#hurt steve

[smerfols]

“Everytime I close my eyes I see their faces.”

“Then keep them open, and look at me instead.”

[imfinereallyy]

you can pry happy endings from my cold-dead hands. It can be the most heart stopping, gut wrenching fic that has every existed and I will read every drop of it if I get my happy ending. I have had enough painful endings in real life, give me happy in my fantasy world. It can be at the last second, it can be a single sentence, even a single word. Give me all the angst and hurt in the world for 500,000 words, but please give me the comfort I need in the ending. please and thank you.

[morganbritton132]

Hopper, after ‘arresting’ seven year old Steve Harrington and eight year old Eddie Munson: Now, sit back there and be quiet

*five seconds later*

Eddie: *stabbing Steve with the foam sword that put him on Hopper’s radar in the first place*

Eddie: Ha! I’ve stabbed you. Now you will die by the blade of the Mighty Eddie!

Steve: *frown*

Steve: Mr Hopper, I don’t want to die!

Hopper: Then don’t

Steve: But he stabbed me.

Hopper: Stab him back.

Hopper: Wait, don’t-

Steve: *stabs Eddie with a pencil*

Eddie: Ow! *loud inconsolable crying*

[hairmetal666]

It's Wayne that goes with him when he buys the truck. He offers to go with him. Uses one of his few days off to do it.

On the way there, it strikes Steve that his own father would never do this with him. The man hadn't even bought the Beemer himself, just sent an assistant to take care of it. And here Wayne is, driving them to a used car dealership, humming along to some old country-western song on the radio.

It takes three dealerships for them to find it, but Wayne is patient, stoic, takes careful note of the cars that catch Steve's interest. He asks the salesman if he can pop the hood, peers at the engine, kicks the tires. He asks questions Steve would never think of, about adjustments to the odometer, history of repairs, if it was in any accidents.

Steve never considered wanting a truck, doesn't think it's his style. But he's walking the lot at the third dealership, and he sees it. It's a Chevy, blue and white, a few years old. It's in good condition, but was obviously used for work.

He walks towards it.

"You like this one?" Wayne asks. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it.

"Yeah, it's--yeah," Steve nods.

Wayne does his checks, asks his questions, gives a nod of approval.

It's the first car he takes on a test drive.

He barely has it on the road before he knows it's the one. It surprises him. He always thought he was his true self in the BMW, but now--the engine has a throaty grumble to it, can feel it rumbling through his foot on the pedal, and it's--it's--perfect.

"This it?" Wayne asks as they pull back into the lot.

"Yeah, yes. It's. Yeah."

"Well, let's get to hagglin."

Wayne is, of course, an expert haggler. By the end of it, he's got a couple thousand dollars knocked off the asking price, Steve more than within budget.

They drive back to Wayne's little house on the outskirts of Hawkins, the one the government gave him, the sun just disappearing behind the horizon.

Eddie stands on the small porch, wide smile on his face.

"Wow, Wayne," he says. He wraps an arm around his uncle's shoulders. "You really did a number on him."

"It's a solid vehicle, Ed."

"Never took you for a truck man, Harrington," Eddie teases.

"Can't you see how gorgeous she is?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow, his smile not faltering. "Wow, it's true love then."

"Looks like it. Wanna come for a ride?"

There's only a second where Eddie hesitates, but then he's running inside to grab shoes, tripping on his way to the truck.

---

It happened like this:

Eddie Munson died in the Upside Down in 1986.

He's reanimated by Vecna for the final battle, a puppet to do his master's bidding.

When they win, when Vecna is dead in a pile of dessicated vines, they can't find Eddie. Scour the Upside Down for him and come up empty. They have to assume he's dead, like everything else there, kept alive only by Vecna's power. None of them want to leave without him, but the world is destabilized, they can't stay, El has to close the gates.

That night, Steve pulls the battle vest from under his bed, sobs into the blood-soaked denim, the grief from the loss just as fresh as March of '86.

He and the kids, they go visit Wayne. It becomes a regular thing.

Two weeks after the end of Vecna, Wayne calls him. He's panicked, near hysterical, nothing like the man Steve's come to know.

He goes, fast as he can, to Wayne's house. All the lights are off, the front door ajar, and he runs, clattering into the living room.

Wayne is in the recliner, face pale and strained, and on the couch--on the couch--

Eddie Munson.

His hair's lank, his skin sallow, the light in his eyes dim, but it's him. Unquestionably.

Steve does the only thing he can think of, calls Hopper. He shows up a little while later with El and Will.

"I called Owens," Hopper says.

"Why would you do that?" Steve is angry.

"Look, kid, I get it. But none of us are equipped to deal with this."

He's right, so they wait.

It doesn't take the doctor, El, and Will long to figure that Eddie is Eddie, even though his heart beats a little slow and his skin's always cold and his blood is slightly the wrong color. He's still at least 75% human, and that's enough.

Only those six people know. It's dangerous to tell anyone else when the world still thinks Eddie Munson is a serial murderer. Owens asks for time to clear his name, and they have no choice but to agree.

After two days, Steve thinks he should give Eddie and Wayne space, but as he rises to go, Eddie's hand grips his wrist. "Stay?" He asks. Steve doesn't leave.

It's hard, keeping the secret from the rest of the kids, Robin. He wants to tell her, more than anything. About how they share a bed most nights, how he's memorizing the shape of Eddie's body in a way he shouldn't, how the gentle desire turns to profound longing--but Eddie's safety is the most important thing, so Steve keeps it to himself.

---

They go out in Steve's truck almost every night, always on backroads. It's the only way Eddie can leave the house.

It's Steve's favorite thing, the only time Eddie seems truly happy. They roll the windows down, turn the music up, and whip around deserted farm roads. Sometimes, Eddie will stick his head out the window, shout out into the night.

Steve is in love with him.

He has no idea if Eddie feels the same, figures it doesn't matter. He'll harbor this flame for the rest of his life without complaint because Eddie is alive.

He thinks he's done a good job at hiding his feelings, thinks he's able to avert his gaze, hide his blush, when Eddie comes out of his room in only his boxers, thinks Eddie hasn't noticed how Steve's eyes linger when they share joints lying in the bed of the truck.

Except tonight--tonight--they're driving back home, and Eddie, he's been quiet, distant, fidgety, and now he reaches out to turn down the radio, which has Steve's stomach in a knot.

"You--Steve, you've been so great. To me and Wayne, and--you're family, you know? To us, you're--but--"

And Steve thinks this is it, that Eddie noticed, that he's being let down easy, and he wants to throw up, cry, but Eddie's still talking.

"You have a life to live, right? You're--you're 23 and you're not stuck here like me, and I know Robin is ready to go and the kids are--they're going to college soon, and you shouldn't stay here for me, I'm--"

"What?" Steve says.

"What?" Eddie echoes.

"I don't want to leave," Steve says.

"But--"

"Where you are is where I want to be."

"I'm in love with you," Eddie says. Cover his face with his hands.

Steve pulls the truck to the shoulder. His hands are shaking.

"You love me?"

"I'm sorry." His apology is muffled. "I didn't mean--I know this fucks up--"

"Eddie." He says, soft. "Look at me?"

One deep brown eye peers up at him. "Eddie, I--I'm hopelessly in love with you."

Both eyes now, mouth a bright curve. "You mean it, Harrington?"

"Fuck, can't get enough of you, Munson."

"You know, if I thought for a second anything like was possible, I would've--fuck, I would've made a move ages ago. I would've--"

"Shut-up," he whispers against Eddie's mouth. "Kiss me."

---

And later, Robin will ask if he has someone, and he'll say yes, and she'll ask, soft, "is it him?" and he'll nod, and they'll both cry.

Later, a news report, Eddie Munson's body was recovered from the bottom of Sattler Quarry, bearing the same wounds as Vecna's other victims.

Later, Chief Powell will hold a press conference, say they're looking for a man named Henry Creel, wanted on suspicion of killing his mother and sister and the aggravated assault of his father with an MO that matches the 1986 killing spree.

Later, Steve will shave Eddie's head, Eddie crying softly as the hair tumbles to the bathroom floor. Steve will kiss the tears away, one by one, say, "I know it's hard to let go. But we'll move away, to a place where people say 'you look like that guy, that Eddie Munson,' and you'll say, 'I get that a lot,' and your hair will grow back, if you want it to."

Later, they'll invite everyone to Wayne's , everyone except Dustin, busy in Boston with an internship, and Eddie will be there to welcome them.

Later, he and Eddie will take the truck, drive up to Boston. And Eddie, he'll spy Dustin first, walks up to him and says, "Pretty metal tattoos, little dude," and they'll all cry until Dustin stops to yell at them for keeping the secret.

Later, Steve and Eddie will leave MIT--Dustin screeching that they have to call him every night promptly at 8pm still ringing in their ears-- in search of their future.

[sp0o0kylights]

Here’s the thing about natural—or unnatural, as it were—disasters.

Regular social norms go right out the fucking window.

In Tommy’s case, all it took was to see one news report, highlighting the burning husk of Starcourt, for him to turn to his girlfriend and ask “Do you think…?”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence.

Didn’t need too—Carol immediately and instantly knew what he was on about.

They were in Tommy’s house, but that didn’t matter. Carol went right for the phone like she owned it (or like she’d been practically raised in said house given she’d known Tommy since he was seven, which meant she might as well own it.)

“He’s not answering.” She reported after a tense moment,

Tommy bit his lip.

“Think he’s still messing around with Wheeler enough to be at her house right now?” He asked, but it was a hail mary and they both knew it.

Carol rewarded his stupidity with a flat stare. “He’s not dating anyone right now, he’s person non grata with that hideous uniform.”

And for other reasons, not that either of them bothered to voice it all.

Tommy opened his mouth again, no doubt to ask something else idiotic in his growing panic, but was stopped by a finger held loftily in the air.

Carol expertly dialed with her other hand, before once again returning the phone to her ear.

This time she got someone.

“Hi Miss Maple, is Mindy home?” 

A pause, and then a rapid-fire back and forth took place, in which Carol:

Assured Miss Maple she was not at the mall.

Was happy to know Mindy was also not at the mall.

Made an appropriate gasping noise upon finding out Mindy had left only an hour before the mall had caught fire and could she talk to Mindy? Pretty please? This is so scary!

--Until Carol was finally connected to Mindy herself.

“No, I'm glad you’re safe.” Carol was saying, after another exchange that to Tommy, felt like some kind of over-complicated girl language where they both made soft reassuring noises until they finally got down to business.

Which in this case, was asking if Mindy saw Steve Harrington, their wayward third, at the mall.

“He was there.” Carol confirmed a scant few minutes later, frown slashing across her face as she hung up the phone. “She said he had the closing shift.” 

Tommy panicked harder. 

“What do we do?”

Carol, bless her, gave him the easiest answer in the world. 

With steel in her eyes, she calmly determined: “We go get him.”

They did.

xXx

Steve was not at the mall. 

One of his obnoxious children was however, and insisted Steve was both fine and had gone home. 

(As if anyone was ever fine after escaping out of a burning building.) 

Lucky for Carol’s temper and Steve both, that proved to be true. 

 “Hello Steven.” Carol greeted the second one of the Harrington’s double doors swung open. “You look like shit.” 

“‘Ro?” Steve asked in blatantly disbelief, squinting at her. 

Give how fucked up one of his eyes was, Carol wouldn’t be surprised if he honestly could’t make her out. 

Steve’s messed up face moved to the left with another blatant squint before he warbled out: “‘Tommy?” 

“Yes, yes, it’s us. Move over.” She flicked her hands into a “shoo” gesture, as Steve dutifully stepped back, allowing them in. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, somehow managing to sound normal for that one singular line. 

Carol beelined right for the cabinet with the medkit, while Tommy went for the fridge. 

“Taking care of you, idiot. How the hell did you get a black eye in a mall fire?” 

Or choke marks, or any of his other wounds she’d taken in at first glance, none of which looked to be a burn. 

It took a long, long moment for her to get an answer, during which Steve had trailed them both to his kitchen, confused but not fighting their presence.  

“Part of the building collapsed. I--there was--” He struggled for a moment, looking lost in his own kitchen. “A lot happened.” 

“No shit.” Tommy snorted, wrapping a  hand towel around an ice pack before dutifully handing it to Steve. 

“Put that on your eye.” He muttered, when all he got was a blank stare back. 

“Oh.” Steve stared at him, without moving. “Thanks.” 

With another loud snort, Tommy shoved it in his hands, then forced Steve to actually put it against his eye. 

An interaction that did not bode well for the state of Steve’s head. 

“Take that disgusting shirt off.” Carol commanded a few seconds later as she finished laying out medical supplies on the counter. Lined them up like little soldiers gearing up to ship out. 

Bandages, neosporin, alcohol wipes and various other little bits and bobs weren’t going to fix whatever the hell happened to Steve, but given his aversion to hospitals, Carol knew this was as good as she was getting. 

“Buy me dinner first, jeez.” Steve grumbled, but thankfully, complied. 

Or tried too, anyway--he seemed to be reluctant to take the ice pack off his eye now that he figured out that's where it should go, and equally seemed to be having issues raising his arms above his shoulders. 

Carol sent a pointed look at her boyfriend, then jerked her eyes in Steve’s direction when the idiot just stared at her. 

“Let me help you.” Tommy said a moment later, right before Carol decided to throw something at him. 

It took them both a minute, during which Carol rolled her eyes twice at their incompetence, but eventually they managed to get Steve’s busted torso out in open air, and the ice pack firmly back on his eye. 

Carol turned to survey the damage, and nearly dropped the bandages she was holding in shock. 

Tommy too seemed at a loss for words, eyes wide at the sheer amount of bruising. 

Steve was a mess.

More than, a mess--this was the worst state Carol had ever seen anyone in, and the fact that he was on his feet still was a fucking miracle. 

‘Staring won’t fix it.’ Carol told herself harshly, and she knew damn well Steve wasn’t going to fix it either unless someone forced him. 

Hence of course, why they were there. 

“Steven Harrington, did you run from the paramedics?” She demanded, as she finally picked her first weapon (a disinfectant wipe) and strode over to begin her battle. “There is no way they let you go looking like this!”

“They had other priorities.” Steve said defensively, then hissed as Carol got to work. 

“You should have been one of said priorities, idiot!” 

Tommy thankfully, had decided to make himself useful by retreating to the other side of the kitchen and pulling various items out of the fridge and pantry. 

Inbetween her runs for more supplies and hissing insults at how fucking stupid Steve was, Carol identified the makings of grilled cheese sandwiches--their little groups go to favorite. 

Which was good, because it both got him out of the way and meant they could get something in Steve’s stomach before she forced every pain pill she had down his throat. 

“I’m fine guys, really.” Steve protested, as if constantly repeating it would somehow make his words true. 

Carol stared deep into his watery eyes, before jabbing a finger into the center of the largest bruise on his side. 

“Carol!” He howled, bending double and away, panting harshly. 

“That,” She informed him with a pitiless stare, “was for lying.” 

Thankfully the damage wasn’t as bad as she first thought--it seemed to be mostly just bruises. 

Possibly a cracked rib or two, at worst. 

The worst of it was Steve’s eye, and of course, his head, because there was no way he didn’t have a concussion amongst all this. 

(Only time would tell how bad it was.) 

When Steve was as doctored up as Carol could make him, she promptly turned and frog marched him to his parents' overstuffed couch.

“Sit and stay sitting, while I clean up.” She ordered, not waiting to see if Steve would obey. 

She passed Tommy on her way back to the kitchen, a plate piled high with food in his hands. 

“Make sure he takes at least a few bites.” She added, low enough so only he heard. 

He nodded, and for the first time since the three of them had fallen out, Carol felt something in her finally relax. 

Figured it was likely the same for the boys, given their dynamic had always been something one step away from a normal friendship. 

(it wasn’t the relationship her mother had once accused her of having, though granted, they had tested those waters once, but something that sat in between ‘family’ and ‘mutual ownership.’ 

Losing Steve had carved something hollow in her and Tommy both. She’d put on a good show of not caring. Pretended it hadn’t cut deep. 

Getting even a taste of it like she was? 

Carol wasn’t letting him go again.) 

Cleaning up took a minute, long enough hopefully, for the pain meds to kick in, and she didn’t feel too guilty when she came back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, next to Steve (and thus putting him in the middle, between herself and Tommy.) 

He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned into her the second she sat down, like he’d been waiting for her to return. There was a pause, like he was bracing to be pushed off, but when she scooted closer, the tension left him in a silent exhale. 

“I missed you.” He whined softly into her shoulder.

She ran her nails through his hair, silently bemoaning the state of it. “We missed you too, Stevie.”

“I want to be friends again but,” Steve sighed, and Carol watched Tommy tense, staring at Steve with such intensity one would think Steve was about to announce whether Tommy would live or die.

(Honestly, her boys were so stupid sometimes.)

“We can't be mean anymore.” Steve finished. “Not me—but also not, not you guys.”

With an (unfortunately) adorable wrinkle of his nose, he added, “We were too mean.”

Carol rolled her eyes, but only when she was certain Steve was paying more attention to her sweater than her face.

“Compromise. I’ll only be openly mean to people who deserve it.” She countered, as Tommy finally relaxed.

“I can be nicer.” He agreed, slowly sinking down into Steve’s other side.

“Way less mean. No--no more pranks or insults.” Steve continued.

Carol nodded. “Not in public.” She agreed. 

She was not giving up her own personality in private, thank you very much. If that made her an asshole that was fine--it wasn’t like she hadn't been told she was nasty before this. 

“And I’m friends with Robin now. So you hav’ to be friends with her too.” 

“Buckley?” Carol made another face, and knew she fucked up when Steve instantly tried to sit up.

“Robin Buckley. She’s really cool, and--” He started, with that kind of stubbornness Carol knew all too well meant he’d made up his mind and would refuse to change it.

“Fine, fine!” She said quickly, though not without an eye roll. “You have got to stop adopting weirdos though. The kids are enough.”

Steve slowly laid back down. 

“You know about the kids?” 

“Steve Harrington, town babysitter?” Tommy said, something teasing threading through his voice. “Everybody knows, man. You give so many rides home your beamer has gained several bus themed nicknames.” 

“Huh. I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Carol snorted, before laying her cheek atop Steve’s head. Tommy cuddled up close to his other side, the same way they all used to before their parents started insisting their cuddle piles were “inappropriate.”  

(That hadn’t stopped them. Nothing had stopped them, until Steve had a crisis of consciousness while dating Wheeler. 

It was only half the reason Carol wanted to put her head through a wall.) 

“That’s what you have me for.” She informed him. 

“Yeah.” Carol could feel Steve’s smile, gentle and radiant as always. “Guess I do.”

A nice, perfect moment followed, the one she knew both her and Tommy had been craving. 

Steve, of course, was a creature who required constant reassurance because his awful, neglecting parents never provided any, and she was prepared when he fought against both his pain and sleep to seek it. 

“You guys promise to be nice to Robin? And Nancy, and Jonathan?” He asked it quietly, like he wasn’t sure what they'd do if they said no. 

“Oh God,” Tommy moaned, “I have to be nice to Byers?” 

 Steve stiffened once again, snapping out; “Yes--” 

“We promise, Steve.” Carol interrupted before Tommy’s giant fat mouth could ruin things.  

She moved a hand down to rub gently at his neck, a soothing gesture. 

Tommy, of course, wasn’t done, because Tommy was a moron. “Wasn’t he the guy Wheeler cheated on you with?” 

“We said we promise.” Carol repeated, steel in her voice. 

Tommy met her eyes over Steve’s head, and was greeted with the steel core of his girlfriend’s ‘do as I say or die’ personality. 

“Fine.” Tommy conceded with a pout. “I’ll be nice to fucking Byers.”

 In a mutter he added;  

“Not happy about it though.”

“That’s okay.” Steve mumbled back, seeming to have finally tired himself out. 

“Go to sleep, Steve. We’ll be here in the morning.” Carol told him.

It was a longstanding fear of Steve’s--that people just left in the night without saying goodbye. 

(Likely because his parents kept doing it.)

It didn’t take long, Steve was the kind of guy who fell asleep quickly. 

It was a nice mend to the hole Steve’s departure in her life had made. Carol hadn’t truly been looking forward to living her life without him. 

She’d get him back however she could.

Even if it meant being nice. 

(Carol hated being nice, but she’d do it, for Steve. 

Well. Less for Steve and more to complete the Tommy-Steve-Carol super trio that Carol had lived most of her life in, at least, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.

Not now, anyway.) 

xXx

Close to a year later, Carol stood with her arms crossed, staring coolly at one Edward Munson, drug dealer extraordinaire and former (even if he was cleared) criminal. 

He grinned at her, the jerk.

With a supernatural slowness, she turned her gaze to Steve.

“I swear to God Steve you better housebreak him before you bring him anywhere near me.” She said, loud and clear.

Hadn’t she warned him about adopting more weirdos!?

Steve winced. 

“Come on ‘Ro, you promised not to be mean.” He wheedled. 

“I promised to not be mean to people who didn’t deserve it.” She shot back, as Tommy, wisely, stayed silent behind her.

(Robin, she noted, was equally quiet on Steve’s other side.

Normally this would raise alarms—Robin was quick to defend people if she thought Carol was being shitty and as a general rule was never quiet, but it would appear in this case she’d already clocked where Carol was taking this.

Smart girl.)

“Eddie doesn’t deserve—” Steve started but she cut him off with a blue tipped nail, shoved right against his lips.

“Not yet he doesn’t. But Munson,” She leveled her glare on him now, and let him feel the weight of it. “If Steve so much as says your name in a sad tone of voice, I will make your life into the kind of hell that Jason Carver can only dream of. Understand?”  

Behind her, Tommy cracked his knuckles, which was overkill and she’d get on his ass later for being dramatic, but presently she was too busy letting Munson figure out just how serious she was. 

Eddie’s gaze traveled from Carol, to Tommy, Robin, Steve and finally back to Carol in an assessment she frankly, hadn’t thought him capable of. 

She pushed him anyway. 

“I’m waiting, Munson.” 

In a somber tone of voice, Eddie replied; “It’s gotten. Very, very gotten.” 

“Okay, I’m lost.” Steve said, because, as always, he was the last person to know he was in love.

Moron. 

“Good. As long as we understand each other. Now.” Carol tossed her hair back with a quick snap of her hand. “Milkshakes?” 

“Robin--” Steve whined, no doubt wanting her to spell things out since Carol was refusing, but thankfully Buckley also seemed to realize staying quiet was the best course of action, and instead of answering quickly got Steve off track with a jab at his milkshake order. 

Which was of course, why Carol liked her.

(She wasn’t about to share that with Robin just yet. Integrating someone into a trio like theirs was delicate business—and she had a sinking feeling Robin might be sticking around, just like Steve and Tommy had.

As for Eddie Munson? 

Only time would tell.)

[lqveharrington]

steve harrington - you are in love <3

congrats on 2k!

You Are In Love | S.H.

summary: you and steve have been best friends forever, but overtime, you both realize that there's something more to your friendship than you both thought there was.

pairing: steve harrington x hopper!reader

includes: fluff, minimal usage of Y/N, oblivious idiots, kissing, el and reader are siblings, robin and max play match maker

a/n: cutie patootie stevie! (rules for celebration here!)

Steve Harrington was the type of man girls would go crazy over. From the way he behaved to the way he dressed, they would do anything to get his attention. Luckily for you, he deemed you to be his best friend since childhood. When Tommy and Carol whined about you always hanging around them in high school, Steve would swiftly change the subject. He really only liked hanging out with you anyway.

When you both graduated, something shifted between the two of you. Without the hindrance of Tommy and Carol, you and Steve were free to do whatever you wanted. Whenever you would hang around him, it felt like time would stop. He kept you on your toes despite knowing him for so long.

Weekly dinners around Hawkins during the year would soon become a tradition between the two of you. In your eyes they were friendly dates, but to the kids, you were practically dating. From the whispers as you hung back with him when taking the kids around the mall to the silver necklace he bought you during the summer — they saw something you and Steve couldn't.

They had to do something about it. Fortunately for them, you both made it quite easy.

"Harrington, are you taking me to dinner today or should we reschedule?" You hop onto the counter of Family Video, crossing your legs and smiling brightly at him. "Henderson told me you might have to drive him home after his DND thing or whatever."

"First of all," He started and pulled your legs to the side, sending you a bored look. "I'm at work and you can't bother me." You jokingly pout and follow his movements, watching him restock the bowl of candies at the front. "Secondly, we're still on for dinner. Dustin can get a ride from Munson."

You throw your head back and laugh, "Ah yes, the shared custody of your child."

He rolled his eyes and looked past your head, narrowing his eyes at Max and Eleven. "Why did the girls want to come here again?"

"Uhm, they said they were checking out a new movie that came out." You shrug and slide off the counter. You look in their direction to find them giggling and whispering about something you almost wanted to know about. Almost. "Anyway, don't miss me too much. I'll see you in a few hours, Harrington."

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of your head and pushed a stray piece of hair away from your face. "I'll see you in a bit, Hopper."

You grinned at him and sent him one last wave before rounding up the girls, dragging them back to your car. Before you could even ask them to buckle up, they began hounding you with questions you never expected them to ask. One of the more odd questions sticking out the most.

"Have you ever slept with Steve?" Eleven asked, making you whip around with wide eyes and mouth agape. Her own eyes widened in fear and looked at you with concern. "What?"

Your face flushed a dark red and you began to stutter over your words, unsure of where the question even originated from. "Well, I— No, I haven't but I'm— I'm sorry? What's happening? Do you even know what that means?"

"That you sleep in the same bed as him." She tilted her head and giggled at your red face. "Is that not what that means?"

Max shook her head but found it all amusing, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows at you. "You seem a little flustered, Hopper. What's up with that?"

"Nothing." You glare at her from your rear view as you pull out of the parking and begin the drive to her house. When Eleven still stared in confusion, you sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. "Yes, I have slept in the same bed as Steve before. And not like that, Mayfield."

"What?"

You shake your head and follow the road down, eyes occasionally flickering up to look at the girls who were still giggling. You didn't understand what they were trying to get at. You've always been able to sleep in the same bed as Steve since an incident years ago, but that was the extent of it all. Sure, you would occasionally sleep in one of his shirts and he would make you breakfast in the mornings, but that was it.

"Have you ever been on a date, Y/N?" Eleven asked again and fiddled with the ends of her sweater, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. "Like the ones me and Mike go on?"

"Uh," You signal and stop at a red light, fingers tapping the steering wheel in an effort to keep your cool. "I have, but it's been a while since I've been on a date."

As you turn, Eleven makes another comment that nearly makes you swerve right off the road. "I thought you and Steve were dating."

You choke on your spit and grip the wheel harder, face redder than Max's hair. Although you knew your sister's words were somewhat innocent, you knew the other girl was behind all the questioning. Steve was nothing but a friend to you. Your best friend. It would be weird to think of him as anything other than that, right?

Since childhood, he was nothing but your best friend. Sometimes you couldn’t help but think what would happen if anything else came out of it, but only in your dreams. When you realized how quiet you were, you silently cursed yourself for staying silent for too long as the girls came to their own conclusion.

"He kisses you a lot." Max drawled and bit back a smirk when your face reddens again, the sight nearly making her laugh once more. "Like more than you study for your exams in college—"

"What will it take for you two to be quiet for the rest of the ride?" You continue to glare at the red-head in the backseat and squint when she opened her mouth. "And your answer will not be money."

Max sighed and looked at Eleven, their eyes meeting and silently communicating with each other. They grinned wickedly and looked over at you, tone overly sweet when they answered your question.

"Admit you're in love with Steve Harrington."

"Oh, Stevie!" Robin grinned widely as she sauntered back in from the break room, leaning back against the counter. She met his confused eyes and tilted her head, still wearing a mischievous grin. "I have a tiny, little question for you."

Steve dug through the boxes underneath the table and waved his hand, barely listening to the girl. "Which is?"

"Could I just — I dunno — take a peek at your wallet?” She asked and pursed her lips to stop from laughing when she saw his incredulous expression peek from underneath the counter. “I just want to make sure my assumptions are right.”

"About what?" Steve sighed in exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair, praying that his hair still looked perfect after how many times he had done it.

"Just give me your stupid wallet." Robin huffed and snatched the leather from his hands. She scrunched her nose at him before opening the wallet, gasping when she found what she was looking for. "Oh my gosh."

Steve creased his brows and looked at the contents of his wallet. There was nothing but cash, his license, cards, and picture he’s had since high school. If Robin was planning on stealing, she picked the wrong day.

"What?"

"You do have a picture of Y/N in your wallet!" Robin all but squealed like a child, causing the customers in the store to look over at the commotion.

Steve sent them a strained smile before grabbing his wallet back from Robin and tucking it away, muttering quiet obscenities to the girl. Robin rolled her eyes, but the smirk that curled her lips overtook her emotions. He knew that some kind of electricity between the two oblivious idiots.

"You like her!" She spoke in a sing-song voice, lightly punching his shoulder. Robin laughed in excitement and shook her head before pausing, turning to look at Steve like a behavioral analyst. "Unless it's something more."

He looked to his left and to his right before raising a brow at her. He would never admit it out loud, but somewhere along the line he fell for you. Hard. From summer car drives to coffee at midnight — you were the one for him. Yet he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.

When Steve stayed silent for too long, she started to punch his shoulder in excitement again. It was the silence between asking about love that seemed to trigger everyone today.

"Oh, you're in love! Steve 'the hair' Harrington finally falls in love with his one true love!" She dramatically put a hand to her forehead and leaned back on the counter again. "I thought I would never live to see the day that happens."

He huffed and lightly shoved her, rubbing his hand over his face. "She's my best friend."

"And?" Robin pushed him back and continued to smile, clearly finding his reaction amusing. It wasn’t rare for her to tease him about his dates, but knowing that he was deeply in love with you made it so much more fun. "She clearly likes you too."

"She does?" Steve perked up and rolled his eyes when she winked at him. He flipped her off and pretended to be busy again. “You’re so annoying.”

"Stevie is in love!" She laughed again and sighed softly, tapping her fingers against the counter. "You're going to dinner with her tonight, right?"

He sent her an odd look and nodded, brows furrowing in confusion. "Yeah, what does that—?"

"Confess tonight! I'm sure she loves you too, Harrington." She slammed her palms down onto the counter, once again attracting the customers in the store. Steve sent them another apologetic look before turning his head to glare at the girl. By the end of the day, he swore that they would get a complaint about Robin.

Robin put a hand up to his face when she saw he was going to speak. “And before you back out, the girls and I already made a plan so nothing becomes awkward between the two of you if it fails."

Steve’s eyes widened and pushed her hand out of the way, mind reeling at all the knew information. "Wait what?"

"Nothing!"

After dinner, you both decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. The temperature was perfect and you and Steve had plenty of calories to kill before heading to bed. Besides, you both had unspoken words to say to one another.

"Are you okay? You've been acting strange since you picked me up." You nudged your shoulder with his and tilted your head, eyes worried with concern.

As you walked through the neighborhood, the orange lights from the posts began to flicker on as the sun set in front of you. On instinct, you moved closer to Steve, accommodating to the warmth you were losing. He hid a small smile and pulled you close by the shoulders.

Steve shrugged and kissed the side of your head again. The gears in his head were loudly turning and he wasn’t sure how to make them stop. He met your eyes and smiled softly when you smiled up at him.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the new diner?" He nudged his head back toward the diner.

You hummed and tapped your chin in thought, snapping your fingers when you figured out how to put it. "A solid six and a half. They threw us a dirty glare for being too loud, but their milkshakes were perfect."

He raised his brows and chuckled softly when you rolled your eyes at him. You were always such a sucker for strawberry milkshakes. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Harrington.” You send him a teasing smile before extending your arm and flashing him your left hand adorned with the wrapping from the straw wrapper. “I even got to make us our paper rings."

You turned to face him properly and grabbed his left hand, lacing them together to show the matching rings. You went to say something else when you found him already staring at you, making your mind instantly blank.

Steve swallowed and squeezed your hand, taking a step closer to you. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You murmur and take your own step closer until you were chest to chest.

His gaze dropped to your lips before looking back into your eyes, eyes filled with so much emotion. You gave him a curt nod and let him cup your cheek, shutting your eyes when he leaned in.

Your lips met and for the first time, you really believed time truly stopped. It was just you and him on the sidewalk of Hawkins, Indiana. Your own hands came up to grab the lapels of his denim jacket, deepening the kiss when he pulled you impossibly closer.

When you finally pulled away, your mind was still blanking and the first thing you could say was —

"Oh, my strawberry milkshake." You whisper out before groaning, hiding your face in his shoulder. "Now the thing I say after we first kiss will always be strawberry milkshake!"

Steve kisses the top of your head and gently squeezed your waist. "You're cute."

You scoff before looking up, playing with the buttons on his jacket. "Did Robin put you up to this?"

"Yep." He chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, narrowing his eyes at you when he realized what Robin meant. "Did the girls?"

"Yep." You sigh and push up on your toes to give him a quick peck. You tilt your head when he smiles, "We're not going to tell them about this and make them feel bad, right?"

"Of course not.” He laced his hands with yours and began the trek back to his car. "We're only best friends after all."

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[discocandles]

one thing about steve harrington is that he sucks at doing nothing. like he has to be doing something with himself lest the guy waste away. this has led to him being very good at fucking around with things especially when its something relatively quiet. the loudest steve will let himself keep his hands busy while stuck idle is tossing whatever's in his hand to himself and catching it, which usually bodes well for sports practice after coach learned that just because he was moving didnt mean he wasnt paying attention(usually the opposite).

he learned how to flip a pencil around his thumb in middle school and seeing someone in one of the meetings he sat in on doing it. he'll twirl anything he can around in his hand, especially while he was working in the mall. the scoopers were perfect for it. and any way youve seen a drummer/percussionist fiddle with a drumstick, steve knew he had to replicate it.

but even with all this movement and the fact the guy was barely ever not moving, it seemed like no one noticed it ever. a fact that nearly drove eddie insane when they were in high school together. because he did have the reputation of being restless, and in a constant state of movement. and he probably fucked around with random shit less, so how did steve "the hair" harrington not end up with the same reputation? the answer was just that he was way more quiet("and sneaky" -eddie) about it. and if the teacher hated when their students fiddled and futzed he'd be sure to try and keep the movement below his desk.

but it not that he only has to keep his hands busy. no no no, if bored or stuck waiting, and that won't suffice, steve harrington will pick up anything with words just to read it. anything. outdated newspapers, ingredients lists, magazines of any topic. he just mindlessly grabs for whatever and starts fucking reading. Robin could swear under oath to a court that her best friend has read the back of every vhs in family video. hell, she's seen him reading drugstore novels, like the fucking grandma smut and books with cover art of nicely dressed ladies running from a castle. and its her jock best friend reading it, instead of some repressed suburban woman who hates her husband. yes, this information is the bane of robin buckley's exsistance because its not like anyone would believe her.

idk just give me steve being restless but doing it quietly enough that no one really picks up on it.

[therocketeer0501]

Fan comic for @revelboo. Her work Coin Operated Boy is one of my faves 💕 anyway here’s Steve and reader.

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Fic: 1/3

-> Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

cw: lots of head trauma/brain injury/recovery stuff.

Steve wakes up in the hospital with someone snoring loudly on his leg, mouth open, drool getting soaked up into the scratchy hospital blanket over him.

Steve just stares.

It’s… Freddie? No, that’s not right... Eddie! Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, known delinquent and drug dealer… resting his head on Steve’s lap.

What the hell…?

Steve reaches up with a wobbly, IV-ridden hand to clumsily pat along his head, but instead of meeting messy hair, he meets a thick wad of bandages. He flinches when he hits an especially tender spot.

It’s not much but it’s enough to wake Eddie Munson up with a jolt, and a random jumble of words that sounded something like, “the dice have spoken!”, but Steve can’t be sure. Not with the sharp ringing still going off inside his skull.

“Steve? Steve! Oh thank fuck, Jesus H. Christ, you scared the ever loving shit out of me.” Eddie stood and grabbed at one of Steve’s shoulders, shaking him enough to elicit another wince.

“Oh, damn, sorry. I’m like a fucking bull in a china shop here, man. There’s way too much expensive, breakable shit here. I’m not used to it. I accidentally ripped your IV out the other day... Fuck. The nurses hate my guts.” Eddie chuckles, eyes wide and solely on Steve, talking like they were old friends or something.

But that can’t be right. Steve doesn’t remember saying more than two words to Eddie Munson during the entire time he knew he even existed, and even then it was just to discuss weed prices.

“For real though, talk to me Harrington, how you feelin’, hm? Loopy? Gonna yak again? Apparently they got you on the good stuff,” Eddie flicks a liquid filled bag hanging above Steve and shakes his head, “but they keep cutting you back. Dicks.”

Steve’s eyes try and follow Eddie’s erratic movements but his eyes ache the more he moves them. He blinks against the harsh fluorescents and tries to open his mouth. And thank God, Eddie Munson seems to take this as a sign and shut up.

“What happened?” Steve finally croaks.

One of Eddie’s brows jumps. “You don’t remember?”

Steve gives his head a small shake. Did Eddie hit him with his car or something? Is that why he’s sleeping at his bedside and talking to him like they’re buddies?

“You fell, Stevie.” Eddie makes a whistling noise and mimicks something falling with his hands, then makes a crashing sound when his hand lands on Steve’s bandaged head. “Like a coconut out of a tree. Landed right on that big ol’ melon of yours. There was blood everywhere. It scared the shit out of me and the kids. Especially when you wouldn’t wake up.”

Steve’s throat feels like sandpaper, but he manages to swallow, his throat clicking as he did, and gets out, “The kids?”

Eddie seems to notice, even before Steve can ask, and reaches for a water bottle with a straw already in it, and half chewed. Eddie’s own, no doubt. Against his better judgment, Steve accepts it when Eddie offers it to him. He was just so goddamn thirsty.

“Don’t worry, they’re all fine. They were just shaken up. I’ll radio the little gremlins and give ‘em the good news in a sec.” Eddie’s smile falters a little, seeming lost for words. Like he wants to say something, but can’t quite get it out.

Steve finishes swallowing his few, meager gulps of water before he asks, “What is it?”

“Don’t freak out—“ Eddie begins.

And, okay, that’s exactly the thing you tell someone before they freak the fuck out. Steve’s stomach is subject to a growing, sluggish panic. “What? Dude, tell me—“

“It’s your hair.” Eddie seems genuinely pained at having to deliver this crushing of a blow to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

Steve can hear the beeping from the monitors he’s hooked up to begin to pick up speed as his heart begins racing. “My hair?”

“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’ll grow back! They just had to take a little bit off where the stitches went, you can hardest notice it—well, that’s a fucking lie, you could spot that landing strip from space—but I think if you part it to the other side it won’t look so… y’know.”

“No, dude, I don���t know.” Steve says, eyes wide, brows pinched.

“Like a drunk toddler took a pair of rusty kitchen shears to your mop.” Eddie says, huffing out a nervous sort of laugh.

Steve groans, half due to the bastardization that’s happened to his favorite feature, and half due to the migraine that’s looming on his horizon.

“You’re still pretty, Stevie, don’t worry.” Eddie grins, eyebrows raised, like he’s trying to be cute or something.

That weirdest part is, it’s kind of working.

Steve must have hit his head really, really hard.

The doctors eventually come in and perform all sorts of tests, and he tries his best to comply with them and jump through whatever hoops they make him jump through. He just wants to get the hell out of this hospital bed.

Unfortunately for him, Steve hadn’t exactly aced any of the tests.

In fact, he had failed most of them pretty fucking dismally. He couldn’t remember the date, who the president was, where he lived, couldn’t say the alphabet backwards… although, who the fuck can do that? He stands by that failing grade.

A couple of CAT scans later and it’s clear that Steve’s brain got smacked around a little more than they had originally thought.

Among a pile of other stuff, the thing that sticks out the most to Steve is his diagnosis of something called short term amnesia. They explain it like the past 2 to 3 years has just been wiped from his brain. The last clear thing he really remembers is getting the shit beat out of him by Billy, and then it all sort of gets jumbled. Fragmented. The doctors explain that this is pretty typical for head trauma patients.

He’s a head trauma patient, now.

It’s normal for memories of trauma to link, creating spiderwebs throughout your brain.

Which, that’s great. So when he gets beat up again, there’s always a chance his brain will try and erase his easy, happy years and revert back to a trauma default. Really helpful brain, thank you.

And the thing that sucks the most is that his years after the Billy beat down sound pretty great. Traumatizing, sure, but great. Once the Upside Down shit was locked up, with every scary nightmare fuel monster inside of it, life in Hawkins didn’t sound all that terrible.

He lived with Robin, who’s his best friend, (his ‘platonic soulmate’ even, as she explains it), he’s working a retail job, (also with Robin), and coaches the high school basketball team during the evenings. He’d even been talking with Hopper about joining the force.

Well, he was. Now he’s more or less useless, working full time at re-learning his life, along with a couple of fine motor skills that got glitchy after the fall.

And then there’s Eddie.

Eddie, who’s apparently also his best friend, only their soulmate link isn’t platonic at all.

The strange and weirdly exciting reality was that Steve Harrington had woken up from his 3-day medically induced coma with not only a full fledged relationship, but a boyfriend.

It’s a lot to digest, and part of him still doesn’t even know how to process it, but hearing the stories being told around him, seeing how Eddie is practically living in his and Robin’s two-bedroom apartment, and just… the way Eddie looks at him?

It’s with love—Steve can see it. Feel it. Eddie’s practically vibrating with it.

What’s even crazier is that when Steve looks at Eddie, he feels the exact same way.

It’s like looking at the stars. Steve’s heart skips a beat when those dark eyes of hit him, and Steve wants nothing more than to make Eddie smile—no, better than that, to make him laugh, just so he can watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob up and down and hear that manic, unhinged cackle. It’s downright delightful. Steve loves being in relationships like this, where it’s all consuming.

Steve may not have the memories of falling in love with Eddie, but he has all the feelings.

No one talks about it with Steve, of course. Maybe they think it’s going to be too heavy for him to process that he’s into dudes now, but Steve isn’t a big dumb baby. Sure, he’s got a pretty severe brain injury, and yeah, alright, it takes him a minute to remember people’s names sometimes, and he has a harder time controlling his emotions, but he isn’t a complete invalid. Only a little bit of one. He’s working on it, dammit.

And Eddie is so painfully, frustratingly patient with him. He never pushes. He’s clearly letting Steve retrieve his memories before he makes a move, because despite his whole outward appearance, Eddie Munson is a goddamn gentleman. He never so much as reaches for Steve’s hands, but Steve can tell by the way their pinkies graze when they watch movies late at night that he wants to.

Steve can tell by the way Eddie teases him, the way he’s there with him through his recovery, that he doesn’t ever make Steve feel stupid when he asks the same questions over and over again, when he cries at the drop of a hat or when he gets sort of confused about the lay out of his apartment—he doesn’t care about that of that.

Because he’s in love with Steve. It’s so painfully romantic, it brings a painful lump to Steve’s throat every time he thinks too much about it.

The two of them are driving to one of Steve’s therapy sessions, Eddie in the driver's seat, Steve in the passengers, listening to a low racket of some kind of heavy metal music. Eddie always keeps the volume low now, for Steve.

He’s just been so intensely good about everything that Steve needs to try and do something good for Eddie in return. He needs Eddie to know that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel that they’re both currently lost in.

“I’m sorry about this, y’know.” Steve says when they finally pull up the building that has ‘Brain Injury Recover Center’ written on the front. So all the boys and girls with scrambled eggs for brains know where to converge.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I work the evening shifts, remember? My days are free.” Eddie explains, and Steve wonders if he’s had to be told this bit of information a couple of times now. Sometimes it takes a few times before something sticks to his brain now. His short term memory is still majorly flighty. But no, Steve remembers that Eddie bartends at a local bowling alley most evenings. He’s gone a few times. Not to bowl, of course—too much hand eye coordination involved—but just to hang out with Eddie. He’s pretty decent at Ms. Pac-Man though.

Steve shakes his head. He knows his mind must have wandered because there’s been a lull where no one’s spoken. Eddie never seems to care about that though. “I don’t mean about the drive. I was talking about… y’know.”

“Wha’dy’mean?” Eddie mumbles as he backs into his parking space, hand on the back of Steve’s headrest.

Steve sighs and decides to just come out and say it: “I mean having your boyfriend forget everything about you and your relationship. I just… that must be really tough.”

Everything in Eddie Munson comes to a jarring halt, hand frozen over where he’s turned to ignition off.

It’s sort of unnerving—Eddie is always moving, fidgeting. Damn near bouncing off the walls. But now it’s like someone hit the poor guy with a freeze ray gun.

Steve chuckles softly as he reaches out and touches Eddie’s arm, giving him a playful jostle, to loosen him up a little, “it’s okay, Eddie. I know. You don’t have to keep going easy on me. I’m gay! Or, bi-sexual. Whatever.” Steve shrugs, “see? Not falling apart. I can handle being in love with another dude. You don’t need to keep babying me.”

The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a downturned smile that he seems to be trying to hide.

“I know, I know. Not just any dude.” Steve rolls his eyes, a smile still firmly on his face. He takes Eddie’s hand from the steering wheel, and Eddie seems to watch it go in a detached sort of awe. Steve wonders if Eddie’s proud of him for being so cool with it all. “In love with you.”

“Steve, I don’t think—

“Wait, just let me finish.” Steve asks, and Eddie blinks and works on closing his mouth. Knows it’s important to let Steve get his thoughts out quickly, lest they be lost to the giant black hole inside of his beat-up brain now. “I know that I don’t remember any of the important stuff with us. Our first date, or our first kiss or, y’know, any of our other first firsts. So maybe it feels like you’re cheating on the old Steve with me? But… Eddie, I know it’s crazy but even though my brain forgot all of the specifics; my heart didn’t. I look at you, and it’s all there. I’m still so into you, dude. I can feel it, even though I don’t remember how I got here. I’m in l—“

“Steve! Stevestevesteve wait, holy shit—!” Eddie’s eyes snap up from his intense stare at the place where their hands are linked. “Steve—”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts when Eddie doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. He runs his thumb gently over Eddie’s knuckles. It feels so nice to finally be able to hold his hand again. They fit together so well, and Steve wonders briefly if it’s some kind of muscle memory.

Eddie opens his mouth a few more times before he remembers how to make the words come out.

“Steve. Buddy. We’re… we’re not dating.”

Steve’s face falls, and he can feel a lump form in his throat, but he keeps a firm hold of Eddie’s warm hand in his own. “Yeah, I know, I know. We haven’t had any time to be a couple. And it’s probably been torture for you, man. You’re so busy taking care of me and making sure I don’t freak out over everything that you’ve clearly been neglecting your own hierarchy of needs.”

Eddie raises a brow.

Steve chuckles, “Shut up. It’s a therapy term.”

Eddie laughs in his throat. “Steve, you gotta slow down and listen to me.”

He turns his shoulders so that he’s fully facing Steve while he reaches his free hand over and tugs at one of his earlobes. “Got your hearing ears on?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods just the same.

“We… we weren’t dating before your accident,” Eddie speaks slowly, his voice warm, gentle. “Hell, I didn’t even know you were, y’know, into dudes like that. Much less me.”

Something throbs dully behind Steve’s eyes. It’s the start of a migraine—the one that makes it hard to process much of anything. Steve squints, trying to make sense of what Eddie’s saying. “…you’re not my boyfriend?”

Eddie shakes his head very, very slowly. “No.”

Steve snatches his hand back like he’s only just now noticed how burning hot Eddie’s hand is.

He settles back in his seat, staring out the front window. The sounds from the outside world are muffled, and everything feels far away and sort of… Made up. Just like everything he’d imagined was going on between him and Eddie. Not real.

He feels painfully detached from reality. Unmoored. Maybe this was the disassociation thing the doctor mentioned might happen…

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, risking another glance over to Eddie, who hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second.

“Pretty fuckin’ sure.” Eddie snorts.

“Oh, God. This is… I’m—sorry. I’m so stupid. Fuck, I gotta—“ Steve suddenly attacks the door handle with a clumsy fury that has his hand fumbling with the handle for way too long. Fucking busted up, bruised as fuck fucking brain-!

“Steve, it’s okay, dude,” Eddie says from behind Steve, but that’s easy for him to say; he didn’t just humiliate himself in front of his not-boyfriend, definitely-crush, possibly ex-friend—“Steve, wait!”

Steve flees the van on unsteady feet, not daring to look back.

[lexirosewrites]

omega Steve runs a business where people send clothing from their deceased relatives to be made into something new. he loves working with grieving family members and friends to create cherished scent memory tokens.

a kind older alpha commissions a teddy bear made from his nephew’s denim vest.

Steve opens the package and immediately bursts into tears. his scentmate is apparently dead.

[stevesgother]

constantly thinking about how steve was alone in the back of the ambulance at the end of season 3 watching everyone else reunite with their families

baby boy needs a hug

STOP it. i will throw up.

his sailor's uniform that was once so cheesy and endearing is covered in blood and sweat and vomit; his left eye so swollen that he can barely see out of it.

he can't find his car keys, so he's kind of resigned himself to walking all the way from the mall with a definite concussion and probably at least one broken rib. every intake of breath hurts.

and you spot him from over your mother's shoulder, though you're not sure what to say. what could you possibly say to console anyone who just went through what the whole of you went through?

you can barely get your mom to release you from her iron-clad grip long enough for you to go see if he needs anything. a ride home or a hug or a joint. something.

he's the only person here who doesn't have a mother holding him in her arms. the EMT's have even stopped paying attention to him. there's no reason for him to still be sitting there-- wrapped in that tinfoil blanket-- and yet, he hasn't left.

steve offers you a weak, barely there smile that doesn't reach anywhere near his eyes when he spots you approaching. his grins usually incite the cutest crow's feet by his eyes, smile lines adjacent to his lips. but not tonight.

"hey," he whispers when you reach him

"hey," you whisper back, "what did they say about your--" you gesture around your head, your torso.

"pretty gnarly concussion," he tries to play off, "bruised...everything else," he chuckles but it's so obviously not funny. you don't even crack a smile.

"steve..."

"listen, um," he clears his throat, "this is so--lame, god-- but could i maybe crash at your place tonight? i swear, i'll go home in the morning--"

"steve--" you take a microscopic step forward, hesitant to touch him, to comfort him, but aching to. "of course you can. you can stay as long as you need to. c'mon," you settle on offering him a hand to help pull himself up. at least that could be played off as simply friendly-- if either of you are capable of remembering this night years from now.

steve takes it, his hand clammy and blood-streaked in yours. you hope you won't have to do much convincing for your parents to let a boy stay over, given the circumstances.

"mom, this is steve. he needs somewhere to stay tonight--"

you aren't even able to finish your sentence before your mother, ever the caretaker, interrupts you, "of course, sweetheart. oh, you poor thing." you're not entirely sure whether she's referring to you or steve. maybe both.

after refusing your mother's several offers to swing by his house on loch nora to grab a change of clothes, she finally accepts and lets him borrow a pair of your father's sweats and a t-shirt. he's settled into the pullout couch in the basement.

"um, if you need anything, my room is the first door on the right upstairs."

he nods, you can tell it hurts him to do so, "thanks. and thanks for letting me stay, you didn't have to--"

"don't." you tell him firmly, "you shouldn't have to be alone."

you're unsure what time it was-- having never checked your alarm clock-- when steve trudged his way up to what he really hoped was your bedroom door, nudging it with his foot. you were still awake to no one's surprise, staring blankly at your ceiling fan as it spun in an endless, hypnotizing circle-- it's only job in life. how enviable.

you let steve crawl into your bed beside you after he'd confessed he couldn't fall asleep downstairs. mindful of his injuries, you pet his hair, smoothing it away from his face as you did. you hugged him close to you after that, rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles of his back. you were acutely aware of his shoulders shaking at one point, a wet patch on the shoulder of your sleep shirt where his head rested. you wondered when the last time that anyone held him was. you didn't call attention to his obvious weeping.

"you're safe, steve. you can rest now." you whispered softly into the shell of his ear.

his nod was nearly imperceptible, but he did sleep that night. and even despite the circumstances, better than he had in a long, long time.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Cling to me

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: You overhear something you weren’t meant to hear. 

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fluff, 

Word Count: 2.1k

A/n: wrote this one a year ago teehee but I LOVE this kinda shit I live for it. hope y’all enjoy 

~*~

“So things are going well, then?”

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, you really shouldn’t. It was an accident.

You had approached the bathroom door to ask Steve for a towel, not wanting to drip water all over the carpeted hallway, when you heard him and Bucky talking.

The bathroom fan is on, drowning out the sound of you stepping closer to the wood.

“Well, yeah, I guess so. I mean... I guess.”

You frown.

You thought things were going great.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Steve lets out a heavy sigh and glances at the bathroom door then slightly lowers his voice, but you can still hear him clearly.

“She just... she’s real needy, Buck. She’s physically clingy, always sitting by me or on me and holding my hand and stuff... and she never leaves me alone when I’m out on assignments. I’m just... I need some space.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest for a moment before beating twice as hard, each beat smashing against pins and needles and sending pain radiating through your chest.

Too needy.

Steve thinks you’re too needy.

This is how it started with Jeremy.

You were too clingy.

Slowly, you back away from the bathroom door and slide down the wall, shivering at the wet droplets clinging to your skin, then put your face in your hands.

Steve won’t be like Jeremy. He can’t.

Everything will be fine, you just need to give him space.

You can almost hear Jeremy’s voice in your head, whispering words that he’d repeat when you were with him. But maybe he was right.

Just because you like being physical and spending time with him doesn’t mean he wants that too. You haven't even taken his wants into consideration.

A knock on the bathroom door startles your face out of your hands and you flip your head up, looking at the door with wide eyes.

“Honey? I’m just gonna go grab some drinks with Bucky and Sam. I’ve got my phone and I shouldn’t be home too late.”

You take a deep breath and nod even though he can’t see you.

“Okay, have fun!”

Your voice is a little duller than usual, a little less lively, but Steve chalks it up to the fan distorting your voice.

You stay rooted in place on the bathroom floor, knees hugged up to your chest, for hours.

You’re not sure why, whether it’s out of fear that he won’t come back or that he’ll be waiting out there to break up with you, but you’re terrified.

Eventually, after the chills have sunk into your soul and shivers are shaking your bones, you leave the bathroom and get dressed.

Usually, you’d put on a pair of panties and one of Steve’s shirts, but you can’t bring yourself to touch his stuff after what you heard.

You pull on a tank top and a sweater and your fuzziest socks, hoping to chase away the cold, though it feels like it’s here to stay.

The apartment seems so empty without him there, and you yearn to check up on him and make sure he’s okay, but you don’t go near your phone.

He’s a grown man and he can take care of himself.

You barricade yourself in the bedroom, cuddled up under the blankets and holding one of your pillows to your chest as you watch reruns of Golden Girls.

You fall asleep before he gets home, though you’re awoken by the sound of the door opening.

Instead of perking up and meeting him like you usually would, you stay in bed, pillow hugged to your chest and eyes shut.

He’s stealthy as he joins you in bed, sliding in behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist.

It takes everything in you not to shake his arm off.

As he leans forward and presses a kiss to the back of your neck, a tear slides down your temple and buries itself in the pillows.

~*~

Steve’s confused at your sudden change in behaviour, constantly checking his phone for texts from you and missing your touch when he sits on the couch reading a report.

You’re standing in the kitchen a few days later, talking softly to Yelena and Wanda while Bucky, Natasha, Sam and Steve all sit on the couches in your living room.

The two women lead the way into the living room and you follow them, not stopping your conversation as you take a seat between the two of them.

Steve’s eyes are focused on you, waiting for you to look at him, to realize that you’re not sitting in the right spot and that you should be closer to him, but you never do.

You stay engaged in your conversation, laughing at something Yelena says before turning your attention to Wanda.

Bucky watches curiously as Steve balls his hands into fists then turns back to the conversation he was having, his voice slightly more strained than before.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Bucky asks later that evening after almost everyone else has gone home.

You’re already in bed, oblivious to the conversation they’re having.

“I thought it was, but not cold turkey. She hardly texts me unless I text first, she doesn't kiss me goodbye anymore, and she hasn’t sat beside me once in the past week.”

Bucky shrugs, “you’re the one who said she was too clingy.”

Steve knows.

He fucking knows.

And maybe he’ll like it, but first, he needs to get to the bottom of why you’ve switched so quickly.

After bidding Bucky goodbye, Steve joins you in the bedroom, climbing into bed beside you and rolling onto his side to watch you.

Your attention is focused on the TV as if he isn’t in bed with you at all.

When he opens his mouth to speak, you reach over and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, then turn off the TV.

You don’t do it on purpose, but he doesn't say anything.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, turning onto your back and facing away from him.

He stares at you in shock.

The past couple of nights he’s come into bed after you’ve been asleep, but tonight he was sure you’d cuddle up against him like you usually do.

“Goodnight. I love you,” he murmurs, heart racing in his chest as he waits for your reply.

“I love you too.” There it is.

It settles his heart a tiny bit to hear you whisper the words, but he’s still confused by your actions.

You always cuddle up to him.

Always.

Every night that he’s been home for the past year.

And now you’re not even wearing his clothes to bed.

He can’t sleep at all that night, too focused on how strange you’ve been acting and how much he fucking hates it.

And then it dawns on him.

You must’ve heard him talking to Bucky.

That’s the only explanation.

His heart hurts in his chest and guilt floods his body. He tosses his head back against the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut, hating himself for ever speaking those stupid words.

He was just having a bad week. He was overwhelmed with work and briefings and then you were always by his side.

It was too much.

And now you’re doing everything in your power to distance yourself from him.

You’re lying in the same bed but you’ve never been further away.

Sure, he can feel the heat radiating off of your body, but you may as well be a thousand miles away.

The guilt wells up in his eyes and slips down his cheeks as he rolls onto his side and pulls you against his body, burying his face in your hair.

Fuck, he feels terrible.

All night he thinks about how much you do for him, how much you love him and everything you’ve given to him and sacrificed for him. And he couldn’t even appreciate you properly. No, he had to go and run his mouth about bullshit that he didn’t even mean.

He has to make this right.

He will.

He just has no idea where to start.

~*~

When you wake up the next morning there’s a strong arm secured around your waist.

You’re so used to waking up alone that you can’t help but cuddle into it. That is, until you remember his complaints.

Shifting as slowly as you can, you try to slip out of his grip, but he only wraps his arm around you tighter.

“You’re leaving?” He asks into your hair, his voice groggy.

You swallow hard and clear your throat.

“Bathroom,” is all you manage to whisper.

He lets out a heavy sigh but slowly unwinds his arm from around your waist.

“You’re gonna come back after, right?” He asks, his voice soft.

You hesitate before getting up, unsure of what to say.

Are you?

You don’t particularly want to.

Well, that’s not true. You want to, more than anything, but you don’t want to overwhelm him and smother him with your clingy nature.

“Do you want me to?” You end up asking, glancing over at him.

He slowly opens his eyes, sadness filling them, and you regret asking.

“Honey... what I said the other day... to Buck... I wasn’t thinking, sweetheart. I don’t think you’re too clingy, not at all. I think you’re perfect for me and the way that things have been lately… All the distance between us? It’s been unbearable. I hate it. I didn’t know what changed at first but... I’m sorry.”

Your heart is in your throat at the fact that he knows you heard what he said.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I’m sorry,” you whisper, pushing into a seated position to get off the bed.

“Honey, wait. Please. Please, don’t go. I miss you. So damn much. All I want is for things to go back to the way they were. And... I know that will probably take time, but I just miss you so fucking much.”

Tears prickle at your eyes and you sniffle, refusing to look at him.

“I didn’t mean to be clingy. I know... I know I can be a lot. It’s one of the issues Jeremy and I had. I can give you space, Steve.”

His heart cracks and he sits up behind you, one hand finding your lower back in an attempt to get closer to you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t want space. You’ve given me space and it’s been the worst experience of my life. I just want you back. I want to hold your hand and kiss you and talk to you and be near you. I love you and you... you make me feel important. You make me feel loved.”

He has to fight his own tears as he speaks, and you sit silently in front of him, eyes focused on the carpet.

“For so much of my life, I felt alone, besides Bucky. I felt like I had no one and no one would love me. And then I went under and I woke up and... everything was different. I was a man out of time. I never thought I would ever have found someone who loves me as wholly as you do. And I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you need to change yourself.”

His arms wind around you and he pulls your back against his chest, slowly rocking you from side to side as you sniffle.

“You are everything I have ever wanted and more, sweetheart. I love you for everything you are and everything you do, and I’m so damn sorry I ever made you feel like you were too clingy. You’re perfect for me. Sometimes I think that you’re the reason why I survived it all. Was so that I could find you. You’re it for me.”

His words help to heal the wounds he caused, but what really does it is the meaning behind it. The love he’s pouring into every syllable he speaks is powerful enough for you to feel without even trying.

You know he regrets what he said. But, more importantly, you know he’s not Jeremy.

Steve loves you.

Slowly, you turn in his arms and look up at him, and his heart breaks even more when he sees the tears on your cheeks.

“If I’m ever too much, you gotta promise to let me know, okay?” You whisper.

He huffs out a weak laugh and shakes his head, squeezing you to his chest.

“You are never too much for me. You’re everything I could ever want or need and so much more. You’re perfect for me. And I’m gonna try my hardest to be good enough for you because I love you. I love you with my whole heart and soul.”

“I love you too, Steve,” you whisper, burying your face in his shoulder as he hugs you tightly.

And there on the bed in the dim morning light, Steve clings to you.

He clings to you like you’re his lifeline, like you’re the energy that keeps him going.

He clings to you, and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

[jxstsxgx]

𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 | 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚃𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Steve Harrington x gf!Reader

Word Count: 1,613 words

Summary: A late night pool party at Harrington's residence with the rest of the gang and you overhear Steve reminiscing with Nancy about a future that doesn’t include you. It’s not cheating. It’s not betrayal. It’s something worse: the kind of honesty that unravels everything.

Contains: Angst, emotional miscommunication, overheard confessions, lingering history between Steve/Nancy, and heartbreak. (Let me know if I missed something else)

A/N: I was watching a Stranger Things reaction video on youtube and it was that episode where they stole the RV and Steve was talking to Nancy about having a big family with six kids and going on a trip or something and that inspired me to write this one. Like why not make it angsty. Hope you enjoy..or cry with me or whatever, lol.

masterlist | part two

The water glittered under the porch lights like a hundred tiny suns.

Someone had put music on, something low and easy, half drowned under the splashes and soft laughter. It should’ve felt nice. Safe. After everything you’d been through with the Upside Down, this kind of peace was rare. A backyard pool, cheap plastic chairs, towels strewn across the grass. The whole gang, together. Breathing. Living.

You were perched at the edge of the deep end, legs dangling in, beer untouched beside you. Robin and Dustin were mid-cannonball war. Max and Lucas bickered lazily over pool noodles. Nancy had just walked back from the house with a refill for herself and one for Steve.

Steve, your boyfriend, technically.

Except tonight, something was off.

He hadn’t touched you once. Not even a passing squeeze on your shoulder or a graze of your hand. Not cold, not distant. Just… quiet. Thoughtful.

And Nancy had been near him more than usual. Laughing at something he said. Sitting next to him on the pool steps. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. Everyone knows you and Steve are together, Nancy's in a lond distance relationship with Jonathan, and she's nice to you.

Still, your gut twisted.

You weren’t jealous. Not exactly. Not insecure, either. You knew Steve loved you. He told you often. Held you like it was sacred. But there was always that thing, that little thread that hadn’t quite snapped between him and Nancy Wheeler.

And that’s when you heard it.

You’d wandered inside for a towel, your own still soaked. Passing the sliding glass door, you paused. Not intentionally. Just long enough to hear Steve’s voice.

They were alone on the porch steps. Nancy and Steve, bathed in string light shadows.

“I used to think this would be our life,” Steve was saying. “You and me. Backyards. Pools. Maybe a couple kids running around with floaties and juice boxes…”

You froze. The towel slipped from your arms.

Nancy didn’t say anything.

Steve kept going. “Sometimes I still think about it. Like… maybe if things were different.”

You couldn’t breathe.

The conversation shifted after that. Lightened, turned casual. Nancy brushed it off with a joke. Steve laughed. The music grew louder. Someone shouted for more chips.

And you?

You walked straight back into the yard, dropped the towel, and dove into the pool.

Not to cool off.

To drown it all out.

Like your skin wasn’t burning. Like your stomach hadn’t dropped straight into the concrete below you.

And you smiled when Steve caught your eye across the pool minutes later. When he handed you a drink. When he sat close and made some cheesy joke.

You laughed. You played along.

But you didn’t forget.

You didn’t sleep that night.

You hadn’t confronted him. Not that night. Not the next day.

You hadn’t said anything at all. That pool party. The echo of his voice around the corner of the house, talking about white-picket futures and poolside kids… with Nancy.

But you felt it, the way something inside you cracked open, quiet and sharp.

The worst part was that Steve didn’t even know what he’d broken.

It’d been days since the party. Since the moment your chest hollowed out and you didn’t know what part of your relationship was real anymore.

Now you sat in the passenger seat of his car, the windows fogging slightly from your takeout bags and the heater blowing half-heartedly. The air between you was too quiet. Even the music on the radio felt like it was holding its breath.

You weren’t fighting.

Not yet.

But you were unraveling.

And Steve was oblivious.

“I was thinking,” he said casually, shifting gears as the road curved through the woods. “We should take a weekend trip somewhere. Just get out of Hawkins. Like, I dunno, Chicago or something.”

You hummed.

That was all.

He glanced at you. “You good?”

You nodded. But your fingers were clenched in your lap. Your jaw was tight.

Steve frowned. “You’ve been weird all week. Did I do something?”

“No,” you said, then hesitated. “I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Okay, well… if I did something, just tell me.”

You stared out the window, the trees blurring past like they were fleeing from something.

“I think I’m starting to feel like I don’t know where I stand with you,” you said softly.

Steve blinked. “What?”

“I mean, I’m here, yeah. I’m your girlfriend. We go on dates. You hold my hand. But sometimes it feels like you’re… somewhere else. Like part of you is always still chasing something that doesn’t involve me.”

Steve frowned. “Where is this coming from?”

You finally looked at him, eyes stinging. “Do you ever think about being with her again?”

His hands tightened on the wheel. “Who?”

“You know who.”

He didn’t answer right away. Which was already enough of one.

“I’m not still in love with her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But you miss her,” you said, voice cracking. “You miss what you had with her.”

Steve exhaled sharply. “I don't…”

“You talk about the future like you already imagined it with someone else first. Like I’m just trying to fill a blueprint that doesn’t even belong to me.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, pulling the car over suddenly onto a dirt patch off the road. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

You turned to him, voice trembling. “Do you love me, Steve? Or am I just convenient? Because I can’t keep pretending this is okay when I feel like I’m always standing in someone else’s shadow.”

He was quiet. Too quiet.

“I care about you,” he said finally, but it didn’t sound like a promise. It sounded like a confession. A limitation.

You felt something inside you fold in on itself.

“I need more than that,” you whispered.

He looked at you, really looked like he was trying to summon the right thing to say but all he had were half-truths and memories that didn’t belong to you.

“You make it hard to be loved sometimes, you know?” you murmured. “Because you leave the door open. Just wide enough that people think they can reach you, but never wide enough to actually come in.”

Steve flinched, his jaw tightening.

“You act like you're all in,” you continued, “but you’re still holding a piece of yourself back and I don’t think you even realize it.”

He stared ahead, eyes fixed on the dashboard. “You think I don’t want to be this person. That I choose to fuck it all up. But I don't know how else to be.”

And there it was.

The truth. Sharp. Exhausted. Bare.

You nodded slowly, feeling everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m tired of competing with ghosts, Steve,” you said, reaching for the door handle.

He didn’t stop you.

You stepped out into the quiet night. The wind was cold, but it didn’t cut nearly as deep as his silence did.

He watched you walk away.

And still, he didn’t follow.

You’d been gone for five days. Not out of Hawkins, just out of him. Like the version of you that had been wrapped up in his warmth, in his hand holding, movie watching, ride giving affection, that person had vanished the second you stepped out of the car that night.

And the worst part?

He hadn’t gone after you.

He told himself it was because he needed to respect your space. That it wasn’t fair to chase someone when you couldn’t promise anything back. But really? Deep down?

But weeks passed.

Just silence.

And then the silence turned to distance.

He still found your things.

A sweater in the back of his car. Half used cherry lip balm in the glove compartment. One of your earrings under the passenger seat. Small, forgotten parts of you that felt like landmines now.

He thought about the pool party sometimes.

How dumb it was, how reckless to say something like that out loud. To Nancy.

Not because he was still in love with her. He wasn’t. He hadn’t been for a long time. But there was a version of his life he used to cling to like a stupid dream, the white picket fence, six kids, backyard summer version of himself he thought he’d grow into.

And somehow, Nancy had always been the placeholder in that dream. Because she was safe. Familiar. The first heartbreak. The one that left a blueprint in his chest.

But then you came along.

And you weren’t safe. You were real.

You didn’t fall for the Steve Harrington charm package. You didn’t get wrapped up in the story, you wanted to write a new one with him.

And he couldn’t give it to you.

Because he was still holding onto a memory instead of making new ones.

[sp0o0kylights]

“Dustin isn’t coming.”

“What?” Eddie says, all frantic and jovial movements freezing instantly.

His eyes narrow on Lucas--the bearer of bad news. “Why?” 

“Family emergency.” 

Mike makes a face. “I saw his mom yesterday and she was fine, so is this a…?” 

He makes a gesture that is entirely incomprehensible to anyone who isn’t Sinclair and his terrifying girlfriend.

(At least, Eddie thinks Max is Lucas’s girlfriend this week. It got a little hard to keep up after the third break-up-make-up marathon, and he frankly, stopped bothering to try.

It helped that she barely spoke--The only time notable being when Eddie had mockingly asked Sinclair if he needed a cheerleader when she’d first sat in, upon which she’d asked Eddie if he needed new kneecaps with a look in her eye that said she was serious.)

Wheeler Jr.’s gesture however, made her put her book down.

“You think he’s having migraines again?” She not so much asked as demanded, which had Mike shrugging. 

“Dunno." Lucas says. "Dustin didn’t say.” 

“Gotta be, if he called Dustin.” Mike mutters, Lucas shuffling his papers about as he begins to set up for Hellfire. He was the last in the room, practically late, which Eddie had planned on harassing him for had he not announced Henderson’s absence. 

(Fucking freshmen. They just weren’t terrified of Eddie like they used to be.) 

 “Robin must be sick or something, otherwise he’d call her.”  Lucas finishes as he finally sits down. 

“Didn’t the Marching Band go on some trip?” Mike turns to address the rest of the table, and gets nods from Jeff and Gareth both. 

“Yeah they’re marching in some parade in Indianapolis.” Jeff confirms. 

“So his last resort was Dustin?” Max is getting that tone in her voice, the one that makes everyone at Hellfire very uncomfortable. “Typical.” 

She pushes away from the table, making a show of gathering up her things before rising easily to her feet.

Eddie trades looks with the elder Hellfire members as she makes her exit--the kind that says they’re all going to be talking about this later. 

They knew their freshmen had some weird obsession with the former King, of course, but Mayfield too?

What the hell was up with that guy?

At least Eddie thinks, right before things are once again shot to shit, they can go back to playing the game.

He can make it work this early into things, and if Henderson isn't’ a fan of what he’s about to do to the kid’s character in his absence, well. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be fucking absent then. 

“So what, Max, you're gonna go over there and make it worse?” Mike snorts. 

Fatal mistake.

Eddie almost strangles him for it, if only because it prolongs this entire unnecessary conversation. 

Max performs a military perfect heel turn, coming straight back for Wheeler Jr., which makes him right about fall out of his seat in panic. 

“What was that, Wheeler?” 

“I’m just saying--!” 

“We don’t know Steve’s having migraines.” Lucas reiterates, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s something else.” 

“Does Steve get migraines a lot?” Grant asks, because despite all appearances he’s a terrible gossip and gets sucked in far too easily.

Eddie throws a pencil at him for it. 

“Hel-looo, we have a game!?” He thunders, but unfortunately for him, precious Stevie-Weavies headache now has everyone’s attention. 

“Yeah, though he’s really good at pretending he doesn’t.” Lucas answers with a put upon sigh. 

“There’s a whole pattern--he ignores it until it gets super bad, then he has to call Robin or Dustin to come get him when he inevitably gets stranded at work or the like, grocery store.” 

“Well who else do you think he’d call?” Mike scoffs again. He does a lot of that, when discussing Harrington. “It’s not like his parents are--Ow, Max!” 

“Close your mouth before I close it for you.” She hisses and Mike, shockingly, does just that. 

To Eddie, she says; 

“Your ass isn’t any better, or did you forget I live across from you?” 

Eddie--who had an insult primed and ready--promptly shuts his mouth.

(Fucking! Asshole! Freshmen!) 

“Maybe I should go too.” Lucas says, hedging a look between his girlfriend and his DM. 

“No.” She snaps, pointing a finger at him.

 “If you go, then this idiot,” she flicks her finger to  Mike, “will go and then we really will make it worse. Stay here before your bichon frise has a fit about all his sheep abandoning him.”

Then she’s turning on her heel again, storming out. 

“What the hell’s a bichon frisé?” Gareth asks in the aftermath, frowning. 

“It’s a type of ahhhh--” Jeff clearly thinks better of the explanation, eyes sliding to Eddie.

Who’s scowling.

“I know what a bichon frisé is, Jeff.” He snaps. 

“I don’t.” Grant loudly complains. 

Jeff attempts to both calm Eddie and explain while Mike and Lucas spend far too many minutes looking after Max. 

“Enough!” Eddie howls, temper finally getting the best of him. “Are we playing or do you also need to go sit by the King’s bedside?”  

“Thank you,” Mike says, like he wasn’t a third of the entire problem. “Let’s play!”

They make it about ten entire minutes before getting knocked off track again. 

In fairness, not that Eddie would ever admit it--the second meltdown is his own fault.

xXx

Hellfire is Eddie’s domain. 

It’s one of the few places where he could relax without getting harassed or hounded, and having his freshmen--his!--abandon him for King Fucking Steve had set him off. 

So he’d made a few comments about it.

Maybe introduced an NPC who sounded suspiciously similar to Harrington, only to instantly kill him off. 

Made another couple of nasty comments. 

Who cares? It worked him through his snit rather nicely, and his boys all knew to leave him be.

Except, apparently, for Lucas. 

“Dude, would you lay off?”  The kid finally snaps, pencil slamming down on the table. 

Which is the most backbone-like thing anyone has ever heard Sinclair say, and he gets far more whistles for it than he should.

Eddie pins him in place with a glare. 

“What was that Sinclair?” He snarls, voice as menacing as he can make it.

(It’s pretty terrifying, he’s practiced quite a bit with it.) 

Sinclair flinches, but doesn’t back down. 

“I said lay off. Steve has migraines because of--” He stops, before seeming to come to a decision. “Because of me. He took a hit for me, and I owe him a life debt for it.” 

To Eddie, he says; “You get what those are, right?” 

Mike rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t just for you--”

“That time with Billy was!” Lucas is quick to snarl. “But you know what Mike, you’re right. It wasn’t just for me. He T-boned a car for all of us!” 

Sinclaire is on his feet now, which is the unfortunate moment that Eddie realizes he has once again lost control of the room. 

A situation he firmly blames on Steve Harrington, because he’s petty. 

“Or did you forget that part? That’s you, me, Will, Nancy and Jonathan right there! Nevermind the tunnel. Or the junkyard! 

“We had the junkyard handled--”

Lucas scoffs. 

“We absolutely did not.” 

“I don’t get why you’re all making such a big deal out of this. He’s the fighter. That’s what he does. That’s why we brought him to the tunnel.”

“You recall what happened at Starcourt, right?” Lucas challenges, furious. “You did see him after, right?” 

This, finally, seems to shut Mike up. 

“Shouldn’t you be mad at him for that?” He says after a moment, and the rest of Hellfire has completely put aside all actual gaming to watch this play out with a morbid sort of fascination. 

Eddie allows it, only because he’s trying to breathe the way Wayne taught him to before he loses it entirely and throws both of the idiot kids out of the drama room. 

“He pulled your sister into it.”

“Have you met Erica!? You can’t pull her into shit!” Lucas spits furiously. “That wasn’t D&D, Mike. It was the Upsi--real life.” 

Lucas is quick to correct himself, even in the heat of the moment--as all the kids are, like the entire school hasn’t clocked that they have some weird ass secret they’re terrible at hiding.

“And if we’re playing those games, then who pulled him into the tunnels? Who made him come to the junkyard?”

“Dustin.” Mike says snidely. 

“You don’t get to blame Dustin when Steve was the only person around.” 

“There were people around! They just weren’t people who--weren’t--who couldn’t--”

“Finish that sentence.” Lucas demands 

“Be trusted.” Mike spits out, like it hurts him. 

“Exactly.” 

“El went through way more than Steve ever has! El--”

“El was using her po--doing mage things! And also, she shouldn’t have had to go through all this shit either! We can’t rely on her to save the day every single time, Mike--and look at how hurt she gets!”

“She--”

“She hides it from you, you know. How bad she hurts. Cause she wants to put your feelings first.” 

“I--”

“Will does too.”  Is Lucas’s parting shot. His backpack is in his hands in a blink, papers and character figure shoved wildly into it, before he’s storming out the door in a poor mimicry of Mayfield.

“Harrington T-Boned a car?” Grant says, in the resounding silence. 

“That BMW of his hasn’t had a scratch on it--” Jeff says, with an inquisitive tilt to his head. 

“He didn’t use the Beamer.” Mike interrupts, angry and sulking. “Are we playing or not?”

“I’m gonna say not, given we are down two players.’ Eddie tells him through clenched teeth. 

“I’m going to be so mad if Steve doesn’t have a migraine.” Mike grumbles, as he begins packing up his stuff. 

The rest of Hellfire follow his lead, after one look at Eddie’s face convince the lot of them that it’s best to flee now, before Eddie unleashes all his pent up rage. 

“Not as mad as I’ll be, Wheeler.” Eddie promises darkly.

And it is a promise--because now, he’s going to follow all his stupid (sans Mike, who isn’t in his good graces either but at least stayed) freshmen--and go visit one fallen King.

If Harrington doesn’t have a headache now, he will when Eddie’s done with him.

[kitchen-spoon]

Thinking about Steve and Eddie when they first get together. Steve worries because they are so different and is afraid Eddie will think he is boring. He throws himself into all of Eddies interests and hobbies and one day it all boils over.

Steve knew he was going to get a migraine that day the minute he woke up. He could feel it in the way his jaw was clenched and his head was already aching. But tonight was important, Eddie had a gig at the hideout and he had to be there. He’d listened to Eddie give passionate grandiose speeches about becoming famous one day and how music was his passion, his life. So Steve popped an ibuprofen drank and extra glass of water and went to work.

Keith wasn’t in so he kept the lights off in the store as long as the sun allowed him, then wore sunglasses as he vacuumed under the flickering florescent lights. By the time he clocked out his head was pounding and he could feel his pulse in his sinuses. But he just took another ibuprofen, kept the sunglasses on and drove to the hideout.

By the time he made it Corroded coffin was 10 minutes away from starting so he had no chance to see Eddie. Instead he tucked himself away in a booth at the back of the bar with a water. He took the few minutes he had to pop in some earplugs and rest his eyes, praying and hoping to all hope he could just make it through Eddie’s set.

When the bands name was called Steve’s eyes popped open. He was greeted with aura’s all around wherever he looked no matter how hard he tried to blink them away. He tried giving his head a shake and immediately regretted it, slumping down in the booth and clutching his hair as he waited for the pain to reverberate its way through his skull.

He just needed to make it through Eddie’s set then he could go home and lay in the dark, sleep it off. He couldn’t disappoint Eddie he had to be there. He clutched the table and he forced himself up and out of the booth, using chairs for balance as he stumbled his way as far into the crowd as he could. Each bump against him sent shocks of pain bouncing through his head but he kept going as far as his feet would take him, finally stopping when he his steps stuttered and he couldn’t catch his breath anymore.

And after all that what did it was the first tap of Eddie’s finger against the mic sending ear splitting feedback through the speakers. Steve crumpled like his strings had been cut, his knees slamming against the sticky bar floor as he went down.

The next thing Steve knows he’s laying on a couch, someones hands are in his hair massaging his scalp and all the lights are off.

“Whu?” He makes to get up but the hands in his fair stop him, along with a familiar voice.

“Lay back down baby.” Eddie spoke softly, and he coaxed Steve into laying back down. “You went down pretty hard and its going to hit you soon”

“M’sorry.” Steve mumbled feeling his face go hot. “Please tell me you at least played?”

“Oh god no, the minute you went down I hopped off that stage and hauled you back here, I could tell what it was from the sunglasses and earplugs.” Eddie kept his voice gentle and his fingers continued to move, migrating down to Steve’s temples.

This was horrible Steve had ruined it all, he could feel the tears begin to sting his eyes. “God I’m so sorry.” Steve sat up, resisting Eddie’s gentle attempts to lay him back down. “I- please.” His voice broke, his hands flew up into his hair right where’s Eddie’s had been but his grip was much less soothing. “Please I swear I didn’t mean to. I can make it through concerts and shows, I don’t even get migraines all that often.” He began to plead, his eyes wild as they leaked tears, straining to make out Eddie’s face in the limited light from a crack in the door. “Just please don’t dump me, I swear this just it was bad timing on my part. Please don’t dump me Eddie.” Steve’s sobbing was adding to his headache but he was too far past it all to care, the sinking feeling of his heart in his stomach was more prevalent anyways.

Even in the limited light of the room Steve could see Eddie’s brows furrowing. He opened his mouth again, ready to beg and plead some more but one of Eddie’s hands coming up and gently cupping his face stopped him in his tracks. His mouth snapping shut when Eddie’s thumb reached up to wipe his tears away.

“Honey you need to slow down, and breathe.” Eddie instructed calmly, his free hand coming up to rest against Steve’s chest. “Nobody is leaving nobody so breathe for me okay?”

Steve followed the movements of Eddie’s shaded body , sinking the flex and release of his ribs and stomach to the outline of Eddie’s.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered again once his heart was no longer racing and he could breathe on his own again. He couldn’t meet Eddie’s eyes though, and only did when a warm calloused finger tipped it up.

“You have nothing to apologize for baby, why don’t you tell me why you’re so worried about me dumping you though?” Eddie’s head tilted, his hands roaming up and down Steve’s arms slowly.

“We’re just so different and I’m so scared you’re gonna wake up one day and realize you could be so much happier with someone more like you. So I started getting into all your hobbies to show you I can be interesting too.” Steve felt stupid now that he had to admit it out loud.

“Oh baby, I like that we are so different. You don’t have to be anyone but who you are, because thats the Steve that I like. And for the record I’d never be upset at you missing a show for Migraine by the way.” Eddie ducked his head to the side to catch Steve’s eyes.

“But music is so important to you, it’s your passion!” Steve tried to protest.

But Eddie shook his head, his hands migrating up to cradle Steve’s face. “Yes but, Stevie baby hear me when I say this; I love you, I would never ask you to hurt yourself for me, that’s incredibly selfish thats not what love is.”

“I- really, your sure its okay I won’t always be able to come? Even when you’re rich and famous?” Steve questioned his heart still not believing it.

“Of course honey! If anything all the money I make being rich and famous will be used to spoil you anyway. I’ll get you any and all help for your migraines too. We are a team baby.” Eddie pulled Steve into his chest.

Steve instantly melted into the embrace, clutching at Eddie’s clothes and he rocked the two of them, one hand back in Steve’s hair to try and distract from the migraine.

[moonstruckme]

you rang for steve requests!!!

you write him so soft and boyish and nice, i've been wanting to request something and i just got an idea!

maybe some hurt comfort about reader coming to the starcourt parking lot to pick up steve (and robin and dustin) as soon as they hear abt the fire? or the emts asking steve who they should call and he just says rs phone number, and then like a "you came" "you called" moment?

I did ring, thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: season 3 canon events, reader is in the dark but won't be for much longer, mentions of physical injury, fire, suspicious governement folks covering shit up as suspicious government folks do

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 868 words

Your throat is impossibly dry the whole drive to the mall. Dry, and tight, like you couldn’t swallow if you tried. The parking lot is filled with everything from firetrucks to military helicopters, which you won’t think to wonder about until later. You’re scanning the smattering of people for Steve before you’re even out of the car. 

You don’t actually remember parking. Or pulling your keys from the ignition, or opening your door. The next thing you know you’re breathing in smoke and bumping shoulders with firefighters, your focus narrowed on the back of an ambulance. 

“Steve?” 

Your voice is hoarse, but he looks up like he can sense you. You see his lips form your name, brow bunching in that cute way of his. You start running. 

“Steve!” 

“Hey, hi.” He stands from the chassis of the ambulance, rocking back a little when he catches you. You hug him fiercely. “What’re you doing here?” 

He smells like smoke and oddly like iron, his skin damp with sweat. You don’t care; you curl your face into his neck. “I saw the fire on the news.”

“So you…drove towards it?” 

“I knew you were here!” You pull away from him, suddenly furious. “Why do you always have to work on your stupid project at night?” Steve’s been up to something lately. He won’t tell you about it, but you know it involves Robin and Dustin and something to do with translation. Steve says it’s not important but he acts like it is, and he’s been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the whole thing. “Where’s Robin? Is she—” 

“She’s fine, she’s over there.” Steve juts his chin to the right. Through the smoke and chaos, you can just make out her familiar silhouette. She’s standing with a couple of kids about Dustin’s age. 

You let out a breath that turns into a shiver, and Steve cups your arms, rubbing up and down almost thoughtlessly. It melts down your anger into something wetter. When you look at him again, your voice is rough. 

“What happened to you?” 

“I’m fine, honey.” 

“Steve, your face.” 

He touches it, as though the tableau of black and purple bruises had slipped his mind. It’s hard to tell if his wince is from pain or remorse. “Right, yeah. Um…” 

“Mr. Harrington.” A voice comes from behind you, brusque and tired-sounding. You press closer to Steve instinctively, protective, but Steve’s face lights with recognition. 

“Oh. Hey, Doc.” 

You turn, too surprised to do much for covering your bemusement. Why would a doctor be wearing military gear like this, and be followed by a soldier carrying a gun? 

“Can we speak to you for a minute?” 

“Sure,” Steve says, but you talk over him. 

“No.” 

The man—Doc, whoever he is—looks at you as though just noticing you’re there. You steel yourself, but his gaze is more kind than hostile. Sympathetic, even. 

Steve squeezes your hip gently. “Y/n—” 

“No.” 

You don’t know what these people want with Steve, but you know you don’t like it. Your instincts are screaming at you not to let him go. To keep him close, preferably forever. 

Steve looks past you. “Can you give us a minute?” 

They go without a fight, seemingly assured in your boyfriend’s ability to placate you. You don’t want to be placated. You feel patronized and pent-up, and you blame that for the stinging tears that invade your vision. You cling to the fabric of Steve’s shirt like a vice. 

“Hey,” he lowers his voice, head dropping to meet your eyes. “It’s fine, they just wanna talk to me.” 

“Why? Can’t it wait? You just got out of a burning building, you—” 

“It won’t take long. They just want me to tell them what happened.” 

“You haven’t even told me what happened.” Your voice tightens and splinters, fist clenching so hard in Steve’s shirt you can feel your own nails through the fabric. Steve grabs your face in a panic. 

“Honey, it’s fine. Okay? It’s fine. I’ll tell you,” he says in a rush, then pauses. Something new comes over his expression, and he drops his forehead to yours. Lets out a breath. “I’ll tell you, I promise. Later, okay? This’ll just take a minute, and then we’ll go back to my place and talk. Alright?” 

You feel silly, sniffling and with tears on your cheeks, but you nod. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes out. His grip on your face gentles, cradling your jaw as he bends to kiss you. 

It’s meant to be a brief, conciliatory kiss, you know, but with all your overwhelm and all Steve has no doubt been through it heats up fast. You’re both gasping when he pulls away, using a thumb to wipe the wetness from your cheeks. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promises you. 

“You better be,” you threaten. You’re really quite serious, but Steve smiles, and naturally the sight of it makes your lips tug too. 

“I will,” he says. “Just, wait here, okay? Right back.” 

You hop up on the ambulance as he goes, making his way through the smoke to where Doc and his armed buddies wait for him by a helicopter. You couldn’t take your eyes off him if you tried.