval?” 

You blinked back at him, chill ever-present at the base of your neck. “Excuse me?” 

He stared down at you like he could see her too, like he felt her lingering thirty feet behind him, fire red hair and a crooked smile - uncanny. His nostrils flared like he smelled her too, hair on fire, skin bubbling. 

You felt frozen against the steel door, stuck under his gaze, avoiding eye contact with the nightmare over his shoulder, the expanse of grey and red just beyond. 

“Nevermind,” he sighed, releasing the door and giving you a few feet of space. 

You stumbled when the door swung wide, but caught your footing along with your breath to watch him run two hands over his face, scrubbing at tired eyes. 

“Mats at 5.” He clenched his fists and made his way up a few steps, presumably headed back to his dorm. 

“Fine,” you shot back, hating the rasp in your voice, the saliva filling your mouth. 

He halted his movements, wrapping his knuckles against a metal railing before turning back to face you. “Do me a favor? Tell Munson I’m busy tonight.”

You wanted to retort, say something childish about not being a messenger pigeon, but the words stopped at your tonsils when you saw Harrington glance once more down the corridor, down to where you’d seen her, Vicki, mouth agape, hand outstretched, before he clambered up the staircase, leaving you all alone.

—

Munson hadn’t been in the War Room, but you’d managed to distract yourself by listening to a strategy lecture being bounced off a bunch of trainees. You’d disguised yourself well-enough to be called upon to offer a few ideas, and were pleased when the instructor awarded you with praise. 

High from your distraction and the news that you’d be out there again, fighting, burning, doing what you were meant to do, you’d almost forgotten about Eddie entirely until you’d punched your meal card for dinner and found his in your cargo pocket. 

“Have you seen Munson?” You asked the girl manning the machine, and she glanced around the room with pursed lips. With a sigh, you punched his card and loaded both arms with tonight’s slop and two cold beer cans.

You took the climb to the dorms two-at-a-time and wrapped your knuckles against the cold steel of his door until you heard a muffled commotion on the other side. 

“Eddie, it’s me!” You called, shifting the weight on the orange dinner trays to be easier to hold in two hands. You heard the buzz and waited for the door to swing open before you allowed yourself to step inside, placing both trays on a rickety card table that had been set up just inside.

“Sweetheart, to what do I owe this honor?” Your friend’s walker squeaked against linoleum at his approach, and you looked up to see that Cheshire grin spread across pale features.

“Brought you dinner,” you gestured to the stew and steamed vegetables partitioned on a styrofoam plate. “We got mystery meat and I hope that’s corn, and your favorite: sawdust mashed potatoes.”

He laughed that familiar, boisterous laugh, and shook the hair from his eyes. “As delicious as that sounds… I’m going out with Steve.” 

The mention of his name sent reality spilling back into your mind. You bit back the initial sting of betrayal and moved to fill yourself a glass of water from Munson’s room sink. The countertop was piled with dirty mugs, cigarettes, nudie mags. You waited to chug an entire cup’s worth of water before you responded. “Harrington’s busy.” 

“How do you know?” He asked, voice thick with the cafeteria food you knew he couldn’t resist. 

“He told me.” You explained, crossing back to pull out his chair for him. 

Eddie didn’t move. He just stared at you, hands gripping the handles of his walker, brown gravy on the corner of his mouth. A mouthful went down with a gulp, and he blinked back at you.

“Had a meeting with Hopper today.” You elaborated, helping Munson from his walker to his chair, carrying his weight with ease. 

“If you poisoned me, they’ll know it’s you,” he pointed out, poking through the sludge with a spork. “You have a track record.” 

“Fuck off,” you growled, joining him at the table.

He held his hands up in surrender, a bit of corn careening your direction. “Okay, too soon. I’m sorry.” He snickered anyway. 

You poked at your own meal, annoyed that you couldn’t stay mad at him, despite his betrayal. He was all you had left, the only one that understood. 

“So Hopper demanded you two kiss and make up,” Eddie reached across the table to crack the tabs off each of your beer cans. “And then what happened? Don’t spare the gory details.” He clinked the two cans together, and slurped the bubbles loudly from the top of his own.

You picked yours up with a sigh, adjusting the tab to align with the printing on the aluminum. “Nothing yet. We’re sparring first thing tomorrow.” 

“Ooooh, can I watch?” He cackled.

“Absolutely not.” You took a sip, the bubbles tingling your nose with a sense of nostalgia for what once was. You remembered early mornings at the mats, dripping with sweat, pinned and pinning, Munson taking bets left and right. You’d pinned them all: Wheeler, Byers, Harrington, Buckley. You took another drink.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Eddie touched you, a hand to your forearm, calloused fingertips and sad brown eyes. God, you hated that look. 

“How long have you known about Robin?” Your voice came out a croak, sounds your mouth hadn’t made in months.

He turned back to his meal, shrugged broad shoulders. The downturn of his lips gave it away. He’d known for months. “I didn’t think she was serious.” 

The betrayal stung. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“It wasn’t my place.” He shot you a pointed look, sass that rivaled Harrington’s. “You should have heard it from her.” 

You weren’t here for a lecture. You snapped back, spooning yourself some potatoes. “But it was your place to tell Hopper to pair me with Harrington? When you know what I’ve been through with him?” 

Eddie slammed his can so hard against the table bubbles fizzed from the top. 

You startled, dropping your spork back to your plate. Gravy dribbled across your chest, up your forearm. 

“You’re the one who wanted to go back out there,” he pointed an accusatory finger your direction. “Your lucky I didn’t tell Hopper to bench your ass.” 

You scoffed, licking beefy juice from your fingertips before standing to retrieve a roll of paper towels. “Like that’d stop me.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie laughed wryly. “I know it wouldn’t, and since I can’t get my legs working enough to come after you, I had to find the next best person.” 

You looked up at him from the mess you were mopping and noticed the fondness in those big brown eyes, the crease carving itself beneath pepper speckled bangs. 

“I mean, think about it. Roles reversed, who would you partner me with?” 

Although you’d never admit it aloud, Harrington was the most capable fighter in your motley crew, second only to yourself. He was a tactical master, and his heart was unmatched. He worked with speed and precision, efficiency, and you’d never seen another person go that cold in the face of the evil you’d seen. 

“Besides, haven’t you two already fucked? Just stir up some of that old sexual tension and make peace with each other.”

You smacked him with your spork as hard as you could, just over his left eye, and he swatted your arm away with a voracious laugh. You fought back the warmth spreading up your throat and to your ears, drowning more memories in a gulp of beer before they could surface fully.

“Speaking of fucking,” Eddie changed the subject, eyebrows waggled beneath his curtain bangs. “I talked to Sandra today.” 

You smiled into your sweet corn, the gentle buzz of relief settling over your shoulders. “Don’t you talk to Sandra every day?” 

“Well, sure,” And Eddie Munson proceeded to tell you about the exciting escapades with him and one of America’s Finest. 

And although you chewed, and laughed, and swatted at his arm, you couldn’t help but feel the tug of nostalgia just behind your molars. The memories that fizzled their way to the surface, of girls touching and laughing and nose-to-nose, cheek-to-cheek. Of dares. Of too much beer and too little pizza. Of arm-wrestles turned to leg wrestles, turned to sparring matches on dorm room floors. Of the freckles that lined faces and moles that cast a constellation across cheekbones and collar bones. Of breathless laughs and wandering touches. Of heat like wildfire, that fanned your skin and spread. Spread like vines and decay and smoke and ash. 

—

Harrington beefed up, shoulders impossibly square, chest broad, centered on the balls of sneakered feet. And alongside the wall of muscles, he’d grown relentless. You swung again, and again, and again, huffs of disdain escaping your lips with each stuttered breath, and your fists were caught, forearms blocked, shoulders checked. He worked lithely, without effort, all defense, prepared, like he’d been studying, but not just the fight, studying you.

You’d sparred before, sure, dozens of times over the past two years, and you’d always managed to pin him. Your fights would end in cackles from onlookers and sweat wiped from his upper lip. You’d pull him upright with a grin on your face and pride fluttering beneath your ribcage. 

Now, all mercy had been removed, any friendliness left his dark eyes cold. His jaw flexed, arms crossed over his chest while he waited for you to take a drink of water, quenching the dryness at your throat. He even dared that signature Harrington eye roll, which had the water dribbling from the corners of your mouth and down your throat, a soothing damp.

“What?” You snapped, chest heaving, plastic water bottle crunched beneath your fingertips as you sprayed more into the back of your throat.

“I didn’t say anything,” he responded, arms still crossed. 

You swished before your swallow and set your bottle next to the oversized cushion of the grey vinyl mats. The floor had already been sneaker-marked and sweat stained. You bounced on the balls of your feet, trying to bring feeling back into the numbness of your wrists and knuckles. 

Harrington readied himself, squared his stance, but remained limp. Honestly, he looked a little bored.

You grit your teeth and rounded to the right. 

He mirrored you, arms up, patient. 

You took a deep breath through your nostrils and released with a right hook. 

He dodged, caught your wrist, shoved you to the other side of the mat. 

You stumbled, caught yourself, took another deep breath, steadied yourself. 

“Again,” he called you, gesturing for you to go again, to come at him, arm’s swinging wildly without making purchase for the thousandth time. 

You were exhausted. You’d been exhausted for months, but memories crept along dorm walls the night before, and that familiar face smiled back at you from the far corner, ever-present, watching, waiting. You hadn’t sparred since then, hadn’t struck another human, hadn’t found purchase. Not since then. 

You shook it off, rounded to the left. “What’s the matter, Harrington?” Your voice brought some life back into his eyes, interest piqued. Yes, this was better, this was safe. “Scared to hit a girl?” 

You swung left, and he dodged, but you felt the hairs on his cheek prickle your wrist. You swung right, but he’d predicted it, catching both wrists and pulling them up and over your head. 

His face was inches from yours, glistening with sweat and rough with stubble. The bags under his eyes were more prominent from this distance, and you wondered if he’d slept at all himself. “I want you on the offense before I even consider teaching you defensive moves.” He shoved you back again, readying his stance. “Again.” 

“Teaching me?” You balked, resting your hands on your hips to catch the breath that had slipped away. “I seem to recall pinning your ass on the regular.” 

He grimaced at that, upper lip upturned in disgust, and he shrugged, gesturing to the ground between you. “Feels like you’ve lost your touch.” 

You swung wide, angry, fist flying through the air toward his chest.

He caught your forearm. “Looks like I can still count on you to be hot headed.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, stepping back into a ready position. You hated that he was right, hated how he always managed to find his way under your skin. 

“Take a breath,” he took a step to your left. You countered. “Anticipate me anticipating you.” 

You kicked out, knowing he’d expect another swing, but he caught your calf at his waist and held it there, pushing you backwards until you’d nearly lost balance, hopping on one leg. 

“No,” he grit his teeth. “Come on. You’re being predictable.” 

“Let go of me,” you wrestled your ankle from his grasp, nearly falling on your ass in the process. 

“I know your moves,” he explained, voice unnervingly even. “You’re a one-trick pony.”

You released a grunt, threw elbows at his opposite side, and he managed to grab you around the ribcage, holding you tight to him, your back to his front, two feet off the ground as you struggled under a vice grip. You struggled, wind nearly knocked out of you.

“We aren’t moving on until you can take me down.”

“Fuck off,” you gasped.

He released you. 

You stumbled back to your water bottle, taking a few breaths until the blur left the peripheries of your vision. You gulped between gasps, trying to strategize, trying to ignore the heated emotion prickling at your throat, behind your eyes. You couldn’t look at him, feeling like a child scolded by a school teacher, and what gave him the right?

“Did she use it against you?” His voice came softer than before, just behind your left ear. You could barely hear it over the rushing of your pulse in your skull.

You swished, swallowed, took a moment for his words to sunk in before you turned to face him. “What?” 

“Your predictability. Did she use it against you?” Harrington stood with arms crossed over his chest again, the shield he bore.

Your mind flashed to that night, flames fanned your face, all encompassing heat, structure engulfed around you. You’d gone for a hit, frantic, not in your right mind, panic icing your veins, and she’d caught your fist, just as your new partner had. Vicki’s eyes were just as cold, just as dark, a black void where your friend used to be. 

You swallowed, blinked back tears, and tried to ignore the figure growing in the corner of your mind. Harrington came back into focus, arms folded, shoulders square, sweat staining the collar of his t-shirt a dark grey. 

With steady breaths, you crossed the mat to him until you were close enough to make out the pulse in his throat, a steady beat beneath a chiseled jaw. He stared down his nose at you, contempt across features you’d once swooned over.

You felt the emotion start to well, blinked back anything that threatened, avoided his frigid gaze for half a moment, and when you glanced back, you noticed the most minute indication that he’d softened. His shoulders relaxed, chin tilted downward to look at your properly, and you remembered that everyone has a weakness. 

You sucked in your cheeks and willed a single tear to fall, just one, a hot bead that mixed with sweat as it streaked down the plane of your nose and rested, salty on the bow of your upper lip. 

Harrington’s eyes were wide, brown, soft. His nostril flared, in pity or disgust, it didn’t matter which. You’d hooked him. 

You turned your back to him, allowed your shoulders to shake with your exhale.

A sound of indignation fell from his lips, a warm breath cast upon the small hairs on your neck that sent goosebumps down your spine, and then you felt it. The softest of touches to your wrist, fingertips to calm your pulse points.

You took the opportunity, grappled his forearm and sent him flying over your left shoulder until a large body hit the mat with a satisfying thud. While Harrington gasped to earn his breath back, you pinned his shoulder beneath the toe of your sneaker, holding him to the mat. You wiped the tear from your nose with the damp collar of your t-shirt and stared down at him.

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” he spat, shoving your foot from his chest to sit upright.

With a sigh, you grabbed your water bottle and retreated, shoes scuffing the linoleum. “Same time, same place tomorrow, Harrington. Bring your A game. ‘We aren’t moving on until you can take me down.’” You mocked him as you sauntered off to the showers. 

You paused momentarily when passing the double doors that exited the gymnasium into a gravel parking lot. Rusted vehicles were cast in the tangerine light of golden hour. And just beyond, under the cover of dense woods, you swore you could make out Vicki’s proud smile, engulfed in flame.

—

“How are things with Mr. Harrington?” Linda asked as though she knew the answer, and Hell, she probably did.

You were sure the exhaustion dulled your features, if not the dark circles under your eyes then the bruises that skated your arms and legs. One shone in browns and yellows on your temple from where you’d taken an accidental elbow. You’d been lectured for that for not ‘watching your space’. That man was lucky you hadn’t throttled him right there on the mat, pulse echoing against your skull. 

“Fine,”  you lied through your teeth, something you’d grown accustomed to in this cramped office. 

Linda, the government appointed therapist, walked from houseplant to houseplant, watering until they’d overgrown the room like vines in an alternate dimension. Blinking fluorescents cast green across the walls, painting her pale skin, making you feel more sick than you felt when you entered on a weekly basis. It used to be three times a week, but you were let off on good behavior.

“How did you feel when you learned that Ms. Buckley retired?” 

Your stomach churned, sickly green, and you shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair. It creaked beneath you. “I’m happy for her,” you maintained your voice, swallowed back a waver. “She weighed her options and chose a path that feels right for her.” 

Linda hummed from overtop a spider plant, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

You settled in your seat. 

“Did it make you question whether or not you’d chosen the right path for yourself?”

The fluorescents buzzed, and you squeezed your eyes closed, pinching the junction of your nose. Your temple began to throb again, and the muscles of your shoulders tightened. You were so tired, run-through, up too early all to get your ass kicked and up all night, contemplating whether or not you made the right choice.

“No one would fault you for wanting a little peace of your own. It’s not cowardly to want space from the things haunting you.” 

The monotone of her voice was like nails down a chalkboard.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I won’t find peace as long as the Ether’s still spreading.” A mantra you’d repeated time and time again, face pressed into a pillowcase to avoid the screams of horror plaguing your mind, to shield your eyes from the dense, damp expanse of forest. 

“Yes, there’s no doubt you’re dedicated to your cause.” Her tone seemed clipped, almost as if she’d picked up some of Harrington’s sass in their sessions. She set her tiny watering can atop a large wooden desk and moved to sit in the rickety chair across from you. “I just think it’s healthy for you to consider a contingency plan. What would you do if it all ended tomorrow? You’re on the sparring mats and they announce it’s done, they’ve got him, the Gates are closed. Then what?” 

You stared back at her, green blurring your vision as you mulled over her question. You’d never actually considered it, never thought what you might do should the fighting cease, should the fuel in your tank run out and you’d have to put away your worries altogether.

“What do you think Vicki would want you to do?” 

That stung. Each time her name was said aloud felt like a slice, death by a thousand cuts. You closed your eyes again, tried to will away the nausea, the smell of charred flesh, the screams.

You took a deep, calming breath and imagined a simpler time, soft hands massaging the worry from your scalp, thighs around your shoulders as you pressed tired muscles into the cushions of a threadbare couch. Sweet laughter echoed around you, the wafted smell of popcorn, truths shared under the flashes of a television screen. 

Linda’s timer beeped, an alert that your hour was up. She let out a sigh as you bolted upright from your chair. “Think about it this week and get back to me.” 

“Unless it all ends tomorrow,” you promised, flashing a grin that you know exposed too much enthusiasm. 

She muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like, “we can only hope.” Before she stood to usher you outside. “Have a good rest of your day.” She chimed, always the most chipper exchange of your interactions.

You saluted and B-lined for the stairwell, in desperate need of a meal and an ice pack for the knot between your shoulder blades. 

—

The dorm hallways were eery at night, the hustle and bustle of young adults silenced, lights out. Occasionally, a bluish glow would leak from beneath doors, but otherwise the halls were lit only by glowing red EXIT signs and the circle of your torch. You snuck past the common area on tiptoe, terrified of waking the occasional trainee who had fallen asleep during movie night, not interested in asking questions. You skirted around a corner instead, to the stairwell, and began your descent on the balls of your sneakered feet.

Your backpack slumped against a sore back with each step, full of supplies you weren’t even sure you’d needed, scrounged up from a supply closet Eddie snuck you in to loot. 

In your hurry downward, you took a wrong turn, exiting the stairwell too early, and stumbled upon too many offices with dust on desktops and upturned chairs. The stillness of this floor reminded you of there and then, everything twisted with vines, particles peppering the air. 

Nearly tripping yourself backwards, you kept one eye on your reflection in the glass, and made your way back to the stairwell to continue your run, a little more blind, a little more panicked. Two, three, four floors down you saw an indicator. The exit door was propped open on a brick. The window at a eye level exposed a long, pitch black hallway, and the very end sparkled in a pale blue glow. 

You swung the door open and ran, no longer minding the slap of your feet against the flooring, only wanting to be somewhere light, somewhere where you knew you wouldn’t be alone. You almost skid through double doors, humidity smacking you in the face, and you managed to stop inches from where the floor opened up, dark water rippled against aquamarine tiled walls. 

“You’re late,” a voice startled you, and you teetered further on the edge, turning to shine your flashlight directly into Harrington’s eyes. He grimaced, shadowing his face with his hand. His hair was already wet, throat beaded in water, droplets dampened and discoloring a red t-shirt. 

You clicked off the torch and let your arm fall to your side, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. The only illumination was from the depths of the pool, recessed lighting that glowed cyan. “It’s dark in here.” You voiced your grievance, shrugging your backpack off your shoulder and toeing out of your shoes. The tiles were frigid beneath the balls of your feet.

“It’s dark out there.” He explained and rounded the oversized pool to grab a handful of items from his own rucksack. “Are you ready or do you need to…?” He gestured to you, voice echoing off the rippled water, even soft.

You managed a few steadying breaths. You weren’t nervous, per se, but a certain anxiety fluttered beneath your ribcage. You hadn’t swam in years, not since summers spent at Hawkins Pool with Vicki. You thought she’d dragged you down there to gawk at Harrington in all his glory, red trunks and tank top and whistle and sun kissed skin. She admitted later it was Heather Holloway she’d always had her eye on. The memory of squirted sunscreen and the quench of lemonade on your tongue had your fists clenched. 

The splash of something heavy cutting the surface startled you back to reality, and your eyes scanned the wake to see what it was. Your heart raced in your chest. 

“We’re going to start with the shallow end,” Harrington explained, shifting your attention back to him. You watched as nimble fingers began undoing the buckle of his watch. He toed out of his sneakers. 

“I can swim,” you retorted, self-defense growing second-nature between the two of you.

He ignored you, tugging at the back of his collar to pull his t-shirt up and over his head. That soft patch of hair from his navel to the hem of his shorts stood on end beside the gnarled roots of scars that brought your own battle wounds to shame. 

He stepped to the edge of the pool, upcast in pearly blues, and dove in. The arch of his lithe frame was perfect in silhouette, minimizing the splash and the ripple as he went in fingertips first to break the surface. You watched the shape of him approach before his head broke through, hair in his eyes, mouth agape to refill his lungs. He scrubbed chlorine from his eyes and pushed wet hair back out of his eyes. 

“I dropped a brick at the shallow end, and you need to retrieve it,” he said, sidling up to the pool’s edge at your feet. “This isn’t about whether or not you can swim. You need to be able to get all the way to the Gate and all the way back up from it. This is about form and breath work.”

His voice was the softest you’d heard it, patient. It was the way he talked to the kids, without the snark and the sass of someone pretending to be irritated with them. It was unnerving.

“Can you dive?” He asked, combing his fingers through his hair to keep the front bits at bay, cowlick at the front fighting against him. 

“Yes,” you snapped, although no, you weren’t sure you ever really had. Maybe at swim lessons in the third grade, but how in the Hell were you supposed to remember the basics now? 

You took a step to the edge before remembering your clothes. You hadn’t brought extras, and you weren’t keen on sneaking back to your dorm sopping wet. With an sigh, you released the button from the fly of your pants, pausing the moment you realized Harrington was watching. “Do you mind?” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled and turned his back.

You hated the static that prickled the stubble on your legs as you pushed your shorts down broad hips and thighs. You hated that it clung to the water’s edge, buzzed in your ears, fanned your chest with warmth as you lifted your tank top from over your head. You hated the lump your felt in your throat, exposed in underpants and a sport’s bra, not having owned a bathing suit in four years. 

“Okay,” you managed, voice thick, ready for the cool plunge to your heated skin.

Harrington turned back to face you but kept his gaze at ground level, slapping a wide palm to the tiled edge. “Step all the way up here, toes over the edge. Remember you want your thighs to power you, but you need your fingertips to break the surface first. Arms over your ears. Don’t stop until you can touch the bottom.” He spouted instructions too fast, moving to the side to give you room to position yourself for your dive. “The brick’s on the far end. Once you’ve gotten it, kick until you’ve reached the surface. Your lungs won’t let you go anywhere but up.” 

You couldn’t really hear him anyway, not over the buzzing of pool filters and the rapid heat rate in your ear. He made some minor adjustments to your stance, but you were on autopilot. And when you thought you heard the word ‘go’, you dove in. 

You felt a little awkward, but determined, the third grader in you stiffening. The water hit warmer than you anticipated, the stale underground air keeping everything tepid. When you were submerged, you kicked, lungs straining in a held breath. The faint pool light shined behind your eyelids, too anxious to open your eyes to the blur and sting of chlorine. You just ventured for the bottom, the plaster and tile that you knew would come. 

Only it didn’t. You kept kicking, and it was as if the bottom had fallen out, as if the world was swallowed whole, and panic fluttered once more at your chest. You opened your eyes, searching for a bottom, but everything felt too far. Then, a black shape entered your periphery, long, hulking, slender like a vine. Releasing bubbles, a startled scream exiting your lips, you kicked for the top, the sides, seeing the sparkle of the surface and begging for relief for the ache in your chest. 

Oxygen filled you, damp and sputtering at the moment your fingertips reached the lip. Panic stricken, you clung to the wall, knees scraping against plaster as you gasped for deeper breaths.

“That was good,” Harrington called from somewhere behind you.

You peered into the dark mist against the sting of your eyelashes. You released a shaky exhale. “I didn’t get it.” 

“I know, but your survival instinct kicked in. That’s important.” 

You felt uneasy about his comforting words, tones you hadn’t heard spill from his lips in almost a year. You rubbed at bleary eyes. 

“Come to the center and tread,” he commanded, softness replaced with the sass you were used to on the mats. “No walls in a lake.”

You grit your teeth and pushed off from the wall. 

Harrington had you tread water until your muscles burned, until that familiar hatred for one another stung in your chest and bit in exchanged words, at least then you felt more comfortable. You managed to dive properly a handful of times, making it farther and farther across the pool which each go until you’d retrieved the brick without coming up for air. He took it from your proud hand and tossed it to the deep end. 

Your lungs burned and your thighs ached, and he timed your held breath from the side of the pool, feet dangled in the water, broad shoulders slumped. You felt the heat of competition, the dopamine of getting better and better each time. Your final try, brick dumped beside him to scrape against the cold flooring, you wiped water from your eyes and had to fight back the smirk of success you felt itching at the corners of your mouth. 

Harrington sighed and slid into the water beside you, bobbing with his head just above the surface. He was close, too close, and you could just make out the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the blue light, the scar etched into his lower lip.

“I’m going to pull you down.”

You blinked back at him, seriousness in his voice tickling your nerves. “What?”

“There are things in those Gates that will try to latch onto you, to pull you into them. I’m going to pull you down, and I need you to fight me off.”

You knew he spoke from experience, you’d heard stories of the things he’d done. The idea of a large, black vine sent a chill down your spine, any competitive adrenaline replaced with cold, exhaustion, fear. 

“Go tread water.” He nodded back to the center of the pool, the expanse at which you’d finally warmed up to, a challenge you’d taken so lightly turned stone cold.

You did as he asked, pushing off from the wall until you found yourself in the center once more, legs kicking and arms pushing at the water around you, keeping you afloat. Your muscles ached with fatigue. Your entire being did, eyelids weighed by the sticky atmosphere.

Harrington’s head dunked and a chill shot through you. 

You weren’t sure if it was fear, the underlying unease you’d felt around him for almost a year now, that rivalry that turned whispered truths into snapped remarks. Maybe it was this unknown, this fear that he knew who you were, knew what you’d done, and now he’d convinced you to relinquish control. You gulped, glanced around, continued to tread. You could make out the shadow of him, just below the surface, streamlined and agile. 

You thought of him enacting revenge, on pulling you down and holding you in his vice grip. Hell, you’d do it if you were him. You’d thought about it already, imagined the swift crush of lungs as you held yourself beneath the surface. 

A creak sounded in the far corner of the room, and your eyes snapped to the double doors. They swung slightly, fog from the pool seeping through the cracks where tile met linoleum floors. You swam forward to catch a better view. You thought you saw a light just down the hall, the flash of red and orange, the crackle of lightning. 

You wanted to call out, but panic had settled too deep into your bones, and all at once a thick hand had found the meat of your thigh and you were being dragged downward, down, down, down. You gasped a deep breath, but couldn’t take your eyes from the swinging double doors, from the face that stared back at you from behind a window, wide-eyed in terror, just before you were submerged entirely.

The vine had a vice grip around you, and when you kicked, your opposite ankle was also grappled. You squirmed and fought, not-enough air choking at your lungs. Your toes felt the breadth of something wide, a chest, and you tried to push off of it, but down, down, down you went. Your arms struggled toward the surface. Familiar flames fanned the shoreline in oranges and golds, the smell of acrid smoke filling your nostrils, burning your lungs, blearing your eyes. 

You fought and fought, but she was staring back at you, that sickening smile on her face, and you knew you’d fought long enough. It was time to let go. You had no other choice.

Your back hit something hard, a crack that jolted the water from your lungs. You sputtered, eyesight dark around the edges, coughing in an attempt to expel whatever remained. You rolled on your side, hair strewn in tendrils beneath your mouth, body numb, mind numb. You weren’t sure where you were, only that it was freezing, and your muscles all began to spasm in an attempt to warm up. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” A familiar voice called out, garbled under the thunder of your pulse in your skull. 

You willed your eyes to open, to focus on the sparkling water beneath you, the cyan lights. Harrington’s face was inches from your own, eyes dark, a crease between thick brows. 

“Fuck!” He ran a hand down wet features, and you tried to regain any semblance of what had happened before he’d tossed you like a rag doll onto the side of the pool. He swam to the nearest ladder and pulled himself out. 

You rolled onto your back, stuttered breath gathering momentum again, and stared at the dark ceiling of the indoor pool. You were here, and you were training, and… You glanced sideways at the double doors. They were still, hall dark just beyond. You lifted a weak hand.

Harrington crouched at your side, pressing a wide palm to the curve of your throat, forefinger finding your pulse. He clicked the fingers of his other hand in front of your eyes, trying to get you to focus.

Annoyed, you swatted him away and tried to sit up. 

“Will you slow down? You hit your head.” He spat, pinning your shoulder gently to the tiled floor.

You did feel a pulse where his hand reached to cup your skull, and you reached back with shaky fingertips. The wetness was warmer there, knotted into the hair near the crown. You pulled your hand back to see your fingertips smudged with crimson. You winced. 

“Shit,” Harrington stood to procure something from across the room, his red t-shirt, and he shoved the material under your head, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. It just made the dull throb worse. “Can you talk?” 

His fingertips found your pulse again, large palm splayed out across your collarbone, honeyed eyes searching your own. His body was warm, ribcage pressed against your hip, and you wanted to curl into him, your teeth chattering.

“‘M cold,” you croaked, the sound producing another fit of coughs that burned like hellfire at your chest, rocketing you nearly into his nose.

He grabbed your wrist and placed your hand firmly to the t-shirt soaking your blood and stood to pull something from his bag on the floor.

Your coughs sent you sideways again, spewing more liquid onto the ground beside your head. The tiles had begun to swirl with blood.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His grip on your shoulder rolled you back to make eye contact. The room clouded around him, and you squinted, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. “Shit. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

Your body rattled. It took too long to process that he had wrapped you in a towel and was trying to warm your arms with the friction of his hands. Exhaustion crept into your bones, a slip of warm darkness that you could find in his embrace, safety.

“Whoa, stay awake. Come on, let’s get you up. We have to take you to the Med Bay.” 

Your head throbbed as he pulled you upright, and you winced, pressure loosening on your skull. You groaned and tried to think through the fog, although exhaustion fought to win. 

Strong hands wedged themselves beneath your armpits and hoisted you upright, and you struggled to get your legs to carry your weight beneath you, but they did. Your body obeyed as your head throbbed, and you felt a trickle of warmth cascade down your spine while Harrington scrambled to grab the rest of your belongings. 

You stared back at the double doors, wincing as your torch lit up, light reflecting off of their insulated windows. “There’s someone out there.” You croaked, swaying on weak knees.

“It’s just the flashlight,” your partner snapped from beside you, one arm gripping your bicep, the other placing the ice cold metal of your flashlight into your weak hands. “Hold this.” His other hand met the t-shirt at the back of your skull to keep pressure.

“No,” you swallowed, throat raw, coughs emitting with each attempt to speak. “I saw them. I panicked.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” he scoffed, leading you slowly out of the room and into the black hallway beyond. “Hopper’s going to fucking murder me.”

You shined your light toward the stairwell, crisp white against a grey background. You saw no movement, heard nothing but the soft patter of your feet against the floor. 

“Nope, elevator. I’m not carrying you up fifteen flights of stairs.” Harrington steered you the opposite direction, toward a massive elevator on the North side of the building. It was old. The pulley system too loud against the thundering in your skull once the doors pulled themselves open.

You allowed him to lead into the square box, eyes wincing against the overhead lighting. You let him hold you upright against the railing on the back wall, relaxed easily into his hold, one hand catching on his forearm. 

He leaned forward to press a button, and just as the door slid closed, you saw a face, glowing blue in the light from the pool, eyes dark and smile menacing.

—

For the first time in two years, you’d managed to fall asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, and what would have been the best night of sleep in your life involved a nurse coming in at every hour to wake you from your slumber. Your body ached, and your eyelids were heavy, and with every soft prod, you wished you had the strength to lift your fist and strike at the woman with brute force. 

You were released after twenty-four hours, lactic acid stiffening your joints and ten times crankier than before, and you limped from the med bay up the stairs to your dorm for some peace and quiet. 

Each dorm unit contained a bed, a closet, a sink and countertop, an aluminum table and chairs. Some people had couches, others managed lazy boys and a television set. Your new room had been kept at a minimum: bedding stark white, trash can piled in the corner, belongings shoved into a green duffle bag in the corner. The only bit of personality was tucked away beneath the covers of a photo album on top of your bedside table. You hadn’t opened it in months.

You shrugged out of your military issue clothes, peering at your reflection in the mirror above the sink. Your body, though stronger than you’d ever looked, was covered in bruises and scars. A long burn mark painted your left side, puckered skin. With a sigh, you pulled a tank top and sleep shorts from your duffle and stepped in, considering a shower when you’ve woken up.

You crawled from the foot of your bed to the pillow, sheets just as scratchy as those in the medical ward, but the mattress was far squishier. Your muscles begged for the rest, too stiff around the shoulders and thighs. You sighed and buried your face into the pillow, the throb in your skull only slightly subsided. 

Then, you heard a knock at the door.

The red numbers of your alarm clock indicated you’d slept for three hours. The ruckus in the hall indicated everyone had finished their breakfast. You groaned and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, grabbing your second pillow to shove over your head, blocking the sun pouring in from an overhead window and the squeak of sneakers outside.

Knuckles wrapped a little harder. Your name was called along another few words muffled under the fluff of your pillow. 

“Go away!” You called into the abyss, and something in the back of your mind reminded you of the gruff man with the oversized mustache. You groaned and rolled, painstakingly, out of bed. 

The knocking returned, and you limped as fast as you could, calling over their yells for you to hurry up. You grit your teeth past the pain in the back of your head and swung the door open to expose Eddie Munson, hair pulled back into a ponytail, grin etched across sunken features. “Morning, Sunshine!” 

You had half a mind to slam the door back in his face. 

However, he raised his hand, shaking some poppy seeds off an everything bagel, and your stomach growled in response. 

You snatched the bagel from his hand and stepped aside to let him stumble in, walker almost too wide for the doorways. 

“Rumor has it Harrington carried you into the Med Bay in your underpants,” he said loudly before you had a chance to shut the door.

You caught the snicker of trainees, and you shot them death glares before slamming the heavy panel into it’s place. 

“Glad to see you two made up.” He pulled a cup of cream cheese from his pocket, and it clattered on your table beside a plastic knife. You helped him sit, both of your legs shaky on the descent. The table teetered under his weight, but he managed to remain upright in his chair. “Did he have to pound a concussion into you though?” 

You rolled your eyes, tried not to imagine a world in which his teasing could be factual, and shoved your thumb into the seam of your bagel to open it. “As much as I hate to pop your little fantasy bubbles, Edward, that’s about the farthest from what actually happened.” You seated yourself across from him and popped the top of the cream cheese container to start your spread. 

“So tell me what actually happened.” Eddie said, voice eerily even, “Because overhearing a total stranger say something about your best friend being held over night in medical is not how I wanted yesterday to go.”

You looked up from your spread and into big, brown eyes. Eddie Munson was known for his jokes, his pleasant demeanor, his incredible ability to strategize. He wasn’t known for his temper, but you’d seen it a handful of times, patience tested, that burn behind his eyes. 

You shirked under his stare, sealed the lid back on an empty container, took too big of a bite. You wedged the creamy goodness into one cheek, licking the corner of your lip to respond, hoping to sound more nonchalant than you felt. “It really wasn’t a big deal. We were training in the pool.” 

“This place has a pool?” He leaned forward, brows creased, arms folded across a slender frame.

You shrugged, swallowed. “Yeah, lower levels. Anyway, we were underwater, and…” You thought for a moment about what happened, everything blurred under the waves, the pressure in your chest, Harrington’s large hands gripping your thigh, the face staring back at you from the doorway. 

“And what? You went bonk?” Eddie snapped.

You blinked back to him and shrugged. The taste of garlic had turned to ash in your mouth. You tossed the remnants onto the tabletop and wiped poppyseeds off on bare thighs. They rolled onto the chair, the ground around you.

“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” His voice was quiet now, and when you snapped to meet his gaze, he was staring at the scrapes in the linoleum tabletop, knife wounds that had peeled through styrofoam. “Because I get it, you know? I’ve been there, too. After all those people I hurt…” He trailed off.

You reached across to grip his knuckles in your hand, pulling him to look at you. “Eddie, that wasn’t you. That was him. We all know it.” 

“And what happened to Vicki wasn’t on you.” He responded, nostrils flared, strong hand gripping your own. 

You swallowed back the lump growing in your throat. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” you said, and you wondered if you’d meant hitting your head in the pool or getting lost in the woods, getting Vicki flayed, pulling the trigger, watching the flames dance, hearing the screams.

You thought of the face above the water, the glow beyond the doors, this fear building in your chest like an ember of something you couldn’t put your finger on, this dull pulse you felt when everything else went away. You looked at your friend, dark hair and dark eyes and made a choice. “Eddie,” your voice shook. “I can still see her.” 

He squeezed your hand, nodded. “That’s normal. It’s a trauma response, I think, like a phantom limb.” He patted his thigh, and you recalled the mechanics of a prosthetic ankle beneath the hem of his pant leg. “What did Linda tell you?” 

You picked up your bagel again and tore it into halves. “I haven’t told Linda.”

Eddie breathed your name like a warning. “What do you mean you haven’t told Linda?” 

You dropped your bagel again and buried your face in your hands. The back of your head had begun to throb, and your eyes ached and crusted with sleep. “Eddie, come on. I had to get back out there, and you know I wouldn’t have passed my psych eval if the shrink knew I was hallucinating on a regular basis.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” 

“Eddie, you can’t tell anyone,” you reached out to grip his hand again. “Please, please. I’m sixty hours from reassignment. I just got a new partner.” 

“Does he know?” 

You scoffed, tried to mask your eye roll by throwing your entire head back into a stretch. The pounding on your head increased, and you had to cradle your head in your hands once more.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why have you now dragged me into this?” Eddie hissed, and when you peered through your fingers, you saw his stance mirrored yours, hands in his hair, annoyance stretched across thin features. 

And you debated keeping it from him, hiding that fear that had fanned the flames in the back of your mind for months now, but it was surfacing, each day coming closer and closer to having you by the throat. “Because I saw something else at the pool, someone else was there with us,” you let out a ragged breath. “And I don’t think it was…” Your throat caught on her name. “Her.” 

His expression dropped, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He glanced around your dorm room, crossing his arms over his chest before he looked back at you. “What are you talking about?” His voice trembled.

You shrugged, shook hair from your eyes. “I don’t know, Ed. There was someone else down there. I saw the door swing open. I could see a face staring back at me from over the surface. There was someone in that room, and when I came to, they were gone.” 

“Did Steve see them?” Your friend frowned, leaned toward your once more.

As if on cue, a loud knock wrapped at your bedroom door. You both startled upright, your heart beat racing in your chest. “Who is it?” You called, hands gripped the tabletop to stop them from shaking. 

“Steve,” came the short response, muffled through the thick door. 

“Steve who?” Eddie joked, lifting himself from his chair with some difficulty, any worry or hurt erased from the expression on his face. You hurried to help him before using one hand to open the door. 

“Sorry, I can come back,” Harrington’s features were etched in that signature scowl, dressed in uniform, bright orange breakfast tray loaded under one arm. 

“No, no,” Eddie waved him off. “I was just leaving. You can have her.” He leaned to press his lips to the shell of your ear before whispering, “we’ll finish this later.” 

You squirmed under the heat of his breath, and Harrington stepped aside to let Eddie through and into the hallway. 

“Be gentle with her this time, will ya?” Eddie’s mouth split into a grin.

Your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull, and you flipped him the bird. “Fuck right off.” 

Once your best friend had cackled his way down the hall, sneakers and walker squeaking, and a familiar, anxious buzz had settled into your bones, you gestured for Harrington to enter your little apartment. You closed the door behind him and felt suddenly self conscious of the trash piling up and over the can, the dishes dirty in the sink, the cream cheese smeared across your tabletop. 

“You should be resting,” he chided, sliding the orange tray onto the table beside your breakfast.

“Eddie brought me food,” you explained, as though you needed an excuse.

“A bagel isn’t food. You need protein and electrolytes, vitamins.” 

You glanced at the plate he brought: bacon and eggs, roasted potatoes, a glass of milk, a small orange. “Thanks, Dad.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arm over your chest, suddenly aware of the breeze against your bare thighs, the pebbling of your nipples beneath a thin tank top. You swallowed.

“How’s your head?” He asked after a long moment’s pause, vowels stilted like he’d forgotten how to be nice to you. You suppose you both had. It’d been so long. 

You swallowed back an innuendo, shrugged, reached to itch at the bruised skin around the scab. “She said it just a minor concussion. Should be good to get back to work by Monday.” You felt yourself shift on uncomfortable feet, the air buzzing with that odd static you felt in the pool.

Harrington nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his tactical pants, rocking on the balls of his feet. 

You felt sick, knowing it’d come to this, that you’d been brought to awkward conversations and niceties. You used to be close, dangerously close. You used to be able to reach out and touch him, to push that stray hair out of his eyes. You used to make jokes, to laugh. You released a scoff, shook the memories from your pounding head. “Look, we don’t have to do this.” 

He looked up at you then, jaw clenched, broad chest steadily rising and falling. 

“You don’t have to pretend to care about me. They partnered us up because we both want to get back out there. We have sixty hours of training left. The rest of the time doesn’t need to be spent together. You can be my drill sergeant and after training, we go our separate ways.” You confirmed, crossing to your duffle bag to retrieve a sweatshirt. You shoved it aggressively over your head and put your arms through, sick of feeling scrutinized under his gaze.

“Drill sergeant?” He seethed, rounding the table to meet you near the foot of your bed. 

“Oh come on, Harrington,” you rolled your eyes. “You’ve been chewing my ass like fucking beef jerky since we left Hopper’s office. You’re acting like you’re training me for the Olympics, and I’m letting you, by the way, because it’s easier to keep the peace and take your bullshit than argue with you.” 

“Oh, right,” he scoffed. “You’ve been ‘keeping the peace’. Please, explain to me the fight-back I get on everything I say. Enlighten me, princess.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you shoved at his chest.

He didn’t budge. “Push through me.” He instructed.

You grit your teeth and did as he asked. The heels of your hands made contact and had him stumbling back a good five feet.

He caught himself on your chair. It creaked under his weight. “Good.” 

“Shut up,” you stood at full height, clenched your fists at your sides, ready to swing.

“Did you ever consider that I’ve been bossing you around because I don’t know if I can trust - ” He swallowed, broad chest heavy, eyes scanning your features.

“What?” You narrowed your eyes, fear crawling up your esophagus, burning in your throat. 

“…you.” 

All of your fears confirmed, that you couldn’t be trusted, that it was all your fault Vicki got lost, all your fault she was flayed, all your fault you couldn’t handle her, couldn’t take her, all your fault she died. All your fault your friends abandoned you. All your fault you lost him, too.

Flames fanned your skin. Your eyes glazed over, your hands trembled. You tried to reason with him, with yourself. “I didn’t mean for… any of it. I didn’t ask for it to happen.” 

“But it did.” His tone was dark, low, unyielding. 

You glanced back at him in time to see his hand run through his hair. 

He released his shoulders in a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re better on the field than off. I was really just coming to see when you’d be ready to get back on your feet.” He wrapped his knuckles against the tabletop.

You shivered under his frigid monotone. 

“We should start with Scorch on Monday. I think we’re supposed to get a heatwave, so let’s try for the evening again.” He was commanding, cold, walking to your bedroom door. 

“Okay,” you managed. Your neck ached from the whiplash of the encounter, of the last week of your life, the last year. 

“Get some rest.” He said before exited, a command. 

When the door clicked closed, you let out a yell of frustration, swatted at a nearby chair until it tipped to the ground, clanging loudly as the metal bounced.

---

Chapter Two: Spark

[A/N: I've honestly been working on this fic for so long. It's my baby. I've grown too attached. And I honestly cannot wait to share it with the world. Thanks so much for reading xo]

[wandascrush]

Do I wanna know?

Summary: You’re a new avengers recruit with a budding relationship to Natasha Romanoff, and one Witch who definitely does not like you

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader, Avengers x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mole discussion, suspicion, that’s it?

A/N: This series has been uploaded before but I deleted it and decided to reupload, hope you like it!

The air against your bruised cheek was cold as you walked along the Brooklyn Bridge, 3 am and slowly bleeding from an abdomen gunshot wound. What a Saturday night. You heard the faint hum of a car behind you, following ever so slowly. At this point you were begging for whoever it was to kidnap you. Your feet were tired and things were starting to get a little blurry in the vision department. We’re getting ahead of ourselves though…let’s go back to the beginning. 

 You were sitting next to Natasha when Tony stormed into the room, throwing a file on the conference room table in front of the team. You were the first to pick it up, kicking your feet up and taking a closer look. The first word your eyes landed on was “mole.”

 After the entire team had passed the file around in silence, everyone’s minds going a mile a minute, you glanced over at Natasha. Her teeth nibbled on her bottom lip as she was lost in thought, no expression. You enjoyed watching her mind work like a machine. You had just joined the team a few months ago, quickly becoming close with them, but especially Natasha. You didn’t want to brag, but…you were one of the top agents in your field and she took notice. 

Everybody was freaking out about the mole that apparently worked for HYDRA. Tony and Steve ordered a search of the entire compound, beds being flipped upside down and even Cho was searched. In the days to come, chaos unfolded in front of your eyes, panic spreading throughout the team like wildfire. You kept your e/c eyes to the ground as they searched through your belongings, wardrobe, and technology. 

“We’re sorry about this, it’s just protocol.” Steve walked over to you with his arms crossed, his long sleeve stretched over his muscles as he held a folder under his arm.

“I get it Steve, really. You can never be too careful with the worlds mightiest,” you liked joking with Steve, he was gentle. Across the room Natasha watched you, worried if the mole was a threat to anyone…especially you. 

She shouldn’t worry, you thought- it’s not like you’d be a threat to yourself.

[lovebugism]

I heard you’d like some requests, don’t mind if I do 👹 I could’ve sent 62 but I restrained myself:

*grumbling* "Some people are waaay too touchy."

if it inspires you, please!

emmy (upsidedownwithsteve) 🧡

@upsidedownwithsteve, my love! it was an honor to write for you! i hope you like it :D — eddie munson's a big, jealous grump at the bar (established relationship, fluff, 1.1k)

Eddie’s having a piss-poor night. His beer’s lukewarm, the music’s too loud, you’re too far away, and Steve Harrington hasn’t shut up in ten minutes. 

He could hardly stand the dumbass everyone used to call The King, but even less when he’s got a golden arm thrown over your shoulder. And, yeah, it’s all friendly or whatever, but that hardly quells the wildfire burning in his chest. “What right does he have to touch you like this? Fucking none,” grumbles the wild-haired boy’s inner conscience. 

But then again, no one does. Not even him.

“Think I should go buy her a drink?” Steve asks you over the blaring pop music. His honey eyes are pointed across the bar at a girl way out of his league. His slick mouth is far too close to your ear.

You roll your eyes. “I think you should be a gentleman and feel things out with her first—”

“Oh, I’m gonna feel things out with her, alright,” Steve scoffs, bringing the lip of the beer bottle to his mouth.

“—Before jumping into a one-night stand you only halfway recover from.”

The two of you turn to glare at each other, then. Gazes unwavering. Noses mere inches apart. Eddie makes a faint grumbly noise of protest about it, but the boyish sound of disgust goes unheard under the music.

But when I see you hanging about with anyone—

It’s not unusual to see me cry; I wanna die!

Someone’s been plugging the same goddamn Tom Jones song into the jukebox for six minutes now. Eddie feels like he might as well be in hell at this rate. It’d hurt less, he figures.

You and Steve seem to communicate telepathically until he inevitably caves first. He huffs until his puffed-out chest deflates, along with his stupid ego. He doesn’t know how you always seem to be right about everything. He fucking hates it, actually.

“Right. Whatever. I’m gonna go find Robin. She’s probably lost,” Steve deadpans with a sigh as he slides out from the booth. “Want anything?”

“Can you get me—”

“A spicy margarita?” he finishes for you — like he can read your fucking mind, Eddie grouses bitterly to himself. He hates that someone else knows you as well as he does.

You squint. “How’d you know?”

‘Cause it’s your favorite thing to drink after shots, Eddie answers in his head.

“Because we just had tequila shots. And you always want a spicy margarita after tequila shots,” Steve deadpans, then chuckles when your face scrunches. He pokes the very apple of your cheek and turns to the pouty boy across from you. “What about you, Eds? Want another beer while I’m up?”

Eddie shakes his head with a flat face, then takes a sip of his warm and hardly-sipped beer.

“Next round’s on you two, alright? I’m not your fucking boyfriend— you’re not getting free beers off me all night,” Steve chides lightheartedly before disappearing into the crowd. 

You only smile to yourself as he goes. You know he’ll buy the whole damn bar out if you ask him to. ‘Cause that’s what best friends are for and all. Especially when they’re rich.

A groan bubbles in Eddie’s throat when the upbeat song starts all over again. It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone! the man croons. He drops his head to his elbow and bellows an annoyed moan. His chestnut curls spread wild over his shoulders.

You hide your grin behind your fist. “What’s wrong, Eds?”

“Nothin’,” he monotones, face still hidden.

“You haven’t said a word in twenty minutes.”

“Well, Steve hasn’t shut up in about thirty, so…” he retorts and lifts his heavy head, faking a smile as he tilts his flushed cheek to his shoulder. “Getting you two idiots into a room is fuckin’ crazy, you know that, right? Neither of you knows when to stop talking.”

Your nose scrunches. “Well, that’s what usually happens when you have friends, Eddie. You have conversations.”

“You sayin’ I don’t have friends, sweetheart?” he questions with narrowed, chocolate eyes.

“No,” you answer, grinning all pretty. “I’m sayin’ you’re jealous for no reason.”

His face falls flat at having been found out so quickly. Though he figures he wasn’t exactly being discreet about the whole thing. He grumbles and shifts awkwardly in his seat, feeling too seen beneath your unwavering stare.

“Some people are just way too touchy,” he grouses with a boyish sneer on his features, trying desperately to hide his pout behind the amber bottle in his fist. He takes another sip of the lukewarm liquid and averts his gaze.

Your beam widens until it brightens the dim bar. “You’re the one sitting all the way over there, you loon,” you tell him with a soft giggle that squints the edges of your eyes.

Eddie perks at the invitation. His doe eyes flit from the sticky table to your twinkling eyes. He’s been waiting on the offer all night, too much of a coward to ask you himself, and it shows on his suddenly hopeful features.

You nod your head to the empty spot beside you. “Get over here before Steve comes back and starts yapping again.”

Eddie rises with a newfound life, rounding the table and sliding into the squeaky booth beside you. He clutches his beer with his left hand and throws his right around your shoulder. His arm rests over the back of the booth where Steve’s once was, holding you like he’s been dying to all night.

“Better?” you grin.

He nods wordlessly, wild curls tickling your jaw. He takes another sip to hide his quiet smile when you press your lips to the flushed apple of his cheek.

Steve returns then, with your spicy margarita in one hand and Robin’s wrist in the other. She stumbles in behind him and sways in place ahead of the table — freckled cheeks rosy, ocean eyes glassy.

“Have fun?” you wonder with a teasing lilt.

“I saw something shiny on the way back from the bathroom,” the brunette girl confesses in tiny slurs. “Then I get lost…”

You nod sympathetically. “We figured.”

Steve nudges her ahead of him until Robin gets the hint. She slinks gracelessly into the booth. The boy squints as he slides you your drink. “You’re in my seat,” he observes, as if it weren’t blatantly obvious.

Eddie shrugs. “…Yeah?”

“You could’ve just asked to switch,” he scoffs and slips in beside Robin.

“I was fine,” the wild-haired boy insists, then nods his head over to you. “She’s the one that wanted me to move.”

And even though that’s not exactly what happened, you nod anyway. “Yeah. I got too tired of sitting next to you, Stevie,” you tease the boy ahead of you. “Your cologne’s too strong— you smell like a fucking high school boys’ locker room.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you had a ton of experience in those back in the day, didn’t you?” Steve scoffs.

Your eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Jesus,” Eddie grumbles like a storm cloud. “Stop flirting.”

[bingbongsupremacy]

Closure Pt. 2

Pairing: Steve Harrington x plus size!reader

Warnings: swearing, anger, idk what else

Series Summary: You never knew Steve could be so shallow. When he leaves you to date Nancy Wheeler, you're left with a pain you thought he'd never leave with you. Maybe you should've stayed friends.

Part Summary: He wrote a letter. You don't need him. Right?

*Not Proof Read* Stranger Things Masterlist

Based off of Taylor Swift Song Closure. This was a request. I tried to make everything as general as possible. Pls let me know if missed something ty.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

*****

No one was supposed to know we were dating. Steve said he didn’t want his teammates to bug me. He didn’t want people to overreact when they found out about us and say mean shit. At the time, I agreed. I mean, Steve’s the king of Hawkins high. I wouldn’t be the first girl he’s dated who’s had rumors spread about them. 

Hiding us was harder than we thought. A month or so after we got together Tommy found out and told the whole team. Gradually the whole school found out. Gossip spreads like wildfire, especially in a town like Hawkins. 

During the weeks after we broke up, I started to think about our secret relationship.

He wasn’t trying to protect me. He was trying to protect his reputation. Steve might not show it but deep down he’s just like everyone else. He’s got insecurities too. He obsesses over anything negative that’s said about him, analyzing everything that others think is imperfect about him until he finds a way to change it.

That’s something I noticed sophomore year when we started to get a little closer.

He was kind to me, but he wasn’t perfect. I don’t know for sure but I think he still messed with underclassmen, bullying them for praise from Tommy and Carol. He wanted to be liked by everyone, especially those two assholes.

He was always going to pick them over me. 

“ Honey, this came in for you today. “ My mom breaks me out of my thoughts. 

I look up from my stack of paperwork. “ What? From who? “ My brows furrow in confusion. Who would send mail to my parents’ house? I haven’t lived here in years. 

“ It’s from Steve. “ My moms eyes scan over the stark white envelope. 

My heart sinks. 

What the fuck does he want? 

I haven’t seen or talked to him since graduation 7 years ago. What could he want with me? Last I heard he got a job at Family Video and Nancy broke up with him. 

He knows I’m here. He has to. Fucking Hawkins. When one person knows everyone knows. Mrs. Henderson must’ve told someone when I ran into her at the gas station. 

“ What ever happened to you and Steve? Do you both still talk? “ My mom asks curiously while handing over my mail. 

Oh right. I never told her. 

“ We fell out of touch. You know, life. " I shrug, hoping that's enough for her.

" Oh, that's so sad sweetie. I'm sorry. " She sends me a small sympathetic smile. " That's always hard when you lose touch with someone you love. " She gently pats my shoulder.

Love.

Steve didn't love me.

I send her a small smile, hoping to drop the topic. " It happens, ma. "

" Well, I'll you get to it. " She dismisses herself, leaving me to the letter in my hands.

I trace the sharp corners of the envelope. Should I open it? Do I want to?

I wonder what it says.

What could he have to say to me after all of these years? It couldn't be something worth my time. Not after the shit that happened in high school. Right?

But what if it is?

Fuck it. I'm curious.

I pull open the envelope and let the torn paper fall into my lap. A neatly folded letter greens me, the bright white stationary paper matching the envelope.

This is it. Here we go.

I pull open the letter. Dark blue pen lines starkly contrast the white paper. Steve's familiar handwriting fills a good portion of the page. At the bottom his squiggly signature lies, bold and exactly the same as I remember.

Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you. I heard you're back in town. I've been meaning to do this for a long time. I've debated writing to you for years. I didn't know if I had anything good enough to send to you.

I was an asshole to you. You didn't deserve how I broke up with you. I feel horrible about how I treated you. About how I let other people change my opinion and control my actions. I should've stood stronger with what I thought.

That's something I always loved about you. You didn't let other people sway your opinions. I'm sure you still don't. You thought for yourself.

You are so much braver than I am. You didn't compromise yourself for others.

I've thought about what happened for years. About how you must have felt.

I hope you're well. I hope you've been able to move on and you've continued to be yourself. I know I don't deserve to say that, I just wish you the best.

I wanted to explain to you why I did what I did. I owe it to you. I was selfish. I got caught up in the high school popularity shit. I know it's stupid. I wanted to be Hawkins High's main guy. I wanted the Prom King title. I wanted the attention.

I really did like you. You made me feel safe and understood. You were always patient and kind. You urged me to be me, even when I felt like caving under pressure. You liked me for me, not for who I was trying to be. You deserved better than me.

People started to talk. You know. You heard the rumors.

At first, I thought I could handle it. I thought it wouldn't bug me. I thought I could push past it all. I cracked. Tommy and Carol jumped on the wagon and it pushed me over the edge. I couldn't bare the thought of losing the respect I'd worked so hard to get. I couldn't handle the teasing I'd get from the guys after games or the looks Tommy'd send my way when he saw us together.

It was wrong. I didn't think about you. About how you must've felt and how you were handling everything that was going on. It was Senior Year. I should've held on. We would've been out of this shit hole in a few months anyway, I don't know why I didn't just ignore it all. That's one of my biggest regrets.

I've been in therapy for a few years now. I've worked past all that surface-level shallow shit. I really see just how much I hurt you, and for that I'm so sorry.

I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to know that you're the first girl I ever loved and I am so grateful for you. Our relationship sent me on a path to help myself, and for that I will always love you.

Thank you.

-Steve Harrington

P.S. The week before we broke up I was going to give this to you. I never did.

I glance down at the envelope in my lap and open it. At the bottom lays a shiny silver necklace. A small gem, my birthstone, lays in the center. It glimmers in the light. It's beautiful.

I turn the gem over and spot a small engraving on the back.

SH +Y/N

For a moment I'm torn.

Should I write him back? Should we talk?

Part of me does miss him. I miss his laugh. His playful teasing. The way he looked at me.

No.

He hurt me. A lot.

He can't just send a letter and make it better. Why didn't he talk to me in person if this really weighed on him as much as he says it did? Why didn't he call me?

I don't need him. I'm fine. I've been fine without him for years. I'm not going to let him back into my life because he feels bad about his actions and insecurities.

I left Hawkins for a reason. I needed to get away from Steve. I needed him out of my life.

I'm not going to let him back in for his sake.

I don't need him.

I stand up, taking the papers and necklace in my hand. I walk over to the trashcan near my dresser. Without a second thought, I drop everything into the can.

The necklace makes a small clunking sound as it hits the bottom of my empty can.

The rustling of papers quiets and so does my pounding heart.

I'm fine on my own.

(Do we like this ending? Or should I try to make another part? )

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @queen-apple24

[iloveinej]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

════════ ⋆★⋆ ════════

Steve rogers x reader

Category: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Description of an injury and blood, mentions of nausea, fainting

Summary: (Name) has never had the currant to tell Steve about the injuries, afraid of bothering him. Not realizing that it can backfire.

Words: 2.6 k

════════ ⋆★⋆ ════════

(Name) loved Steve Rogers with her entire being, and she believed that every person she met felt the same. With his blue eyes, kind smile, and charisma. How he cared about every living, breathing thing around him.

But it didn't stop her from shutting down whenever he was irritated, mad, or even tense. Maybe it was because of past trauma, or that she simply didn't want to become the reason why he was mad. But every time he became like that, (Name) felt almost scared.

Not of him, of course, but scared that he don't want her near him. It has happened before with other people.

Which was why she was sitting in a corner of the quinjet, headphones over her ears as she tried to control the pain that bloomed like wildfire over her back.

It was an unsuccessful mission. And she knew Steve, like everybody else, hated unsuccessful missions. He was leaning against a wall, both arms crossed over his chest with a hard, stony look on his face. He didn't speak to anyone, stuck in his little world.

And she didn't want to be an inconvenience by whining about the flesh wound on her back. Especially if he hadn't noticed that she was in pain.

Either way, she planned on patching it up herself, and then going to bed, hoping that the storm would calm enough for the next day. And if she were feeling luxurious, she might even go to the med bay to get the wound checked on.

Except she hadn't planned on the fact that the wound was efficiently placed on her back, therefore making it out of reach for her to clean it. And she was way too exhausted to ask anyone else or to even care about the matter. So she grabbed the bandages and wrapped them around her chest and back, leaving it like that before turning off the lights in her bathroom and throwing herself headfirst in the bed.

Not knowing Steve lay on the other side of the wall, waiting for her to come and say goodnight.

--

The next morning, the ache in her back had gotten worse, and her left shoulder strained whenever she tried to move it. She needed to get to the med bay at least once today. But first, she required a big cup of coffee.

When she made it out to the sunlit kitchen, the pain in her back had spread. Now, her head ached just as much, and every time she turned too fast, black splotches would show.

And earlier, when she changed her bandages the blood had entirely seeped through, leaving it soaked in red. But the blood had been diluted with another liquid, which she found mildly concerning.

She poured herself the coffee that was left in the coffee machine and put it in the microwave since it was cold. And while she stood there waiting she noted that the kitchen was empty, which was strange to be at this time of the day.

"Jarvis? Do you mind telling me where everyone is?" She asked the AI.

"I believe that Mr. Wilson is still sleeping." She let out a humorous scoff." Mr. Stark and Mr. Banner are currently in the lab. Ms. Romanoff in the training areas with Mr. Rogers."

(Name)s ears perked at the mention of him, and her mind spiraled into calculating thoughts. "Did Steve already eat breakfast?"

"Yes. An omelet, made of three eggs and a cup of coffee, one teaspoon of sugar, and milk." A frown tugged at her face. Steve never ate breakfast without her. Unless they were fighting, which was a rare happening. Steve believed that the most important meal of the day was breakfast, and therefore always made sure that (Name) ate it with him. But so that he could have company, and also make sure that she ate enough.

"Alright then. Thank you, Jarvis." She smiled up to the roof, hoping that he could see her appreciativeness. Then she made a beeline back to her room with a downturn of her brow, planning to do paperwork before throwing herself into her, not so fantastic anymore, day. Completely forgetting her visit to the med bay.

--

Paperwork had always been a somewhat calming thing to do for her to relax, turn off her brain, and go on autopilot. Often when she was stressed, Steve found her with her nose in her computer typing away without any knowledge around her. It always worked.

Except for today.

The pain in her head only got worse after all the caffeine, and she couldn't lean back into her chair either because of her back. And not only that, but thoughts of Steve plagued her mind. And not the good, lovey-dovey thoughts. But instead, the toxic, poisoning thoughts were so loud that it was the only thing she heard.

She had no idea what to do about their situation. And she was really afraid that she had accidentally done something the day before to upset him, giving her a reason for his strange and unlike actions.

"Mr. Rogers would like me to alert you that there is a team meeting in the conference room in five minutes." She jumped in her chair and a small yelp left her lips as Jarvis spoke, making her back strain. And that made her wince painfully.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to frighten you." A grimace covered (Name)s face in an attempt to smile, and she carefully rubbed her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I was just stuck in my head."

"How so?" And (Name) went quiet. She hadn't expected a question from him.

"Nothing special." She absentmindedly hummed for an answer, and that seemed to get Jarvis less curious.

"If you say so. 3 minutes left." And with that, she quickly grabbed her things and bolted out of her quarters, right towards the elevator.

--

She turned out to arrive just in time as Fury was about to close the door, and she quickly slithered in, choosing a stool at the back of the table so that she wouldn't get questioning eyes on her. When she entered she could feel Steves's's stare burning into her skin, but she doesn't have the time nor thought to greet him, which would perhaps leave consequences for later. But now she just longed to sit down before she fainted.

She didn't even notice when Fury started speaking because blood was rushing through her ears, and beads of sweat ran down her neck, sending a shiver through her ice-cold and fire-hot body. It was like she running a fever in an ice bath. She dared to subtly raise a shaking hand towards her back, slightly touching the wound, only to have to suppress a wince and bring back blood-stained fingers.

She was at least wearing black.

Her attention shifted when Fury changed places with Steve, and let him take his place in the front. It was hard to know if she found it either positive or negative.

Positive because she could focus on something that brought her calm, and hear his voice instead of the roar in her ears. Focus on his plack t-shirt and nice fitting jeans, which was something he didn't wear often. How soft hir hair looked and his pink , kissable lips.

Negative because now he could see how colorless her face had become, along with a thin cover of sweat by her throat and her lifeless tired eyes.

And perhaps it made Steve speak a tad bit faster, and perhaps he skipped over some of the parts he was supposed to introduce. But it looked like his girlfriend was dying, and Fury didn't need to know that his two most capable agents were in a relationship.

He could her heartbeat picking up more and more as he spoke, and it was a relief for him when he could finally dismiss the team.

She slowly stood up as the rest of them collected their things and one by one filed out. But she couldn't do anything as quickly as she liked, not even walk. She had no choice but to take a tight grip on the chairs lined up, and use them as crutches.

And when Steve turned his back to gather a pile of papers, she took a breath, straightened her back, and took two quick steps towards the door. But Steve heard the increase of speed in her steps in quickly caught her arms in a fierce grip, stopping her from escaping.

"Damn it." She mumbled, making sure that Steve couldn't hear her. And then she turned her head to meet Steves's's eye, trying to look as normal as possible, which didn't trick Steve at all. Only made him more concerned.

"You alright?" He let both of his hands smooth over her shoulders and arms, looking at her with those blue, affectionate eyes.

"Mhm!" She hummed, trying to sound as carefree as possible while plastering a smile on her face. But he didn't look convinced. Not at all.

He let his left hand travel up to her cheek, and he was about to say something. But when his palm touched her cheek, he flinched and removed his palm to see that it was damp.

"Steve-" She warned, but it was no idea. He had already raised his sleeve and laid his wrist over her forehead. And she couldn't protest because his wrist was oh so warm while she had been freezing and sweating cold ever since she entered the room.

"You're burning." It didn't feel like she was.

"Are you sick?" He asked, a frown on his face as she felt for her temperature. "Why haven't you said anything?"He scolded, and she shrunk into herself as his hands continued to investigate her. Until his hand came in contact with her wound. And she recoiled away from his hand, trying to get as far away from the pain as possible. Tears gathered in her eyes at the fire in her back, and she glued them shut as she tried to let it pass.

Steve brought his hand up to see when he felt something on the tips of his fingers, and his eyes widened in horror. There was a vermillion stain on his fingers, running down his hand. And (Name) saw both concern and panic as he looked down at her, as she was now leaning against his chest, too tired to stand on her own.

"I'm fine, promise." She said, lime on autopilot.

"We need to get you to a doctor." He insisted, about to take her under the knees and carry her there. But the second he tried to m, she leaned away.

And the guilt was there again. Steves tired but pretty face showed concern and panic, but she wasn't supposed to make him concerned and panic. As his partner, she was there to make him calm, happy, and satisfied. Sure, if Steve would hide a wound like this one from her, she would be livid. But that's hardly classed as the same thing.

"It's fine Steve, I'm sure I can get there me."

He scoffed and looked almost hurt.

"No, you're not going anywhere yourself. Not by how you're looking"

A protest lay prepared on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't get further than opening her mouth before a strong wave of nausea and dizziness washed over her body. And she swayed, once, twice, before her footing came undone, and she lost all sense of balance.

And it felt like she fell into a warm pillow, or perhaps she was just delirious. But it truly resembled a warm, fluffy pillow. And she snuggled into it, ignoring the distant calls of her (Name). And Steve's breath got caught in his throat when he saw her closing her eyes in his arms.

--

Steve was aware that something was nagging his lover's mind, and he had been aware of it during the last week. It was like she walked on eggshells around him and it bothered him. Because something bothered her. Something about him bothered her.

He hadn't done anything differently, not that he was aware of. He hadn't said anything either. And he liked to think that he had a great memory.

And he still couldn't figure out why she didn't tell him about her injury. Banner had told him that she was lucky that the infections in her wound hadn't reached any further. But Steve had a hard time seeing anything positive with the situation at all.

Duobts clouded his mind and made it hard to think straight. How could he know that she hadn't hidden other injuries that she could've gotten?

As if her mind was connected to his, as if she heard his self-deprecating thoughts, she came to her senses and let out a long and low groan, snapping Steve out of his head.

He quickly discarded his block and pencil to the side, leaving the drawing on the small table by the side before crouching down to her height.

"(Name)?" He dared to ask, and his heart felt lighter when he saw her eyelids twitch in response. A sigh left her dry lips before her eyelids slowly cracked open and presented themselves to Steve, giving him a confirmation that she was there with him.

"Steve." It came as a breath, her voice warm with love as she saw the familiar face.

As light as a feather, he let his fingertips ghost along her temples, repeating the momentum over and over again. Her eyelids relaxed, and Steve's back tensed as she once again closed her eyes. But (Name) could feel his muscle become rigid, and let her hand gently enclose steves wrist, running circles on his inner arm as comfort. As she always did.

"Why didn't you tell me?" An audible sigh sounded from her mouth, and for a moment Steve was afraid that he had annoyed her. But her fingertips were still dancing along the expense of his arm, and he let that comfort him. Although, she didn't provide him with an answer.

"You can trust me. I want you to trust me." He reassured her, and vulnerability spilled through his voice. He grabbed her other hand that rested on her stomach, entangling their fingers.

"I do trust you." She hoarsely whispered, throat dry and mouth like sandpaper.

But when she forced her eyes open, Steve looked at her, unconvinced.

"Then why? Why didn't you tell me that you were in pain?"

She wanted to bathe in the softness of his voice. Get nurtured by it, drink it, and stay by the sound to the end of time. The fondness, bonded with her worrying, guilty, and anxious emotions from before created bittersweet sparks under her skin. And it took form as a watery mist, covering her live full irises.

"I do trust you, but I don't want to be a nuisance to you." She painfully admitted and laid her hand on his cheek as a peace offering." You work so hard to succeed Steve, so hard that when you don't succeed, you become very tense. I don't want to be there to make you even tenser."

He shut his eyes tightly and nuzzled his cheek further into her palm, and a drop of water fell from his eye, rolling down his summer-tinted cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" Worry etched in her brows, but he only shook his head.

"I made you think that you would be a burden to me whenever I felt a negative emotion." She shook her head, already beginning her protest." A partner is not supposed to do that (Name)."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"Steve, it was not on you. You didn't make me feel like a burden. I did. And I'm sorry for not telling you about my injury." She smiled sadly at him when he kissed her palm.

"I want to take care of you, and comfort you. I want to be that person to you, so let me be that the next time." And she could only nodd, her heart being free from the shackles of heavy emotions. Instead, she felt light as a feather.

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My requests are open;););;);)

[trashmouth-richie]

Can i request king steve having his eyes set on queen of the damned and eddie feels a lil insecure and jealous because of course a queen would want a king. So reader reminds him shes all his with racy pictures and a bj where she swallows and sucks his balls. And hes just left on cloud 9 lol. 🫣🫣

@sidthedollface2 , this is for you 💋 special thanks to @munson-blurbs @hxllfired @corroded-hellfire @eddiemunsonsmum @jadequeen88 for reading through this + whoever else I suckered into doing that 😵‍💫🖤

part ii for QUEEN OF THE DAMNED

eddie x female! reader

W.C: 2.8k

TW: NO MINORS, blow job, mentions of sex, etc. possessive!eddie, jealous!eddie etc etc etc

Since prom when you had gone public with Eddie, you were inseparable. Word spread like wildfire of your infidelity, and poor Ethan was left confused, in more ways than one. Honestly embarrassed that he didn’t notice that you were cheating on him. The locker room hazing was no laughing matter. Every swinging dick around joked about Ethan and his whore of an ex girlfriend. “She good in bed? Oh yeah guess you wouldn’t know.” “Munson possessed your chick and you had no idea?” Laughter erupts from the locker room as Ethan makes his way to the showers, crying softly.

The person most responsible for teasing Ethan for his misfortunes? Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High. He was a player, easily the most sought after guy to roam the halls. Girls fell at their feet for him, begged to be his flavor for the night. Between him and Billy Hargrove they were swimming in pussy. Everyone’s except yours. But Steve was determined, and Billy’s bet made his determination grow even stronger, almost carnal.

“Hey there gorgeous,” Steve swoons, laying it on thick, sliding next to your open locker, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. He had never spoken to you in his life, why was he starting now?

“Uh, hi?” Glaring, shut your locker, holding your books close to your chest.

Steve looks you up and down like his next meal, licking the fat muscle of his tongue along his top lip, eyes lazily drinking you in, the honey flecks dancing along your curves. “Just wondering if my favorite Queen wants to sit with me at lu— “

Leather arms wrap around your middle the same time a pair of soft lips caress your neck, biting softly and sucking the beginning of a bruise as Steve’s eyes stare annoyingly into your face. Tongue pressed into his cheek as he throws his hands onto his hips, accentuating the bulge in his pants as he cocks a hip out.

Eddie spins you around into him, your back to Steve. He kisses your lips, his thick hands are wrapped tight along your waist, traveling down to cup your ass, squeezing the denim of your jeans. Making eye contact with Steve the entire time, a silent awareness of possession between them, Eddie’s eyes pitch to black, drilling holes into Steve’s. “Something I can help you with Harrington?” Eddie asks him, holding you tight to him so that your focus is solely on him, “or do you normally hit on other guy’s girlfriends?” He stands to his full height, broad shoulders and chest puffed out, head cocked high and to the side as his lower jaw practically comes unhinged from itself. An animalistic stance of dominance invades the air, thicker than mud, hung dense like fog between the lockers.

Steve also stands to his tallest, brushing the back of his neck and leaning in. “We were just talking,” he says, adding, “and last I checked— you were into fucking other guy’s girlfriends— which is exactly why I’m here.”

You wince, it was bad enough that your parents were disowning you for choosing to be with Eddie, kicking you out and cutting you off, the last thing you needed was to hear it from the asshats at school. Especially Steve Harrington. The whole town had branded you an outcast, you could practically feel the crimson ‘A’ stitched into your clothing, burning into your heart. A name you would wear proudly for him. He was good to you, devilishly handsome and all yours. His queen. He’d do anything to protect his queen, a trait Ethan fell short on, not that he wasn’t doting he was just careless, letting a fox into the hen house, an evil wolf amongst his little lamb. And by far, too stupid to realize you had been fucking around on him. But Eddie was much more careful with you, protective and possessive.

Eddie holds you tighter, pushing you into his side and wrapping his large hands around you.

The flick of Eddie’s knife rings in your ears as he twirls it around his fingers, his eyes twitch as his tongue dances around his mouth like a sick eel slithering for purchase. “Choose your next words carefully, Harrington, would hate to cut a few of those Farrah Fawcet locks from your head.” Black orbs making the night sky jealous fill his eyes, poisoned with carnal, chilling drops of insanity.

“Yeah ya see,” Steve says, playing Eddie’s mind games, edging towards masculinity and stupidity, taking a step forward slightly, whispering low for only Eddie and yourself to hear, “I’m the King of this high school, and you?” He sucks through his teeth, wincing, “well you’re not even comparable to the gum on my shoe, so why don’t you do your girl a favor, and let her go, let her have a chance at taking that Queen status to the very top, instead of the depths of despair that you inhabit.”

The blade is cold against Steve’s neck, scraping the hairs along his Adam's apple, closer than any barber could get in Hawkins. “Whoa, easy there,” Steve says, swallowing thickly as Eddie’s breath falls against his cheek. “The mayor is my godfather and the police, they’re on my dad’s payroll. So go ahead, do it. You pull a knife on me and you better deliver, pussy. You’ll be in jail so fast your head will spin, and your girl, aww, she’ll be with me, pretty little feet up resting on my shoulders.”

The anger clouding Eddie’s eyes is demonic in every way, he wants to succumb. Wants to give into the darkness flooding his mind. Do it. Do it. A voice stops him. The angel on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality—you.

“Come on, Eddie, let’s go.” You beg, trying to pull him away. Your eyes wet with tears from Steve’s harsh words and Eddie’s temper.

How easy it would be to give in. Watch the blood trickle down Steve’s neck and paint his perfectly pastel colored polo crimson. But he doesn’t, the veil of hell falling from his eyes, his aura, his mind. Eddie listens to you, backs the knife away from Steve’s neck and folds it back into his pocket. Taking long pulls of humid air through his nose, grounding himself. Rolling his shoulders backwards, cracking the bones of his neck in a twist, “For the record,” Eddie taunts, whispering into Steve’s ear, his musky cologne wafting into Steve’s nose, “I’ve spent nights in jail for far less than this, see you around.”

With that he retracts from him and smirks, a small chuckle reverberating from his lips. Arm wrapped around your shoulder he leads you towards the front doors leaving Hawkins High.

Eddie is quick in his movements, rushing you out to his van. “Eddie?” you ask as he throws open the passenger door and picks you up, setting you down into the seat and shutting the door.

He slides into the driver’s seat and roars the van to life, the knuckles around the steering wheel were white, clenching for dear life as his movements are anything but calm. “I swear to you, I will end that fuckers privileged white picket fence life if he ever tries to touch you.” He’s pissed, angry but also hurt. Jealous, and possessive. “He thinks he can have whatever he wants because of his name in this town, like you should be so lucky to have him? oh no baby— you’re mine.” He’s speeding through town, forgoing stopping at any of the stop signs, dodging around cars as he drives like a bat flying from hell.

Showing him that he’s right instead of telling him, you swivel in your seat, the crunch of the leather groaning against your body shifting. Looking into his eyes you can see that they have softened, the brown pumping back in the more deep breathing he does, you unbuckle yourself, leaning forward to lick a stripe from the collar of his shirt up to his ear. He hisses at your touch, moving his arm to the back of your seat, letting you in. Blowing your hot breath along his spit covered neck, his moans fill the van, the grip on the steering wheel subsides as his hand travels down your back, lingering, burning, clawing at your skin. He hikes you into his lap— eyes steady on the road as he adjusts you where he needs you, the heat of your core pressing into him. You’re straddling his narrow waist, your mouth sucking bruising kisses into his neck. The dangling “e” on your necklace tickling his chest as your panties fill with arousal.

“I’m yours,” you murmur into his neck, “always.” The sway and bumps of the van alert you that you’ve turned into the Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie silently thanking a higher power as his growing erection is ready to bust at the seams. Biting gently into your shoulder, Eddie’s eyes are barely on the road, a few more seconds and his attention will only be yours. Wayne’s truck is in the driveway as Eddie shifts the lever harshly into park, your bodies colliding and grinding together as the van abruptly comes to a halt. Your hands are twisted in the confinements of his tangled curls, pulling to expose the slope of his neck, sucking and licking, painting his neck with your marks, showing him how possessive you could be. How he was yours and you were his, no one else belonged in that equation. The only math Eddie would completely understand.

You grind your hips down into him, your pussy slotting around the outline of his cock, as he kneads your tits. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans into your neck, nipping at your ear as his hands rake your body, burning with want. You climb off of him, moving this sinful act to the back of the van, sparing Wayne’s ears. Hands clenched around his leather lapels pulling him upwards and back with you, legs tangled around the steering column, tripping over cords, cassette towers teetering around your clumsy bodies.

“Let me show you,” you breath, lip locked and breathing heavily against Eddie’s mouth, panting into his neck as you shove him down onto a spare amp. Feverishly undoing his belt, sloppily kissing him, tongues painting each other's mouths. “Show you how much you mean to me.” Eddie’s a mumbling mess as you pull his dick out from the confines of his boxers. Hissing as you pump him achingly slow. Taking your time with the act. Eyes dripping with innocence as you look at him through your eyelashes. Your tongue kitten licks around his ruddy head, tasting the precum that’s beaded.

“Christ, baby,” he seethes, whimpering under your gaze, cock throbbing around your lips. Teasing him as you ghost your mouth around him. His teeth biting into his own lip waiting for you to close your mouth around his length. Another pass of your tongue has him shaking. He moans above you, tucking your hair behind your ear as to get a better look at you. You slap his cock against your tongue, pooling spit around it as it splashed around like rain boots in a puddle. His head is thrown back in anticipation, brown curls cascading down his leather jacket as you finally take him into your mouth, swelling your lips down his shaft until he’s snug in your throat, a saliva slide of glory. Your name rumbles off his dry tongue.

“D’you like that big boy?” You muse, when you pop him out of your mouth and graze your hand into a fist to rub down his shaft. “…my pretty lips around you… making you feel good?”

“Fuck…yes,” he moans, eyeing you again as you swallow him, gagging slightly but loving the sensation. You could suck him off for hours, the feeling of having someone you love whimper and beg you for release stirs your insides with pleasure. “So fucking good… mmm…. Fuck.” His hips lift from the amp as he thrusts into your throat. The lewd noises fill the proximity of the van, as you breathe through your nose and relax the muscles of your throat. His pace quickens. Your hands sit and claw at his thighs. Your pull back to catch your breath— spit dribbling from your mouth onto chest as Eddie kisses you harshly, singing your praises.

The slow roll of your tongue against him makes him weak in the knees. Your lips wrap tightly around him, spitting and drooling, “want me to come baby, fill that throat up with my come?” He whines. So close to coming but want to feel your throat go raw from him fucking into it, burying himself into your mouth, nothing besides your pussy feels better to him. You moan around him, vibrating your throat against his cock, he comes undone, coating your mouth, you’re milking him for all he’s worth to the very last drop, pumping and gently moving your tongue around him, as you swallow his release. He groans your name, thick hands holding your head in place as he quivers beneath you.

Licking your lips Eddie brings you into an embrace, he’s sweaty, bangs stuck to his head, as he tucks you into his chest, nose pressed against your neck. “You’re too good for me,” he mumbles, holding you tight, “didn’t think ‘the talking wig’ would ever get to me, I can usually just brush that shit off, but not when it comes to you.”

He pulls you away from him and rests his forehead on yours, the muddy brows of his eyes swell as he stares into your soul, coaxing a smile from you, “you’re the most important part of me,” he quipped, rubbing his fingers down and back the length of your back moving around your shoulder to hold your neck softly, admiring the necklace he gave you all those months ago. “I wasn’t joking when I said I would kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.” He kisses your neck, marking you as his, branding you forever with his lips. “I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you whisper as he removes your sweater and lays you down in the back of the van, blessing the neighbors as you yell out God’s name, but you’re definitely not in church.

The idea popped into your head while you showered while Eddie was at band practice with the boys. It was perfect, he would go nuts over it. You raid the dresser for what you were looking for…

The next day at school you tell Eddie you have to meet Mrs. Click to turn in your history paper, he tugs you back to him and kisses you slowly, letting his fingers dig at your chin as he prompts your face up to him. You skip inside, the prized possession hidden in your backpack. You knew Eddie’s locker combination, and fetched the tape out of your bag along with the Polaroids. The black lacy set he had bought you the weekend you dumped Ethan was his personal favorite. The positions you were in suggested only unholy thoughts. The expanse of your neck showing off your hickies and the ‘E’ necklace that never came off with your tits pushed up in one shot, your kiss swollen pussy with your panties shoved to the side in another, and finally your mouth wide open and tongue out, the prom tiara balancing crudely stop your head. If this didn’t solidify that you were his you weren’t sure what would. You find him outside, finishing the last of his cigarette and laughing with Gareth and Jeff. He walks alongside you, holding your waist and inching towards the curve of your boobs as he does, eyes scanning widely for that piece of shit Steve. A lipstick kiss pressed into the metal of his locker made him chuckle as he looked down at you, your own personal brand.

His cheeks go pink and his dick twitches in his black jeans when his eyes land on the pictures. “B-babe, is this? When did y-? Oh fuck.” He thumbs through them quickly and hurriedly shuts his locker, hauling you over his shoulder and running down the halls and out to his van. Your giggles echoing off the brick walls. “Gotta get you home right now, take care of my naughty girl.” Eddie laughs, “damn, and I thought watching Harrington come into school with black eyes and a half shaved head was going to be the highlight of my day.”

[goldenempyrean]

Could you do one where both Wanda and Nat are sick and super clingy to reader and just want to cuddle

Clingy Cuddles And Warm Snuggles

〚 Notes - This req was so cute! I loved writing it! Hopefully you enjoy reading :D 〛

〚 Summary - You come home from a mission to find that the compound’s been swept with a cold, meaning its up to you to take care of your sick girlfriends.〛

〚 Wordcount - 1720 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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You sighed a deep exhale of relief as the warm air of the compound met your skin. You’d just spent a long weekend up in the chilly mountains of Canada on a solo-mission so it was safe to say you were more than thankful for the warmth. However, as you made your way inside the compound, you immediately noticed something was off. The place was actually quiet? 

That was something which almost never happened, there was always so form of background noise even if it was just the sounds of a distant conversation or the humming of background music. But no, it was almost silent. You shrugged and being naturally curious person that you were, you headed over the kitchen to both investigate and make yourself a snack. 

Luckily as you approached the kitchen you could hear faint sounds of life. The recognisable sizzle of something frying echoed down the halls. Opening the door, you were met with the sight of Clint as he stood over the cooker, making himself some bacon and eggs. The sound of the door closing announced your entrance and the Archer turned towards you, giving you a small smile. 

“Welcome back Y/N,” He came over and gave you a quick hug before pulling away to muffle a cough into his elbow, “How did everything go?” 

“It went alright, glad to be back though,” You replied as you grabbed yourself rummaged around the snack cupboard before settling on a bag of Doritos, “Where is everyone though? It's so dead in here, usually you can't get a break from the noise.” 

“Y’know I can make you some decent food if you’d like,” He smirked, nodding down towards your choice of snack, “and It’s been like this all weekend, Tony managed to spread around some sort of bug, and it's really knocked people out. This is the first time I’ve been up in a day or so” 

  “Really?” You raised an eyebrow; it definitely wasn’t like Clint to stay in bed. It wasn’t often that anyone at the compound got sick really but when they did, it always seemed to spread like wildfire, especially since you all lived in such close-contact with each other. 

“Yeah, it’s been rough. Even Rodgers is down, we had to explain that cold ‘remedies’ from the 40’s weren’t exactly scientifically accurate after he tried convincing us to ‘take a good ol’ fashioned bit of whiskey’ to feel better.” 

You let yourself chuckle at that, remembering how Steve first reacted to seeing a bottle of DayQuil.  

While you loved catching up with Clint, you couldn’t help but miss the presence of two very special people and you found yourself asking, “Have you seen Nat or Wanda anywhere?” 

Clint thought for a second, “I think they’re still up in their room, last I heard neither of them were feeling too good either so they’re probably still in bed trying to sleep this crap off.” 

“Both of them?” You asked, slightly taken aback. The pair of them never got sick often, Nat had a great immune system and whenever someone was sick Wanda was always the one to go round wiping down surfaces with anti-bacterial wipes, meaning neither of them got sick that often even if there was something going round. 

“Yeah, I don’t think Wanda’s excellent wet-wiping skills were enough to save her this time,” Clint sniffled lightheartly but he must’ve picked up on your anxious expression as he soon came over and gave your shoulder a quick squeeze, “I'm sure they’ll both be okay, go on, go and see them.” 

You nodded, sending him a grateful smile, “Thanks Clint, hope you enjoy your bacon!” You called as you left the kitchen, setting off in the direction of your room. 

It was only a quick walk to your room, as you approached the door you made sure to open it quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone inside. As light floods into the room the sight before you weren’t exactly what you were expecting. 

On one side of the bed is a bundle of blankets, the main duvet and many other blankets are all tightly huddled around a shivering auburn-haired woman, only the top of her head poking out from within. In juxtaposition to this, Natasha was laid next to her on the bare mattress wearing her favourite sports bra and one of your pairs of silk shorts. 

“Y/N?” Natasha mumbled as she lifted her head from the pillow. Her poor voice sounded so unbelievably hoarse. 

“Hi baby, a little birdie told me you weren’t feeling too well.” You sympathised as you let the bags you had been carrying fall to the floor. To your surprise Nat pulled herself up and out of the bed and shakily padded towards you. 

She’d almost reached you before swaying drastically, as she seemed to lose her balance. Luckily, you’d seen this coming and managed to catch her in your arms, wrapping one around her waist to support her closely, “Easy there, let’s get you back in bed sweetie.” 

“Mm thanks,” Natasha whispered, letting you guide her back to the bed, “It’s been a while since I was this sick. My body feels all weak.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

To answer your question, Wanda let out a wet cough and curled herself further into her ball of blankets, the sound of which led you to go back over to your bag and taking one of the water bottles you had stored in there before placing it on the nightstand next to her, “You okay in there sweetheart?” You spoke down into her hair, pressing a small kiss to the exposed part of her forehead. 

"Mmh, my body feels like it's been hit with a truck,” She sniffles as a shiver runs down her spine the feeling of your lips brush against her skin. Wanda tries to smile up at you, but there's so little strength left in her, she has trouble lifting her face from the blankets. 

“Hh’iiitshoo! ‘tschioo!” Hh-Hh’tshiew!” 

You looked over to see Nat sniffling thickly as she rubbed her nose against her wrist and judging from the overflowing trash can and empty tissue box next to her side of the bed, it becomes obvious that she’s going to need some more. 

“Bless Natty, you want me to get you some tissues?” You cooed, as you came to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing your hand down her cheeks to move back the loose strands of hair which had fallen infront of her face, not missing the heat which radiated from her, “You feel abit feverish sweetie, have you taken your temp’ recently? 

Natasha shook her head, “I took Wanda’s earlier, it was 38.6 but I haven't taken mine.”  

“Awh sweetie, that’s so amazing of you to take Wanda’s but just remember that you need to look after yourself too,” You smiled, as you kissed her warm cheek, “Settle back down and I’ll go find the thermometer.” 

“Hh-iishiew!” 

“Bless you! I’ll get you those tissues too.” 

Finding both items was easy, Nat had left the thermometer on the sink in your bathroom and a supply closet a little further down the hallway was always stocked with plenty of tissues. Coming back to the room, you placed the fresh tissue box in Natasha’s lap and shuffled up onto the bed, nesting yourself between the two women. You took Nat’s temperature first, mainly because she was the one clinging to your side and to no-one's surprise, she did have a fever. 

“Wands? I need you to come out of your little blanket bundle for me sweetheart.” You coaxed her, not wanting her brain to melt inside of her head. Even if she felt freezing, you were positively sure that she was running still a fever. 

Your suspicions were proven correct when she eventually wiggled herself free of the blankets to let you check her temp. Wanda coughed again as you helped her sit up, sneaking a hand down her shirt to rub small comforting circling along her back. 

“You should drink some of that water baby, it’ll help.” You soothed, Wanda took your advice and took careful sips of the water. Giving a tired yawn once she’d finished, she took the opportunity to lay herself over you, resting her head on your chest. 

“Comfy?” You smiled to yourself once she’d settled back down but you soon felt Nat cuddle further into your side, shuffling up so her head would rest alongside Wanda’s, the two women contently cuddling into you, craving your touch. 

“I missed you.” Wanda admitted  

"Missed you too, Wands" Your heartbeat quickening as the woman snuggles herself into your body. A small yawn escapes you as the two women lay in your arms. The bed creaked as you gently shifted your body, tucking in Natasha with a light arm around her shoulders, “I missed both of you.” 

Nat went to mumble something only both she and Wanda sneezed simultaneously instead, earning a small noise of amusement from the red-headed spy.

"Hh-hetschioo!"

"Eiiishiew!"

“Oh, bless you, bless you! Aw, my poor sweet girls, how on earth did you both get so sick, hm?” You sighed as Wanda sneezed down in her blankets again, and surprisingly she didn’t make a fuss when you reached across to grab a tissue to wipe her nose with, “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you feel so icky.” 

“Tony can't keep his gross germs to himself.” Natasha sniffled, vowing that once she was better, she’d be going over to his lab to lecture him about proper hygiene. 

“Well Tony should be very afraid then.” You smirked, knowing Natasha fully intended to give the man a piece of her mind once she felt well enough but for now, she was thankful that you were here to hold her 

“How about you two try and get some sleep, I bet that’d help a little.” You smiled, pressing soft kisses to their warm foreheads as they settled down. A comfortable silence settled around the three of them in the dimly lit bedroom. Their chests rise and fall with each breath as they drifted off to sleep.

Sure, you had tons of paperwork and a mission report that you should’ve been doing but that could wait. Being there to cuddle your sick girlfriends was the only true thing that mattered. 

[sadhours]

infected boys - 1

billy hargrove x steve harrington

cw: 18+ minors dni, first person pov, mutual masturbation, pining, drug use

He interrupts me, “I feel bad. I can’t stop thinking about it. You like me, Billy. You have a… you have a crush on me.”

“Alright, King Steve, calm down,” I scoff, not wanting pity from the guy. Either he likes me back or he doesn’t. I live either way. “I read you wrong. It’s no big deal. We can be friends.”

“It’s a big deal! Billy, it’s… do you?” He turns towards me.

“Do I what?” I play stupid. I know what he’s asking.

“Like me,” he breathes, sounds like he can’t believe it.

Or

Billy has a crush on Steve but they’re friends now.

read on ao3

Alright. I’m stoned and maybe the acid is starting to kick in. The Marlboro waves in front of my eyes each time I take a hit but I did accidentally squish the box in the door when I was stumbling in to take a piss so now all the cigarettes are kinda crumpled. The particular one I’m smoking has a slight tear in the paper above the stamp but I’m determined to not let it go to waste, though it ain’t hitting like it should. I feel like a dumbass about it. Susan was filling the dishwasher and the dumb thing is positioned in front of the garage door so when I opened it, cheap particle board wedged into the plastic door of the dishwasher. My boots are a little too heavy for my intoxicated state and I swayed against the garage door, smashing the box of cigarettes when I did so. Susan looked at me with angry eyes and like, scolded me. Like she’s my fucking mom. And the bitch doesn’t do housework often, so I told her I didn’t expect her to be doing the dishes. She said something about how l didn’t need to open the door so forcefully. I had to piss.

That’s all besides the point. The cigarette is moving. Or I think it is. I smack the back of my hand against Steve’s Member’s Only jacket and wiggle my brows, eyes trained on the Marlboro perched between my lips. I mumble around the cigarette, “You seein’ this shit?”

Steve’s voice is all out of sorts. Gooey and gargled, like there’s syrup dripping down his throat. Guys gotta be more fucked up than I am. Sounds like he was miles away when he replies, “Huh?”

“It’s moving. Waving,” I inform him before inhaling, watching as the ash stem lights up and burns through the paper. “See?”

“I— no,” Steve murmurs disappointedly, “I think I got a bum tab.” His fingers scratch at his bony knee, eyes trained on my cigarette and he’s squinting like maybe if he tries hard enough the acid’ll work.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I cackle, “You sound high.”

Steve heaves a sigh and sinks in the chair, “Just stoned.”

I shrug and pull the cigarette from my lips, “Give it a sec. Mines working.”

Tommy’s guy usually comes through but to be honest, I don’t know much about acid. I’ve only taken it a handful of times and never was I anywhere near sober before. It’s certainly in the realm of possibility that Steve did get a bum tab. Once I glance up at Steve, I’m sure my acid has kicked in. His hair is waving too. Like the waves I used to glide through back home. It curls and recedes, calmingly. I’m tempted to run my fingers through it but I’m luckily, not that far gone. Especially after the last time we got high and I woke up in Harrington’s bed, boxers around my ankles and a fat hickey on my pec. We haven’t talked about it. I don’t remember what happened and I’m fucking praying he doesn’t. Hawkins is too small. Word like that’ll spread like wildfire and land on the unaccepting ears of my father. And I had fully anticipated on sticking to women when we moved here, but Harrington is pretty and after I tried to rearrange his face with my fists, he became kind of the only real friend I have here. Tommy’s a friend, I guess. But I don’t tell him whatever I’m thinking and we don’t stay up late, sharing secrets and dreams. Steve’s different. At first, I thought we were like, total opposites. Deep down, we’re both just really fucking lonely.

“Wait,” Steve sits up with his eyes wide, “Your hair is growing.”

I smile smugly, shaking my head to illuminate his hallucination, “Everyday.”

“No,” Steve giggles and that smile makes my stomach churn. I kinda want to punch his face again. “Like I can see it growing.”

“Bum tab, my ass,” I quip and kick his ankle with my boot. As I grab for my can of beer, I remember it’s empty and it’s the last one. “Think you can walk, pretty boy?”

Steve hums, sticks his feet out and kicks them like he’s checking to make sure they still work, “Yeah. It’s doable.”

Now normally I’d drive, but the last time I did while on acid, the lines in the road curved when they really didn’t and Hopper pulled me over with a disgruntled look on his face. But when he insisted he drive me home, I told him Steve’s address. And his face got all contorted and scary but he didn’t say anything. Just drove to Loch Nora, knocked on the door and asked Steve, “He live here?” to which Steve replied, “Tonight he does.”

That’s when I decided I liked Steve. And not just ‘cause I thought he was good looking and he was fun to talk shit at. He cared enough to let me stay, and he combed my hair out with his fingers while I laid my head in his lap and told him what I’d been up to that night. We don’t talk about that either.

“‘Kay,” I stand on wobbly legs and announce, “Minute Mart, here we come.”

Harrington follows me through the open garage and out onto the street. It’s the rare occasion we’re at my place. Steve’s is usually safer, but dad’s been on my ass about being gone all the time and I guess maybe, I’m a little attached to Harrington ‘cause I still wanted to see him. And he never turns down a sleepover. I think he’s lonely.

Cherry Lane is dark at night. Not like in Loch Nora where the street lights only shut off when the sun's out. Again, my boots are too heavy and I know I’m stumbling, so I accept when Harrington grabs my bicep to steady me. Minute Mart is the only place in Hawkins that’s open 24 hours a day and luckily, it’s the closest convenience store to my house. It’s like, usually a fifteen minute walk. But I’m seeing like fifty more slugs on the sidewalk than I normally do. I freeze, pointing at them as they wiggle around.

“Those real?” I ponder, leaning into Harrington’s support.

He frowns and purses his lips, “They are now.”

“You’re a dickhead,” I tell him with fondness and he pushes us forward, exaggeratedly hopping over slugs that may or may not exist. I let him do it, like they’re secretly explosive or something and I step over the ones he does.

When the neon lights come into view, I feel excitement dripping down my throat and my mouth waters at the promise of more cheap beer. Most likely free because Harrington doesn’t often let me pay. Which is fine. ‘Cause the money I have is slim and I’ve been saving it from my summer job at the community pool. Once we’re inside, I make a beeline for the cold beer and Harrington dilly dallies around the plastic wrapped pastries. A true opposite in our personalities. The man loves sugary things. Even keeps a damned candy bar in his glove compartment of the Bimmer. I asked him if he was diabetic when I found it.

Once I’ve successfully obtained the sixer, I meet back up with Steve and his hands are full of snacks. He empties them on the counter and beams at the bored cashier. I slide the cans up beside the sweets that make my stomach queasy just at the sight alone and ask for a pack of Reds.

“It’s pretty late, isn’t it, boys?” the cashier points out as he pokes at the register.

“Maybe it’s early,” Harrington offers as he pulls out his wallet. I cackle but the cashier doesn’t seem amused, counting the bills Steve hands him.

“You owe me a dollar,” the guy insists and I rip my wallet from my pocket, racing Steve to hand him the bill. I win and Harrington grumbles but I feel proud I could contribute something.

The walk back is brutal, it seems longer than the way there but that’s probably because it’s uphill on the way back and now our hands are full. But once the pulsing porch light my dads been bugging me to replace forms into view I’m antsy. We have to sneak back in. And go to my room. The doorknob vibrates as I stare at it. Harrington is the one to twist it open. Walks through the living room without a care in the world and I’m jealous, know I could’ve done the same thing but I just couldn’t. Don’t trust the quiet and the darkness.

He collapses on my bed as I shut the door, sprawls out on it and his polo rises up enough that I can see the trail of curly brown hairs leading down to what I’ve been too chicken to really think about. Now, in the isolation of my room and the weed, booze and acid clouding my judgment, I think about Harrington’s cock. How I’ve seen it soft in the showers at school. And worse, how I’ve potentially seen it hard and don’t remember. The fact that I want to see it, want to touch and taste it.

“We have to be quiet,” I whisper, more to get out of my sinful thoughts than to warn him.

Harrington hums, eyes closed as his hands scratch at his stomach and result in exposing more of his abdomen to me. My stupid, gay thoughts run wild and I imagine getting my lips on that soft, mole speckled skin. I really wish I could turn on my stereo, drown out these thoughts but dads voice in my head helps enough. Faggot, on repeat has me avert my eyes and grabbing a beer. I don’t allow myself to sit on the bed with him, instead I lower to the floor and rest my head on the mattress. My eyes flutter shut without really trying, I’m starting to feel exhausted from the short walk to the Minute Mart. The sound of Harrington’s steady breathing fills my ears and it’s almost like a lullaby, I can feel myself starting to slip away while waves of brown hair flood my closed lids.

I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the sun starts peeking in through the blinds and birds start singing a symphony of early morning alarms. I’m unrested, bones aching everywhere and I wonder if I even slept or if the acid hallucinations just felt like dreams. I look at the alarm clock, it’s 6 am. Dad’s probably already left for work so I figure it’s safe to crawl into bed with Harrington. His skin is warm. I don’t mean to press into him but he’s in the center of the bed, sprawled out like a starfish. I turn on my side so my back is pressed to him. He makes a gargled, sleepy noise and wiggles around. Which gives me more room but now our skin isn’t touching which I’m only a little bit bummed about. God this is stupid. It’s a bad idea being friends with Harrington. But hey, being friends is better than hating each other. He turns.

His arm hooks around my waist and I fall back asleep easily.

—

Harrington has an impressive skin mag collection. It would be creepy, but they’re pristine. Organized chronologically. Playboys, Hustler, Penthouse. He’s got them all. Stacked neatly in a plastic tub hidden in his walk in closet. He showed it to me about a month ago and we haven’t brought it up since. But now we’re sitting in the living room, skunky air permeating from the joint we shared. And weed makes me horny. I think it makes everyone horny. It makes Steve about ten times dumber which I didn’t know was possible but it is, he pants like a dog when he’s stoned. His eyes look thoughtless and I have to call myself a fag so I stop staring at him. Harrington doesn’t notice when I stare at him or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

“How long you been collecting them nudie mags?” I try to ask casually, hoping Harrington can’t tell from my voice that my stomach and thighs are tight and warm with arousal.

His eyebrows shoot up as his face contorts deep in thought. Mouth pursed as he tilts his head, counting behind his eyes. Up in that empty little head of his. Except Harrington has a huge head. All square. I chew on my cuticle as I look at him, waiting for him to answer. His hazy mind is making it harder for him to remember, I can tell by the way he scrunches his face up before he finally replies, “Got my first one when I was like thirteen? Kinda got obsessed after that. Not even like for the porn part, they’re just pretty.”

“The girls?” I assume and Steve laughs softly before shaking his head. His chestnut hair bounces with the motion. His hair moves a lot.

“The photos. The girls too but they’re just cool. I like the ads a lot,” Steve explains as he reaches for his can of Coke.

I laugh, “Gay.”

Steve rolls his eyes before reaching his hand out and shoving my bicep. I ignore how his touch lights my body up. It’d be pretty fucking embarrassing to pop a stiffy right now, though I could blame the weed. ‘Cause it’s definitely the weed making me feel this way and not because Harrington’s eyes look green with all the red clouding the whites.

“I literally jack off to them, how is that gay?”

“To the ads? That’s super gay, Harrington,” I cackle, leaning back against the couch as I bring my beer to my lips.

Steve groans, “No, dickwad, I jerk off to the girls.”

“You got a favorite?” I ask, eyeing him over the rim of my beer. I’m itching for a cigarette but Mrs. Harrington can somehow tell if someone smoked inside. And what particular model has Steve’s dick hard is more pressing than my need for nicotine.

“Yeah, obviously,” he laughs, though it sounds nervous. Am I making him nervous? And why does the thought of that have my balls tightening?

I smirk at him, “Go get ‘em. Let’s see if your taste in women is as piss poor as your taste in music.”

“You have no respect for the classics,” Steve kicks my ankle as he stands and hops up the steps. I do, but my dad would actually like it if I listened to Sinatra instead of Tank. And that would make me sick if my dad approved of anything I like. It was funny when I asked Harrington what he listened to besides the radio. And he said big band. I almost hacked up a lung laughing and choking on the bottle of whiskey we were sharing. He insisted it was good and put on a Sinatra album super loud. The worst part is he sang along and Christ, Steve can sing. Crooning up to the ceiling and I hated how sexy he sounded.

I hear Steve’s heavy feet down the steps before I can cock my head around to see him. About ten magazines in his arms. He drops them carefully on the coffee table. More than half are Hustlers which makes me chuckle because I know those are the actual filthy ones. It’s not just chicks, you get to see cock in pussy. I don’t own any. I have a pathetic collection of Penthouses. And a tried and true VHS tape stashed where dad or Max won’t find it.

“Alright, Harrington, who is the girl that gets your dick hard, let’s take a look,” I say with a sigh, like he’s burdening me with this stuff and I didn’t ask.

Steve makes a face at me, mock offensive but his long fingers grip a magazine and he then he narrows his eyes at me. “Listen, this is vulnerable and I’m just warning you, I haven’t looked at this spread without getting a boner.”

“Like Pavlov,” I chuckle and nod for him to continue but he looks at me confused.

“Pavlov?” his nose wrinkles, “Is that a model?”

“No, like the scientist,” I explain, thinking that might clear things up but his face still looks puzzled, “Like Pavlov’s dog? Ya know… he conditioned dogs to—“ Steve stares at me blankly so I wave the thought away, “Nevermind, show me this smokeshow.”

Harrington has a goddamn sticky note marking the place of the centerfold. He flips it open and points with his hand, “She’s my favorite.”

It’s a blonde. She has big and bright blue eyes, long and curly black lashes and pretty pink, plush lips. She is hot. I can’t deny Steve’s taste. Funny though, this is a Playboy. It’s the most tame you can get. Steve just finds this girl pretty enough. She’s nude, but she wears knee high black boots. Her bush is thick so you can’t even see her pussy but she has full, round tits and pink nipples. I take a glance at Steve’s face and it’s flushed, just from looking at her.

“Why don’t you hang it up in your room if you like her so much?” I wonder, lowering my arm down over my crotch. My cocks filling out quick. The girl is hot but the fact that Harrington beats his meat to this photo is the real reason my own dick is getting hard.

Steve gasps and laughs, “My parents would kill me. Plus, I’d fucking get hard every time I walked by it. Isn’t she a babe, though?”

“Oh, yeah,” I muse, looking closer at the spread, “Her tits are massive.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “But like her face… she’s pretty.”

I wonder about Steve fucking girls. If his eyes are on their faces. I look at their bodies. So I ask him, “That where you look when you fuck?”

“Faces?” he asks, my eyes catch his palm moving down to press against his crotch.

“Uh huh,” I say and because he’s doing it, I also rub my palm against my cock. It makes my eyes roll back. I didn’t even realize how turned on I was until now.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out harshly, “I like to watch how they react. Like the pleasure on their face.”

It occurs to me that Steve and I have sex with girls very differently. It’s more about me getting off, I don’t really care if they do. I’m selfish where Steve gets off on his partner's pleasure. I have to grip my cock through my jeans then. Christ. That’s stupid hot. This is bad. But Steve flips the page and the centerfold is exposing herself. Red acrylic nails spread her folds for Harrington and I to see. My eyes scan the other photos and yeah, this is as nasty as it gets.

“Kinda tame,” I note, “What else ya got?”

Steve chews on the inside of his lip as he reaches for a Hustler. Again, there’s little sticky note bookmarks sticking out of the pages. This is his spank bank. And he’s showing it to me, completely unashamed. It’s way different than looking at Tommy’s collection. Tommy’s isn’t taken care of like this. His pages stick together. And Tommy has more tapes than magazines.

“This one’s nice too,” Steve mumbles as he peels open the magazine, it’s a couple. Guy with a huge cock, girl on him. Reverse cowgirl. Holding herself open for the guy. I can’t help but glance at Steve again. His face is so flushed. And for some reason his lips look… bigger. Begging to be bit. But that’s gotta be my dumb, gay imagination. C’mon Billy. Focus on the porn, not the fucking bimbo of a man beside you. Except Steve’s knee knocks mine and fuck. Alright. We’re doing this.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” I mumble as I unbutton my jeans and shove my hand into them, gripping my cock. Steve seems to take that as a cue and does the same, I try my fucking hardest not to stare at him stroking himself under his jeans. I really try.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Steve’s hand moving under his jeans. I’m setting the pace here so I push my jeans down to my calves, lazily palming myself in my underwear. Steve follows suit and I can’t help myself, I gotta ask.

“What would you do? With that blonde,” I mumble out, moving to cup my balls.

Steve inhales sharply and out of the corner of my eye I can see the head of his cock bobbing up and down against his white briefs. Alright. It��s not a problem. I’ve looked at his cock in the showers. I’ve seen it soft. And it was hanging then. From the small glimpse I’ve got now, there's no fucking doubt that Harrington is packin’. There’s heat in those stupid whitey-tighties. I have to look away because if Steve catches me looking this is all over. Eyes on the porno. That cock is huge. Stretches the woman out. Her face says it all, and well, I’ve learned that’s where Steve looks. Alright, Billy. Look at her face. You can do it. Christ, that makes me last longer. Maybe that’s why Steve does it.

“Ah,” a moan, soft and pretty, slips from his lips and I cannot react. Christ, that was hot. He’s vocal right now, he has to be with girls. Fuck, I can’t think about that. I’ll bust. I squeeze the base of my cock and push my underwear down to my thighs. I spit in my hand and return it to my cock, slow strokes up and down.

Steve whimpers as he tugs his underwear down and exposes himself. I glance. I have to. I have to look. He’s huge. Bigger than mine. Bigger than Tommy’s.

“I’d…” he swallows, “I’d eat her out. I— I’m good at that. I been told.”

I’ve heard. There’s rumors about what the hell King Steve meant and I heard more than once it was about his tongue and not his cock. The thought of watching Steve make out with a girls’ pussy has me squeezing my cock.

“Yeah,” I laugh because I can’t help myself, “You like eating pussy, pretty boy?”

“Uh huh,” he moans, stroking his cock faster like my words are fueling his arousal. This is definitely gay but I don’t care. Our knees keep knocking together.

“You ever make a girl cum? With your tongue?” I’m not entirely curious but I can see this is getting Steve going and I’m inclined to push the boundary.

Steve whines, squeezes the head of his cock and I pretend I’m not focused on him in my peripheral. “‘Course, how d’you think I even got that name?”

I laugh because I don’t really know how else to react. I wonder if he’s done this with Tommy. I have and Tommy and I don’t talk during it. Solely pretending to be focused on the porn but I’m not completely new to this shit and Tommy’s adoration drips from him like grease. It’s obvious the dude’s into me and it’d be so easy to pursue. Unlike Steve. In Steve’s head, this is two straight dudes too horny beyond means, hanging out. Casual.

“Are you about to cum?” he asks and well, his strained voice is what got me there but I wasn’t close before that.

“Yeah,” I gasp and then he busts before I do. Lets it shoot everywhere. Neither of us comment when some of Steve’s spunk lands on my thigh but it’s where my vision focuses as I cum, trying to catch it all in my palm as I do so. Steve pulls his pants up and disappears for a moment. Into the kitchen, I think.

Do it, that gay little voice in my head urges and I swipe up the glob of Steve’s cum that landed on my thigh with my clean fingers. Bring it to my lips and lick it off. It’s cooled by now and it’s salty but not all that bitter. My cock twitches sadly against my thigh and my chest and stomach swell with fucking butterflies. I can’t believe I just fucking did that. I try to look natural as Steve returns and hands me a paper towel and then works to clean up the mess he’s made. He’s neat about collecting the magazines and lugs them up to his room. I get up to throw away the soiled paper towel he gave me and then the two of us sit on the couch and watch TV like that didn’t just happen.

—

Steve shows up at the pool one day. It’s weird. But he’s with that lesbian who takes the title of best friend. Even though Steve spends more time with me. I’m not jealous or anything. She’s gay. Not out but I don’t know, I can just smell it on her, I guess. I can confirm it when she’s dreamily staring at a redheaded girl from across the deck. Must be why they’re here because Steve has a fucking pool. I watch as he schmoozes with a handful of people we knew from school. People who talked shit about Steve to me but smile at him like he’s the fucking bee’s knees. And maybe he is.

His eyes meet mine and I smirk, raising my hand to flip him off. Smack my gum to accentuate the tease. Knowing Steve won’t see it like I mean it. Friendly to him, flirtatious at heart. He returns it, both hands lifted up to gesture at me. Then he follows his lesbian friend to a pair of loungers and I patiently wait for him to strip out of his dumb polo.

I’ve got the closing shift and I wonder if Steve’ll hang around until the end of it. Maybe I fantasize a little bit about fooling around in the showers. Maybe I fantasize a lot about Steve. I can do that as long as I don’t act.

Heather’s at my feet, looks up at me incredulously and laughs, “Harrington’s here.”

“Uh huh,” I poke her side with my toe, “Time to make your move.”

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes dramatically. “Been there, done that.”

“Yeah? That’s new information,” I scoff, but maintain my smirk to keep it playful.

Heather’s face contorts as she gazes up at me, “Steve’s fucked the entire female population of our graduating class, it’s hardly news that I fell victim to it.”

“Christ, even I have higher standards,” I joke, though it stings. Which is fucking pathetic. He grew up here. Plenty of time to explore his options.

Heather pinches my calf, “Gee, thanks, asswipe.”

“I didn’t mean you,” I kick her softly in retaliation.

Heather is a good friend but she really wants to hook up and doesn’t hide the fact. She’s my type, too. Brown hair with big brown eyes. For some reason, I don’t want to sleep with her. Couldn’t be the boy across the deck. Nah, maybe I just don’t get that vibe from Heather. And I’m gonna ignore the fact that I don’t exactly get that vibe from any of the bitches in this shit hole.

Steve does stay until close but so does Robin. Steve’s her ride. But Steve’s standing at the foot of my lifeguard stand while Robin impatiently waits by the loungers.

“Why don’t you go drop your friend off and we can go do something fun?” I suggest and Steve smirks.

“Yeah? Like what?”

I wanna kick his face because it’s so handsome. I manage not to do so but the urge is still there. I have a couple of suggestions of what fun things we can do but I don’t wanna scare him off so I shrug. “Get drunk. I have tomorrow off.”

“Yeah. Me too,” he says and gazes up at me. “The quarry?”

“I’ll meet you there in an hour,” I tell him.

“Kay,” he smiles before pushing himself off the stand and walking towards Robin. I watch his ass as he walks away. Don’t think Steve’s aware of how big it even is. Kind of unproportionate to his body but it’s… attractive. Like most of him is.

I close up quicker than I should. Skipping stuff I’ll be scolded for later but I’m eager to see Steve again. Always eager to see him and it’s pathetic. I think I need to go on a date to beat down my sexual frustration but I’m worried it’ll be Heather and the whole time I’ll be thinking about how Steve’s been inside her. I think Steve and I are already tunnel buddies as it is.

He’s at the quarry when I get there. He’s on the trunk of the bimmer. Long legs bent at the knee. Changed into jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. He smiles all big when I pull up. Leans back and holds up a fifth of whiskey, shakes it in his hand. We drink too much. We have fun. I like Steve. He’s fun. I don’t get why Tommy hates him so much.

“Hey, pretty boy,” I say as I walk up, sixer in my hand.

We talk about our days, though it was inadvertently spent together. Steve tells me about Robin’s crush. How she’s too scared to talk to the girl I don’t know. But Steve thinks she should just go for it and I get why Robin doesn’t. Because if I took that advice I’d kiss Steve and he’d punch me square in the jaw.

“Truth or dare,” Harrington says before pulling from the bottle of cheap whiskey, grimaces after the shot.

“Truth,” I say ‘cause I don’t trust Steve and I don’t feel like getting up.

Steve hums, leans back against the back windshield of his car and folds his hands over his stomach. He’s deep in thought, I’m pretty sure he had a dare in mind and I’ve muddled it up with going with truth.

“How did you lose your virginity?” he settles on, looking at me with raised brows and smug smirk on his face.

“Huh,” I laugh, shaking my head, “I was thirteen.”

“Jesus Christ!” Steve furrows his brows, looking concerned and maybe he should be.

“She was my babysitter, she was like I don’t know, nineteen maybe?” I continue, “my dad worked a lot. Or drank. I don’t know. He didn’t come home until midnight most nights.”

“Nineteen and thirteen is uh… bad,” Steve mumbles and I ignore the judgment as I continue.

“Anyways, she taught me everything. Started with kissing. Then second base and then third base and uh, one night, we made a home run,” I tell him before sipping my beer.

Steve stares at me slack jawed for a while and it makes my skin crawl so I justify it, “She was a fucking knockout. Huge tits. Fell in love. Then ya know, she started bringing friends around. Before I knew it, I was a fucking Casanova.”

“Wow,” he looks like he’s chewing on it, like he’s not sure what else to say. Things feel weird so I ask him.

“Truth or dare, Harrington?”

“Uh, truth, I guess,” he replies, face pensive but still handsome.

“How’d you lose yours? Wasn’t Nancy, was it?”

Steve laughs, “No, not Nancy. I uh, I was sixteen. It was Heather, actually.”

“No shit!” my eyes widen, shock prevalent on my face, “She literally brought you up today. Didn’t tell me she took your V card, though.”

“I took hers, too,” Steve rolls his eyes, “Summer camp. Awkward. Super awkward.”

“Ya know, Heather said you’ve fucked everyone in our graduating class,” I inform him, knocking my knee into his.

Steve snorts before taking another swig, “That’s an overstatement.”

“I figured as much,” I mumble, turning to look at him. Flushed cheeks. Glassy eyes. I could kiss him but I won’t.

“Like ninety percent of ‘em, before Nancy. I literally haven’t had sex since her. And she and I only had sex twice,” he mumbles, running his palms over his thighs. He looks antsy from this conversation so I pass him a cigarette. Steve takes it hastily, bringing it to his lips and I’m quick to light it with my lighter.

“I fucked Tina at the graduation party but that’s the last time I’ve had sex,” I say and then purse my lips, “Guess we’re tunnel buddies.”

“How did you know I slept with Tina?” Steve snaps his head toward me all indignantly and I cackle.

“You just said ninety percent. Tina’s hot so I figure she’s included,” I explain, lighting up a cigarette for myself.

Steve exhales smoke in my face, then moves to wave the smoke away and I grab his wrist ‘cause he almost smacks me in the face.

“Why are you so obsessed with Nancy if you only hit it twice?”

“I’m not obsessed with Nancy,” he argues.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s more than sex,” Steve mumbles, “I was in love with Nancy. She’s beautiful, first of all and she’s so smart. And like, really strong willed—“

“I’ve heard it all before, dude. I don’t get it but whatever, yeah, you loved her,” I interrupt.

“Haven’t you been in love?”

“I thought we were playing a game,” I divert but Steve’s slick.

“Ok, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me if you’ve ever been in love?” Steve looks smug as he says it. I roll my eyes but I’m impressed, though I should’ve expected it.

“Diane Smith,” I say, “She was my girlfriend back home.”

“Why’d you break up?” Steve asks, flicks the butt of his cigarette with his thumb.

“Couldn’t wait to see what Hawkins had to offer my cock,” I say in an exaggerated low voice. It makes Steve roll his eyes but he laughs. “I’m a man,” I finish and grab my crotch crudely.

He shoots me a bratty look that almost has me confessing I might be in love with him right now. But instead I continue telling him about Diane, “She’s a babe, Steve. California bred. Gorgeous blonde hair. Bleached from the sun. Big ‘ol lips and bright blue eyes.” I whistle lowly and remember I still have a photo of her in my wallet so I lift my asscheek up and pull out the leather, filing through until I find the photo of Diane. She’s in a bikini, sitting on a towel on the beach and she’s smiling bright and pretty at me.

“That’s her,” I say as I pass it over. I know he can’t see it well under the moonlight but it’s fine. “Can’t do long distance. As much as I wanted.”

“She’s pretty,” Steve says, looking at the photo. My chest feels tight talking about her… thinking about her. So I have to be a dick.

I snatch the photo away and smirk, “Much hotter than Nancy Wheeler, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, shut up. Nancy’s pretty.”

“Indiana girls are livestock compared to California girls,” I quip.

Steve shocks me then. Asks me a weird question.

“You think that’s why Lucas and Dustin fought over Max?”

I grip his stupid sweatshirt and clench it in my fist, bringing his face closer, “The fuck are you saying, Harrington?”

“Woah, cool it! It was just a question,” his eyes are all wide and worried.

“Nah, come to think of it,” I shake him, “You never told me what the fuck was going on that night I rearranged your face. You got a thing for my kid sister, Harrington? ‘Cause I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you right now.”

“No! No! I— Billy, nothing like that, I swear!” Harrington worriedly babbles, eyes looking so scared.

I let go of his sweater but I’m still wired, looking at him all crazy by the way he scoots away and exhales sharply, “I… I was just babysitting.”

“Swear to me right now, you ain’t some fucking pervert, Harrington.”

“I’m not. Billy, I’m not.”

[demodoggonetired]

" I'm Batty 4 U "

For the @steddiemicrofic September Prompt: Charm || 548 Words || Rating: T || Warnings: implied verbally absuvie parent, implied period-typical homophobia

It sweeps through the group like wildfire after the whole Vecna ordeal. Something about everyone trying to go back to normal, re-engaging with non-world-ending topics.

Out window shopping, El happens upon a charm bracelet display and within the week convinces Hopper to buy one for her and Max. And who’s to deny the girl that's suffered through so much. 

El states it as her “momento of who she is, and those who helped her find that definition.” All while thumbing the rainbow and sunflower charms. 

So it’s no surprise when Robin, Nancy, and Erica are seen wearing their own charm bracelet designs after Girl’s Night. Then through a spidering chain of conversations and convincing, the rest of the party soon each have custom bracelets.

For Steve though, the issue is that he’s just not a bracelet sort of guy. The occasional pinching when it doesn’t sit right. Constant jangling and shifting every time you move. It’s not for him.

(Plus he knows his Dad would make him throw it out if he ever saw it. “Jewelry isn’t for men.” and all that. (Of course I don’t agree, Robin. But I still don’t want to risk it getting tossed.))

Until Robin solves the problem for him. Turning his bracelet into a keychain for his car keys. And he didn’t realize just how much he’d come to care for said keychain once it’d stop pinching his wrist. 

Exactly as El had painted it from the get-go; a constant reminder that he’s more than the harsh words his dad sneers as “encouragement”.

Of who he matters to and of who matters to him. His family. 

But it’s not for another few months that his keychain gains a companion.

“Hey, uh. Hey, Stevie.”

They’d danced around one another for weeks. From exchanged glances at the hospital, to touching under the guise of lending a hand, pulling excuses to spend time together.

“Yea?”

Finally culminating in Steve getting fed up and testing the waters with a kiss ‘hello’. 

“I know we’ve only been technically dating for a month now. But I’m pretty sure I remember you being a big relationship guy back in high school, and I figured well ‘Stevie probably never had someone buy him the cheesy anniversary gifts he bought for others’-”

“They weren't cheesy, they were well thought out-”

“And so, I got you something as a faux sort of ‘Happy One Month Anniversary’ gift.”

Eddie shoves the little trinket into Steve’s hands, forcing him to drop his book. 

“Small towns, especially Hawkins in particular, suck and so I figured this is as public as we’d be able to be. And I know the bat was maybe a bold choice considering the bites and all that shit but- Actually maybe this was a bad idea- Ya know what, give it back right now, Stevie. This was stupid- I’m gonna do something else.”

Deftly leaning away, Steve hooks his arm around his boyfriend so he can’t lunge for the keychain again.

“Oh hell no. My boyfriend gave this to me, it’s mine now. You can’t take Ozzy from me.”

“Ozzy? What?”

“Yeah, the little bat charm. His name’s Ozzy, he told me so himself.”

“What-?? Shit- Jesus Christ, you’re so lame. Come here so I can kiss your lame, adorable face.”

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (24)

part 24 of ?? | 672 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

By the time Eddie wakes up, it’s not a private room anymore. He looks blearily over to his right, sees Steve lying still and quiet in a hospital bed of his own, and immediately tries to sit up. Wake up, I don’t like this.

24.

By the time Eddie wakes up, it’s not a private room anymore. He looks blearily over to his right, sees Steve lying still and quiet in a hospital bed of his own, and immediately tries to sit up. 

Wake up, I don’t like this. 

“Oh motherfucker,” Eddie groans at the immediate wildfire the motion starts through his core. He feels like he’s being split open down the middle. 

“Easy son, easy—” By the time Wayne’s intercepting hands reach him, Eddie is already falling back the inch or so he’d managed to rise with a pained whine. It’s jarring to see Wayne in a hospital setting again, but, well. Tables are pretty damn well turned now. And while the man looks stressed and worried, that's nothing to the gray, haggard ghost of himself that he'd been while sick.

It takes Eddie several minutes, a button that sends painkiller straight through his veins like a cold bath from the inside out, and a pitiful mouthful of ice chips to compose himself again.

“Steve,” he wheezes finally. “What happened?”

Wayne snorts. “Dumbassery.”

Eddie manages a weak smile. “Be more specific?”

“Looked like he got chewed on by the same thing that spit you out, only he didn’t get it looked at. Took the time to save your life first, though.” Taking the cup of ice chips away for later, Wayne sits back in his uncomfortable visitor's chair with a sigh. “The hell’d you get yourself mixed up in this time, Ed? First I come in here to find the Harrington boy watchin’ over you and you’re handcuffed to the bed. Then he keels over, and half an hour later Jim Hopper comes back from the dead to uncuff you and say the government’s covering all the medical bills.”

And the drugs might play a role here, but Eddie tells him. There’s no ‘you’re not gonna believe me,’ not with Wayne. 

He tells him everything. Chrissy, holding a broken bottle to Steve’s neck, the Upside Down and its monsters, everything. Even the blackmail part. Even though it takes him several tries over at least a whole day because he keeps drifting in and out, quality drugs and sheer exhaustion dragging him down into much needed rest.

When he’s done, Wayne regards him with a measured look—and in this case, the measuring cup is heaped full with are you fucking kidding me.

Eddie braces himself. (Mentally, anyway. Physically, he can't do shit.) The being gay, the dealing drugs, the murder charges—none of that did it, which is good, but he’s not entirely sure that Wayne won’t finally kick him to the curb for taking some poor guy’s wallet for a ride. Especially the guy who just saved his life, and who his uncle seems to have taken a liking to because of it.

“Son,” Wayne says, blunt as ever, “as soon as that boy is conscious again, you need to talk to him. You need to apologize.” There’s a long pause, and this is it, this is the part where Eddie is expecting to hear that next he should pack his bags— “And then tell him thank you.”

Another long pause. 

“Is that all?” Eddie asks weakly, because he has to be sure.

Wayne nods. “That’s plenty. Want a pen and paper to plan it out like one’a your game campaigns?”

On some level, Eddie recognizes that his uncle is making fun of him. On another . . . yeah, he actually kind of does, just to scribble out the jumble of thoughts in his head, not only about Steve but about everything. On every possible level, his eyes well up.

The sleep he’d gotten since almost dying was, perversely, the best he’d had in months. Since before Wayne had gotten sick, all the way through to the end of the worst Spring Break in the history of the world.Eddie chokes out a laugh as the first tears begin to fall, a comforting old hand finding its way to his shoulder as he has a long, long overdue breakdown.

[v-era-18]

Red Licorice

Chapter Seven: Buttered Popcorn 

I'll Be There For You/You're All I Need To Get By (Puff Daddy Mix)

“Our final girl here just got turned on from the sex scene a second ago,” - Billy Loomis 

7

“As of this morning Woodsboro High School will be closed for the day after two more students by the names of Sidney Presscott and (Y/n) (L/n) being mercilessly attacked by the serial killer currently on the loose.” The news reporter stood in front of Woodsboro High school, and in the background could see police around every corner along with other reporters on the grass front. “After the high mass calls from parents in concerns of their students safety, the principal has decided to spend the day preparing a protection plan around the school in concerns about their students.” 

“This case keeps getting bigger and bigger. Billy Loomis, the boyfriend and close friend of the two girls was reportedly released last night due to no evidence of malice towards them. Upon questioning the police it seems the male could not have been the killer due to two separate interactions with the two girls that night. (Y/n) (L/n), recalled her attack with the killer in question in the Prescott bathroom; a direct conflict with Sidney Prescott seeing her boyfriend Billy Loomis coming through the second story window.  There are no further reports of the girl's statements but officer Dewy Riley plans on doing a follow up in case the girl recalls anything else about that heinous nightmare. It has only been two days since the death of Casey Becker and Steve Forrest-“

(Y/n) crunched on her cereal staring at the screen. Eye bags rested underneath due to the lack of sleep and mental strain. It took everything in her power to stay awake and eat her breakfast for basic sustenance since she had not eaten a good eighteen hours. She didn't want to remember anything about that nightmare that plagued her that night; thus resulting in her lack of sleep into the early morning. She had expected her aunt to come into the living room five hours ago in concern with the amount of horror movies she was watching. But she heard the back bedroom door open and close shortly. A part of her knew Gia was letting her cope in her own way, but she at least wanted some sort of comfort that everything was going to be okay. 

The girl didn't ask for a lot growing up without her parents. Especially seeing her aunt struggle to simply keep food on the table and buy her new clothes each time she grows. It was partly why she enjoyed wearing her dad's shirts all the time, Gia wouldn't have to spend so much money on new ones. She just wished the women didn't work so much so they could spend more time together. 

The news filled the living room with a heavy atmosphere. News of the attack last night spilled wildfire and caused such an attraction that wasn't desired. According to the news last night Casey’s and Sidneys house were investigated top to bottom so far with no leads. Blood from the bathroom where she was trapped with the killer was on the bathtub but it was refuted as useless due to no knife being found. Even if there was a knife found there would need to be prints, and the killer made sure to wear gloves for most of the time other than touching her. 

She did wonder how Sidney was holding up. The news keeps bringing up the Prescott case since Maureen's murderer is close to rotting in a prison cell for the rest of his life. It's very interesting that this is all they can find to do a comparison to. The anniversary of a huge death that happened a year ago two days from now. 

No one remembers the (L/n) case anymore. And how could they? It happened so many years ago and there were no leads to put someone behind bars. This is Woodsborror, a town where everyone knows everybody, no secret or rumor could be kept for too long. Hence the case of Maureen Prescott and her alleged murderous affair. (Y/n) still remembers the funeral, it was for close family and friends but even she could see some of the assessment some townspeople had secretly towards her. To her out of everyone the one who took it the hardest was Sid. She could understand, it was her mother after all, but her father on the other hand…he shed no tears at the funeral. 

(Y/n) did find it very odd how Mr. Prescott didn't care for too long about his wife being practically murdered in front of their daughter. Well he did care about Sid-just not his wife passing away. How she knew of this was the way he held himself afterwards the timid awkward man was gone along with his wife, a hard working relaxed man taking his place. She did have a theory that he simply was ready for divorce or a release from her for the longest time. 

‘He probably tried his best to stay with her for Sidney. Love for someone’s child is measurable. I should know…’

Aunt Gia rushed into the kitchen, her scrubs were on with a backpack on her shoulders. (Y/n) could only stare at the sight before her. She was hoping her aunt would possibly stay and keep watch over her as she slept but this is the second time her Aunt had left work early due to the murder and attack. She stayed home all night to get herself settled after last night. 

In her aunt's defense she did try to offer physical comfort, but due to the incident in the bathroom with the killer she had grown ridden with guilt and terror. She didn't want the older women to touch her anymore, it was as if she was scared of giving her something. Like a plague was infecting her body and the next day her caretaker would be pronounced dead in her bedroom with her insides ripped open. 

Although she was indifferent to affection at the moment, she wasn't going to ignore the way she naturally accepted Stu’s embrace last night. It still was a mystery how he knew how to sneak into her window without alarm. She brushed her forehead lightly from when the male had kissed it, whispering words of protection over her saying she wouldn't be harmed no longer. 

The sucker part was that she believed it. The whole night she was in his arms, shadows encircling them in twisted waves and coils wanted to tear them apart but they couldn't. They were nicely melded together on her bed as if they were missing puzzle pieces that always needed to be connected. When she woke up from her nightmare and found him gone she wondered if he even came at all. Maybe her mind was pulling tricks on her in order to find comfort somewhere. 

The only thing left as evidence that the male was there was his jacket he had left behind. She cuddled it last night for over an hour on the sofa watching Nightmare On Elm Street. Even now she could smell the remnants of him against her skin and she never wanted it to be removed. No. She wanted to drown in it. 

“Leaving so soon?” (Y/n) asked her aunt in passing.

“I’m sorry sweetheart but I need these hours at the hospital,” Gia replied, rushing around the kitchen. She pushed the two frozen waffles into the toaster before grabbing some strawberry jam from the fridge. (Y/n) wrinkled her nose at the odd combination her aunt was making. How long did she start eating that with her waffles? She could only wonder if it was too sweet with orange juice being swigged down. 

“What for? Did the bills get behind? Is the bank asking for more on the house? Is that even legal—?”

“What? No! We are not behind on anything!” Gia seemed mortified at the thought of her niece thinking they were going to be on the streets. It'd be a cold day in hell before she allowed the girl to go homeless. “The house is completely paid for and we're not behind on anything.” 

“Then why are you working everyday?” The girl huffed, “You used to be free on the weekends now all you do is work everyday. Is there something I should know-?”

“It's nothing to concern yourself with I promise I'll tell you eventually just…… stay patient with me,” 

(Y/n) pursed her lips for a moment deciding whether or not she should keep pushing for answers. There have been numerous times she asked if she could get a job to help with the load around the house, but her aunt wanted her to focus on school. Not to mention summer jobs in Woodsboro were hard to come by, everyone practically knows everyone and they're taken up before the students are let out of school. She just didn't want her only family she knew to work herself to death. 

“—Along with this serial killer on the run we also have a missing persons report in this case. Sidney Prescott's father, Neil Prescott, has been reported missing for the past twenty-four hours following his daughter's attack. It has been reported that the father was supposed to be traveling for work only to never show up to the alleged destination. If anyone has seen Mr. Prescott please let the police-” 

“Neil is missing?” 

(Y/n) cocked her head to the side at her aunt's tone. Aunt Gia never spoke of Sidenys father with such familiarity, she only spoke on a first name basis with close friends and family. Last time she saw her Aunt talk to the man was months ago when the chance of his wife passing was somewhat fresh. They had simply bumped into him and Sidney at the grocery store and he invited them over for dinner. It was pleasant but she wouldn't say it gathered them a relationship to speak on a first name basis. She doesn't even call Mrs. Reily by her first name and they've spoken to each other on more accounts. 

“Dewey said that he couldn't reach him last night along with the other police. I didn't think he went missing.” 

“Well if he wasn't back by this morning from his trip like he was supposed to it does call for a missing person report—“ She cut herself off staring at the screen longingly, the photo displayed of Neil Prescott was one with him holding a younger Sidney over his shoulders with a bright smile. “Hopefully they find him quickly.”

“I didn’t know you guys had gotten close.” 

Gia nearly dropped the waffles back into the toaster as if she was burned. She was quick to straighten her posture and continue her task in collecting breakfast, “We talk in passing.” 

“Passing?” (Y/n) echoes, “since when does he even have time to do that—“

“Everyone has time every now and again.” 

The girl puffed out her cheeks in frustration but didn’t press any further. 

The doorbell rang to cut into the awkward air of the kitchen. Gia quickly put down her plate and went to answer the door. (Y/n) wanted to object to the motion, but they had a peep hole for the reason for intruders.

‘That didn’t stop him from coming in before it did?’

Gia opened the door to be met with the image of two familiar males. Her heart almost did a second take with the second one on her doorstep when the last thing she heard about him was that he was currently behind bars. 

Billy and Stu waited patiently with a bag filled to the brim with what she assumed was movies and popcorn. (Y/n)’s favorite combination. They did just run out of the girl’s favorite popcorn too, Gia was planning on going to the grocery store  yesterday morning but…things kept happening. 

Stu leaned against the doorframe with a stiff smile, “You're leaving?” 

Looking down at herself she did have on her scrubs taking note of his observation.“Yes. Unfortunately I cannot miss any hours or I could possibly lose the job.” 

“There's a case surrounding your niece almost being murdered and you're worried about a job?” Billy snuffed, “She can't be left here by herself. What if he comes back?” 

“Excuse me?” Gia turned to Billy with a glare, “Aren't you a prime suspect in the case right now? What the hell are you even doing here at my house? Better yet, out of your cell?” 

“They searched through my phone records and all accounts linked to me. I'm clean. And as you probably heard from (Y/n) I'm not the one who did it,”The male's easy going mask shifted to a one filled with frustration.“Or do you think I did?” 

The woman leaned her head against the doorframe in thought. In actuality, she didn't believe Billy was the killer, just a boy in the wrong place at the right time to come to the girl's aid. She had practically watched them play with (Y/n) all the time growing up, there was no hint of malice or tendency to do harm in sight. “No I don't. But you have to think of (Y/n)’s image. You don't want the town talking about her do you?” 

“I'm more concerned with her being left alone than chatter. Can she not go to work with you?” 

Gia let out a stressed out sigh, “(Y/n) is prone to getting sick easily, as you both know from experience.”

Billy just couldn’t believe all the excuses that Gia was able to possibly make up in this short period of time. She was more focused on work and not getting fired that she would rather her own flesh and blood suffer alone. “Come on Ms. Gia, your niece just lost her best friend to a brutal murderer a few days ago and recently was attacked by that same person. Leaving her by herself should be the last thing you should do as her sole guardian.”

 The older woman looked back inside the house seeing her niece's head drop slightly before being yanked back up with vigor. A clear act to keep herself awake. God knows how long the girl would torture herself, from getting the rest she needs. In the corner of her eye Stu peered in a clear frown on his face as he watched the girl slowly drop her head along with the spoon held in her hand. 

She turned back to Stu and Billy, concern and frustration lacing both of their features. A slow idea morphed into her head as she stared at them. She couldn't watch and take care of (Y/n) today but there are two grown males that usually come over to take care of her anyway. 

Maybe the company would be good and safe for now.

“Listen,” Gia said stiffly, “I usually don’t like the idea with boys staying over with a young girl without adult supervision….but-“ the woman looked back over to (Y/n) her eyes numbly glued to the news, “I need someone here to make sure she gets some rest.” 

Stu seemed shocked with the woman’s offer. She never wanted them to hang out with (Y/n) alone before and here she was slowing them a chance to take care of her while she’s away. The male looked over at his partner seeing the excitement lacing his eyes in comparison to the stoic faces he was trying to place. 

Billy stepped forward holding up a hand in respect and nearly yanked it back from how hard the older woman gripped it. 

“I’m trusting the two of you with her. You let me down-no-if you let her down, consider this the last time you see her.” 

The boys nodded in unison showing they got the message. 

She moved to the side letting them in, “(Y/n)! You got some visitors!”

~ ☿ ~

(Y/n) fumbled over to the TV trying to sort through the many movies the boys had brought over. Some of them were ones she already had but had extra uncut scenes or even behind the scenes of the movies that they could watch. Stu was in the kitchen making the popcorn while Billy was laying out blankets on the sofa and floor for them to get comfortable. She did wonder if he had forgotten where she kept the extra blankets in her closet because he was taking so long, but he eventually found them. 

She finally decided on Friday The 13th Part Two since she felt like watching something relaxing rather than growing frustrated because she couldn't focus on the other films.

When her aunt Gia first left her with Stu and Billy they asked when was the last time she had gotten any proper sleep. She lied-of course-and said she had gotten at least four hours even though she was sure it was only one due the unfortunate dream last night. (Y/n) simply didn't want rhythm to worry too much about her than she already was. Stu had already snuck in last night just out of sheer concern after he heard the news of her attack, she didn't want to worry them further with the lack of sleep. 

“Did you find one?” Billy’s voice sounded out from behind. 

(Y/n) nodded and showed the tape much to his pleasure. Stu rounded the corner with the popcorn, a large grin on his face before flopping on the other end of the sofa. Between them was a gap big enough for her to sit, and she gladly took her place after popping the movie in. 

The movie went smoothly at the beginning, her back against the cushions with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes slowly began to drop and Stu seemed to take notice subtly wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders including her to lay on his chest. She at first tensed with the arm around her, but soon gave into the warm embrace of her shield from the darkness. 

Everything was fine, until that scene showed up. 

Now in horror movies (Y/n) didn't mind the sex scenes too much. She found it a normality among people and it wasn't something to be shunned. But her eyes grew wider as the girl moaned through the screen causing her thighs to clench together. The male kissed up and down the girls throat, their naked bodies melding perfectly together even as the kisses trailed down from the chest to the stomach to the girls core. 

Nervously (Y/n) looked up at Stu, his eyes looked concentrated on the screen no doubt watching for Jason to appear in a corner watching the two teens get it on with one another. She slowly rubbed her thighs together trying to control the ache that was appearing down below. She didn't understand why this was happening, it wasn't like she was being touched or anything of that nature. Billy and Stu were not even attracted to her like that, plus they had girlfriends already. It would be cheating to even consider the 

‘You're doing so good for me baby.’

The male crawled on top of the girl both having mischievous smiles on their faces. The two of course were unaware of Jason lurking around the corner just waiting for the opportunity to kill them. The male inserted himself with a groan, kissing the girl again before continuing at a good pace to start much to the girl's pleasure. 

‘Suck them. It’ll hurt if I go in dry.’

‘Is he going in dry?’

The lack of verbality from the scene was kinda weird now that she thought about it. Why couldn't he take her through it a bit more? Only moans of enjoyment emerged from the two. She knew that the scenes were fake, but she expected something more…

‘Are my fingers making that pussy feel that good?’

‘You're doing so good for me baby.’

(Y/n) shot up out of Stu’s grasp just as the couple had finished their session with one another. Her face was warm, heart beating a certain rhythm that matched down below that emitted a dangerous craving for the men on either side of her. 

Billy cocked an eyebrow glancing back and forth at the girl and to the screen, a wary expression on his face. His only thought at the moment was that she perhaps was scared of the fact the two had gotten killed just now and still was trying to process the attack from last night.  Stu told Billy how terrified she was last night when he trapped her in the bathroom with him, it was a normal reaction for her to process it in different ways. He was honestly concerned with the fact it could mean she wouldn't be able to watch her favorite comfort films anymore. 

“(Y/n) you alright—”

“I'm going to get some more popcorn!”

She turned to grab the bowl off the table only for Stu to interject , grabbing it before she could even move and inch towards the coffee table. The bowl was half full, barely even touched and still warm. From their past hangouts, the boys knew she would usually finish a bowl before making another one; it just made sense that way. That's how they knew her excuse wasn’t a good one. 

She was hiding something. Her feelings or her fear from them and that was the last thing that they wanted.

“It's still full.” Stu reasoned, “We can get some more after the movie….or would you like to watch something else? We do have Halloween part three if you wanna watch that instead-” 

“Let's just cut to the chase, what's wrong? Is it the killing part? we don't have to just watch horror movies, you know.” Billy could feel Stu’s heated stare piercing into the side of his head from how blont he sounded just now, but it was honestly going to be the best route with getting answers out of her currently. 

(Y/n) hesitantly shook her head, “I-it’s not the movie.” 

“You jumped up when Jason squared them like a kabob. We won't be upset if you say it is-” 

“It's not the killing part!” (Y/n ) hissed. 

The two boys seemed to pause just as the girls' eyes widened with her admission. 

“If it wasn't the killing part then what exactly...” Billy’s words dialed down as he looked at the screen thinking for a moment before a rueful smile then laughter emerged from deep in his throat. 

(Y/n)’s cheeks burned, her heart now echoing in her ears from the embarrassment. There was no turning back now, they knew that she was currently turned on. 

“(N/n) don't tell me you’re—” 

“Don't say it!” 

Stu looked  confused at what was going on and looked to Billy for an explanation. 

“Our final girl here just got turned on from the sex scene a second ago,” 

Stu smiled and he began to laugh only to cut off from a pillow being wacked in his face with a pillow. (Y/n) stood over him trying to seem menacing from her short stature above him from the sofa but it wouldn't stop the fit of chuckles the male was making at her. The two boys honestly found it cute on how embarrassed she was from something so normal. Maybe it was because they were so used to having sex with many girls already that they were desensitized to it. 

Billy bit his lip watching the girl nervously looking between the two of them, to the naked eye one wouldn't have noticed the way she was still rubbing her thighs together. But he did. And it was driving him crazy.  

Right here. Right now seemed like the perfect chance for them to take advantage of the situation. Stu could easily coach her over by the couch to relax, they crack the movie a bit louder to get her used to the sounds she's practically memorized at this point. Billy would start with slow touches, soft words near her ear, then finally a kiss that he's been wanting for years. He could hear the moans she would let out, letting his hands do the work in her underwear and Stu would go under her large shirt to play with her breast kissing her roughly. There were so many ways to make her cum, and scream their names so loudly the neighbors could hear. It was a shame the walls are so thick, they would have to fuck her on the porch for the neighborhood to hear them. 

“This isn't funny,” She muttered softly, “None of it is funny.” 

Stu let out another chuckle, “It is a tad bit funny. The way you looked so mortified that we found out—” He cut off seeing her uncomfortable expression on her face. Now Stu knew when to stop joking around from time to time but he honestly didn't see any harm with what was transpiring. Was she that ashamed of her getting excited over a sex scene? “Hey we're just messing around, being….excited about that stuff is normal. It’s not something to be ashamed about.”

(Y/n) shuffled her feet from side to side feeling a lot smaller than ever before. Stu could tell her that there was nothing to  be ashamed of all he wants but it wouldn't change how disgusting and weird she feels at the current moment.  

She glanced over in the corner where the recliner was. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the image of the killer behind her, his soft touches to the cool graze of the knife against her skin to the warm ecstasy she experienced against him. It was all her imagination last night and yet…her body, her mind didn't mind the idea of the masked man taking her again. 

That was what she was ashamed of. 

“But I am,” (Y/n) confessed slowly, “I shouldn't feel this way about him—” 

“Him?” 

The girl flinched at Billy’s tone, the teasing nature was gone, his now tone turning to ice within seconds. She hesitantly lifted her head seeing that he was now standing next to Stu while the latter was sitting down. Stu’s face was natural; it seemed like he was waiting for the answer as to who it was. 

Afraid of what she might think, she tries to lie, “ I-it wasn't anyone we know-it was a stranger.” 

“You're fidgeting with your hands,” Stu said gravely. 

“You only do that when you're lying,” Billy huffed, he scanned her face growing frustrated. Everything was going so good until she mentioned another male from her pretty mouth. “Why are you lying…?Did you….” 

She shifted side to side nervously as he struggled to get the words out. When he finally did, her blood ran cold. 

“Did you have sex with someone recently?” Loomis’ eyes went wild, crazed for a second only for a second before Stu stood up placing a hand on his shoulder in order for his partner to calm down. He was getting too ahead of himself. 

“No! I did not! You know I’ve never did nothing like that before-” 

“Then what are you hiding-” 

“I had a dream about the killer fucking me for christ sake!” 

The screams of Jason's victims filled the living room as the three of them stared at one another. The two boys seemed to stand eerily still and the girl couldn't believe she even had the nerve to say something so shocking and foolish at the same time. The way they were looking at her made her sick to her stomach, her nerves were on end and her face was hot. 

Her thoughts overwhelmed her at that very moment. 

Are they disgusted by me? Are they going to tell the cops that something else possibly happened in the bathroom last night? Is she going to get in trouble? Will they not want to be friends with me anymore? Do they even like me anymore?

She looked at Stu, her heart racing as he seemed to fidget in place, ‘Is Stu disgusted by me now?’ 

Hot tears ran down the girl's face as she let out a quiet sob, “I-I'm sorry I shouldn't have said anything.” It was only a second before she felt large arms around her and rough hands whipping away her tears. “Please don't be disgusted by me-I know what I was dreaming about is weird no one should be aroused by knives or even a masked man I got attacked by just last night! I just…,” Her lips wobbled as Billy came into view as she opened up her eyes. He grabbed her hands gently showing that he was listening intently. 

“He treated me so well and in that dream….I felt like I wasn't an outcast for a moment like I was about to be treasured by someone. Someone who knew everything I liked before I even knew what I did and ....I liked the things we did even though ....I'm scared of him. I'm so scared of him, because I don't know what he wants from me. I don't know if I did something or if he just wants to simply play with me before killing me.” 

Stu kept himself busy wiping the tears away as Billy still held onto the girl’s hands but they both exchanged looks. They both shared similar components, lust, anger, frustration, and a tab bit of relief. Don't get them wrong they felt horrible that she felt like the killer was trying to kill her but it was her own fault for being at Sydney's house in their opinion. If she didn’t lie and say she was going over the Prescott home they could've come up with another plan quickly with her staying out of the equation but no, it had to be a secret from them. 

At the moment it didn't matter. What mattered was reassuring her that there was nothing wrong with what she was attracted to. Especially in regard to the bedroom. 

“(N/n), trust me when I say this neither of us are disgusted by you,” Billy was telling the truth, in fact it was taking everything in him not to suggest they try out this dark desire that the girl had. His pants were growing tight at the thought of her on Stus lap and his head between her thighs as Stu would play with her perky breasts kissing her, silencing her moans. Even when she's crying now she looks perfect to be bent over and fucked from behind. He wanted to rid her of any shame through the excitement of pleasure they would give her. 

“The way you feel is completely normal. And trust me when I say this other fuckers have weirder kinks and fetishes than a simple knife one. And we would never hold something against you like that with enjoying something. It seems like you just are in the category that requires you have uh.. What's it called uh-” 

Stu smiled, his eyes filled with unspoken lust, “A dom.” 

“A dom?” (Y/n) echoed in wonder, “What's that?” 

“Something we can talk about another day,” Billy chuckled, he was honestly finding her innocence too cute at this point, “But we just want you to know we're not going anywhere. And that fucker of a killer will not touch or come near you if we don't have anything to say about it. Ya got me.” 

The girl sniffed and nodded, giving a small shy smile. They could tell she was still embarrassed from what she had told them, but judging from her relaxed shoulders and droopy eyes she was more glad to have gotten it off her chest. 

Billy smiled genuinely this time causing her to do the same. The tense atmosphere was gone now replaced with the warmth they usually had when they were younger. 

“I'm sorry for interrupting the movie,” (Y/n) sniffed with a giggled.

Stu waved it off, “Just gives us an excuse to start it all over.” 

The two males guided the girl back over towards the couch so she could finally get some rest. Their top priority until Gia got back home was the girls well being and it was clear they also needed to keep watch about nightmares. Billy restarted the movie quickly, turning his head slightly to watch Stu wrap the huge blanket around their final girl.  

“Billy? Stu Stu?” 

“Yes Final Girl?”

“Yes (N/n)?” 

The way the boys responded immediately sent chills down her spine. The sweet tones and attentiveness was getting to her. For a moment it seemed like their attention was beyond platonic. 

“I told the police that the killer didn't touch me in the bathroom but…it obviously wasn't true. Will you tell them? Will I get in trouble?” 

Stu and Billy looked at one another in a silent conversation, their agreement was reached shortly as the girl looked up from her hands placed in her lap. 

Stu grabbed the girl's chin so she would look up at him. He didn't miss the way her thighs clenched together once more, and it took everything in him not to crash his lips against her plum ones. “You have our word that we won't tell a soul. It'll be our secret.” 

(Y/n) laid down again into Stu’s side feeling the male rub a hand gently into her back in slow rhythmic motions. His eyes seemed to stay on her the whole time, a content smile on his face as if her darkest desires were not laid out in front of them only moments ago. It was weird feeling so vulnerable around them like this, it had been so long since she's done so. Her eyes drifted closed, feeling the male's body shift a bit, his fingers brushing over her cheek in slow movements. And for the first time in god knows how many hours the girl was finally able to get some sleep. 

[superblysubpar]

I WANT TO LIKE, SING YOUR PRAISES AND ANALYZE BUT IM AFRAID ALL THAT'S HAPPENING IN MY BRAIN IS SCREAMING AND WHIRRING AND THINGS ARE BURSTING INTO FLAMES

You all halted at a burgundy BMW, and the driver held a hand up to stop you from joining. He was taller than you, broader, but couldn’t be any older, and something about his air of authority had you prickling.

“This is my best friend,” Vickie introduced, climbing into the car beside Robin.

The boy ran a hand down his face and opened the back door for you. “Get in.”

You did as instructed, but yanked the door from his grasp to slam it, satisfied at the look of frustration across his pretty boy features. 

ONE DAY YOU TWO ARE GONNA LOOOOVVEEE EACH OTHER

“Look,” Vickie pointed to the skyline above the woods, and when you turned, you saw a split in the clouds. Greyscale had poured pale yellow onto the canvas and you were watching yourself, catatonic and limp in the arms of Steve Harrington. Large hands were pressed to your cheeks, wrapped around your waist, his body pressed to yours, warm and hard, and there was panic in his eyes as he shouted words you couldn’t hear over the music. Hopper and Owens stood nearby. Several soldiers and Eddie were behind them. 

“So we need a solution,” Hopper grumbled. Your nurse pulled his cigarette from between his lips and slipped it back into his pocket before scribbling stats onto her charts. 

This just made me laugh. It's like in the show when the donut gets replaced with the apple 👌🏻

He crossed the room and turned on a little clock radio, shifting through the static until an unfamiliar pop crooner’s voice filled the little space. You wondered if this was a habit he’d always had, or if he thought it’d keep your parasite at bay.

His eyes were closed, but the corner of his lips quirked upward. His eye lashes were so long, casting shadows on freckled cheeks, pinched rosy in the heat or embarrassment of your positions.

You swallowed and flipped the book to the front page, lest he open his eyes again and catch you staring. You pretended to read until his head grew heavy, and the steady rise and fall of his chest came out in near imperceptible snores.

I NEED TO KISS HIM OR I WILL DIE THANKS

“Hey,” you crossed your arms over your own chest, a challenge. You stopped a few feet from the desk. You could hear Hopper’s mumble just beyond a dented steel door down the hall. 

“Hello,” Eddie countered. “What do you want?”

“Apparently my shit affects the people around me.”

I LOVE READER AND EDDIE SO MUCH IT MAKES ME SICK THE SASS THIS MAN HAS

“Dustin sang to me.” Munson broke the silence. His hand was trembling, rings clanging against the metal hand-hold of his walker. “I beat the ever-loving shit out of him. He almost died at my hands, and he was laying there, bloodied, face-swollen, and he started singing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You remembered seeing Henderson afterward. You remember visiting him in the Med Bay, of seeing the pain everyone had suffered at the hands of this monster. “What did he sing?” 

Eddie snorted, rolled his eyes. “The Never-Ending Story theme.” 

YOU BELONG IN PRISON FOR THIS

“Think about all of the good times you had with her. Think about all the times I knocked on your door to find you two whispering and cackling. Think about all the fights we’ve gotten into about music. Think about Robin’s horrible taste in ice cream. Think about how good it feels to kiss Harrington. Think about how stupid Hopper looks without a mustache.” 

“I’m trying so hard to be brave here,” he stepped toward you painfully slow, the creak of boots against linoleum. “But it’s hard when I don’t know if I can keep you safe, and that scares me because I love you, and I’m not letting you go that easily.” 

“I didn’t ask you to be brave for me,” you scoffed, hand trembling against the back of a chair.

Harrington’s eyes remained on you, brow crumpled, less in anger now than something more fragile. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I said I’m in love with you.”

Your stomach swooped, heart clawing to get out with rapid beats, screaming in your ears. “I-I know.” You stammered.

“Do you…” He cleared his throat, fingertips tracing the tabletop dangerously close to your own. He licked his lips and watched you carefully, eyes hopeful. “How do you… I mean?” He gestured wildly, mouth quirking upward in panic.

You chewed back a laugh, something warm and familiar kicking back up. You managed to roll your eyes. “Yeah, Harrington, yes. You can calm down. I’ve been in love with you since I got into your stupid car.” 

“It’s not a competition,” he grumbled, stepping around the table to approach you. He was warm, brown eyes and upturned pink lips. 

“I’m not competing with you, I’m just telling you how I feel. I’m starting to think you’re the one obsessed with competition.” You were rambling, a nervous habit you must’ve picked up from your best friend, tongue running while your heart raced. 

“Will you shut up and let me kiss you?” He mumbled, lashes long and eyes dark. He cupped your face with one strong hand, tracing the curves of your face with his thumb. 

You groaned, tilting your head sideways to allow him to place damp kisses along the column of your throat. “Harrington, put your hands on me.”

He groaned, a rumble deep in his chest that coursed another wave of need through you. “You can use my first name, you know.” He nosed at your earlobe, smile evident in his voice.

“You have to earn it,” you bit back a smile, and yelped when his hands found your ribcage and pushed you up against your cabinets and countertop. The linoleum was cold against the small of your back, and your arms raised above your head for him to pull your sweatshirt up and over. 

His forearm flexed as he moved your underwear to the side, and his thick fingers gathered the slick at your core to coat your folds. “Please who?” He asked.

You almost didn’t catch it, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, but you blinked to the forefront of your consciousness to see the cocky smirk stretched across his features. You bit back a smile and managed half an eye roll before he sunk two fingers into you, the perfect stretch. Your eyes slid closed, and you clung to his forearm, gasping his name. “Steve.”

“Uh uh,” he tutted, “don’t go away. Open your eyes, beautiful. Want to watch you.” 

Your eyes snapped back open, and his cheeks flushed in a wide smile.

“Good girl,” he nodded, and proceeded to take you apart with nimble fingers, watching you ride the wave until you came crashing down, digging your nails into his arms and stars scattered in your eyesight. 

He hummed, tilting his head to catch your gaze. His brow crumpled in concern. You felt so blessed to see him relaxed, comfortable, safe. 

I honestly don't think I'm ever recovering holy shit 🤷‍♀️

Wildfire • Combustion

You're in trouble. When Vecna sinks he's claws into you, your friends rally around you to help exorcise your demons.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 10,887

Warnings: This chapter contains smut. Minor DNI. • enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire, panic attacks, insomnia

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Five: Searing • Chapter Seven: Inferno

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The sun hit the front window and bounced off bright orange, drowning your front yard in an amber glow. It was hot, and your shirt stuck to your skin with summer sweat. The yard was littered in toys, a tractor sprinkler, double bicycles with baskets and tassels on the handlebars. Chalk was strewn across the sidewalk, hopscotch traced in stark whites. Gravel crunched in the drive beneath your feet. 

Your mom called your name from the front door, asked if Vickie was staying for dinner. The girl beside you confirmed with a thumbs up and a wave, limbs longer than she was tall. She grinned at you, two front teeth missing, red hair pulled back into braids. She elbowed at your waist. “Can I stay with you forever?” 

You smiled, excited at the prospect of your best friend moving in, hauling her little rubber suitcase full of dolls and horsies down the road to your house and unloading on your bedroom floor. You would share peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day for the rest of your lives. 

“Till death do you part, right?” A deep voice came from behind you, a chill of breath to the back of your neck. 

You spun and found no one, just a chill on the breeze, the landscape faded to harsh blues and burgundies, everything covered in black ichor and vines. 

Vickie called your name, and when you turned again to face her, she was writhing in agony, skin melting from the bones of her cheeks, collarbone exposed. She reached out, mouth agape, flames that engulfed her the same color as her shock of red hair. Her eyes were pale blue, clouded.

You slammed your eyes closed, and the heat of her was wiped away in an instant. Instead, you were pushed and prodded toward a closed window. A crowd of strangers filed outside around you, staring up at a cloud-filled sky. Particles of grey and white snowed down on the parking lot of the high school gym.

“Is that snow?”

“I think it’s ash.” 

“Like Mount Vesuvius?”

“I didn’t even know Hawkins was on a fault line.”

You looked around for a familiar face, panic crawling up your chest.

Vickie stood an arm’s length away, and you rushed to her side, tugging on her sleeve. “We need to get out of here.” 

“Steve!” A kid with curly hair limped over to the couple posted up beside your best friend. You noticed Vickie was watching a freckled blonde girl exchange concerned looks with the handsome brunette beside her.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” the handsome man copycatted you, tugging on the arm of the blonde girl beside him. 

“Robin, where are you guys going?” Vickie asked, taking the girl’s other hand in her own. A bloom of jealousy radiated through you, of interest, while the panic rose higher behind your sternum. 

Robin made eyes with the two boys beside her, an unspoken conversation between them. 

“Do you know what’s going on?” Vickie prodded, stepping into their little circle to face her friend. 

Once again, the girl made eyes at the boy beside her, and you watched him roll his eyes before grabbing the younger boy and leading him out the door. 

“Come on,” Robin gripped Vickie’s hand tighter and yanked her out across the lot after them. 

“Wait, Vic!” You chased after your best friend, and this crew she’d acquired in the last hour or so since you left her at the sandwich counter. “Where are you going?” 

You all halted at a burgundy BMW, and the driver held a hand up to stop you from joining. He was taller than you, broader, but couldn’t be any older, and something about his air of authority had you prickling.

“This is my best friend,” Vickie introduced, climbing into the car beside Robin. 

The boy ran a hand down his face and opened the back door for you. “Get in.”

You did as instructed, but yanked the door from his grasp to slam it, satisfied at the look of frustration across his pretty boy features. 

“I’m Robin,” the freckled girl reached across Vickie to introduce herself, and you shook her hand before eyeing your best friend. Vickie’s face had nearly turned violet in embarrassment. “This is Steve and Dustin.” 

Steve didn’t have the capacity to greet you properly as he peeled out of his parking spot and sped away from the growing crowd. 

You hung onto the headrest to stop from slamming into your friend beside you, and grit your teeth. “Great, can someone please tell me where we’re going?” 

Dustin turned to face you, black ichor spilling from between braced teeth in a menacing grimace. His eyes were a pale, cloudy blue. “Didn’t you know? This is the road to Hell.” 

The landscape around you flickered in greyscale. The crowd disappeared and was replaced by rotting buildings, fallen trees, a city on fire.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the flower-faced panic monster rearing its ugly head, clawed its way through your esophagus, breathing fire and sputtering blood, and you choked on your scream. “Vickie!” 

You climbed the final hill in front of her childhood home. The pale yellow facade had peeling paint, fire having ripped through it months earlier. You were out of breath, had been chasing her for hours according to the watch on your wrist. Sweat clung to the base of your skull, and the straps of your flamethrower pinched at the skin of your shoulders. You cried out for your best friend again. 

Something loud banged on the other side of the garage door, startling you, and you swung your weapon that direction. The door shook on its rails , hinges rattling violently. You sidestepped to see the side door, ready to fire when Vickie appeared in the side yard. 

“Listen!” She called out, waving her arms over her head.

“To what?” You frowned. “Where the Hell have you been?” 

“Bonnie Tyler,” she pointed upward. She seemed rushed, crossing the yard to peel part of the chain link from the fence to block the garage side door. She hummed the tune as she worked, and you took a few steps closer to her before you heard it. 

It was a little distorted, tune a little wonky, a little muted. You looked around for a cassette player, wondered if the car was playing it in the garage. 

“It’s Steve. He’s trying to pull you out of this, and it’s getting harder to fight Vecna off, so I’m going to need you to snap out of it and wake the Hell up.” Vickie stated, irritated as she grabbed a patio chair and dragged it to the door. 

The garage shook again, a pound to the door that had the entire building trembling on its foundations. That spot behind your shoulder blade tickled, a chill down your spine, and the pieces all fell into place. 

“Look,” Vickie pointed to the skyline above the woods, and when you turned, you saw a split in the clouds. Greyscale had poured pale yellow onto the canvas and you were watching yourself, catatonic and limp in the arms of Steve Harrington. Large hands were pressed to your cheeks, wrapped around your waist, his body pressed to yours, warm and hard, and there was panic in his eyes as he shouted words you couldn’t hear over the music. Hopper and Owens stood nearby. Several soldiers and Eddie were behind them. 

“Now wake up, damnit,” Vickie shook your shoulder, shoved you their direction. You stumbled two steps. 

“Wait,” you halted and grabbed her wrist, tiny, pulse warm in your hand. “Not without you.” 

“Yes, without me!” Her body was against the door now, the building rattling at her back. “I’ve spent a year holding him back, I can handle him for a little bit longer.” 

You shook your head, the music growing louder against your skull, somewhere just behind your ears. “I don’t understand.” You shouted over it. 

“I told you I’d never leave you,” she bit down on her bottom lip, eyes fierce. “I’m sorry he piggybacked, but now you know he’s here, and you have to get him out. You have the help I never got. Take advantage of that.” The door banged harder, and she slipped before regaining her strength. “Go.” 

“What am I supposed to do?” You screamed, the music all-encompassing, rhythm of the knocks on the garage against the beat of the track on loop. 

“He’s weak, but he gains strength in your subconscious when you sleep.” She explained, eyes closed in her attempt to keep him out. “Destroy the Ether. I think he - oof -” A particularly large hit sent her flying, and you took her place, holding the handle closed tight as it turned in your hand. 

She stood, knees bloodied, and took it from your hands. “Go! I can’t hold him much longer.” She shoved you back in the direction of the clouds. 

You felt conflicted, rooted to the spot as you watched your best friend struggle.

She made eye contact with you, eyes blurred with tears, and she grit her teeth before she screamed, “GO!” Her visage flashed fiery red, a ghost of her former self, the screaming face of a loved one charred and burned.

You reached out for her before you felt yourself thrust off your feet, yanked backwards by your spine. The forces around you, the pulsating of music in your skull, the scream that ripped from your chest to mirror her own, caught you spiraling into blackness, falling, falling, falling through a never-ending abyss. Arms and legs flailed, and you gained speed as you neared the bottom, music so loud you could no longer make out the words, and then you hit bottom.

Warmth flooded your senses, a stuffy heat that clung the fabric of your clothes to your skin and stifled your lungs which fought to catch a breath. Your eyes flew open to find two big, brown eyes and a crumpled brow. The smell of sweat and steam and cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and every square inch of you was hyper aware of the hand on your waist, your cheek, the abdomen pressed to your own. 

“Are you here? Are you okay?” Steve’s sweet voice croaked, just under the volume of Bonnie Tyler on overhead speakers, and you crashed into him, burying your face in his throat as reality broke and you realized you were alive, and he was there to keep you safe. 

You felt his arms snake around you while your body wracked with sobs, and lips to your temple as he comforted you with soft hums of reassurance. The sounds of soldiers filing in replaced the music and the ringing in your ears. 

—

The coffee in your cup didn’t stay still long enough to see your reflection. Your hands trembled, or maybe they were jittery, and the glare from the fluorescents stung in your skull like a migraine. You sipped, lukewarm and a bit burnt, and wrapped the blanket tighter around your shoulders. 

“So what? You stay awake forever? This isn’t sustainable,” Steve argued, arms crossed over his chest as he sat propped on the table across from your hospital bed. 

You rolled your eyes and continued to drink.

“No, it isn’t,” Owens agreed, face stuck in the pitying frown you possibly had never seen him without. 

“So we need a solution,” Hopper grumbled. Your nurse pulled his cigarette from between his lips and slipped it back into his pocket before scribbling stats onto her charts. 

“I feel like it’s pretty obvious,” you said, trying to ignore the fear that rocketed through you. “We nuke it all. Ether goes to Hell with me inside.” Destroy the host, destroy the parasite.

“No.” 

“Absolutely not.” Steve and Eddie snapped in unison. Eddie was seated at your bedside, knuckles gripping his walker so hard you thought it might snap.

You closed your eyes, steadied your breath. “I appreciate that you want to protect me, but let’s be realistic here. We don’t have any other plans, and if he latched onto Vickie and then onto me when she died, it seems like I need to take care of this.”

“You’re right,” Nancy said from her seat beside Steve. His jaw ticked, and you avoided his glare. “We don’t have any other plans, but we can’t just nuke the Upside Down.”

“The infrastructure doesn’t support that. We blow the place up, the entire Midwest could crumble into the Earth.” Hopper rubbed at tired eyes.

“We shouldn’t make our plans in front of you,” Eddie grit his teeth, his good leg bouncing. “He can hear and see everything you can. He’s in you, but he’s in all of them too.” 

You could feel them: claws and teeth and bloodlust. A shiver wracked through you, that breath of cold air to the base of your skull.

“He’s right. We can’t risk an ambush walking in there.”

Something firm in Nancy’s voice had your heart pounding, that panic clawing its way up and out. Control was swiftly being removed from your reach, one way or the other. “We don’t know that.”

“That’s what he does,” Eddie’s voice matched Nancy’s. He ran a tired hand down his face. “He listens to you, knows your every thought. He listens to the people you care about the most, and then he hurts them. He makes you hurt them.”

You reached a hand to his, but he recoiled from your grasp. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and you saw fear in those big, brown eyes. Eddie was terrified. You swallowed back the emotion that rose in your chest and replaced your trembling hand to your coffee cup. “If you can’t discuss plans with me in the room, can I be dismissed to my quarters?”

Sighs were exchanged all around you. Owens looked over your vital chart, and you watched him make eyes at Hopper. Hopper scratched the mustache on his upper lip and nodded.

“No leaving the compound, and for now, no sleeping.”

“I’ll go with you,” Steve stood from his lean, arms out to help you off of the hospital bed as a nurse went about unplugging you from the beeping machines.

“Harrington, we’re going to need you and the full Scorch team. Munson, you too.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve gestured your direction. “She wants to nuke the Ether with herself inside it. We can’t trust her to be by herself.” 

His words rang true, but you couldn’t help the sting of betrayal that settled somewhere within you. 

“She won’t be alone.” Hopper said, flashing you a smile that filled your with an equal amount of unease.

—

The steady ba-dunk ba-dunk ba-dunk of a tennis ball against hard wood flooring echoed your heartbeat. Over-caffeinated, the tips of your fingers tingled, and your legs bounced in tandem as you sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Bob Marley, man. One Love.” Argyle slammed the tennis ball against the ground beside you, and it bounced and hit the concrete wall. You caught it on the rebound.

“Solid choice,” you nodded. Your mouth was dry, and the way adrenaline pumped through you felt the exact opposite of Argyle’s chill demeanor in a moment like this. He seemed entirely unbothered by the horrifying aberration attached to your psyche. 

He caught your throw. “Yeah, dude. That’s what it’s all about. We stick together, and he can’t win.”

You glanced up at the man beside you, long hair tucked back beneath a camouflage hat. He’d been dragged from his home, his life, the calm of slinging pizzas, and how he’d maintained the positive look on life, you’d never understand. 

“Did someone call a babysitter?” A voice called from behind you.

“Hey, Buckley, what’s your Vecna song?” Argyle called, tossing the tennis ball in the air a few times.

“Steve Miller Band, Joker, obviously,” Robin responded, shoes clacking against the hard wood upon her approach. You couldn’t face her immediately, catching that bit of flame in your periphery, but eventually she kicked at your knee with her toe, pulling your attention to the sad look in blue eyes. 

“Right on,” Argyle approved of her response. You knew it was a lie.

“You hungry?” Robin asked, extending her hand to help you up. 

With a sigh, you took her grasp and lifted yourself from the ground. Your stomach had growled at the mention of food, unable to keep anything down in the passing days in Quarantine. 

“Wish I could go with you, space cowboys, but I have a Scorch meeting to attend,” Argyle tapped at the watch on his wrist and tossed you the tennis ball. 

You caught the bright green fuzz and squeezed, offering him a wave. “Thanks for watching me.” 

The man crossed to you, enveloping you in a surprise hug, tight and warm. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you, bud.” He muttered into your ear before giving Robin a quick kiss to the forehead and exiting the small court. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you finally greeted Robin, adjusting the sweatshirt over your shoulders as you followed Argyle toward the hallway. 

She elbowed your side. “I don’t think you really get a say anymore.” 

You know she was teasing, but you’d been stewing for hours. Your jaw ached from being clenched, and your mind raced with your heartbeat of all the possibilities they could be discussing in their meetings a few floors up. You knew none of them would make the right call. “So I don’t have control over what’s going on in my subconscious, and I’m not allowed to make conscious decisions for myself either? How is that fair, Robin?”

“Sometimes life isn’t fair.” Her tone was ice-cold. The polar opposite of Argyle’s warmth, she stopped you dead in your tracks in the center of a dim hallway.

You half-expected her to grow a long claw, to be a part of this never-ending nightmare, but when you turned to face her, it was just Robin. It was just that beautiful woman that spent two years of her life loving your best friend for you to rip her away. 

“Vickie died for his cause, whether she meant to or not, she didn’t leave us a choice.” She said, fists clenching around the satchel strap across her chest.

Your own hands shook at your sides. 

“So, yes, we have to keep an eye on you, so you don’t run away and do the same thing.”

Light from the adjacent room cast in her soft yellows, the same, sickly pale that clung to the concrete walls of this cold building you’ve called your home for years now. Now it felt like a prison, and Robin a well-dressed guard. 

“Robin…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The hurt in her eyes struck you like wind on a crisp day, sucking the air from your lungs. 

“What happens if you die like Vickie, huh? Then Steve gets flayed? Eddie? What was your plan?”

You grit your teeth at the accusations, clenched your fists. “You know I’d never hurt them.” 

“I know,” she snapped, like you’d been the insinuator, “but you have to consider the consequences of hiding this from the world until you burst and Vecna himself comes slithering out in the form of a giant flesh monster.”

Another chill wracked through you, familiar, a buzz at the base of your skull. 

Robin took a few uneasy steps toward you. “Can he hear us?”

You swallowed, shrugged, though a tickle above your earlobe said yes, said absolutely, said speak.

Your friend crossed to you, and for a moment you thought she might avoid you, like Eddie had, but instead, she pressed a warm palm to your cheek. Her other hand reached for your fist at your side. Her blue eyes were fierce, steadfast, terrifying. “We are going to burn him out of you, and he’ll have to watch in agony as his world burns around him.”

Fear hung in her chest at your promise, settled right above the rapid beating of your heart, more fear than you’d ever felt in the Ether, staring down the barrel of a flamethrower at a monster, even in your nightmares.

Robin blinked, laughed back the emotion that threatened to spill. “Sorry, I just really love you, and I don’t want to imagine a world without you in it.”

This time, the emotion bubbled up your esophagus because you weren’t sure if she was talking to you or to Vickie.

She waved it off with another laugh, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. “Let’s go get lunch in the caf exactly like we used to, in a safe space where I don’t have to be the only one to keep my eyes on you. Sound good?”

You wanted to talk, to tell her Vickie loved her, to apologize again for all that you’d done. The feigned smile on her face told you she was done. You nodded.

“Good.” She linked your arms at the elbows and tugged you in the direction of the caf. 

—

Scalding water cascaded over the aches in your shoulders and back. You’d turned the faucet too high, steam enveloping the ladies’ locker room, but you needed it to hurt. You scrubbed yourself raw, wanting to rid yourself of the sweat and grime that had clung to your flesh in quarantine. You needed to wash it all off of you.

You kept your eyes trained on the cold, white tile ahead of you, on the in-laid shiny chrome knobs. If you closed your eyes, you’d see ice cold landscapes full of vines, you’d see the slam of garage door on its hinges, you’d see the terror and fury in Vickie’s eyes.

You grit your teeth and tipped your head back, allowing the water to pummel your brow, your cheeks, that surge ripping through your stomach, begging for air, but you lingered just a second longer, pushing through the guilt and pain and the need to scream. 

A door slammed, followed by the sound of heavy footfall, and you sputtered, stepping out of the spray to catch your breath.

“Where the Hell have you been!?” Harrington’s voice echoed against tile, his head and shoulders visible above the row of tiled stalls. 

Instinctively, you covered yourself and glanced throughout the room to find yourself alone. “Where does it look like I’ve been, Harrington?” You snapped, turning your back to him to rinse your front. 

“Robin said you’d be in your dorm. I’ve been looking for you for an hour.”

“I was taking some gym time. That okay with you, Warden?” You shot over your shoulder. 

His shoulders rose and fell, and he ran both hands through his hair. It stuck up at odd angles like he’d been doing that all day. His eyes were bloodshot, face already shiny from the steam that enveloped the room. “We were worried you ran off and did something stupid.” 

You scoffed. “Good to know I have your confidence.”

The sound of frustration that escaped him roiled in your stomach, unearthed something deep, something familiar. “That’s not…” 

You glanced over your shoulder again to watch him chew on his words. You couldn’t decide if he was searching for another retort or finding a way to hold it back, and it felt good. You delighted in the competition, in catching his tongue. Your friendship used to be this, a playful back-and-forth. 

“No, I get it, Harrington,” you turned under the water again, feeling the pressure weaken from prolonged use. You gargled water and spit it into the drain at your feet. “I can’t be trusted.”

“I didn’t say that.” He huffed.

“No, really,” you bit back the smirk that was beginning to tug at the corners of your mouth. “You never know when I could do something incredibly…” You slapped off the faucet and stepped out of the stall into the aisle to face him. “Foolish.” 

The end of your word fell from your mouth with a whisper when you caught the look on his face.

Harrington’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened, though they stay trained on your face. He stood ten, maybe twenty feet from you, hands to his hips, stance wide, shoulders square. 

Your entire body caught ablaze, cooler air pebbling every inch of you, but you couldn’t cower now, couldn’t shield yourself, exposed and raw in front of him. 

After a prolonged silence, the drip of the faucet against tile floors, he moved. With slow, measured strides, the squeak of rubber soles against wet tile, he closed the distance. 

You sucked in a breath and held it, the warmth of him flooding your senses all at once.

Maintaining eye contact, he reached beside you for your government grade towel, and it wasn’t until he held it out for you to take, did you notice the quick sweep of his eyes along your frame.

Your hands shook receiving the towel and covering your front, hoping to hide the burn in your cheeks with dry terry cloth as you dabbed at droplets on your nose. 

Harrington turned his back to you then, and you watched the red that crawled up his neck and to his ears from the collar of his shirt. “When I couldn’t find you,” he cleared his throat, brought his hands up to scratch at that little row of stitches starting to heal, “I panicked.”

You warmed at his confession, the tidal of an adrenaline rush crashing into something softer, waves along a shoreline. You dried your body and reached for the pile of clean clothes, slowly stepping into them. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, pulling the drawstring on your pants.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re in prison,” again, the soft tone to his voice sent a chill through you. 

You pulled a sweatshirt over your head and reached for him, pausing to stare at the back of him for a moment, broad shoulders and shaved neck, hair a mess on top. He seemed taller than you remembered, maybe it was the boots on his feet. Your fingers came into contact with the dip of his tricep, warm under pruned fingertips. 

He turned, and you felt yourself heat again at the quick one-over flick of his eyes before he met your gaze again. The honeyed brown was still dark, that crease in his brow remained, but you perceived the smallest uptick of the corners of his pink lips when he asked, “You hungry?”

—

Loneliness sunk in like a hot blade through butter. You ate dinner surrounded by friends, and you still felt sequestered, miles away. Maybe it was the exchanged looks on their faces, the pitying glances when they thought you weren’t looking or wouldn’t notice. Maybe it was the way they spoke of their shared future when this was all over, the one you weren’t sure you’d be there for. Something sliced right through you and cauterized the wound. 

Even as you climbed the spiral staircase, trailing two steps behind Harrington, the vacuous concrete loomed in ways you’d never experienced until now. The compound felt vast, a labyrinth of memories you’d rather not dwell on lest they be used against you in your subconscious. 

The prospect of stepping into your room and the door closing behind you had your heart racing. So when Steve held his own door open and nodded for you to join him, you didn’t argue. 

His room was warm and tidy and smelled of his aftershave. His sink was void of dishes, the little countertop holding various tubs and tubes of toothpaste and hair product. His bed was unmade, in a way that looked enticing, cozy, a clump of blankets bunched near the foot to expose the indentation of his frame. A few books were stacked on the bedside table near that secret pair of glasses he kept folded beneath a lamp. 

He crossed the room and turned on a little clock radio, shifting through the static until an unfamiliar pop crooner’s voice filled the little space. You wondered if this was a habit he’d always had, or if he thought it’d keep your parasite at bay.

Then, he opened his wardrobe to retrieve a matching sweatshirt to your own, pulling it over his head. He popped from the collar mussy haired and yawning. He caught his yawn in his hand before rubbing at tired eyes. He reached across the bed for his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose, bleary eyed. 

You shifted on the balls of your feet, lingering just inside the threshold. 

He filled up a couple red plastic cups of water, checking the temperature on his hand first. He set them both on the rickety tabletop, gesturing for you to come join him, before he pulled a deck of cards from a nearby drawer full of pens and paper.

“Any - “ He stifled another yawn, shaking it off with a frown. “Sorry. Any good at Slap Jack?”

The circles under his eyes looked darker in this light, accentuating the yellowed bruise on his cheekbone you’d given him nearly a week earlier. His shoulders slumped, and his hair stood on end. He looked ragged, run through. 

You rolled your eyes. “Harrington, go to bed.” 

“What? No. I’m fine,” he shrugged you off, pulling out his seat to dump the deck into one hand. He began to shuffle, and you watched him with crossed arms. “Will you come sit down?” 

“When’s the last time you slept?” You asked, toeing out of your sneakers and leaving them at the door. 

You didn’t like the look he gave you. The last time you’d run into his room in the middle of the night, he was up and reading. That was nearly a month ago. Hairs prickled at the base of your skull.

Caught, he shrugged it off, kept shuffling. “Last night, whenever.” You knew he’d spent last night sneaking in to see you. 

You leaned forward and peeled the cards from his hands, straightening the deck before sliding it back into its box. 

He shot you an irritated look, crossing his arms over his chest.

You challenged his with a look of your own, tossing the cards back to the tabletop. 

Finally, he spoke, voice soft. “I can’t.” 

You swallowed. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer, only traced your frame with big brown eyes. 

Self-conscious, you adjusted your sweatshirt as it fell over your shoulders. The ribbed hems of your sleeves were frayed from use. A big yellow stain splotched the left side of your chest, source unknown and impossible to wash out. Now clean and dry, you were sure you looked only slightly less haggard than the man in front of you. 

“I’ll stay up with you,” he offered, a polite way of saying he was terrified of letting you fall asleep. 

You shook your head. “I won’t fall asleep.” It was a polite way of saying you were terrified too. “Besides, I don’t feel very safe knowing you’re running on fumes.”

You avoided his gaze by looking back around the space, finding some escape, some trick. You spotted the stack of books near his bedside, and crossed the tight space to pull The Shining from the middle of the stack.

Steve grumbled your name, rubbed at tired eyes from beneath the rims of his glasses. 

You lifted his pillow, floppier than your own, and propped it against the radiator he used as a headboard. Holding your breath, you climbed into his space on the bed, folding your legs in front of you and patting your lap. “C’mere.” 

He blinked back at you and didn’t move, sideways in his chair, rooted to the spot. 

You held your book aloft, flipping to a random page. “This book is terrifying. I’ll be too scared to sleep, but if I do…” You feigned sleep, a bit melodramatic, like you were acting a skit to convince a child, and you dropped the book into your lap. “It’ll wake you up.” 

You blinked one eye open to catch the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. He scratched at the back of his neck. “You want me uh…” He pointed at your lap.

You warmed, wondered what the hell you were thinking, and licked your lips before you nodded. “Sure.” The word came out with a tight breath. 

Again, he didn’t move. He stared at his feet for a moment, as if willing them to pick themselves up, and then with a sigh, he reached to untie the laces of his boots before he stepped out of them. 

Your heart began to race, the steady drum behind your sternum that heated your chest, your throat, your cheeks. 

He stood, and took slow strides toward you, stopping at the foot of the bed. He scratched at his jaw again before mumbling, “Are you sure?” 

You nodded and shifted again, a vain attempt to become more comfortable, more accommodating. 

With a series of loud sighs, he fell to the mattress, the whole thing bouncing under his weight until he managed to crawl and roll his head into your lap. He hesitated to rest the full weight of his head on your thigh, so you placed a stiff hand to his shoulder to encourage him to relax. He was warm and heavy, but not uncomfortably so. 

“Want me to put your glasses up?” You asked, suddenly self-conscious about everything at this angle. 

“Hm? Oh.” He pulled the frames from his nose and folded them, placing them in your outstretched hand. 

You replaced them onto the beside table and adjusted your hips with a mumbled apology. 

Steve was too long for the bed, socked ankles and feet dangling off the far end. He still wore his tactical pants, all straps and pockets and buckles, and the collar of his sweatshirt scrunched up around his jaw. He sat up a little to pull his sweatshirt down and tried to settle to a softer part of your leg.

“Do you need a blanket?” You asked, tugging at the army green fleece. You hated how breathy you sounded, how your voice betrayed you every time. 

He shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m okay. Are you sure?”

You snorted, lifted the book high enough to hide your face, and said, “Harrington, go to sleep.” 

“Okay,” his skull rumbled against your thigh. “But if anything happens.” 

“I will happily smack you with this book,” you lifted it higher to glance back down at him. 

His eyes were closed, but the corner of his lips quirked upward. His eye lashes were so long, casting shadows on freckled cheeks, pinched rosy in the heat or embarrassment of your positions. 

You swallowed and flipped the book to the front page, lest he open his eyes again and catch you staring. You pretended to read until his head grew heavy, and the steady rise and fall of his chest came out in near imperceptible snores.

Despite the warmth emanating from him, something deep in the recesses of your mind reminded you how alone you now were. 

The radio remained on beside you, pop songs you’d let fade into the background. The clock told you it was late into the night, and the lack of sounds from the hall exemplified that. You wondered if anyone could hear you call for help.

You closed the book and added it to its stack, glancing around the room for signs it was real, that you were there and you weren’t alone. 

Harrington rolled, cheek to your thigh, breath fanned hot and wet against the soft cloth of your sweatpants. His fists unclenched from beneath his biceps, and he stretched one large hand under your calf. He was real, and he was there. 

He always had been, just as he promised. Late nights nose-to-nose, exchanging secrets and promises and breath had all come to this. He’d kept you as safe as he could, and you did the same. Every time you needed him, he’d appeared with strong arms wrapped around you, brow crumpled in concern.

In the past two years, you were sure you’d only seen him this relaxed, this content, once before. Careful not to wake him, you tucked his hair up and out of his face.

—

Eddie frowned over his white ceramic mug while he slurped.

The morning crowd had since dispersed, leaving the caf in silence, but at your over-caffeinated state, your mind was lost in a cacophony of sounds: the squeak of sneakers against the linoleum, the brush of a flat broom into a pile in the corner, the clang of dishes being washed somewhere in the back, the rattle of screws in the table leg as your leg bounced with reckless abandon. 

Eddie set his mug to the tabletop, the silver rings around his finger tinkling the bottom of the cup.

You wrapped your knuckles against the table, unable to stop moving, too overstimulated, too anxious, too much kinetic energy.

Eddie stared at your knuckles for a moment. You watched his jaw tick.

You shuddered and reached for your lukewarm cup of coffee. 

Eddie snatched it out of your fingers, and it tumbled to the table with a surprising bounce, casting brown liquid across orange tabletop. “Shit, sorry,” he grumbled, and stood to grab a wet rag from a nearby table to clean up the mess. 

“Munson, what the hell, dude?” Harrington stood and swiped coffee from the crotch of his pants. His chair groaned against chipped flooring, snagged on a lifted tile.

You reached out to grab the back before it went teetering to the floor.

“She’s tweaking out!” Eddie gestured to you, juices from the wet rag spattering your cheek. “Reminds me of my old man.” 

“Is that why you won’t even look at me?” You snapped, mopping your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. 

“No,” he pointed at you. “I won’t look at you because you’ve got a fucking monster living inside of you, and I’m sorry I can’t coddle you like Harrington does.” 

“Hey!” Harrington argued. You noticed his shoulders started to square in defense, stepping between you.

“No, dude, fuck off. I don’t want to hear it. She doesn’t need you to be her knight and shining armor. It’s not that deep.” Eddie waved him off with the shake of his head, curls falling over slumped shoulders. He gripped his walker and looked directly at you. 

“You can’t seem to understand that your shit affects the people around you too. We can talk once you’ve figured that out.” He pushed off from the table, and you heard the squeak of rubber pads against flooring as he left.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but you tugged on the elbow of his sweatshirt until he stepped aside. He frowned down at you, obstinate, but you placed a hand to his chest, and he seemed to soften.

“He’s right,” you said.

“Doesn’t mean he has to be an asshole about it.” 

You shrugged, catching a snap of anger at unsuspecting recruits in the hallway. “We’re all on edge.” 

After another long moment, the crash of tin cans sounded, followed by a series of shouted curse words. A trash lid rolled by the caf double doors. You took a deep breath. 

“You’re the only one who understands what he’s gone through,” Steve muttered.

You hoped he felt the animosity in your expression. You hoped he couldn’t sense how your shoulders relaxed when he tugged at the elbow of your own sweatshirt. 

He nodded toward the hallway. “Go talk to Munson. He’s been really shit in the War Room, and I think it’s because he’s worried about you.” 

You groaned, stamped your feet, but slowly let them carry out away from the smell of stale coffee and cleaning chemicals. 

You found him a few floors up. He’d taken the elevator to the offices, and had settled into a rolling chair behind an oversized desk that would have been reception at a busier time. He looked up as you entered, rolled his eyes, and leaned back with arms crossed over his slender chest. 

“Hey,” you crossed your arms over your own chest, a challenge. You stopped a few feet from the desk. You could hear Hopper’s mumble just beyond a dented steel door down the hall. 

“Hello,” Eddie countered. “What do you want?”

“Apparently my shit affects the people around me.”

He didn’t smile at that. Instead, he sighed and adjusted himself on the chair. The gears squeaked under his weight. 

You grit your teeth through any need to keep pushing his buttons and rubbed at exhausted eyes before you took a few steps forward to the front panel of the desk. You leaned over it, two fists to the tabletop, and muttered. “His plan is to keep reminding me that I’ve murdered everyone who ever loved me. Why perpetuate that by letting me think you hate me too?”

“Shit,” he grumbled and pawed at his own face, scrubbing at the stubble that had grown on his chin. He looked about as rough as you all had, and you knew he hadn’t slept the night before either. “I don’t hate you,” he hissed, though he did back the chair up a few more feet until he hit the wall. 

“I know,” you stood back up. “I just wanted to make you feel shitty for ignoring me for the past two days. You know, I’d feel a lot less hopeless about my fate if the one person who knew what I was going through wasn’t, I don’t know, terrified of me?” 

His gaze softened, big brown eyes turned downward as he gnawed on the cuticle of a nail that you’re sure had been shredded. “It’s not you,” he said through his teeth. “It’s the other dickhead.” He gestured toward your head, but his eyes went somewhere far-off, somewhere full of beasts and burned woods and horror.

“He can’t get you, Eds,” you shrugged off the sharp pain in your shoulder, the gnawing at your spinal cord.

“You don’t know that,” he whispered.

Another sting strung through you, like fingers plucking your strings, and you closed your eyes through the pain, pushed through. “How did you get out of it before? This… mindfuck, how did you escape it?”

Eddie shrugged, shook out his curls. “I don’t know.”

Panic at the familiarity of having questions unanswered began to claw at your insides, and you snapped, slamming your hands back down onto the table. “Don’t bullshit me, Munson. You guys are plotting how to get this parasite out of me. You won’t let me sleep. I need to be babysat at all times by people who are afraid of me. I’m not a child! Teach me how to defend myself against this.”

“What in the Hell is going on out here?” A gruff shout preceded the creak of a door on its hinges, the stomping of boots from down the hall. When Hopper caught sight of you both, his shoulders relaxed in a sigh.

“We’re just screaming about our impending doom,” Eddie explained, that sardonic grin spreading across his features. 

Hopper made eye contact with you and cocked a brow, frown-unmoved by Munson’s sarcasm. “You okay?” 

You shrugged, shoved your hands in your pants pockets. “You guys figure out how to get this asshole out of me yet?” 

Hop made eyes at your best friend, and the two of them exchanged cryptic glances before he said, “Working on it. Is there a reason you’re fighting outside my office?” 

Eddie looked at you, and you thought he was expecting an answer until his smile fell, and you watched the sadness pierce his brown eyes. “No, sir,” he said, “I was just coming to ask how soon we could get back into the War Room.” 

The old man looked between you two again. “Twenty minutes sound good?” 

Eddie sighed, rubbing at tired eyes. “Better make it thirty.”

With a salute, Hopper turned and walked back to his office, floor squeaking beneath his feet. 

Eddie pulled himself off his chair and started making his way back toward the elevators. You gave him a wide berth, until he gestured for you to catch up, and you did so tentatively. 

The doors buzzed open when the lift arrived, and you both stepped inside. It quaked a little under your combined weight, but managed to start its ascent the moment the doors closed again. The mechanics whirred a little, and the little box smelled of hot metal. 

“Dustin sang to me.” Munson broke the silence. His hand was trembling, rings clanging against the metal hand-hold of his walker. “I beat the ever-loving shit out of him. He almost died at my hands, and he was laying there, bloodied, face-swollen, and he started singing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You remembered seeing Henderson afterward. You remember visiting him in the Med Bay, of seeing the pain everyone had suffered at the hands of this monster. “What did he sing?” 

Eddie snorted, rolled his eyes. “The Never-Ending Story theme.” 

The halt of the elevator stifled the chuckle you emitted at the image, and you reached a hand to hold the door open for your friend while he exited into a dark hallway.

“Yeah, it was so stupid, but all those little shits were there, and they were telling me stories about Hellfire,” he continued, pushing forward toward mid-morning light cast across pale yellow walls. “They remembered shit I’d forgotten about, and they talked about these characters like we were all there living it. Like we’d destroyed Lord Vecna with swords and axes and a slingshot.”

The mention of his name brought ice-cold to the warmth of your chest.

“So I think it was all of those memories. That’s what snapped me out of it: those weird ass kids and the stupid tabletop game we played after school.”

The idea itself was heartwarming, wholesome, and you ought to be inspired, happy even, that these kids managed to rescue your best friend from the brink. Somehow, the only thing that came to mind was a shock of red hair, black smoke, ash and char and agonizing screams.

“Stop,” Eddie stopped and reached out to grab your hand. “I know you’re thinking about Vickie right now, and you couldn’t have saved her. You didn’t know, and she didn’t know.”

His hand was warm, and a bit damp, and his eyes were fierce. 

“Think about all of the good times you had with her. Think about all the times I knocked on your door to find you two whispering and cackling. Think about all the fights we’ve gotten into about music. Think about Robin’s horrible taste in ice cream. Think about how good it feels to kiss Harrington. Think about how stupid Hopper looks without a mustache.” 

You laughed, a barked thing that stung at emotional-filled vocal chords, and batted at the grin that formed on his stupid face.

“Ow,” he chuckled, shoving you back, hard enough to have you stumbling backwards slightly, and he zoomed around a corner before you scrambled to catch-up, still chuckling.

Light poured in from adjacent windows, across the common area. The soft curls atop his head glowed in sunlight and warmth, and before you could stop yourself, you swung your arms tight around his slender waist and buried your face into the sweet sting of marijuana that lingered in his t-shirt.

He stumbled a little, tensed, but quickly relaxed into the embrace, folding his arms around you too. “We’re not going to let him win, damnit. Fucking promise me.” 

You grit your teeth and nodded, that uneasy pull settling into your shoulders like wings. “Promise.” 

—

Day slipped to night, and you watched pale yellow hallways burn orange and peach with the setting sun. Teams took turns chauffeuring you around the compound, keeping you company and keeping you caffeinated. You tried to keep Eddie’s words at heart, lingering on the smiles and laughter, and you were bid goodnight with hugs and high-fives in the common room just as Scorch was making their way to their respective dorms for the night.

You heard the whispers first, pulling yourself off a barstool to greet everyone with a smile that fell the moment you caught their gazes, their judgment, their disdain. 

Panic dug its claws into your chest. Each of your teammates passed with terror in their eyes until the last two squeezed themselves through the stairwell doorway. Harrington held the heavy steel door open to let Wheeler through.

She spotted you as the others had, jaw clenched, blue eyes fierce. Unlike the others, she crossed right to you. “We’re getting it figured out. You’ll be out of the dark soon, I promise. How’re you feeling?” 

“F-fine,” you swallowed, glanced over her shoulder at Harrington. He was staring at his feet, scratching that scar at the back of his skull. “Tired.” 

Nancy nodded, and glanced over her shoulder before dipping her own gaze to the ground. “Listen, I know I’ve never told you this, but I really admire you.”

Her words stirred something within you, that panic kicking back up again, all claws and teeth and gaping mouth. “What?” Your mouth felt dry. 

She looked up at you then, shrugged, the softest smile quirking at the corner of her bow lips. “You were an amazing team lead, and you had to make some horrific decisions, I can’t imagine…” She cut herself off, cleared her throat. “I just think you’re really brave.”

You managed to thank her, somehow, though you were stunned, and she bid you both a goodnight.

You stared at her back as she retreated, curly hair cascading over her petite shoulders. Even now, in the glow of an Exit sign, she stood tall, proud.

“C’,mon,” Harrington gestured for you to follow him, hands shoved into his pockets. He still hadn’t made eye contact with you, and the panic crawled on all-fours up your esophagus.

“Harrington,” you hissed, pulling your keys and lanyard from your pocket as he stopped beside you dorm room door.

“Can I come in?”

Your hands trembled unlocking your door. You room was stale, cold. You kicked off your shoes near the door and hung your key on its hook by the door. Harrington crossed to your radio to flick it on, static breaking through tracks until he found a station he was satisfied with.

“Harrington,” you hated the way your voice wavered, fear chattering your teeth. “You have to tell me if I’m going to die.” 

He looked up at you then, brow crumpled. “You know I won’t let that happen.” 

“You might not have a choice!”

“Stop saying that!” His volume matched yours, and his own fists shook at his sides, and his tone warmed you. 

That same excitement, the familiarity of a fight kicked up in your chest. You rolled your eyes. “Harrington…”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m sick of you saying you’re going to give up on me. I’ve put everything into keeping you alive, and you go and say shit like that and make it all feel meaningless?”

The excitement fluttered, wavered, burned out, a flame doused with water to drown it with reality. You swallowed, frowned, ground your molars until something ached in your jaw.

“I promised - ” 

“Cut the bullshit,” you snapped. “We all made promises to her, but she’s dead now, okay?” 

“I’m not talking about Vickie.” He cut you off again. 

Your ears rang in the silence of the room, the steady thump of your heartbeat, the in-and-out of your breath.

“I promised you,” his jaw tightened, “that night, in my room, when we fell asleep, you told me you were scared of all this, and that you couldn’t tell Vickie how scared you were because you had to be brave for her. Do you remember that?”

Secrets were exchanged nose-to-nose, mixing breath warm, gentle circles drawn with thumbs on bare thighs, promises made. 

“I told you I’d be brave for you. I promised I’d keep you safe.”

He had muttered the words to your forehead, soft lips to your brow as you dozed off, dreaming only of fire and ash. 

“I’m trying so hard to be brave here,” he stepped toward you painfully slow, the creak of boots against linoleum. “But it’s hard when I don’t know if I can keep you safe, and that scares me because I love you, and I’m not letting you go that easily.” 

The table separated you, a rickety excuse for a boundary that teetered under your touch. This was entirely new territory, an attack you hadn’t expected, were unsure how to navigate. You resorted to comfort.

“I didn’t ask you to be brave for me,” you scoffed, hand trembling against the back of a chair.

Harrington’s eyes remained on you, brow crumpled, less in anger now than something more fragile. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I said I’m in love with you.”

Your stomach swooped, heart clawing to get out with rapid beats, screaming in your ears. “I-I know.” You stammered.

“Do you…” He cleared his throat, fingertips tracing the tabletop dangerously close to your own. He licked his lips and watched you carefully, eyes hopeful. “How do you… I mean?” He gestured wildly, mouth quirking upward in panic.

You chewed back a laugh, something warm and familiar kicking back up. You managed to roll your eyes. “Yeah, Harrington, yes. You can calm down. I’ve been in love with you since I got into your stupid car.” 

“It’s not a competition,” he grumbled, stepping around the table to approach you. He was warm, brown eyes and upturned pink lips. 

“I’m not competing with you, I’m just telling you how I feel. I’m starting to think you’re the one obsessed with competition.” You were rambling, a nervous habit you must’ve picked up from your best friend, tongue running while your heart raced. 

“Will you shut up and let me kiss you?” He mumbled, lashes long and eyes dark. He cupped your face with one strong hand, tracing the curves of your face with his thumb. 

“Okay,” you breathed. Your eyes sunk closed at the pull of his nose against your own, the dip of his cupid’s bow to your own, and when his lips met yours, you could have melted into the floor.

His kiss was sweet, soft, the gentle press of his lips to your own while he cradled your face. When you separated, eyes fluttering open to see him hovering over you, that smile across his features, you found yourself hungry for more.

Gripping the shoulder seams of his t-shirt, you pulled him in for another go, took his gasp for air as an invitation to deepen the kiss. You tasted him, all tongues and teeth as you vied for dominance, and his free hand gripped the elastic waistband at your hip until the material was taut.

He kissed better than you remembered, a wash of warm and safety and heat and passion, but memory still begged for the feeling of your hands in his hair and his large, warm hands on you. 

He sucked in a breath when you scratched at his scalp, gently passing by the healing scar on your way to bury your fingers in the thick of his hair. He hummed into your lips, dropping his hand from your cheek to grip the other side of your sweatpants.

You groaned, tilting your head sideways to allow him to place damp kisses along the column of your throat. “Harrington, put your hands on me.”

He groaned, a rumble deep in his chest that coursed another wave of need through you. “You can use my first name, you know.” He nosed at your earlobe, smile evident in his voice.

“You have to earn it,” you bit back a smile, and yelped when his hands found your ribcage and pushed you up against your cabinets and countertop. The linoleum was cold against the small of your back, and your arms raised above your head for him to pull your sweatshirt up and over. 

He cupped your face again, crowding you with his oversized frame as he pressed himself into you. His lips were soft against yours, soft enough to make you feel vulnerable, taken off-guard. He kissed your cheek where it met your lips and the tip of your chin. He trailed warm, breathy kisses along the curve of your jaw, moving his hands to your shoulders until his lips met them there. 

You watched him, breathless, as his fingers pushed one strap of your tank top down, and you bit back a whimper as his lips replaced the strap at the juncture of your clavicle. 

His hands clutched at your waist band again, and he rocked his hips into yours, and you gasped at the friction of yourself against his hard length.

He pulled back, eyes dark, chest rising and falling rapidly, to gauge your reaction, and it was enough to have you clawing at his t-shirt again. He reached to pull it from the back of its collar, and you shrugged yourself out of your sweatpants, allowing the comfortable fabric to pool at the floor.

You lifted yourself onto the countertop and embraced the heat of his bare abdomen against you as he dove in for another passionate kiss. You clutched at the meat between his shoulder blades, delighting in the rumble of a groan as you dug your nails in and dragged to the base of his skull.

His hands were on you, finally, warm and strong and dexterous, worshiping your waist, your ribcage, your breasts.

You arched into his touch, gasping into his mouth, and he gripped your hips with one hand to pull you to the counter’s edge to grind himself into you again. Your body responded in kind to his touch, pliable.

You leaned your head against the upper cabinets, what few possessions that lived inside rattled.

He kissed your neck and chest, thumb pebbling your nipple, while his other hand massaged from your hip crease to your knee.

You clawed at the expanse of his chest, desperate for him to get closer, but delighting in the feel of his tongue against you until he stopped.

He pulled back, pulling his hand from beneath your shirt to rest on your hip while his other continued slow ministrations along your thigh. You watched as his fingertips ghosted the thick scarring there, five distinct claw marks from ribcage to knee, a part of you now you’d nearly forgotten, invisible under your own gaze. 

You swallowed, suddenly too warm, exposed. You ducked your head, eyeing the curves of him instead, the breadth of his chest, smattering of hair that covered his sternum and trailed down past his navel to disappear beneath his waistband. On either side of his ribs were scars that matched yours, purple and puckered and violent.

“You are brave,” he said, recapturing your focus, voice syrupy sweet, gaze dangerous. “You are beautiful.”

You sucked in a breath as his fingertips ghosted your inner thigh, a trickle of ticklish touches against the softest bits of you until you felt the sweet press of fingertips to your center. 

“Can I touch you?” He muttered. He licked his lips, eyes cast downward. 

“Yes,” you whined, gripping the countertop’s edge, “please.”

His forearm flexed as he moved your underwear to the side, and his thick fingers gathered the slick at your core to coat your folds. “Please who?” He asked.

You almost didn’t catch it, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, but you blinked to the forefront of your consciousness to see the cocky smirk stretched across his features. You bit back a smile and managed half an eye roll before he sunk two fingers into you, the perfect stretch. Your eyes slid closed, and you clung to his forearm, gasping his name. “Steve.”

“Uh uh,” he tutted, “don’t go away. Open your eyes, beautiful. Want to watch you.” 

Your eyes snapped back open, and his cheeks flushed in a wide smile.

“Good girl,” he nodded, and proceeded to take you apart with nimble fingers, watching you ride the wave until you came crashing down, digging your nails into his arms and stars scattered in your eyesight. 

He caught your lips in a sweet kiss, dropping your thigh from his hip with a squeeze. He chuckled as you caught your breath against his chest, spent, and nosed at your earlobe, planting a sweet kiss there too. 

“I hate you,” you grumbled, nipping at his clavicle to hide the smile stretched across your features. 

“Liar,” he countered, rumbling in a hearty laugh. 

“You’re awfully cocky,” you countered, reaching your hand to palm at his hardened length through his pants. 

He groaned and ground against your hand until your mouth watered. 

You gestured behind him, shoving at his shoulders until he gave you enough space to hop off the counter. The linoleum tiles were freezing beneath the balls of your feet. “Get on the bed.”

He stumbled backwards, the grin across his face possibly the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. 

You pulled your tank top from your head and tossed it to the growing clothes pile. “Take off your pants, boots too.” You stepped out of your underwear. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he sat on the foot of your bed to unlace his boots, before standing to frantically paw at the buckle of his belts before he worked his pants down his thick thighs. 

His movements were eager, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you met him where he stood. “Can I help?” You dipped your hand into the waistband of his underwear. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, arms stretched over his head before he pulled you in tight. “Full disclosure?” 

You hummed, wrapping your fingers around him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed your arm to stop your movements. When he looked at you again, he seemed scared. “It’s been like two years…”

You smiled, pulling your hand from his boxers before tugging them all the way down, cock springing free. With his pants around his ankles, you shoved your partner to the mattress, springs groaning under his weight, and you carefully climbed on top. 

“C’mere,” he grumbled, pulling you down to meet his lips in a warm kiss. He snaked his arms around you, large hands running over the curves of your back. “You’re perfect,” he said, squeezing the dips of your hips, rolling you into him. 

You shared lazy kisses and appreciated one another’s bodies with wandering hands and lips. You sat up, hands extended to his shoulders, his pecs, the ripple of abs that twitched with laughter under your fingertips. “Steve,” you whispered, an unfamiliar emotion sticking to your vocal cords.

He hummed, tilting his head to catch your gaze. His brow crumpled in concern. You felt so blessed to see him relaxed, comfortable, safe. 

“I love you.” The tears threatened to spill, and you held them back, holding his hands against your hip creases. ��I love you, and I’m…” Scared, guilty, sad, grateful, heartbroken, fulfilled, home.

“Hey,” he reached a hand to catch your cheek. “I love you, and I promise I’m going to keep you safe.” 

You nodded, kissed the palm of his hand. You maintained his gaze, kissing his wrist, the tips of his fingers, before you centered yourself over him. 

He tangled his fingers in your own and nodded, biting down on his lower lip as you sunk down onto him. 

If you were fire, Steve was water, the sweet swell of calm emotions and tranquility. For every push, he offered soft kisses, for every pull, he hummed praises. You rode the wave through peaks and valleys, and he worshipped your peaks and valleys. He rolled you over, pressing you into the warm woolen fabric of your blanket, and washed over your in warmth and love and devotion. He was all hands and protection and licked kisses, the snap of hips and sweet confessions of love. 

Your body buzzed with overstimulation, aching muscles stretched taut and plied soft again, and you stared up at water-stained ceilings, your surroundings coming quickly back into focus. 

Steve kissed you, mouth sweet with you, and eyes heavy with exhaustion, both satisfied and well-spent. He moved the hair from his eyes, pushing it up and back until it stood on end, and he leaned on one arm to trace circle into your chest, pulling the covers up higher to cover his waist. “Hey,” he whispered, cupping your cheek in his face. “Where’d you go?” 

You blinked back at him, feigning a smile to quell the worry on his face. “You should get some sleep.” 

His face fell, and he glanced over your shoulder at the clock radio. The late night advertisements buzzed back into your periphery.

He rolled onto his back beside you, pulling you into his chest with an arm around you. He squeezed you in tight, pressing his lips to your hairline again and again and again. He felt stiff, the easiness of the last few hours wiped away with one question. 

Anxiety bloomed in your chest, flower-faced with rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, claws at the flesh that hid your sternum. 

Harrington cleared his throat, kissing you one last time before he muttered, “We should get dressed.”

---

[A/N: They're in love!? Who knew!? This chapter was really a labor of love for me, and I'm getting very emotional knowing the next chapter is the last one. This story has honestly meant so much to me. Thank you so much for reading xo]

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Chapter Five: Searing • Chapter Seven: Inferno

[cloudbells]

I think I understand your frustration. Although I was always a Tony fan more than Steve, I love him all the same and his story captivates me. Some time ago, I realized some Stevetony shippers hated Steve when CW came out. Worst part being that, with all the bashing, I was beginning to hate him too. I realized this and decided to stop interacting w the ship for a few years because I wasn't happy with that bashing. Luckily, I came back to find many talented stony shippers/artist who love both Steve and Tony (both their flaws included!). I enjoy CW angst, but I feel sometimes it really makes people bash either Tony or Steve and it pisses me off.

LONG POST

One, thank you anon for the message! Two, I’m actually super curious which post of mine prompted this message lol. I have quite a few both on this account and my main. Third, you actually sent this at a time where I’m pretty passionate about this, so allow me to be a little loose and lengthy with my words for a bit.

CACW was absolute Hell for the stevetony fandom, especially for Steve stans, but in a way, I’m kind of happy I can see just who doesn’t actually like Steve and only liked him on a condition of him being around to be Tony’s buffer. You can see it in the way people write/talk about Steve. They want a blank, playdough character that coddles Tony.

I actually like CACW as a movie. I think the more I analyze how the characters behave and why they do what they do, I like it even more. I’ve said this a few times, but Steve became my favorite after watching this movie. I liked him a whole lot before, but the way he conducted himself in Civil War stole my heart straight from my chest. So when I came online to see that everyone apparently thought he was worse than Satan himself…It was the whiplash of a lifetime. It didn’t make sense to me. It doesn’t make sense to me. Even me, fully being on Steve’s side, didn't hate Tony for what I consider to be slights against Steve in that movie. So where was this visceral hatred for Steve coming from? I just concluded that people already lowkey didn’t like him. Never ask a Stony shipper their opinion on Avengers 1 lol.

I love talking about CW. I have quite a few posts on my stance about it and honestly, I wished more people asked me about CW so I could talk about it, but the reality is that they don’t need to because I already talk about it all the time lol! Everything they want to know is probably somewhere on my page or somewhere on Discord. I think CW has such a huge potential to produce some really good discourse and storylines within the fandom, but people were so blinded by…whatever they were blinded by to see that. I swear, some of the things I see, I’d bet my arm that a lot of people either didn’t watch CACW or watched it once, consumed a bunch of headcanon about it, and then proceeded to talk about it like they personally studied the film and all its nuances. 

Now, in the stony fandom, it’s clear that Tony is the fan favorite. Overall, actually. And I don’t mind that for two reasons: I’m used to liking characters that are somewhat controversial (for the wrong reasons), and I adore Tony. I actually love that man in ways words can’t express. The English language hasn’t evolved with enough intricacies that would allow me to tell you how much I am enamored with him. So seeing that other people love him too? Instant joy. BUT, this runs into the problem when Steve is paired with him because well, we see it.

My irritation comes from people either outright ignoring, mischaracterizing or not understanding Steve in CW. So many huge misconceptions were being spread around like wildfire to the point where some people think that Steve not reading the Accords is canon. They think that it’s canon that Steve only opposes the Accords for Bucky. They think that Steve was being unreasonable or  purposely uncommunicative or outright egotistical in CACW for refusing to sign the Accords. They think that Steve is against all oversight and wants to be a loose cannon. They think Steve is being immature and wants to avoid accountability for anything. They think that Steve was trying to lie to Tony when he first answered that he didn’t know about his parents, instead of it being deeper than that.

Y’know, so many of these same people accuse Steve of being boring and flat, without realizing that they are the ones stripping the nuances and complexities of his characters away from him and then turning around and whining about how one dimensional Steve is. It pisses me off, truly. It especially pisses me off in the stony fandom cause I expected better. If people still actively ship them, you’d think that they would make the effort to understand Steve instead of screeching loudly about how he’s evil AND being wrong about the reasons why he’s evil. 

And the thing is, Steve’s motivations aren’t even confusing. They just aren’t. I've had Steve fans tell me it's confusing so I should ease up, but it isn't and I won't. Do I sound like a bitch here? Perhaps, but I don't care rn. Maybe they’re more subtle, especially considering that CW took the time to spell out all of Tony’s pain and past and guilt and internal conflict to the audience while Steve’s mindset was more so hinted at in his own movie. But let me rant about that later. Steve is the only one shown on screen to be reading the Accords, and then he elaborates a bit on why he’s against them. Despite this, the audience seems to take literally everyone else's word on Steve as law (Rhodey saying Steve’s mindset is a sign of arrogance and fandom parroting about how arrogant Steve is for example) instead of just…paying attention to what Steve says and what Steve does. He actually almost signs before Tony tells Steve about Wanda. And this scene is very important to me. Because Steve was about to decide to just trust Tony, and go all in with him until Tony just told him that his objections to the Accords were already being enacted. So yeah, he reacts the way he did. It’s a shock how close he was to signing away to a document he KNOWS is evil because he read it—

Let me stop before this turns into a CW meta. But, in short, I just hate the bashing of Steve. He of all characters doesn't deserve it. The way people bend backwards to twist his every action into some malicious intention. I’m surprised people haven’t pulled muscles by the way they reach to demonize him. In his own goddamn ship. And y’know what, it’s not even just the Steve mischaracterization that causes this. So many Tony fans willingly mischaracterize Tony just to demonize Steve. But that’s a convo for a different post.

This post was gonna be much, much longer. I had a shit ton I suddenly wanted to speak on, but I decided to stop here lol. I was getting off topic when all you did was express sympathy. Thank you again!

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - October 22

Hey, friends!! I hope you’re having a great week--here’s what I read this week, which is--a short list. Hopefully you find something you like--if so, please remember to comment and kudos! 

~*~ 

you'll wait a long time by nanasekei 

Steve and Tony share a moment during a wedding. Things escalate from there.

-

Alternatively: Four weddings, a funeral, and one very emotionally stunted idiot.

Love Handles by fohatic

Steve notices that Tony really likes to grab onto certain parts of him. He thinks it's just a sex thing, but, like most things with Tony, nothing's ever that simple.

Summer Wine by KandiSheek

Tony had mentally prepared himself for a lot of weird things that could happen on their trip to Asgard. What he wasn't prepared for was a drunk Steve Rogers crowding him against the nearest wall and kissing him within an inch of his life.

Take a Little Love Where You Can by Mireille

There's an alternate version of Tony in Tony's lab.

There's an alternate version of Tony in Tony's lab, flirting with Tony's Steve, and Tony doesn't like it.

He's going to have to do something about it.

Stranded by Neverever

Steve and Tony get stranded in Minot, North Dakota and have to share a hotel room. Tony gets bored and discovers things about Steve.

Screen Test by isozyme

Here’s the scene: Tony’s drunk in the backseat of a car, doing something he shouldn’t.

Shakedown by Sineala

The problem is, Captain America won't stop shivering.

the hope that kills you by meidui

Steve used to go on so much about freedom and choice.

If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose.

Some of the freedom he loved was big, big enough for him to lay his life down for over and over, and some of the freedom he loved was small, like the wind in his hair when he took his motorcycle out, but now he has to sob and take it when Tony sucks a deep flowering bruise where his prison uniform couldn’t possibly cover and whispers in his ear, “Who’s gonna help you now? Where are you gonna run?”

Old Dogs And New Tricks by KandiSheek

Steve discovers the joy of his prostate during a SHIELD required medical exam. He definitely wants to find out more about it. Turns out Tony is one hell of a teacher.

Pull It Up by KandiSheek

Tony temporarily gets Reed Richards' powers. Of course he's going to use them for sex.

No Barriers To Entry by KandiSheek

Silver fox Tony is too old to always get hard when he and Steve have sex anymore. That doesn't mean he can't enjoy himself when Steve sucks him off. Especially when Steve is so obviously into it.

at his side by Areiton

He meets Steve on a Sunday, wearing his old Eagles jersey and shorts so short his Mama fusses at him, and he grins, tousled curls and a devil may care grin, bare-faced and bare foot.

“Hi,” he says, and then, like an introduction is necessary, like the whole world isn’t learning his name, he adds, “I’m Tony.”

how he got here by Areiton

Tony had said, “Do you know how pretty you look, when you’re stuffed full of my cock, Steven?” 

False God by iam93percentstardust 

We might just get away with it

The altar is my hips

Even if it's a false god

We'd still worship this love

~

The first time Steve meets him, Gillian has all sixteen dancers sitting in a circle on the floor of the rehearsal studio, where she makes them go around the room and introduce themselves. Tony is the youngest of them at nineteen, has two cats currently in his sister’s custody, and got his start in ballet before being so inspired by the 1989 tour that he cross trained just in the hopes that one day he could dance with Sharon. Steve had made a note of it in the way that he makes a note of everyone he works with, felt a little old because he had been a dancer on the 1989 tour and now this baby is saying he was inspired by them, and then gotten distracted by the next girl.

between you & me by welcoming_disaster 

In which Tony solves puzzles and Steve punches a wall.

wildfires in the spring by meidui

Steve is pulled out of the ice on a summer morning in 2010.

(“Keep each other alive,” Colonel Fury says when Tony comes to pick Steve up.)

Role of a Lifetime by Annie D (scaramouche)

It’s been almost a year since Tony was rescued from the Ten Rings by SHIELD. In this time, Tony has forged a new path for Stark Industries and taken on a new under-the-radar role as a consultant for SHIELD. Tony’s SHIELD job eventually brings him into contact with the newest Captain America, who’s a pretty cool guy, though for security reasons Tony can’t know his real name or see his face without the Captain America mask. This is also about the time that Tony notices a certain Mr. Stevens, a new hire in SI’s corporate office...

A Just Reward by KandiSheek

Steve is sick and tired of his love life never working out. So he creates the perfect man for him, the statue of Antonio. It would be great if a man like that actually existed in real life.

Turns out there's a solution for that.

[fujotaku-grl]

Rumor has it

It all started when Nancy and Steve broke up. Since then people wondered why they split if they were so compatible with each other.That was when they noticed Robin spent a lot of time with Steve especially near the end of Nancy and Steve’s relationship.Here is where the rumors began. People speculated that Steve left Nancy for Robin.Robin found out about this rumor first by Eve's dropping on a conversation during band practice. She then told Steve who told Nancy who then told Eddie and they all got together to ponder this situation. They all laugh about it because of how ridiculous it is. They decide to go with the flow to see how far it will go. At first they guessed the rumor would die like the past one did but boy were they wrong. When Nancy started talking to Eddie and people were speculating again. The new rumor was that Steve broke up with Nancy to be with Robin, and now Nancy is with Eddie to get back at Steve. The reason the situation was ridiculous was because Eddie and Steve were together (or were romantically interested in each other) and Robin and Nancy were together (or romantically interested in each other) The rumors spread like wildfire in the small town and there is drama.

This can be used to write a proper fanfic because I know I won’t do it (because I procrastinate a lot). If anyone does choose to write a fanfic about this I would like to read it (pls credit for idea tho)

[annachum]

Pepper can literally handle the wildfire issues of the Avengers without ever needing superpowers

She literally becomes a Manager for the Avengers for a reason

Thor would like some energy drinks? No problem, she already has several books ( taking in consideration that he still was navigating how to use Internet then ) about how to make energy drinks and offered him tips on that

Clint's hearing aid got broken by accident? No problem. She forwards that to Tony and a few days later Tony gave Clint a brand new one he made ( with some help of some ear doctors who helped him checking on Clint's ear and such. Clint is especially grateful for that )

Steve wanting to learn some stuff about Gen Z slang? No problem, Pepper gave him a list of books to read about 21st century cultures and such.

Natasha going through a break up with Bruce? Okay, Pepper mobilized all of her girlfriends in tow and they all have a girls' night sleepover at Stark Manor where they sing karaoke, do mani pedi, and such. Meanwhile Tony just invited some dudes to Avengers Tower for a movie night ( Clint's kids went with Clint for that night so the other dudes are also helping out taking care of those kids for that night. It went generally well....with some shenanigans here and there )

Aside from becoming an acting CEO of Stark Industries, she literally becomes a manager for the Avengers, and works to maintain the infrastructure of Avengers tower and stuff

Pepper Potts really is one superhero without needing any super powers

And that is really BAMF power

🤩🤩🥺🥺🥺🤩🥺