#luca abort

[spilladabalia]

Ifix Tcen Tcen - Perdendo un amico

[diabolicphallus666]

Hail Almighty Lord Satan!

May the world forever be changed in the Glory of our All Powerful LORD SATAN as xristianity and it's influence is eradicated and dies out from existence!

[crypt-tids]

A Gift Unto the King

CW: illness, nausea, fainting, pregnancy loss, abortion discussion, medical procedure

25

In Sickness

Carmilla awoke to the cold chill of the hard, wood floor against her dewy skin. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, pulsing rapidly through her temple. She tried to collect herself, but her vision was blurred and doubled. With a series of hasty blinks, it slowly returned to its proper focus—a process that took a bit longer than she cared for. Cautiously, she shuffled her arm to prop herself up, peeling her sweat-stuck cheek away from the floorboards. Her skull rattled with painful throbs, the ringing in her ears nearly deafening. She felt lost and disoriented, panic threading through her as she tried to bring herself out of the fainting spell. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, the ringing grew dull and began to subside. With more force, she pushed herself up further, grunting from the strain on her groggy body. Carmilla’s arm shook beneath her slightly, a fierce aura piercing through her eyes as a sharp pain ricocheted through her skull. Instinctively, she pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead, letting out a harsh hiss.

Once the pain had lessened into a more tolerable ache, she glanced around through squinted eyes, finding herself alone in her chambers, uncertain of exactly how much time had elapsed in her involuntary absence. Drawing a deep breath, she pushed herself up from the floor, another sharp throb plunging into her forehead.

“Nn-” She squoze her eyes shut, keeping them clenched until she’d firmly righted herself. Lightheaded, she attempted to stand still, her body wobbling as her equilibrium stabilized. She had half a mind to grip the bed, lest the dizziness force her to the ground again, at least then she’d know where she’d land.

“Your highness?” A small, muffled, voice spoke through the closed chamber door, following a soft knock.

“Y-yes,” Carmilla grunted, opening her eyes, and pushing her body upright from the mattress, “come in.”

The door clicked against the squeaking hinges as it swung open. A small framed woman quickly slipped into the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. The ginger-haired maid glanced towards the queen, her eyes finding Carmilla in a dreadful state—something she had grown accustomed to in the passing weeks, though this time seemed to be the worst of it.

“Your highness, are you alright?” Aoife asked, her voice calm, but laden with concern.

“Mm.” Carmilla forced through a brief wave of nausea, “I’m fine, thank you.”

The queen felt a gentle hand squeeze her arm, and she glanced over to meet the hazel gaze of her maid, who’s brows had now upturned, forming a strong crease over the bridge of her nose.

“You look quite unwell, your highness.”

“More than usual?” Carmilla joked lightly, however, Aoife didn’t find the humor in it.

She did look more unwell than usual. Far more unwell. Her ashy skin glistened with sweat, her coils matting down against her damp forehead. The pale colored chemise no longer loosely draped over her body, but rather clung to it heavily, sticking to her chest and thighs. Aoife detected a slight tremble in the queen’s limbs, and she couldn’t be certain, but she felt a touch feverish.

“Please, sit down, I will get you some water.” The ginger guided the elf towards the chair, gripping her firmly as she lowered her into it.

Carmilla’s forehead felt dewy and her heart raced uncomfortably. The waves of nausea would ebb and flow, though thankfully not growing any further than a severe annoyance. Her head still furiously ached, and she wondered if perhaps she had hit it on the floor when she’d fainted, a theory confirmed by the tender soreness of her temple when her fingers lightly brushed across it.

Aoife held out a glass of fresh water to the queen, which she graciously accepted, before taking a cautious sip. The cool water settled in her stomach, a shiver running up her spine. Carmilla’s body jolted with tight trembles as her unease whittled away at her.

As her coils bounced aside, Aoife noticed an irritated, red mark near her temple, appearing a bit like a small scuff. Leaning down, she impulsively brushed the curls aside to get a better look. It wasn’t until Carmilla jerked away that she had realized she’d acted improperly.

“My apologies, your highness.” Aoife spoke timidly, pulling herself back.

Carmilla shrunk, letting out a long sigh.

“It’s fine.” The elf replied breathily.

“You hit your head.” Aoife persisted, her voice cautious.

“I’m fine.” Carmilla returned flatly.

“Your majesty, I-”

“I’m fine.” The queen shot sharply, taking the young maid by surprise.

Aoife stood silently, her worried eyes still fixed on the queen, but daring not to speak any further. Carmilla took another sip of water, shuddering as it settled into her nauseous stomach.

Glancing up, Carmilla’s eyes met Aoife’s—glossy green, shadowed by furrowed, ginger brows. Her cheeks were flushed light pink against her pale, freckled skin. Anxiously, she gnawed at her lower lip, now red and chapped.

The elf extended her hand towards Aoife. With a moment’s hesitation, the maid placed her hand in Carmilla’s, the warmth of her touch radiating up her arm, into her fluttering chest.

“I appreciate your concern, but please,” Carmilla gave Aoife’s hand a gentle squeeze, “do not worry too much. I promise, I’m fine.” She gave a soft smile that she hoped would look more convincing than it felt.

“It’s my job to worry about you, your highness.” Aoife stated calmly.

“I know.” Carmilla sighed. “But I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”

Aoife frowned, and Carmilla shifted subjects.

“Help me get ready, yes? I think I would like to stroll through the garden today.” Though she most certainly did not feel in any right state to be strolling anywhere, she had hoped that Aoife’s anxiety would be eased by the idea of it.

Nodding, the ginger woman guided the queen to her feet, gathered her clothes, and helped her slip them on. The bodice of her dress fit snugly over her middle, despite her thin frame, and Aoife made an effort to loosen the laces down her back to compensate. Her fingers brushed over the wrinkles and folds of the fabric, smoothing them out. Grabbing a pair of gem adorned, leather shoes, she carefully slid them onto Carmilla’s feet, securing the laces around her slender ankle. Aoife couldn’t help but notice how sharp and angular her body had become. The softened roundness of her form had all but disappeared in the wake of her violent morning sickness, and the sight of this drastic change only made the young maid grow more concerned.

Once properly fitted, Aoife returned to her feet, draping a long cloak over her shoulders, and securely tying it in place. She reached up to tame a few wild coils, then stood back, hands tightly clasped in front of her.

“You look lovely, your highness.” The ginger woman spoke softly.

Carmilla smiled warmly.

“Would you care to escort me to the garden?” Asked the queen, extending a hand towards Aoife.

With an agreeing nod, the maid took her outstretched hand, and led her to the garden.

The air carried a crisp chill, but not overly unpleasant. Most of the leaves had turned by now, the distant mountains covered in brilliant yellows and fiery reds. Despite the changing of the seasons, the enchanted garden remained unphased, blooming even still as though it were freshly spring. The sweet scent of peonies wafted strongly on the breeze.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Carmilla broke the silence, her voice light.

“It is.” Aoife agreed, her eyes fixed on Carmilla.

The corners of her cherry lips upturned into a soft smile, and her eyes dazzled brilliantly in the midday sun. Everything about her glowed so warmly here in the garden, as though it was where she belonged—as if she were a part of it. The radiance of Carmilla’s aura extended well beyond her, and Aoife found it difficult to look away.

She watched as the elf lowered herself to the ground, kneeling in the dirt, before a large rose bush. Then, she noticed, Carmilla’s smile begin to fade.

“What is it, your majesty?” Aoife asked, lowering herself down beside the queen.

“Elvenwood had such beautiful roses.” She quietly replied, her fingers lightly brushing over the petals of a freshly unfurled flower.

“I’ve heard that Elvenwood is quite lovely.”

“It is.” Carmilla confirmed with a sigh. “On the outside, at least.”

“Do you miss it?” Aoife spoke sincerely.

“That depends.” Carmilla replied, her face scrunching for a brief moment as she thought, before finally continuing with a melancholic tone. “I miss its beauty.”

“Only its beauty?” The young maid inquired.

“It’s complicated, I suppose.” Carmilla huffed through her nose. “You know that feeling of missing something because it was all you knew, but growing to realize how utterly wrong so much of it was?” The queen’s eyes shifted towards the ginger, a dewy shimmer at their corners.

Aoife’s brows upturned, a small frown tugging at the edges of her mouth, but she didn’t speak.

Carmilla’s eyes fell to the flowers before her, gently bobbing in the breeze. Shoulders drooped, she curled her fingers around the fabric of her dress, pressing her palms firmly against her thighs.

“I had to put up with so much, without ever being granted a place to speak my mind.” The elf shook her head lightly, her ringlets bobbing against her jaw. “Not a single decision in my life was one that I, myself, had made. I was ordered to do as I was told, and never go against my family’s wishes—that their will was for the best, even if I couldn’t see it.”

Aoife watched the queen shrink into herself. She felt herself leaning towards her, as if the diminishing energy around Carmilla was somehow pulling her closer.

“I held my tongue, even when I desperately wished not to. I agreed to every plan and order they placed upon me.” Carmilla’s voice began to tremble as her tone elevated. “I allowed myself to be shipped off to a foreign land because it was in the best interest of my country, and I promised an elven heir to the house of Valke because my father willed it!” She spat sharply, ripping a rose from the bush and crushing it in her fist, Aoife flinching in surprise. With a huff, Carmilla settled the aggravated twitching of her lip, letting the tension slowly leave her body, as she released the crumpled petals from her palm. “Not marrying the king was the only decision I have ever made for myself, and it’s one that doesn’t even matter.”

“I think…” Aoife added cautiously, “that you’re wrong, your highness.”

Carmilla glanced up at the fiery haired woman, the breeze gently tussling her loose curls. Sunlight shimmered against her freckled skin, casting a pale glow around her, soft and warm.

“I think that decision mattered more than anything.” Aoife finished with a modest smile.

“How?” Carmilla asked, straightening her posture, wincing from a small pain in her side. “Marriage matters little when we are still bound by a forged bloodline.” Her voice shook slightly, distress still heavily lining her face.

“Perhaps… and, forgive me if I overstep, but… by refusing to wed, you established yourself as, well, you. A person, and not a pawn. It may not seem like much, your highness, but truly, it is everything.”

Carmilla’s chin quivered for a quick moment, before giving a small smile.

“Do you really think that my decision…” She forced down a wave of nausea, “mattered that much?”

Aoife leaned closer, despite every fiber of her being telling her to clam up, and act properly. Her hand shuffled over the dirt, brushing against small blades of grass and weeds. She could hardly stop herself. The radiant, glowing aura of the queen tugged at her, drawing her in, even in such a dreadful state.

Stop yourself, for the love of all things, stop yourself! But her heart, already pounding loud enough to hear, wouldn’t listen.

“I do.” Aoife replied, her voice hardly more than a shaken whisper.

“I hope you’re right.” Carmilla returned, her words brushing against Aoife’s lips.

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, a mixture of excited nerves and exhaustion competing desperately within her. Aoife’s hand slipped closer, their fingertips nearly touching. So dreadfully she wished to close the gap, but her body fought against it. Carmilla felt cold sweat dampen her body, nausea catching in her throat. Aches plunged through her back and sides, her vision beginning to tunnel.

Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through Carmilla’s abdomen, buckling her over. She hissed, drawing a staggered breath, clutching her stomach. Hazy, black clouds crept over her eyes, pulsing with her heartbeat.

“Carmilla?!” Aoife lunged forward, catching the queen in her arms. “What’s wrong?!”

“Hah- nngh!” Carmilla grunted, sweat rolling down her temples.

“Carmilla!” The maid pulled the elf close, her tone becoming increasingly more panicked as her heart pounded furiously in her chest. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! HELP!”

Carmilla’s body trembled, hot acid burning in her throat. Cold chills ran over her limbs, her palms clammy and tingling. She could hear Aoife’s frantic calls growing faint in her mind as the blackness consumed her and she slowly lost consciousness.

Vin paced the length of the solar, his fingers mindlessly stroking his chin as he thought. Lucas sat in the chair by the window, his hand resting delicately over his middle. The werewolf’s eyes followed the king closely.

“Is it possible we’re overthinking it?” Lucas asked with a sigh.

“Or we aren’t thinking enough.” Vin returned.

“I doubt that highly.”

“If you have any ideas, I’m all ears.” Vin leaned against the wall, his arms folded and ankles crossed.

Lucas clicked his tongue, before nibbling his lower lip. The baby fluttered softly, and he lightly drummed his fingers over his belly in response, catching Vin’s eye.

“They are just humans-”

“Which many of our citizens are.” Vin added.

“Right,” Lucas continued, “but, I mean, by comparison, curse-borns have the advantage of strength, and elves… well, they’re just assholes all around.”

“Not completely unfounded.” The vampire jokingly confirmed with a nod.

Lucas sighed, awkwardly pushing himself up from the chair, earning a small giggle from his husband to be. Once fully upright, he pressed a hand to his lower back, hoping to ease some of the soreness residing there to little avail.

“Vin, there hasn’t been an attack in over a month. You’ve secured our border, and Elvenwood has secured their’s. Your plan is working.”

“What if it stops working?” Vin interjected.

“Then we’ll deal with it.” Lucas stepped towards the king, his fingers reaching towards Vin’s tightly folded arms. “Recruitment has been going well and so has training. We’ll be ready for anything that comes our way, I know it.”

Vin shook his head, resting his hand over the werewolf’s, lightly stroking his knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m just a little on edge. I don’t trust the silence.”

“I know.” Lucas agreed on a long exhale. “But what else are we supposed to do? If we rush in, we risk losing every advantage we are working so diligently to build.”

Vin huffed through his nose, sharply.

“I’m not suggesting we be reckless.”

“Of course not.” Lucas replied.

Vin let his arms unfold, leaning his body towards Lucas, resting his head against the muscular man’s shoulder.

“I just want to put this war behind us.” Vin mumbled, wrapping his arms around the large man.

“I do, too.” Lucas spoke softly, “But, all things in their own time.”

Vin slid his head off of Lucas’s shoulder, his eyes wandering up to meet the lycan’s golden gaze. A reassuring smile graced his stubbled face, warm sunlight casting a radiant halo around him.

“I wish this war hadn’t had to happen in our time.” Vin spoke defeatedly.

“As do I.” The lycan agreed. “As does everyone faced with such hardships.” He gently pushed a strand of hair behind Vin’s ear. “But it did, and all we can do is get through it. Ideally, in one piece.” Lucas joked to lighten the mood.

“Yeah…” The vampire replied mindlessly, his hands sliding over the sides of Lucas’s rounded belly, and resting there.

His mind drifted, and Lucas quickly noticed the growing distance. The king’s brows creased as his crimson eyes remained fixed on the swell in his grasp. A tiny flutter bumped against his palm, but Vin didn’t smile like Lucas had expected him to, and he suddenly understood the real reason his lover was so on edge.

“We’ll be okay, you know.” Lucas broke the silence, snapping Vin from his daze. “I promise.”

“I want to meet him.” Vin whispered with a crack. “I want to watch him grow up. I need to be able to do that.”

“You will, Vin. I’ll make sure of it.”

“How?” Vin huffed incredulously. “I don’t think will and prayer will be enough to keep me alive out there.”

“No,” Lucas returned, confidently, “but I will be.”

Vin snapped his gaze to Lucas’s face, his brows furrowed tensely. Crimson eyes flashed as the vampire pieced together his lover’s implication.

“No.” The king snapped. “Lucas, no.”

“If you think I’m letting you run into battle without me, you’re sorely mistaken-”

“You’re pregnant!”

“And in a few months, I won’t be!”

The pair fell silent, the only sound, their huffy breaths. Vin clenched his jaw, and Lucas studied him warily, waiting for his lover to speak. Finally, the vampire let out a sigh, his features softening, despite his aura still maintaining a disapproving intensity.

“Even if this war doesn’t progress until after our child’s arrival, you’ll still need time to heal and rest.” Vin’s voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

“And I will.” Lucas pressed. “But I’m not going to sit around being useless-”

“You will do as you’re told!” Vin spat with a harshness that he hadn’t entirely intended.

Lucas jolted, his body retreating slightly. Vin hadn’t spoken to him that way in a long time, and it made him feel small and inconsequential—like he was nothing. Vin, regretting his outburst immediately, reached out to grab his lover’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Please, Lucas,” the vampire begged, “please don’t follow me into battle so blindly.”

“It’s my job-”

“Your job is to raise our son—to ensure that he still has at least one father at the end of this.”

“If I go with you, he will have both-”

“Or he will lose both.” Vin interjected sternly.

Lucas did not reply at first, instead, stewing in the hypothetical torment of his mind’s making. After a few moments, he pushed those dreadful thoughts aside, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Why do you sound so committed to dying in this war?”

“I’m not!” Vin retorted. “But there is an entire nation that wants to serve my head up on a silver platter to its king! Forgive me for being realistic.”

“Your highness-” A voice rang out from the doorway.

“What?!” Vin snapped unconsciously, turning his gaze to the intruder.

“P-pardon the intrusion, but, it’s the queen. Queen Carmilla has taken ill, she’s in the infirmary.” An older maid, with frizzy gray hair, rushed out, her voice shaken and uneasy.

Lucas and Vin exchanged worried glances, the tension of their previous disagreement rapidly disappearing. With hardly a thought, the pair took off after the maid, tailing her down the hall. Vin’s heart pounded in his ears as his mind raced, each foot falling faster than the last. He hadn’t even noticed that Lucas and the maid had fallen behind as he soared into the lead by a considerable distance.

Please, be okay! For the love of the gods, PLEASE BE OKAY!

Footsteps pounded loudly against the wood floor, thumping down the stairs, and clacking against the tile towards the infirmary. A small congregation of people had collected outside of the door, daring not to press through. As the king approached, they quickly cleared a path for him to enter.

Gasping for breath, Vin was met with the sight of a panicked Aoife, clasping Carmilla’s hand firmly, while the sibling healers raced around collecting supplies. Bowls, linen towels, fresh water, all set purposefully on the table to the side of the bed. Angelique hastily placed a jar of herbs and a pair of forceps down on the tabletop beside them, turning just in time to relieve the maid behind her of a freshly heated tea kettle.

“What’s going on? Is she alright?” Vin asked frantically, his eyes darting between the unconscious Carmilla, and Angelique, who now appeared to be brewing some kind of tea with the herbs from the jar.

Alistair skirted around the infirmary bed, rushing towards Vin. Quickly, he pulled the king’s attention, his face firmly set and unemotional, putting Vin further on edge.

“We need to make a decision quickly, your highness.” Alistair’s voice was low.

“What’s going on, what’s wrong with her?” Vin peeked at the queen over Alistair’s shoulder, his brows threatening to merge with the bridge of his nose.

“Her body… it’s failing.” Alistair stated with a hushed softness that he hoped wouldn’t carry into the hall.

“Failing? Y-you mean, what, she’s dying?” Vin’s heart thumped in his throat, his voice cracking.

“Yes.” Alistair confirmed quickly. “Our options are limited, as is our time. If we’re going to save the child, we need to act swiftly and precisely.” He explained.

“What about Carmilla? Will she be alright?”

“If we’re successful.”

“And if you aren’t?”

“They both die.” Alistair somberly answered on a breathy exhale.

Vin glanced back and forth between Carmilla and Alistair. His mouth felt dry and gravity tugged on his limbs. Every sound around him felt both dull and deafening as they sawed into his eardrums. It took everything in him to stay present and focused.

“How do I ensure she survives?” Vin asked, watching Aoife dab the dewy sweat from the elf’s brow with a damp cloth.

Alistair sighed heavily, giving the queen a quick glance before returning his gaze to the king.

“We terminate the pregnancy.”

Vin’s eyes remained fixed on the queen. So limp and fragile, she hardly seemed alive as it was. Alistair was right, there wasn’t much time, and he knew, deep in his soul, that she would never come out of this alive if he took the risk. No matter how fiercely it burned in his chest to lose the child, he would never be able to live with the guilt of losing her.

“Your majesty, it’s your decision. Please, make it quickly.” Alistair’s tone was firm, yet pleading.

Vin swallowed hard.

“End it.” He answered quietly, his voice shaken and wispy.

Alistair nodded, rushing over to Angelique’s side, instructing her to proceed. They worked together quickly, spinning around each other with the grace and speed of a choreographed dance. As their motions blurred, Vin’s mind went blank, his jaw unconsciously clenched, brows twitching. He watched Alistair shuffle Aoife aside, her fingers reluctantly slipping away from the queen’s. Everyone, with the exception of Vin and Aoife, were ushered from the room. Briefly, the king and the young maid locked eyes, the dread in each other’s gaze evenly matched, and Vin suddenly understood the depth of her heart, and his own began to break with it.

“Miss Aoife!” Angelique called, beckoning her over to aid in the procedure.

With a quick jolt, she rushed over, nearly tripping over her own feet as she moved into position.

The ginger held Carmilla’s leg, standing opposite Angelique, Alistair quickly preparing between them. Giving Vin a glance, Aoife nodded to him, silently relieving him of his presence in the room.

Vin stood still for a moment, blankly staring at the crowded bed, before shuffling out of the infirmary, and into the hall, the heavy, wooden door thumping shut behind him. The corridor had nearly emptied, with the exception of Lucas and Marion, who stood tensely apart, but anxiously awaiting Vin’s emergence.

“What is it, darling? Is Carmilla alright?” Marion asked, quickly approaching her son, reaching out to grab his hand.

His palms were sweaty, and his hands trembled furiously with nerves and adrenaline. He couldn’t find it in himself to meet his mother’s gaze as the gravity of the current events began thoroughly sinking in.

“No.” Vin finally answered, his voice hollow and broken. “They’re… trying to save her.”

“Save her? A-and the baby?” Marion pressed, her grip tightening.

Vin shook his head, and Lucas swallowed hard, his fingers tightly curling around the loose, shirt fabric draped over his belly.

Marion’s eyes flickered, but she refrained from inquiring further, sensing her son’s distress, instead extending an offer to get a drink and some food to take his mind off of it. Vin declined, insisting that he should stay behind until the procedure was finished. She pressed her lips thin, giving her son a quick hug, and a soft, but heavy, smile, before turning away from him. For a brief moment, she locked eyes with Lucas, glancing down to his middle, barely hidden beneath his blouse, her brows creasing slightly, before shuffling off towards her chambers.

Lucas’s heart pounded harshly, butterflies swirling in his stomach. He had a feeling that things were going to become much more complicated, much sooner than he had anticipated. But now was hardly the time to worry about himself. Shaking off his own nerves, he stretched a comforting hand to his lover, withdrawing when Vin recoiled.

“I’m sorry.” The lycan whispered, his tone broken.

“I put her life at risk.” Vin murmured, more to himself than to Lucas.

“You didn’t know this would happen-”

“She could’ve died!” Vin’s eyes snapped up to Lucas’s, tears gathering at his waterline. “She still might…” With exhaustion and defeat, Vin leaned over, pressing his head against Lucas’s chest.

Instinctively, Lucas wrapped his arms around the shrunken vampire, his hands comfortingly stroking his back.

“I made her suffer so much, and it was all for nothing.” Vin’s muffled voice rumbled against Lucas’s body.

“Everything is gonna be okay.” Lucas whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Vin’s head. It was the only thing he could think to say. He wasn’t even sure if he believed it, but it was all he had to offer to hold their world together.

Slowly, Vin pulled back, his hair shrouding his face.

“You should head home.”

“I don’t mind waiting with you-” Lucas started.

“No, I…” Vin sighed, his eyes glued to the tile floor, “you should get some rest. I’m going to be here for a while.”

“I can stay-”

“Lucas,” Vin’s voice was weak and pleading, and Lucas’s heart fell.

“You… want to be alone.” The lycan spoke in a whisper.

Vin nodded slowly.

Lucas drew a deep breath, a melancholic frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his lover’s head.

“I’ll be home if you need me.” The knight assured, giving Vin’s arm a comforting squeeze, before turning away, and heading down the hall.

Once the sound of Lucas’s footsteps had faded away, Vin lifted his gaze, finding himself alone. He could hear light shuffling and voices coming from the infirmary, muffled by the thick, wooden door. He couldn’t quite make any of it out, and part of him was thankful for that. But even still, his mind remained weighted and troubled. With a sigh, he pressed his back into the cold, stone wall, sliding down to the floor.

All he could do now was wait.

[mrsbsmooth]

This is so dumb but it's a headcanon that's been on my mind for ages.

Basically we know Lucas doesn't want kids, but I just can't get over the thought of him finding out his gf is pregnant, wanting NOTHING to do with it, trying to throw money at the problem to make it go away, etc. But then when he sees his baby he just.... boom. Head over heels.

SO ANYWAY I WROTE IT.

I smashed this out in a single sitting over a few hours, so please don't be too harsh, it's probably full of waffle and mistakes and broken metaphors, but I just needed to get it down.

Enjoy :)

He had to know

Read now on Ao3

[sweetasteriaa]

Fuck you Glenn Youngkin! Great news for VA women!

[malkaviian]

yes charlotte would absolutely use the "im pregnant" as a trump card if things were so horrid in her marriage to the point rafael asks for a divorce

[cdragons]

I'm Yours, But You Can't Be Mine | Dark!Robb Stark x fem Knight!Reader

Summary: The Freys and the Boltons were so close in their attempt to assassinate Robb Stark and switch the tides in favor of the Lannisters. But a knight's devotion to her king should never be tested. Her loyalty always remains true, even if she breaks the heart of the man she loves in order to protect him.

Trigger Warning(s): MDNI 18+, blood, gore, graphic violence, forced abortion, violence against women, canon character deaths (not Robb or Starks), graphic smut, more hurt than comfort, Talisa is a spy (and a ho), Reader has post-murder clarity and guilt

A/N: A couple of days ago, I woke up and chose violence (emotionally and "literature"-ally) ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ. Also, Theon Greyjoy never betrayed Robb in this fic bc I said so - HOORAY! Also, if anyone can tell me how I can use different fonts in my posts, that would be great.

Walking out from the tent where the emergency council meeting was held, you steeled yourself for the information you would have to discuss with your king. With each step falling to the ground, bringing you closer to his tent, the boulder in your stomach grew more and more heavy.

“This is a bad idea,” you thought to yourself. “This is a bad idea and a mistake; he will never forgive you if you go through this.”

But you made a promise – and as Ned Stark taught you, you would keep it because it was right and honorable. Because when choosing between what is right and what is easy…you must always choose what is right.

You stopped before the two Northmen who stood outside your king’s tent as guardsmen. Their postures straightened and appeared as imposing as possible when facing you.

“Turn back, Ser (Y/N),” one guard said. “No matter how familiar with King Robb, we are on strict orders from Lady Catelyn that no one but her and Princess Arya are permitted to enter His Grace’s tent.”

“I need to speak with the King,” you spoke in your best militant and authoritative tone. “His lords and I just held an emergency council meeting to discuss House Frey’s betrayal. I need to ensure that no information is held from him.”

“Perhaps it be best you let His Grace rest,” the other guard spat out. “He had just lost his queen and future heir at the hands of Walder Frey – even if his wife was a spying, traitorous cunt sent by Tywin Lannister. We could all use some time to mourn.”

You snarled and grabbed your dagger when you saw the sigil sewn on her sheath. He belonged to House Blackwood. Your eyes softened as you recognized him as Bywin Blackwood, cousin to Lucas Blackwood, one of the four hundred casualties slain by Hosteen Frey. Taking a deep breath, you tried to appeal to their sympathetic natures.

“I concur, Ser Bywin,” you said. “But you cannot deny that time is of the essence. Three days have passed since the failed Red Wedding, and word has surely reached Tywin Lannister and the rest of the Red Keep of their failure. I fear for Princess Sansa’s life if we do not take action soon. Her well-being is entirely dependent on King Joffery and his bitch mother’s whims and wishes. The faster I can bring our king up to speed, the faster we can retaliate and bring our former liege lord’s daughter back.”

You watched them glance at one another before delivering the final blow. “And then we can all go home so that we may finally properly mourn and honor the lives lost in this war.”

They let you through, and you entered your king’s tent. Seeing your friend lying so still on his cot broke your heart. His chest was wrapped entirely in gauze and bandages, and the memory of seeing the arrows puncture his body swept chills down your back. Grey Wind sat beside him as dutifully as ever and did not even turn his head to look at you when you entered. Like his master, Grey Wind was a beast of discipline and strength. He and Robb shared the same qualities of holding the stoic appearance of a leader – even when the world around them came crumbling down. But here, at this moment, Grey Wind was neither a beast nor a leader. At this moment, he was simply the pet whose mind was running rampant with worry from fear of his dearest friend never waking up.

You held out your hand and called out his name. “Grey Wind.”

His head finally turned to face you. You often wondered if he was more man than beast, sometimes based on how soulful his eyes looked alone. You crouched on the ground and beckoned him to you.

“Come here, boy. Are you thirsty? I brought you water.”

He immediately trotted to you and showed his joy in seeing you were alive by licking your face and nudging you with his wet nose. You softly laughed at his eagerness to shower you in love while also inspecting your body to see if you were injured or carrying weapons. His body stilled, and his fur stood as he stopped to sniff the sword resting on your hip. He took a sniff and bared his teeth to let out a low growl when he recognized the scent of Talisa’s blood soaking the metal of your blade underneath the leather sheath.

You petted him and spoke in low whispers to calm him down. “It’s alright, boy. She met her end – you and I both ensured that.”

A pained voice rasped out. “I don’t suppose you got any information out of it?”

Your eyes widened at the only other voice in the room, and Grey Wind immediately returned to Robb’s side.

Tears filled your eyes as relief flooded your body. “Robb,” you sobbed out.

Before you could stop yourself, you flung yourself to hug him. “You’re alive! Oh gods – you’re alive!”

Returning your embrace, Robb held you close. “I am, and so are my mother and most of our men—all thanks to you.”

But the happy atmosphere became sour and somber when he looked down at your sword. The memory of your hands covered in his wife’s blood as you stormed into Frey’s Great Hall with the rest of his men was fresh in his mind. Fury swirled and thundered inside him as he learned he had been played as a fool by Tywin Lannister. Using one of his vassal house’s daughters as a spy while disguised as a healer so that she could seduce him was a low he never thought those fucking lions would stoop down to, but they had, and he will have their heads on spikes.

His grip on your arms grew harder. “Did she suffer?” he asked.

You looked him straight in the eyes. “Every second until she had her last breath.”

“Good,” was his only response.

“Robb,” you started. What you were about to tell him was cruel, but he needed to know. “I tore her child out from her womb…it had blonde hair.”

Robb let out a bitter laugh and clenched his fists. “So not only was she a spy, but she was also a whore.” He shook his head. “I was a fool.”

You took his hand in yours. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She had us all fooled.”

Robb shook his head. “Not you. She never fooled you. You hated her the minute you saw her, and you were right, too.”

You never once hid your distrust and dislike for her from the moment she and Robb locked eyes, a distrust that only grew more intense when Robb decided to marry her, thus breaking the vow he made with Walder Frey. But despite your skepticism of Talisa Maegyr, you never suspected she was a spy under Tywin Lannister. Eventually, though, you began to trust her after observing her for countless hours.

She wasn’t a Frey girl, but she might be good to Robb. Maybe she would make him happy.

Robb tucked in a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Who would’ve thought that your natural hatred and distrust for anything pretty would come in so handy?”

“I do not hate all things ‘pretty,’” you scoffed. “I just have a natural distrust for things that seem too good to be true that happen to be pretty. Why do you think I ran away from you for so long?”

Robb smirked. “But you always trusted my father?” he chuckled.

"Ned Stark was someone who was born into privilege and knew it," you shrugged. “Besides, he was old and fat when he found me. And I didn’t think it would be useful until now.”

You thought it strange to see her leave the feast so early, claiming that she felt ill, and one of Bolton’s soldiers escorted her to her chambers. You whispered to Theon that you needed some air before quietly following them. You found them discussing how everything was set and how House Stark would fall that night. Talisa’s true name was Joy Marband, one of House Lannister’s vassal houses in the Westerlands. Tal- Joy ensured Lord Bolton that House Lannister would reward him for his loyalty to the crown. Horrified by this revelation, you rushed to where Grey Wind was locked up and freed him after slaying the guards that stood in front of his kennel.

“Grey Wind, gather the men,” you ordered. “Gather as many as possible and lead them to the Great Hall! We don’t have much time!” Grey Wind howled before doing exactly as you ordered. When he parted, you set off to find the spying whore. On your way to find her, you slew every son, guard, knight, squire, and steward that came across you.

You found her all right – found her in her chambers getting fucked from behind by one of Lord Frey’s many bastard sons. You took out your dagger and gutted him from balls to the chest before cutting off his pathetic cock. It gave you a sick amount of pleasure to see how his blood sprayed across the room – from the walls to the bed, on the traitorous cunt’s back he was fucking to on your clothes. His body went limp as a massive puddle of blood surrounded him. After watching him die, you turned your attention to her.

“Please,” she cried while clutching a blood-splattered sheet close to her chest. “Please, I am with child – Robb’s child!”

You reached out, and your hand squeezed around her throat as she tried to claw her way out of your grasp. Anger being your drive, you slammed her head against the headboard of the bed and watched as her lips turned blue from lack of air.

“Don’t you say his name,” you growled. “Don’t you EVER say his name!”

You flung her like she was a simple ragdoll as her body slammed against the stone wall adjacent to the bed. She coughed and gasped for air while rubbing her throat – the bruises were already forming. You stalked towards her before she could crawl away.

“Robb trusted you!” you thundered. “Lady Stark trusted you! The North trusted you – I TRUSTED YOU!”

You towered over her, grabbed a fistful of her umber-shaded locks, and forcefully yanked it until her face was only inches from yours. “AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU TOOK THAT TRUST AND REPAID IT WITH BETRAYAL!”

She tried to crawl away before you stomped on her hand and felt it being crushed underneath the sole of your boot. Your former queen wailed in agony from the pain that almost hid the sound of her bones cracking. The dagger you used to fill the bleeding corpse was still in your other hand, and you knelt to trace Lady Marband’s pretty face with its tip.

“W-w-what are you going to do to me?” she pathetically sniffled.

“I have – STOP CRYING! I have only one question for you,” you harshly whispered. “Did my king truly sire the child in your womb?”

“YES!” she cried out quickly…too quickly. Your jaw clenched so hard you thought your teeth would break from all the pressure.

“…Liar,” you hissed.

With nothing left to stop you, you took your dagger and stabbed it into her body. Dragging the blade until her insides were spilling out into your hands, you dug your find to find the child. Her screams howled louder than any beast at night, and you were almost worried that her wails would give away your position. But all those worries went away when you tore the fetus from her womb. Pouring water on it, you found tiny wisps of hair…straight, blond wisps of hair that more resembled the color of golden wheat than Robb’s dark, russet curls.

Hearing Grey Wind’s howl outside the window, you knew it was time. Still holding the whore’s limb and bloodied bastard in your hand, you raced to find Grey Wind. If your suspicions were true, most of the archers for House Frey were already inside the Great Hall while the feast was happening. If you didn’t hurry, you and the men Grey Wind gathered would be too late. You managed to locate him quickly and were relieved to find thousands of men behind him as he immediately trotted to your side.

“Queen Talisa Maegyr is a traitor working for the Lannisters!” you loudly roared. “She belongs to House Marband—one of their vassal houses! Tywin Lannister had sent her to spy on and seduce your king!”

You raised the dead babe high above your head for all the men to see. “The babe in her stomach is not even Robb’s! If you wish for proof, see for yourself!”

You flung its body to the nearest man. He picked it up, and you can see his eyes widen and fill with rage before confirming your words as truth.

“BLONDE!” he bellowed for all his comrades to hear. “BLONDE LIKE JOFFERY AND HIS WHORE MOTHER, HIDING IN THEIR RED SHIT-STAINED CASTLE!”

Cries and shouts of outrage and anger amongst the men. You watched with bated breath as the surge of revenge and the need for bloodshed filled their hearts. You then revealed that Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were also in a secret allegiance with House Lannister and watched as enraged spirits filled the men with enough fury to take down an army of ten thousand. The North needed something to boost morale, and here it was. You looked down at Grey Wind. He stared back into your eyes with the same loyalty he gives Robb, and you know what you must do.

With one swipe, you unsheathe your blade, ‘Purge,’ and raise it above your head as the men go silent.

You shouted before leading the charge into the keep. “COME WITH ME AND LET’S TAKE THESE FUCKING FREYS TO THEIR GRAVES!”

Grey Wind howled to the sky, and the men raised their weapons to let out their battle cries as they followed you, storming into the keep. You shouted orders for the Riverland archers to run to the upper levels to take down the Freys perched there. Your king’s direwolf raced ahead and took down any soldier that tried to cross him. By the time you and the men reached the doors leading to the Great Hall, all of Grey Wind’s face was soaked with spilled red liquid life save for his golden eyes.  

You pushed the door open just in time to see Robb stagger back from the arrows piercing his chest. Just when Roose Bolton tried to deliver the final blow, Grey Wind let out a booming bark before dashing to Lord Bolton and clamping his teeth into his neck. Meanwhile, you went to where Theon was held and removed the heads of the men who were pinning him down with a single swing. You grabbed him by his doublet’s collar, yanked him to his feet, and shoved a spare sword in his hand.

“Grab Robb and his mother, and get out of here!” you ordered.

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you–”

“Dammit Theon! Don’t argue with me!” you shouted. “Just get Robb and Lady Catelyn somewhere safe!”

Theon looked at the chaos unfolding around him. “What about Queen Talisa?”

“She’s dead! I killed her!” you answered.

 “WHAT?!” Theon’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

You rolled your eyes. “Tywin Lannister sent her to spy and fuck Robb – NOW, GO!”

Once you saw Theon take Lady Stark and they dragged Robb’s bleeding body to safety, you could finally focus on the fight. You focused your sights on every man who wore a Frey or Bolton sigil and didn’t stop until each one was lying at your feet. The blood spilled from each slash, stab, and chop from Purge soaked your clothes and caked your face. But it was as if a dark ritual had taken place, as their blood only seemed to empower each and every one of your attacks. Before long, it was too late for House Frey and House Bolton. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were bleeding at the Northmen’s feet, and any reinforcements called were immediately subdued and taken into custody.

As far as you were concerned, the only Frey left in the hall was Roslin—but whether she and the rest of her sisters would keep their heads after their surviving brothers would soon lose theirs didn’t really matter to you.

“I’m alive,” Robb began while cupping your cheek, “because of you. The North survived because of you. How can I ever repay you?”

You held his hand. “I didn’t save you for your gratitude, Robb. I didn’t save you so that you could repay me with titles, money, or lands. I saved you because it was my duty. I saved you because I swore to that night Joffery called for your father’s head, and we named you ‘King of the North.’ I saved you because I…”

Robb titled his head. “Because you what?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you whispered.

“Because you love me?” he softly asked. Pressing his forehead to yours, he continued. “Because I do…you know I do.”

You shook your head. “No, Robb – please. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t say things you don’t mean to make me look less foolish.”

You tried to move back and away from the man you’ve longed after for as long as you could remember. But Robb took your hands and pressed them close to his chest as he implored you to remain by his side.

“That night, after they named me ‘King of the North.’ Do you remember? We were in my tent. I told you I wanted to be alone, but you refused to leave me. I cried and lashed like a screaming child, but you never left.”

This was getting too far. This wasn’t why you came here. “Robb, you need to listen to me–”

But Robb didn’t stop talking. “You just stood there – taking it until you finally took me in your arms and held me. You didn’t say a word; you just let me cry out my pain. Like that time when we captured the Kingslayer, you held my hand when I kneeled in front of the Whispering Wood to mourn the men I lost. You didn’t speak of how brilliant I was or how the lives lost were for a good cause; you let me be me and mourn.”

“Robb–”

“That’s when I knew I loved you – that I’ve always loved you. And then, when we kissed–”

“I’m leaving,” you blurted out, “to Maidenpool tomorrow morning.”

The silence between you two seemed to echo louder than any wind that howled during the fiercest storms. Shock was the first thing on Robb’s face before complete and utter horror took over.

You may have spoken too quickly. “Well, no…technically, I and…a few other riders will be headed to Maidenpool tomorrow morning. We need to prepare a ship for your voyage to Dragonstone.”

“…What?” His voice sounded so broken that you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You combed your fingers through the stray hairs in front of your face. Then, you took a deep breath to prepare for the little speech you had prepared for this moment. This was the plan you and all lords agreed on. It was a good plan, and it was going to work. That’s all you needed to believe to convince Robb.

“Stannis is the realm’s best chance for peace. Perhaps he’s too stubborn but needs more people on his council. Your lords and I decided it was best if you traveled to Dragonstone to try and convince him to become allies with us. But you still need a few more days to recover. So, by the time you arrive at the docks, the ship will be ready. That’s why I – we’re traveling to Maidenpool… to travel to Dragonstone.”

“And after?” Robb breathily asked. His grip on you tightened in desperate hopes of keeping you close. “After we speak with Stannis, we’ll come back? You and me—we’re coming back together?”

You looked away. “You’ll be coming back…along with everyone else. But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

“But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

Robb dropped his hands as if you burned him. You were lying. You had to be – you weren’t genuinely thinking about…about leaving him.

“No,” he panted with terrified eyes. “No, no, no, please.”

You cupped his face. “Robb, please understand–”

“What’s there to understand?!” he cried out. “I love you! And you love me – and yet you’re leaving me! Why?”

“You don’t love me,” you countered. “You’re only saying you love me because you’re angry and hurt by Talisa–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that whore,” he spat out.

You rolled your eyes. “Robb, please. You married her. You took her as your wife and nearly ruined the North because of that choice. Of course, you loved her. And, understandably, you’re lashing out because she betrayed you. But don’t lie to me and say you didn’t love her.”

“(Y/N), love,” he beseechingly thought, “you have no idea how wrong you are.”

Robb snarled like the wolf he was at your words. “I married her because I thought she was carrying my child, and I didn’t want my future heir to be a bastard.”

“Even so, that doesn’t explain why–”

You were going to hate him for what he was about to say. “Because you refused me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his shameful reveal. Robb never felt more rueful and penitent of his naivety than now. The last thing he wanted was your disgust and hatred, but he needed you to understand how long he’s loved you. He needed you to realize that you were always the one who held his heart and sanity – without you, he was nothing, as was proven by the Freys and Boltons’ betrayal.

“Robb, I…I don’t – I don’t understand,” you stammered. Your eyes showed that your mind was running amok with questions and a desperate need for clarification. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

Robb took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat.

“That night when my bannermen named me ‘King,’ you followed me to my tent. I kept lashing at you like an angry child, but you never left my side. And then…we kissed, and it led to more. The following day, I wanted to find you – to declare my love for you fully. But every time I got near you…you turned away like I was poison. That’s why I turned to Talisa…to try to forget about you.”

Your eyes widened in horror as your chest moved up and down with shaky breaths. “You broke your vows with Walder Frey…was because of me? You bedded and married Talisa because of me? …I hurt you… a-a-and–” You let out a trembling sob. “–Oh gods, this is all my fault! I-i-if I hadn’t confused you that night–”

Robb could feel you slipping away and continued to try to tether you to him.

“No, my love,” he cooed. “You never confused me. You’re not listening to me. I’ve always loved you, even before that night.”

Robb tried to hold you close, but you harshly shoved him back and stood. He watched as tears continued to fill your eyes, and your face carried an expression that could only be described as overwhelming guilt. Robb flung the covers off him and tried to walk towards you, but each step he took closer to you made you step further back.

You stared at him with a shameful expression. “Robb, I…I was wrong to let things escalate between us. You had just been declared king and were grieving for your father, and I took advantage of your grief and vulnerability–”

Robb tenderly held your face. “No, no, no—you didn’t, though. (Y/N) That night…you gave me your love. You didn’t say it, but you gave me your love, and I gave you mine. I never regretted that night or laying with you. How you spurned my attempts to connect with you afterward—that was what hurt me the most.”

“Robb…” you sobbed his name as tears strolled down your cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted…I thought if I weren’t beside you…I’d also be protecting you from distractions from the war and your duty to the Freys – oh gods, I’m so sorry.”

You put your hand over your face. “Robb, if that night never happened…if I never followed you to your tent then…then, we wouldn’t be in this mess! All of this is my fault! Talisa, the Lannisters, the broken vow with Walder Frey – the North is more vulnerable than ever, and it’s because of me! …I mutilated a pregnant woman and murdered her unborn child.”

Robb helplessly watched as you continued to blame yourself for his foolishness. Knowing you would want your privacy, he sent Grey Wind away to guard his tent. Gods, his father would be so ashamed of him if he saw him now. He watched as you fell to the ground and began to weep out apologies to every soldier who was murdered by the Boltons and Freys at the Red Wedding.

…Lucas Blackwood…Dacey Mormont…Patrek Mallister…Robin Flint…Ser Wendel Manderly…Owen Norrey…And over three hundred other men and soldiers whose blood were spilled that night.

You even begged for forgiveness from the old gods and new ones, for the blood that belonged to Joy Marband that will forever remain on your hands, along with the stolen breaths of her unborn son.

But then the tears stopped…and an eerie calm cloaked the tent. Your eyes were red and swollen, but a spark of mad clarity was dancing in them. Very slowly, you stood with your head still bowed.

“I have to leave,” you whispered. “I have to leave and never come back. If I stay, I’ll only continue to ruin you and our cause more than I already have.”

You turned away to leave, but Robb reached out to stop you before you could take another step. He begged you to look at him, pleading for you to listen to reason before making any rash decisions. When you stubbornly refused, he grabbed your jaw and forcefully turned your head to face him. His crystal-blue eyes were wide with fear and misty from anguish. He had to make you understand that your leaving was not an option.

“(Y/N), look at me—please, love,” Robb implored. " If you leave me, I will never recover. If you dare leave my side, I will tear all of Westeros apart—leaving no stone unturned, no cave unsearched, no village left unplundered. We belong together. You and me – ruling the North, side-by-side in Winterfell. Us, together, spending every night in each other’s arms, with each morning beginning by being greeted by our children.”

He pulled your face closer until your lips were only a few inches away, and your individual breaths intermingled to become one. You want that life with him—just as he wants that life with you. So why can’t you embrace it and share it with him?

You shut your gaze from him and tried to choke down the pain. “It doesn’t matter what either of us wants. All that matters right now is what we need. What matters is how we can gather ourselves from these losses and try to form allies. And if me being here distracts you from that, then…then I need to leave.”

Robb determinedly shakes his head. “No, no – I don’t accept that.”

“Robb–” you tried to reason, but all of your pleas were cut off when he pressed his lips against yours.

And just like that – all words floated away like debris falling into a steady river.

A warm and tingling sensation ran down (Y/N)’s body as their lips met, and she closed her eyes to fully succumb to the sensation. She knew that she should have pushed him away immediately. But as Robb continued to hold her face gently to deepen the kiss, all sense of reason fled from (Y/N)’s mind when his lips moved against hers with gentle and firm urgency. In that moment, nothing mattered – not the messy past, the unstable present, or the uncertain future. At that moment, (Y/N) felt completely free of all worries and fears as Robb’s hands began to trail down to wrap his arms around her waist to hold her closer while (Y/N) wrapped her arms over his neck.

Despite the constriction of their lungs, neither wanted to part. If they could die in this embrace, then so be it. (Y/N) felt every hard, warm muscle of Robb’s body pressed against hers as they began to walk back until the back of his knees hit his cot’s edge. They tumbled onto the cot, and the fall caused Robb to fall on his back with (Y/N)’s soft and supple frame to press further against him. He slightly winced in pain, which caused the two lovers to finally part. As (Y/N) stared down at her king with a concerned expression, Robb thought an angel was with him.

He stared at her flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes with naked longing. Her (h/c) strands tumbled to form a curtain hiding their faces. Staring at the mythic beauty over him, Robb knew he wanted this with (Y/N) forever. Meanwhile, (Y/N) gently swept his curls from his face before trailing her hands down his bandaged chest to search if any wounds had been opened.

“Do you need me to stop?” she asked, her heart beating a hundred miles a minute. “You’re still healing, it might be best if we–”

“If you even think of finishing that sentence with ‘stop,’” Robb interjected. “I’ll bind your hands and take you from behind over and over until the only word you can say is my name – just to show you and everyone else that I could be dying from a cut-off leg if it means I can have you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and giggled. “You’re so dramatic sometimes. I just don’t want you bleeding out and dying before I finish.”

Robb sat up, wrapped his arms around her, and forced her to straddle him. The sudden realization that Robb had been naked this entire time had somehow escaped (Y/N)’s attention as she felt the evidence of his heavily growing arousal against her body. His lips hovered as his warm breath hit her skin, and his low-timber voice whispered into her ear.

“At least you know where this night will take us,” he huskily growled. “Because I don’t plan on stopping until your womb is so full of my seed – it leaks from your cunt.”

He lowered his hands to grasp her hips before trailing them down to sink his hands over her ass. Showing his canines with a lecherous grin, Robb teasingly ground his hips against hers. He rubbed his hardening manhood against her warm core and reveled in the gasps and whimpers escaping her plumped lips. (Y/N) threw her head back as she could no longer hold back her cries of ecstasy. Taking full advantage of her exposed neck, Robb latched his lips just under her and traced the column of her neck with his soft, hot lips.  The feeling of his lips combined with the scruff of his beard against her skin was nothing less than euphoric.

“Oh, Robb,” she breathily panted as their bodies rocked together in sync. “Gods, don’t stop!”

Her hands roamed until her fingers fisted around his dark copper curls. (Y/N) felt her lower body clench when he bit on a pulse point before giving languid strokes of his tongue on it. The contrast between his hot, wet tongue and the chill of his breath when he blew on it gave her goosebumps. (Y/N) softly pushed him back as she longingly gazed into his sapphire-ice pools with her (e/c) eyes and twirled one of his russet curls with her finger. Robb leaned forward and pressed a small peck on her lips as an overwhelming feeling of love encompassed him at her smile.

“I love you,” he sighed out, “do you know that? I love you, (Y/N). I love you so much.”

(Y/N) wanted so desperately to say it back, but the words failed. Seeing how much his love struggled, Robb cupped her cheek and reveled in her warmth as she nuzzled into his palm.

“You don’t have to say now,” he reassured her. “I just—I just want you to know that. Promise me no matter what, you know that.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I promise,” she said with a trembling voice. “I…I want it to say back. But I just…with everything that’s happened—I can’t help but feel like…if Red Wedding wasn’t going to be the thing that causes us to lose this war, I’m so scared of what will.”

Robb pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Don’t be scared. I know we’ll make it. We will win this war and take King’s Landing from the Lannisters. And when we do, Sansa will finally be free, and we can all return home.”

“To where you’ll rule the North as King in Winterfell,” (Y/N) mused in a wistful tone. “It feels like a sin to even dream of it now.”

Robb stroked his thumb over her cheek. “It’ll be your home, too.”

(Y/N) gave her beautiful king a genuine but sad smile. “I don’t want to talk about the future right now.”

Robb’s brow furrowed at her foreboding words. “What do you want to talk about?”

When (Y/N) pulled away and stepped off his lap, Robb was prepared to chase her through the camp naked if she dared run away while he was in this state. But she just stepped to the center of the space before removing her boots, followed by her stripping the dark leather breeches slowly down until the bare skin of her legs was revealed. She then lifted her tunic over her head along with her chest binder.

Robb was so painfully hard just from looking at her. He cursed himself for thinking he could ever be happy with Talisa, knowing that perfection was standing before him in his tent. His eyes drank in the sight of (Y/N)’s naked body as if looking away would kill him. He took it all in, from every scar that faded to a pale sliver to every beauty mark unique to her. He wondered if she truly knew how beautiful she was…if she understood how much she had completely and utterly bewitched his soul just with her presence. He wondered if she knew how much he wanted to kneel at her feet so that he could beg for her permission to let him worship her for the rest of his life.

(Y/N) began to walk toward him, and it felt as if the world around them was fading into incoherence, and only the two of them were left. When she finally reached him, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. She wanted him to feel it racing from his touch, from his gaze. Then, she lowered herself until her eyes leveled with his as she sat on the cot’s blankets. With her hands, she cupped his face and poured all her love for her king from her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she sighed. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this…of pretending I don’t want you. But most of all…I’m so tired of pretending that I…that I don’t love you.”

It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders as (Y/N) finally confessed her love for her king, Robb Stark. The man she marched with from Winterfell when Joffery first imprisoned his father. The man whom she fought beside and watched mourn for every good man who fell fighting for him. The man she’s loved since before she knew what love meant.

(Y/N) let out a heavy sob. “Because I do, Robb. I do love you. Gods, I love you so much – not just as a soldier loves their king, but as a woman who loves a man.”

Robb hadn’t realized he was crying until (Y/N) wiped a tear with her thumb. He took his hand from her chest and pulled her face towards him until their lips met again. Wet laughter mixed with tears and kisses made for a strange sight for an outsider, but it was a moment filled with more love and happiness than these two dared to hope. The way their bodies moved and swayed before (Y/N) fell on her back underneath Robb Stark as he hovered above her looked more akin to an awkward entanglement of limbs than an impassioned embrace. But for the two lovers, kissing each other seemed as easy as breathing and soothing like a gently falling summer snow. (Y/N) marveled at how easy it was to kiss Robb. It almost felt organic, with how naturally drunk they became by the taste of the other.

Soon, the kiss became more heated as (Y/N) and Robb grew more hungry to explore more of each other’s bodies. The more heated Robb kissed her, the more eager (Y/N)’s hands grew to explore his strong, muscular body. Her hands caressed his warm skin, and her fingers softly traced the scars that made him all the more desirable. His lips trailed to her chin and traveled down her neck until he had just reached the tops of her breasts. Grinning at how hard she was breathing, he took one breast in his hand and twisted her nipple. A needy cry left her lips at his harsh tugging before turning into a high-pitched whine when he bit the other.

Pleasure coursed through (Y/N)’s body like blue-hot lightning as her back arched into his body, and her entire frame felt paralyzed from it. She felt her core leaking from arousal as Robb’s hard, throbbing member was pressed against her stomach. Deciding that if he waited any longer, then he would likely burst, Robb used one hand to roam down (Y/N)’s body until he settled in the special place between her legs. He then took the other breast and tugged its nipple between his teeth before using his other hand to tug and twist the one previously in his mouth. Meanwhile, (Y/N)’s mind was so clouded in lust that she could not feel Robb stroking her clit with one finger before sinking two fingers inside her walls.

“Fuck…your walls are so tight on my fingers,” he huskily groaned as (Y/N) wept in ecstasy. “Such a wicked girl…avoiding your king and keeping this sweet cunt away from me. Every time I laid with that whore, I had to fight the urge to call out your name when I spilled into her. But you won’t do that anymore, will you? You know better to run now, right?”

“I-I-I won’t run! I’m yours, Robb! I only belong to you!” She stammered as Robb began to rub tight circles with his now-soaked fingers on her clit. She thrashed against the covers, fisting the furs on his bed to somehow anchor her. Her core tightened, and no matter how much she wanted to close her legs, his hips prevented her from doing so. As a result, (Y/N) had to take it and continue drowning in the pleasure that was Robb Stark’s love.

“Good girl,” Robb darkly chuckled as he straightened his back and placed his hands on the back of her thighs to spread them wide. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed its leaking tip against her folds. “Are you ready for me to take you? Are you ready to know how a wolf breeds his mate?”

(Y/N) quickly nodded. She couldn’t take the waiting any longer. “Please, Robb,” she begged. “Please take me—make me yours!”

With a single thrust, Robb plunged his entire length inside until he bottomed out, and the tip of his manhood kissed the entrance of her womb. The stretch of his thick, hard member against her walls gave the most delicious burn that made (Y/N) peak from the feeling of how deep he was inside her.  Meanwhile, Robb’s face snarled at how warm and tight (Y/N)’s cunt felt around him. As her walls tightly clamped down on his length, he bit inside his cheek so hard that the coppery taste of blood coated his tongue to prevent him from erupting right then and there. His hand traveled to her hair and sharply tugged it back so that he could roughly kiss her. His blood only further aroused (Y/N)’s lust for the man inside her as she considered it another sign that she had tasted more of her king and another piece was inside her. Emboldened by this action, she wrapped her tights around his hips to further mold their bodies as one.

The way (Y/N)’s body was pressed against his inflamed Robb’s ardor as he pulled out until only the tip was still inside before roughly thrusting himself in fully. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, she gave him a symphony of cries and begging that could be heard throughout the camp. The slapping of their skin from each thrust inside of (Y/N) made him grip her hips so tightly that she could already feel the bruises forming on her skin as a steady pace had been reached.

Sweat built on both the lovers’ bodies as (Y/N) began to dig her nails into Robb’s skin and claw long scratches down his back. The twinge of pain only made the young king want to sink deeper and deeper into her until they became one inseparable being. Robb tried to remind himself to go slower to avoid harm (Y/N), but one look in her eyes told him there was no need to hold back.

“Take me,” her eyes begged. “Make me completely yours from this day until my last days.”

Upon her request, it felt as if a dormant beast had taken over Robb, as all he could think about was how much he wanted to take her faster, harder, and rougher – until the only word she could say was his name. As he set off at a new pace, (Y/N)’s eyes rolled back as she began to babble out incoherent cries and moans. It felt like there was no part of her mind, body, and soul that wasn’t wholly drowning from waves of pleasure crashing into her.

She was sure the following day, she would do everything in her power to avoid everyone’s eyes, as they all likely heard her moaning for their king like a common whore. But for now, at this moment, she wanted to only exist for Robb and continue drowning in his love.

Soon, it wasn’t long before the familiar feeling of a knot tightening inside her began to coil more tautly as Robb continued to lavish her in his adoration. (Y/N) could feel her pleasure climbing higher and higher until the knot grew so tight that it snapped. It felt as if a dam had burst, and a heavy flood of pleasure crashed into every muscle of her body. The release had made her feel as if her body had reached new heights of pleasure so immense that it became almost painful as tears started to roll down her cheeks. (Y/N)’s eyes shot wide, and she opened her mouth as her back arched into him, but no sound was made. There was nothing that could adequately convey the

Feeling (Y/N) release on his cock, Robb growled as he felt the last vestiges of his sanity snap and lost all composure. He began to increase his pace until his thrusts became rough and frantic to chase his end. He pushed her thighs until they were pressed against her chest before wildly thrusting deeper inside her walls to feel more of her heat. He was able to fuck into her once, thrice, ten more times before his body went taut, and he spilled his seed into (Y/N)’s womb. Her soaked, vice walls gripped around him and tried to milk all of him in desperate want to carry his child.

As Robb felt the last of his cum leave him, a wave of exhaustion crashed into him, and his arms were no longer able to prevent his body from falling atop (Y/N). Panting for air and resting his head in the crook of her neck, Robb turned to rest on his side while making sure her body was still connected to his. His touch became soothing and gentle as he whispered his dreams and hopes for a child with her hair and his eyes to be borne from this night. She tiredly giggles as he delicately kisses her cheeks, nose, temple, and brow while he talks.

He wanted to weep tears of joy. He felt almost…blessed. After aimlessly wandering in a barren wasteland with no clear end, Robb felt as close to peace as the first time he shared a bed with (Y/N). Robb wraps his arms around her frame and brings furs to cover them as a chilling breeze enters the tent, and (Y/N) shivers from the chill. He tightens his embrace as sleep takes over him.

He whispers in her ear, “I love you, (Y/N). We will be so happy together. I know we will.”

She slightly hesitates before replying. “I am yours, Robb. I swear this to you.”

Her king was so lost in his bliss that he didn’t notice the sadness in her eyes and the tremble in her voice.

A gentle stream of light stirred Robb awake. He stretched his arms and blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Based on how loud it was outside his tent, it was late in the day. He reached out to hold you once more…when he felt your side of his bed feel cold. Immediately alarmed, Robb shot up and looked around his surroundings.

There was no sign of you anywhere.

Your clothes…your bag…your sword…even your bloody scent was gone!

Robb shot out of bed and hastily dressed himself in only his breeches and doublet to begin searching for you. But just as he was about to leave after putting on his boots, a small scroll had been placed in the middle of his desk. He dashed over and quickly opened it. The instant relief from recognizing your handwriting cruelly died as he read over your words, and he could feel his heart breaking.

Every word I said last night holds true – from this day to my last day. I am yours, Robb Stark. But you cannot be mine.

Also, I plan to make this a...3 part series? Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Please comment your thoughts and reblog if you think more people would like to read this!

Tagging: @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @llonelygoddess, @arcielee, @countrymusiclover, @yns-world, @axelsagewrites, @bre99, @katzoinks, @asongofrhaenyra, @rise-my-angel, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @anewpersonthatexists, @bogbutteronmycroissant, @sylasthegrim, @writingsofwesteros, @julessworldd , @dipperscavern

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part four

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 5.6k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T F O U R 🎶 the elevator, lizzy mcalpine

“Alright. We’re gonna take care of things at the Creel house and your job is take care of things here,” Steve leveled with Eddie, thinking he was out of earshot for everyone else, but you heard it. Knew what he really meant.

Take care of things.

Fight monsters.

Try not to die.

You’d dropped Lucas, Max and Erica off, drove halfway across town to Eddie’s, dumped all your weapons through the gaping hole in the ceiling and threw yourselves in after them. Had outfitted the exterior of the trailer with metal fencing and cages, ladders and locks, hoping – no – praying it would hold and begged the universe to let everyone come out the other side of this.

“Robs, you and Nance are with me.”

Steve pulled taut the belt around his waist and clicked his flashlight on, looking for once like he actually knew what he was doing, and for a split second you thought maybe this just might work. Thought if Steve was that confident, if Nancy was willing to go with him, then maybe it would be alright.

But then it came time for you all to split in half again and you walked with Steve and Nancy and Robin to the front door and out into the ash choked air. Half-hid behind Eddie as they double checked their gear and started to walk away, but Steve stopped at the last second and turned back around.

“Listen. If things here start to go south, I mean at all, you abort. Okay?” he said brows tugged together with conviction, the weight of his words causing you to start trembling. “You draw the attention of the bats, keep ‘em busy for a minute or two, and we’ll take care of Vecna.”

And as you looked at the axe slung over Steve’s shoulder, the shotgun held tight in Nancy’s grasp, heard your molotov cocktails clinking together in Robin’s backpack you realized you didn’t want them to leave because what if they didn’t come back?

“And don’t try to be cute or–or be a hero or something. You’re just–”

“Decoys. Don’t worry. You can be the hero, Steve,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, unable even now to let go of the consistent needling that happened between him and Steve, but you could read between the lines.

I care about you.

Don’t get hurt.

Please be safe.

“Absolutely. Agreed. I mean look at us…we are not heroes,” Eddie admitted shaking his head, his nail covered garbage can lid swung over his shoulder and hair tied back out of his face. Trying so hard to just do his part in all this and after Steve nodded his acknowledgement, he looked at you.

Held your gaze for a minute. Parted his lips with words held heavy on his tongue, but unsure if he should say them. Knowing if he set them free, they would make the stakes unbearable and instead gave you a small nod.

A slight smile.

An attempt at quiet reassurance and as he turned to leave you felt a tangled knot of worry start to swirl at the pit of your stomach and the further he walked away the more knotted it became. Snatched up with it regret, possibility, second and third chances and trying to start over until the sound of someone’s voice shouting into the dark broke your concentration.

Your voice.

“Steve! Wait!”

He had never turned around so quickly, the sound of your voice stopping him dead in his tracks and he waited. For you. Waited as your boots crunched in the dead sticks and leaves on the ground, cracking and snapping with each step until you reached him, breathless and unsure of what you wanted to say but insistent on saying something.

“Everything okay?” he asked, trying to be casual. Unattached. Felt Robin and Nancy’s eyes on you both, but shot them a look and they gave you some space.

“Yeah–I mean, no? I just–we’re about to get swarmed by bats from hell and I...well, I guess what I wanted to say is–” you tripped over your words, felt clumsy and stupid, but desperate. Wanted him to know you wanted to work on things. Wanted to give him another chance, but it just wouldn’t come out and his expression softened as he realized what you were getting at.

“Slow down,” he murmured and you drew in a breath.

In.

Out.

Try again.

“I just want you to know that...I wanna try,” you said, still a bit clumsy, one word falling out after the other. “I wanna work on–on forgiveness or…shit. I don’t know,” you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would help you gather up your thoughts and Steve waited. Patient. “Just come back, okay?” you finally asked, opening your eyes to see his mouth tugged up at the corner in a lopsided smile.

“You want me to come back, Princess?” he asked wryly and you scowled.

“I’m gonna let that one go cos ‘end of the world’ and whatever,” you snarked and it made him laugh. A low rumble in his chest that filled you up to the brim and spilled over at the edges.

“Gee thanks.”

“Yeah, you owe me now,” you teased.

“Alright, deal. Promise I’ll get you back when this is all over.”

When this is all over.

“I’m gonna hold you to it,” you said, your voice wobbling a little despite your efforts to keep it even and the sound put an ache in Steve’s chest. Pulled his hand to your cheek. His fingers gently tucking your unruly curls behind your ear.

“Wouldn’t expect any less,” he said quietly, only to you, and then took a couple steps back. Put space between you quickly to try and make it easier, but it stung. The sudden realization that your want for reconciliation was mutual and having to watch it walk away with the possibility of not returning.

The possibility of death.

“Good luck,” you whispered, your throat closing around the sob that had lodged itself in your chest, and watched as Steve disappeared into the dark.

❝ JUST ANOTHER TIME THAT I GO DOWN, BUT YOU ARE KEEPING UP, HOLDING TO A HOPE YOU’LL UNDERMINE ❞

“Eddie, Eddie! It’s working!” Dustin yelled after Eddie helped you back into the trailer.

“Shit–” Eddie handed you his nail covered garbage can lid and grabbed hold of your shoulder. “Listen to me. You leave this trailer no matter what, you hear me? Doesn’t matter if I’m yelling at you for help or–or covered in these fucking bats, you leave.“

“Wha–”

“No. It’s not a discussion.”

“Eddie, I’m not leaving–”

“Yes. You are, sweetheart.”

The ache in your chest swelled unbearably, painfully, tight and squeezing around the possibility that your best friend might not come back through that gate with you and the tears came. Hot against your cheeks as they cut paths down to your jawline.

Swiping his thumb gently across the line of your lashes Eddie gave you a sad smile.

“It’s not the plan, honey, but just in case. Now take this and get inside.”

All you could do was shake your head as Eddie popped back out of the trailer, shouting at Dustin to hurry the hell up, and as you walked back to the angry, gaping hole in the ceiling you could hear scratching on the roof.

“Eddie!” you yelled through your tears.

“I know, I know!” he called back.

“Eddie, they’re on the–”

“The roof! I know! Dammit, Henderson, get the hell in here!” yanking the younger boy into the trailer, Eddie slammed the front door shut and barricaded you in. “Fuck!” he shouted into the door, “I hope this works.”

“It’ll work, it has to work,” Dustin muttered, eyes glued to the air vent above you.

“It has to,” you echoed, quieter and under your breath as an image of Steve wielding his axe in front of Vecna flashed in your mind.

The squeals and shrieks in the air vent were getting louder and louder, scratching closer and closer and the ache in your chest twisted into something uglier, dread, fear.

“Eddie…” Dustin looked over his shoulder, “Eddie can they get through that?”

“Uh–I don’t think so–”

SCREEEEEEECH!

The vent burst open as a demobat clawed it’s way through the plastic cover, it’s long, sharp talons cutting deep gashes in the ceiling.

“FUCK! FUCK!”

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!”

Eddie and Dustin were on it before it could get all the way in, jamming their spears into the hole, Die, die, die!! until Eddie slammed one of the garbage can lids over the top of it and sealed it shut, heaving holy shit, holy shit from his lungs.

“Nice,” Dustin gasped from the floor.

“Thanks.”

You didn’t realize you were watching everything through your fingers, face buried in your hands, until Eddie glanced up and saw you.

“Oh, god. You okay? You’re okay. It’s okay,” he closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you. “It’s okay, they can’t get in now. It’s okay.”

“Eddie…” Dustin was still on the floor, eyes looking down the hallway to Eddie’s bedroom. “Are there any more vents?”

Eddie tensed against you and froze for a second and then let you go in an instant, “Oh shit.”

“What? Eddie, what??” you shouted as he turned and ran down the hallway, Dustin on his heels, both of them just yelling shit so much now that it didn’t even sound like a word anymore.

“There’s a vent in my roo–”

As Eddie yanked open the door to his room the hissing slap of wings against wood paneling almost drowned out the shrieks that followed.

“That’s not gonna hold!” Dustin screamed.

Eddie shoved you back down the hallway, “Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But the others–”

“We don’t have time!” Eddie shoved at you and Dustin, the younger boy already halfway up the knotted bedsheet hanging out of the ceiling as Eddie snatched up the spare garbage can lid.

“C’mon!” Dustin yelled from the other side.

Grabbing Eddie by the jacket you shook him, “They need more time!”

He met your gaze and sobered, chest heaving as he gasped for air and realized what you were implying.

“They need more time,” you said again, quieter, throat tight around your words as Eddie looked up at Dustin through the gate.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered harshly, squeezing his eyes shut against he knew you needed to do. “Dammit, I’m sorry,” he said looking back up at Dustin.

“What? What d’you mean sorry?? Eddie what d’you mean sorry?? What are you doing? What are you–”

Grabbing a spear, Eddie sliced the bedsheet in half and you watched as the other end fell to the floor in a pile at your feet.

That was going to make getting back just a tad more difficult.

“EDDIE! EDDIE, NO! STOP!” Dustin was screaming now, strained and painful and you couldn’t bear to look at him.

“C’mon,” Eddie grabbed your arm and pulled you with him back to the door.

Steve’s bat was heavy in your hands, your fingers readjusting their grip in anticipation of putting your training session back at the meadow to good use.

…wide stance right?…choke up on your hold…it’ll make your swings hit harder…follow through with your hip.

Sucking in a breath you could hear Dustin still screaming at you from the other side.

“Come back!! Don’t do this! Please, don’t do this!”

And your body went numb as Eddie put a hand on the doorknob, “This is for Stevie. For Nance. For Robin and Max and everyone. And we come back alive, okay?” Eddie said to you, brown eyes soft like brown sugar, crinkled at the edges as he tried to smile and you tried to give him one back.

“Okay. Together,” you said.

“Together,” he echoed and then yanked the door open to a swarm of bats from hell all screeching and clamoring to get their hooks into you.

The bat in your hands hit hard against the body of the demobat flying above you with a sickening crunch. Caught it mid-air as you swung it down into the ground and twisted it, shouldered down and killed it with another pop! but you were far from finished.

Pushing loose hair out of your eyes you glanced up to see Eddie wrestling with his own hoard of nasties that the Upside Down had coughed up.

THWACK!

You swung again in a half circle, taking two demobats down with one swing and a grin flickered at the corners of your lips. Steve would be proud.

“Just a little longer, sweetheart!” Eddie shouted over the slap of desiccated wings and sharp, gnashing teeth.

A little longer, you told yourself, swinging the bat again and again, Eddie keeping up with his spear and shield.

Pulling back, you swung heavy at a particularly nasty looking demobat, a sneer on your lips doing as Steve instructed and following with your hips, but it didn’t connect and you stumbled forward, scraping your hands on the ground.

Fuck, was your immediate first thought, your bat clattering a few feet away with the impact, and again, fuck, when claws sliced through the heavy canvas of your tactical vest and into your back.

The cuts burned, hot and angry, the fabric against your back growing damp with blood, but you couldn’t stop. You had to get Steve’s bat. It was just out of reach as you scrambled against the dirt, fingers fumbling on the handle until something slipped through your hair at the back of your neck. Gritty like sandpaper, slithering as it crept around your throat and wrapping around and around and your eyes grew wide when it squeezed.

“Eddie!” you croaked, hands scrambling against the demobat tail tightening at your neck, cutting off your air supply.

“Wha–shit! Hang on, sweetheart! Hang on!”

The look on Eddie’s face scared you, like maybe you were going to die and god you didn’t want to die, and then the demobat yanked at you and everything went sideways as you hit the dirt, back first. The cuts there screamed and your head thunked hard enough against the ground you saw stars. Then, as if to add insult to injury, the demobat tightened its hold so that now and truly you could not breathe.

Your fingers scrambled against the flesh of the monster, struggling to loosen its grip, but it felt impossible. It was too tight.

Little pinpricks of light appeared against your vision as you watched red cracks of lighting split the sky in two. You couldn’t remember what it was like to take a breath. How long had it been? Thirty seconds? A minute? Longer? Where was Eddie?

A fuzzy feeling crept around you, warm and wrapping around your body as a shadowy haze blurred in at the edges of your vision. Closing in further and further and melting your pain along with it. You couldn’t feel the scrapes across your back, the cuts on your knees, the burning in your throat.

Were you going to die?

But what about Steve? You promised. He promised.

I’ll get you back when this is all over.

You needed to tell him how much you wanted to try. Wanted to hear him out. Wanted to see the real Steve, the one Eddie trusted so much, the one you were starting to feel like might actually prove you wrong, but you weren’t breathing. Hadn’t been breathing and you were dying and–

“God dammit–die, asshole!”

Suddenly the tail loosened at your neck and your body heaved you from the ground, writhing at the ability to breathe again. Gasping and gulping and pulling in ash-thick air, your hands pressed to your throat to make double damn sure it was really gone.

“Christ–” A hand, wide and warm was at the small of your back and the voice in your ear made you feel like you couldn’t breathe again.

Steve.

“Told you I’d come back, princess. You alright?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it wouldn’t go away and your fingers smoothed over the angry, swollen skin.

“Look, twins,” Steve tried to joke, tugging his shirt down so you could see the same marks on his neck and it pulled a hoarse laugh from your lips, but it hurt. “*Shit–*I’m sorry, don’t talk. C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

You wanted to stop for a second and look at him, the moles dotted on his cheek and neck, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the cut on his cheek and wipe the dirt from his forehead and just–

“We gotta go!” Robin yelled from the trailer and Steve scooped his hands under your arms and pulled you to your feet.

Nancy was with Robin back over at the trailer door yelling something about not jumping through gates like that anymore – Dustin? But didn’t he…and then your stomach lurched.

“Eddie?” you croaked, fingers digging into Steve’s waist, “Where’s Eddie?”

“Shh, don’t talk. He’s okay, he’s already in the trailer.”

“Where–”

Steve stopped for a split second and looked down at you, brows pinched together, his eyes dark, worried, “I’ll explain everything, but we need to leave.”

You nodded and he picked up the pace again dragging you both into the trailer and, as Robin says, by some miracle you all piled through and came out the other side.

❝ I FEEL IT COMING ON, YOU CAN BE WELL AWARE, IF I EVER TRY TO PUSH AWAY YOU CAN JUST KEEP ME ❞

When you all stumbled out of Eddie’s trailer into Hawkins it felt like nothing had changed – it still looked like the Upside Down.

Ash fell from the sky, dark clouds hung heavy overhead and smoke rolled up from downtown as you struggled to process what had happened. They’d killed Vecna, or at least blasted his ass out the window and onto the ground below, but when they went to check he was gone and that was when the clock chimed. Four chimes, four deaths.

Everyone was worried about Max, but everyone was also in various states of injury, so you all decided to split up. Nancy and Robin took Lucas, Max and Dustin to the hospital and after you’d suffocated Eddie with hugs he said he wanted to hang back and look for Wayne. Part of you wanted him to stay, but Wayne was the only family he had so you understood. With Vecna ‘gone’ there were no real pressing threats – for now.

So, all that was left was you and Steve.

“Let me give you a ride?” he asked, dirt flecked across his cheeks and forehead, bottom lip split.

“I can’t go home like this,” your voice had made a return, but it was hoarse, sounded rough like gravel and every time you spoke Steve winced.

“Oh, right. Okay, yeah–uh–we can go to my place. My parents are out of town on business, so no one’s there. Get cleaned up and then I can take you home.”

Piling into Steve’s BMW you could feel the adrenaline starting to melt away. The pain that your body had held at bay starting to push against your skin, your very bones, a deep ache that threatened to break you and you fought it as hard as you could.

“Thank you,” you half-whispered into the quiet of the car and Steve’s fingers twitched on the gear shift.

“For…?”

You looked across the center console at him, “For saving me.”

That pulled his attention and he met your gaze and for a split second everything felt suspended, held in mid-air, floating in the space between you and Steve’s lips parted. Trying to find the words.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly, still looking at you, then he flicked his eyes back to the road. “I know you said I owe you, but…I really do. I–I couldn’t stop thinking about you after we left the trailer. How fucked up everything was and how I didn’t get to say everything I wanted.”

You watched his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the way it ticked when he clenched his teeth and fought back the lump in his throat.

“I owe you a lot more. A lot more.”

“Steve–”

“No, I mean it,” throwing the BMW into park he turned to look at you again. "You've made me feel...so many things I didn't think were possible anymore and–god–I thought about losing you and I just..."

"I did too," you admitted to the dark and it pulled his gaze.

"You did?"

"Yeah, Steve. I think I–ouch," a sharp pain punched in you leg and you doubled over from the force of it.

“Wait. Are you hurt?”

You sucked in a breath and tried to sit back up, tried to play it off. "Yeah, I mean, aren’t we all?”

“No...your back," Steve ghosted a hand over the back of your vest and pulled his hand away damp with blood.

“I–the demobat–” stuttering over your words Steve didn’t let you finish and stumbled out of the car and around to your side to get you into the the house.

The Harrington’s place was out of a stupid catalogue. All the art, the vases, the plants and furniture – it all looked staged, not lived in. If you hadn’t felt like you wanted to throw up you would’ve lingered a bit longer in the entry, but Steve was pulling you up the stairs and you were too weak to fight it.

“Shower’s in here,” he said, opening the door to his parent’s room.

Exquisite sky lights cut large rectangles into the ceiling and washed the room in the dim, cool light of the moon above. A clearing in the smoke. Somehow his house hadn’t been swallowed up by the gashes in the earth. A large sleigh bed sat against the wall, a large painting of a garden hanging above it and two matching nightstands with lamps perched on either side. Nice, but cold. Not lived in.

Too busy looking around, Steve came back out of the master bath and called your name, but when you didn’t look he took the few steps to stand right in front of you.

Warm. Safe. Steve.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry, uh–yeah, I'm okay.”

He looked at you, skeptical, but needed to gather more supplies and so didn’t push you on it.

“Alright, princess. I got the shower going in there, but don’t move too quick. Take it slow, one step at a time and I’ll be back with a towel and some bandaids.”

“Okay–”

“Seriously,” he said, “I mean it. Slow.”

“I will,” you insisted, a smile twitching at the corners of your lips and he gave you a little grin.

“Okay. Be right back.”

Even if he hadn’t asked you, you couldn’t go faster than one foot in front of the other. The pain was almost unbearable now, screaming all over your body and you didn’t know if you could handle a shower, but it wasn’t an option. Infection would finish off what the demobats couldn’t, and so, layer by layer, you pulled your clothes from your body.

Your jeans, your vest, your shirt, your socks, your shoes. All of it a muddied brown and red pile on the floor leaving you in your bra and underwear. Your back was burning, felt like fire and when you stepped into the shower expecting more pain, you found peace.

Carefully shuffling on the tile floor, the steam billowing up from the shower floor felt like it was swallowing you whole. Filled the air around you and made everything hazy. Made it feel otherworldly, like heaven, and as you stared you watched the water falling down your body turn rusty. Mixing with the dirt and ash and blood from your skin and carrying it down the drain. Washing away any remaining proof that interdimensional monsters are real and that you’d nearly died killing them. The only things left hinting at what had been life or death, would be all the little silvery scars after your wounds healed.

You turned the heat up and as more steam clouded the stall, you felt a warmth wrap itself around you. One that felt deeper than the hot water. Like a heavy cloak draping over you and you wanted to let it swallow you whole. Wanted to nestle into it and succumb to the deep, soft feeling it was pouring into you and your vision started to blur at the edges.

“Oh–” you half-gasped. Stumbled as the world swam in front of you. Pressed a hand heavy against the wall to steady yourself and your fingers slipped against the tile.

“Hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Suddenly someone was opening the shower, sucking out the steam, and a shock of cold air hit you as Steve filled the door frame.

“Shit, hang on–” he swore softly and stepped in with you still wearing his jeans and ripped up shirt. Water soaking him from head to toe, he gently looped an arm around your waist and held you steady. “I got you, I got you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, and it pulled your gaze up.

Water clinging to your lashes, your lids were heavy as you blinked and when he finally came into focus it made your heart ache. A deep pinch between his brows, eyes searching yours and trying to work out what he needed to do to fix you. What he needed to do to keep you here.

God, he wanted to keep you.

“I’m fine,” you insisted weakly, pushing against him as your lips tried to twist into a scowl and it pulled a huff of a laugh from him.

“No, you’re not,” his tone was firm, but gentle. The rough pads of his fingers pressing into your side as he eased you onto the seat at the corner of the stall. Made doubly sure you weren’t going to fall and half-stepped back out onto the bathmat.

Shrugging off his shirt, he pulled it over his head and tossed it into the tub. Kicked off his wet Levis and left them in a pile on the floor. Grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack and stepped back in with you and closed the door behind him.

Kneeling, Steve sank down through the steam, putting himself at your height for once. Water running hot and soothing both of your aching bodies as he wetted the wash cloth. Then, pushing up on one knee, he started to gently scrub the dried blood from your forehead. Rinsed the cloth out and moved to your hand. Looked it over for any obvious wounds and softly cleaned the dirt from your palm. Then, satisfied with what he found under all the grime, he turned to your other hand. Moved up your arms and paid close attention to the cut on your right shoulder. Winced and snuck a glance at you when you sucked in a pained gasp through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” he said and when he looked up at you it was a thousand sorry’s, so fucking sorry, and it made your chest ache. “Let me look at your back,” he said, standing to see the three nasty cuts across your skin there and he huffed a sigh. “These could be worse,” he assessed, shaking his head, “I’ll look in the light when you’re out.”

He bent back down and knelt in front of you again, water splashing against his back as he took your hand in his. He started up again at your feet. Skipped over the bruises on your shins and the angry-looking scrape on your left knee and as he gently shifted you to reach your upper leg, the water running off your body turned bright red.

“Oh shit..." he breathed, a deep frown pulling at his features as his eyes frantically searched for the source, worry tugging at the pit of his stomach. It couldn’t have been your back…where was it coming from?

And then he finally saw it. The nasty gash on your thigh courtesy of the same damn demobat as it dragged its claw down through your skin. “Christ,” he hissed under his breath, moving to let the water run over it, “We gotta clean this–”

“Fuck, Steve–” you choked out, the pain in your leg white hot as you pressed a hand heavy into his before he could use the washcloth. “It hurts,” you half-sobbed and he quickly blocked the shower with his back again.

“Shit–I’m sorry–dammit–” a string of curses fell from his lips as he leaned closer to get a better look.

The few seconds of water had done a good job of cleaning it up, but he could see now how deep it was. Probably needed stitches, just like his stomach would, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a minute.

It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll be okay.

Pulling in a deep breath he went to the place in his mind he knew all too well. The one where he closed out the sick feeling of worry blooming in his chest, the thoughts of 'what if' that didn't end nicely and hardened against it all so that he could do what he needed to keep you safe.

“Alright, princess,” he reached over his shoulder and turned off the tap, then looked back up at you, still on his knees. “I gotta get you out and dried off, okay? Get this fixed up,” he said, nodding at your leg, “Will you let me do that?”

A soft scowl pulled at your features and it almost made him smile – how pretty you were even when you were mad. Even like this.

“I don’t think you’re gonna give me a choice,” you tried to snark around the sob in your throat and that finally cracked a tiny grin on his face.

“I’m not,” he gently agreed and with that you let him lift you from the seat. Let his hands, warm and wide at your waist, guide you from the shower and wrap a towel around your tired body.

Setting you at the edge of the sleigh bed, Steve dug around in the box of medical supplies he’d slowly put together during his time with the Upside Down. Bandages, rubbing alcohol, peroxide, antibiotic ointment, wraps, gauze–

“Steve,” you whispered and it pulled his gaze.

“What is it? Are you okay? Are you dizzy?”

You gave him a weak smile, “I promise I’m fine.” He nodded, not wholly believing you. “What is that for?” you asked, pointing at a needle and thread and his expression shifted.

“For cuts,” was all he could manage and it made your stomach lurch.

“Like mine?”

He chewed on his lower lip, fingers twisting the thread dipping through the eye of the needle. “Like yours,” he agreed quietly and you squeezed your eyes shut.

No. No, no, no. Not here. Not Steve.

“Hey, hey,” Steve pressed his hand into yours, warm and safe, “I promise it’s gonna be okay. Look, I’ve got my own shit I need to do too.” He moved his arm aside to show you the cut along his stomach from the lake gate. “See? Right?”

You were crying, but it was too quiet to really know and when Steve saw your tears silently slipping down your cheek he caught them with the pad of his thumb.

“I know how scary this is,” he finally said, voice a low vibration you could feel in your chest, reassuring and true, “But I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I swear.”

And the way he was looking at you was something you’d never seen from him before. Features pulled in pain, agony, but not from his wounds. Searching for something in your eyes he wasn’t sure of, but knew he’d find if he looked long enough and you lifted your hand to his over your cheek.

“Okay,” came out cracked, wobbly, crying, and he gave you the tiniest smile.

You watched as he pulled through a new line of thread, knotted the end and dipped the needle in rubbing alcohol and a wave of nausea crashed over you.

“Here,” Steve caught the look on your face, the way you were shaking, “Lie on your back and hold this to your face. Scream into it if you have to, okay? I’m going to go as fast as I can.”

He handed you a pillow and thank god because you were sure if you’d had to watch, you were going to pass out.

Doing as he asked, you laid back on the bed with the pillow pressed to your face, still only wearing your underwear and bra, and a thought struck you – if this had been literally any other time, what would Steve had said? Would he tell you how beautiful you looked? How he liked the lace trim across your bra straps? How he wanted to trace his finger along the hem of your panties? How–

“Oh, fuck–” slipped out of your mouth, muffled against the pillow, but you didn’t get a chance to finish because everything went black.

“Hey, hey! Oh, shit. Dammit. Princess? Are you with me?” Steve had just finished the first stitch when you suddenly went limp on the bed.

Quickly leaning up he put his ear to your chest for a heartbeat and heard a steady thum, thum, thum. Happy with that he sat back up and took even more solace in the even breaths falling from your lips.

“Sorry,” he whispered to you, “I didn’t do well with it the first time either.”

Then, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead he finished stitching up your leg. Cleaned up your back and applied a few bandages there where needed. It’d looked worse than it actually was, thank god. He pulled back the covers and lifted you up to the head of the bed and tucked you in, checking your breathing again to make damn sure.

He made quick work of stitching up his stomach. Pausing only a couple of times to swallow down his own nausea, and when he was done, he changed into a Hawkins Athletics shirt and shorts and crawled in next to you.

Despite the world on fire outside his window and despite the fact they couldn't find a body for Vecna, it was all okay for right now. In that moment. With you there in that room, hidden in the indigo shadows as he clicked off the light, promising he'd finish saying what he'd started in the car. And soon enough exhaustion claimed Steve too, pulling him into the same deep, dreamless sleep that you'd thankfully found.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART FOUR OF A FIVE – POSSIBLY MORE – PART SERIES, PART FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[kurosagi-h8r]

Hii love your little headcanons so I wanted to ask if you can do "what happens when mc asks the ghouls for dating advice"

I don't think mc would ever realistically ask them that but the reactions would be funny💀

WWWWWW SURE DO~~ But i'm gonna make this into parts because i don't think i'm strong enough i'm too frail to write for all of 'em in one go (no joke my shoulder pain has been killing me). so sorryyy ╯︿╰

Jin

Bold of you to assume he's gonna give you relationship advice when he can't fix his relationship with his papa

tbf he's probably gonna look at you weirdly and uhh remind you that you're his slave and nothing more and that any thought of being in a relationship with other people is forbidden

or ask you a bunch of question that will make you feel ashamed that you don't marry rich (with him as the standard) idk

Tohma

Will actually be a pretty decent guy to go for when it comes to dating advice... I think...

"blablablabla who's the guy? is it someone i know? blablabla I suggest you do this and that blablabla why not use me as an example? It won't do you any harm, no?"

"Will you update me on the progress? I don't want to be nosy, I'm simply looking out for you. Too many potential danger lurking in this place and I want nothing less than to sleep at night knowing that you're safe."

Very much biased but he can manipulate me all he wants and i will give in i won't even think twice about it

Kaito

This loser will start crying on the spot thinking that you found someone else already

"I-I never said I found someone..." and a lightbulb will come out of his head thinking that you were asking him SPECIFICALLY because HE is the one you're crushing on. "I've read somewhere that this is one of the things people do to find out more about their crush... THIS IS IT! THIS IS MY CHANCE!"

And all the advice he's giving you are the things that he wants you do to him

Not even gonna be ashamed about it go for it kaito

Luca

Most earnest in giving dating advice. He genuinely wants to help. He's even honored to be the one you go to for such important decision making.

Even if you do it to find out more about him, he's gonna be oblivious 😭 good luck

Honestly i don't have much words to back him up but personally, deep in my heart, i would go to this guy because i don't believe in myself when it comes to this kind of thing. i will trust you to set me in the right path luca ❤ i'll even trust you to beat up the shitty guy in my stead (lol)

Alan

Look me in the eye and tell me he has any dating experience

Not good with words but will stand behind you few steps away as you do what you want to do. Be it confessing your feelings or setting boundaries with your partner. For support 👍

Whether your partner finds it scary or not it's their problem

Surprisingly good at comforting maybe? If your partner breaks your heart and you don't feel like talking it out he will drive you around to clear your head.

Leo

"You're asking me? Oh my God you must be THAT desperate huh."

GIRL JUST ABORT MISSION ATP WHATEVER YOU'RE STRESSING OUT ABOUT IT'S GONNA GET WORSE IF YOU'RE SEEKING THIS GUY'S ADVI-- *got dragged away*

"Not gonna listen to all that. Why don't we just try making them jealous? You have me and I'm always down for a challenge~"

Ask yourself, which one is worse, making a deal with the devil or Leo?

Sho

Alright listen, depending on how dire the situation is i would want him to pretend to be my bf to make my partner jealous. HE'S PROBABLY GONNA HATE IT but i'm not one to pass up such opportunity /j

biker boyfriend to make your partner jealous??? why the hell not

I can feel him looking at me weirdly "you seriously coming to me for a relationship advice...?"

"How the hell would I know? Get them back with their favorite food? A way to someone's heart is to their stomach or whatever the saying goes." If it's cooking skill you're lacking maybe he can help a little.

[sheisjoeschateau]

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

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

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

CHAPTER WARNINGS: tw - mention of death, injuries, emotional smut (minors: DNI), language, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You felt like you could sleep for five years. 

That electric fence had robbed you of your energy, draining your battery completely.  No doubt you were useless at this point.  But you were just so exhausted, you couldn’t even bring yourself to fight against what you were physically experiencing.

Everything hurts.  Your chest.  Your shoulders and back.  Your legs, your lungs.  Even your neck. 

Guess being brought back from the dead can take it outta you.

A lot of what went down after you…well…blacked out… It’s honestly a blur. 

You remember Steve eventually lifting you up, carrying you bridal style.  And you remember seeing his eyes. Dark brown orbs, scanning you like a hawk and uncharacteristically glassy.  You also remember Hopper over the walkie, telling your group to abort the plan and head back to base for a re-group.  His crew was on their way back, and Group 1 would be back with the supplies later that night.

Jonathan offered multiple times to help carry you, along with Eddie. But Steve just shook his head every time, insisting he was fine, clinging to you tightly while tucking your head against his chest. Dustin worriedly asked them if you would be alright a handful of times, and you kept wanting to tell this sweet kid all sorts of sweet comforting things. But damn, you were wiped. So you just let the guys assure him that you are fine.

The way Steve held you felt so…safe.  Almost familiar, despite the nurturing touch from him being so foreign.  Just last week, you never would have thought him capable of being so gentle.  Then again, it seemed that the ones who show the least amount of affection tend to be the most capable. He definitely struck you as someone who is affectionate in a relationship, given how he used to be with Nancy.  You gathered that much.  Touchy, flirty, all that jazz. 

But this?  This was different.

He was different.

You were right.  You fucking knew it.

The past few days had changed so much between you and Steve. And if you could think straight at the moment, or even think at all, it would overwhelm you. You knew that it would eventually.

…you also knew that your uncle was never gonna let you live this down.  The thought made you internally laugh, as you were carried through the trees until you all reached your destination.  Although, Murray probably would cut you some slack. Given the whole… temporarily dying thing.  At least that would work to your benefit, you think to yourself morbidly.

You had drifted off in Steve’s arms during the journey back.  As you all approached the house, you stirred back awake.  You could hear everyone shuffling out the front door, getting closer to you guys.

Murray was the first to race his way over to you, hovering above you in Steve’s arms.  His eyes were uncharacteristically glassy, his scruffy face etched with worry and relief.  He struggled with what else to do or say.  Sentimentality did not come naturally to the Bauman bloodline…

But after he swallowed, thickly, he told you — “Don’t do that to me again kiddo, alright?  The rest of our family is crazy, you’re gonna have to…stick around.  Got it?”

You smiled faintly.  “Love you too, Murray.” 

Your uncle gave you a curt nod, but you could see him tearing up.  He sniffed aggressively, biting back emotion and looking up at Steve.  Lucas and Erica stepped closer, coming into view for you.  Poor babies looked so worried.

Murray managed to convince Steve to hand you over to him, but that didn’t stop him from staying glued to your uncle’s hip.  Everyone else shuffled inside, too.  Steve asked Eddie to stay and watch the kids, giving his shoulder a grateful squeeze.  Jonathan said he’d wait up for the rest of the gang to make it back while Steve moved to give Dustin a bone-crushing hug.

You were carried off to the master bedroom downstairs, where Joyce and Hopper have been sleeping.  Suddenly you hissed in pain as Murray sat you down on the bed. 

Steve knelt in front of you, immediately asked you nervously, voice soft, “What is it, what hurts, talk to me...”

You tried to lift your arm but couldn’t.  The adrenaline was wearing off, now letting your body really feel the damage done.  “M’shoulder.”

Your uncle and Steve looked you over, realizing. 

“Might be broken,” your uncle murmured, then sighing, “shit.”

“We have to tell Owens,” Steve said, his hand on your thigh. 

Murray nodded, “I’ll tell Jim we need to get him over here.”

Your uncle watched Steve gingerly take your hands into his, assessing the deep tears in your palms from where the fence had scorched through them.  Even Murray had to admit — the Harrington kid definitely exudes sex appeal, especially when he looks dismayed.  It’s very Patrick Swayze.  But more than that, your uncle could tell this wasn’t just some puppy love thing.  It seemed like the real deal.

...ahh fuck, he thought.

When Jim answered his call, Murray walked away to talk and let him know they’d need to get you medical attention.  Steve was examining every single inch of you, touching you carefully and protectively.  He stood, moving to carefully lift your good arm over his shoulders.

“Bathroom.  Need to wrap up those hands.”

You leaned into him, and when you finally got into the restroom inside of the master, Steve put the toilet seat down and helped you sit before moving to get the first aid kit out from underneath the sink.  Steve was back in seconds, kneeling in front of you and pulling out the items he needed for patching you up.  You watched his perfect hair flop in front of his eyes while his head was down, admiring him silently.

“Here,” he spoke gently, moving to delicately hold one of your hands.  He looked up at you, his eyes rimmed red from earlier.  “S’gonna sting.  But we’ll get them done quickly, yeah?  Tell me if I need to stop?” 

Off your dazed nod, he moved to peck the swiftest of kisses to your cheek before getting to work.

Your eyes were closed while he did, scrunched shut in pain with a small hiss as the antiseptic made contact with your ripped palms.  Steve murmured, so quietly, “Sorry, baby, I know,” along with other whispered apologies that included the word baby or angel.  It made something strange flutter inside your stomach, despite all the pain.

You made yourself find joy in the unlikeliness of it all, grateful for the fact that you all were still alive and in one piece.  Otherwise, the dreaded truth that you were all a day behind schedule — putting you all in even bigger trouble — would consume your mind. You felt guilty. Everyone had to slow down because you’d been the one to get hurt. You’re the one who went and died on everyone, having to be resuscitated. 

Jesus, you thought. As if I wasn’t already a nag.

The feeling of Steve’s fingers tenderly closing around both of your hands made you realize that Steve's self-appointed nurse work was finished. Yours hands were freshly wrapped up and covering the raw, bloody cuts that the electric fence had seared into your palms.

Steve carefully brought all of your fingers, curled around his, to his lips.  He planted a long, soft kiss over all of your knuckles. You opened your eyes and saw his gaze fixed on the gauze wrapped in a makeshift pattern, encasing your small damaged hands.  He held them delicately, more than you ever thought him capable. He was always so brash, cocky and arrogant with you. But right now, that person didn’t seem to exist. This Steve was gentle. Soft.  His pretty brown eyes seemed lost, deep in thought.

You looked at him fondly.  God, you loved this boy.  You realized that now, that you loved him. Truly loved him. You couldn’t help but reach one of your gauzed hands up to his cheek, and he turned his head to lightly kiss your palm and hold it there, his large hand curling around your wrist.

“Steve,” you breathed.

He still stared at nothing, but finally his eyes glanced up at you.  They were sad, bloodshot and strained.  You hated it.  This was your fault.  

“You alright?” you breathed.

He pinched his brows together, nodding with feigned assurance, pressing his lips into a tight-lipped smile.  But he didn’t speak.  And you knew that was because he wasn’t alright.  Not at all. 

But he clearly was not ready to say that.  He sniffed, standing up.  “Let’s get you some water, yeah?” he asked tightly. 

You nodded, letting him help you stand while minding your bad shoulder.

The kids were already outside of the bedroom door, anxious to see you.  Lucas, Erica, Mike, Will and El.  They all went to ask questions, hesitant but unable to help themselves.  They kept their voices lower, knowing they needed to not bombard you fully.  You gave the kids all a soft smile, wobbly on your legs as you reached to pull them in for a little group hug. 

“Careful of her arm, guys, it might be broken,” Steve told them, motherly.  They obeyed.  “Let’s get her some water,” Steve added.

Erica immediately went off to fulfill the request.

Steve and El guided you over to the living room with Murray, who walked over to you to put an arm around you and walk you over to sit. 

Hopper now stood in the living room.  Jonathan was standing with Argyle.  Dustin was there still, with Eddie.  Poor kid looked so shaken up.  You gave him an apologetic look, extending an arm to him -- and he raced over to you after you’d sat down.

You ruffled his hair, letting him wrap his arms around your waist for a hug.  “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against your jacket. 

Your heart broke.  “Dude, don’t be.  Better me than you.  Still, I’m…m'sorry you had to see that.” 

Hopper was looking over at you with a relieved expression, walking in your direction.  He glanced over at Steve as he did, seeing him standing there with his arms crossed and teeth sunk into his bottom lip with a pensive expression.  Hopper gave his shoulder an assuring squeeze, and a hard pat on the shoulder. 

Then, looking back at you and kneeling, “How you doin’, champ?”

You sighed.  “Feel like my battery’s on its last percent.”

Hopper nodded, breathing a light laugh.  He ruffled your hair.  “A little static-y up here.  You been sticking your finger into some sockets?”  You snorted, feeling tired all over again.  

Erica got back with water for you, handing it over.  You sipped, feeling the couch sink down beside you.  It was Steve, sitting next to you.  He had to physically restrain himself from pulling you into his arms, knowing that the kids — well, aside from Dustin — didn’t know anything yet, or Hopper.  Maybe not even Murray.  Although, Steve was beginning to highly doubt that now.

Everyone began talking about what happened.  What went wrong, why didn’t it work?  Lucas explained that the calculations weren’t wrong, regarding the hacking into the breaker switch system.  Murray flusteredly agreed, saying it didn’t add up. 

But then Eleven spoke up, saying, “Another hacker.” 

You all looked at her, confused.  She explained. 

“With their mind.  Someone used their mind.” 

It turns out, she had used her powers to see that it was being tampered with by some invisible figure.  Meaning that they had sensed your whereabouts.  Who “they” were, exactly?  That had yet to be figured out.  Point was, you all were doomed from the start. 

The kids started saying something about El being able to control it with her mind — to “counter the counter.” 

Hopper wasn’t keen on the idea, nor was Murray.  Steve definitely had his doubts.  Eddie and Jonathan did, too.  But Eleven said it could work, as long as she went there in her mind. 

But that raised an even bigger question: were you all at even bigger risk now that your visit had clearly been known by someone?  Something? 

Eleven said it was just an entity.  Not human.  But that made everyone gulp… Was it Vecna?  Was he not dead after all?

“Regardless,” Hopper was saying.  “We’ll need to lay low.  The evacuation mandate starts next week.  If we’re gonna stay here and figure this thing out, we’ll need an entirely new plan.”

“Orrrr,” Mike interjected.  “We do this before the mandate happens.”

It was definitely a light argument amongst the group now.  More of a debate than anything.  The kids were insisting that it could work, while Steve was insistent it was too dangerous to risk it again. 

“Hopping that fence is clearly out of the question right now,” he said, shuddering. 

Jonathan looked at him sympathetically, along with you. 

“...what if we go over it?”

Everyone turned to look at Eddie, confused.  He looked at everyone nervously, but with an idea clearly in mind.  The lightbulb over his head flashed. 

“What if Miss Superpowers here — gets us over it?  Meaning we don’t climb it, or mount it.  We just…float…?...over it…?”

Dustin begins to grin, looking over and Mike and Lucas.  Even Eleven looks hopeful.  She turns to Hopper.  “I can do that.”

Hopper sighs, battling it still.  “That doesn’t mean we aren’t in for a rude awakening on the other side.”

“We’re in for a rude awakening no matter what we do,”  Lucas speaks with fervency.

It’s a lot of back and forth from there, and you feel Steve’s arm slip across the back of the couch so that he can massage your neck with his fingers.  You sigh at the touch, relieved to have him touching you somehow.  You inch closer to him, and he does everything in his power not to lift your legs so that they can drape over his.

“But if we all wait until after the mandate,” Jonathan is saying.  “That’ll only put us in even more danger rather than doing it now.  Or, well, before this weekend.  Before next week.”

“I think it’s worth it.” 

Your voice causes everyone to look in your directions.  Steve’s fingers halt but stay in place.  You take a breath, continuing. 

“If we…branch off again.  In our groups.  This time we’d only need 2.  The group here, and group 1, can go with us, or with Hopper and El over to where the gate might be re-opening.”

“That’s true,” your uncle agrees.

“Actually, no, we’d need 3,” Jonathan points out.  “Someone has to stay here.  Make sure no one seeks shelter here, or tries to break in and steal supplies.  Shit’s getting gnarly out there.  Nancy said so over the walkie.”

“Okay, so 3 groups,” Mike said.  “That’s worth it.” 

Lucas and Dustin verbally agreed with him.

Hopper was contemplating it deeply. 

Murray nodded at him, “Jim, this could work.” 

The retired cop pursed his lips, still thinking.  But he didn’t argue it.

Just then, the others got back.  Will, Joyce, Robin and Nancy all walked in.  When they saw you, they sagged with relief. 

Joyce made her way over with Robin, kneeling in front of you.

“Sweetie, how’re you doing?” Joyce stroked your arms while Robin gave you the saddest of smiles. 

You returned their smiles, weekly.  “M’alright.”

Joyce fawned over you like a doting mother, and you saw Robin looking over at Steve with a furrowed brow.  She could tell he wasn’t okay, and it worried her.

“We have a plan,” Dustin said enthusiastically.

“Nooo.  We have an idea,” Jim corrected firmly.  Dustin scoffed along with Mike, both beginning to argue back.

“Guys, we have to make sure no one else dies out there, alright?”

Steve’s words come out harsher than he meant for them too, and his voice slightly hitches at the end. 

Everyone stares, and the silence is thick. 

You look over to see Steve, his eyes hardened with trauma.  He sighs, feeling bad and running a hand through his hair as he looks down and mutters an apology to Dustin and Mike -- who both honestly can't even blame him. 

You reach out to squeeze Steve's thigh, unable to not offer him comfort.  You really don’t care who sees it right now as your thumb massages his pant leg.

Robin definitely pinches her brows together, looking between the two of you.  But she figures that Steve just probably feels bad, given how he has treated you like shit then had to deal with bringing you back from the dead.  That’s probably it…right?

But Nancy knows that look in Steve’s eyes.  He doesn’t ever look that way unless he’s…in love.  No matter how traumatizing or upsetting something is, this look is different.  And that’s confirmed for her whenever Steve goes back to massaging your neck, instinctively tilting his head towards you, even as he stares down at his lap.

Jim clocks Steve’s outburst, frowning.  “Exactly,” he agrees in a low voice, carefully.  “No one’s going through that again.”

Everyone shuffles their feet.  After some silence, Mike speaks first: “I’m really glad you’re alright, Bauman.” 

That breaks the ice, and everyone adds their verbal agreements.  You feel your cheeks flush.

“Bauman Squared is a badass,” Jonathan adds, smiling softly.

“Never seen someone cheat death like that,” Eddie nods.  “Most metal shit I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a breathy, sheepish chuckle while Steve’s fingers absentmindedly trace the nape of your neck and top of your spine, seeking silent comfort. 

“You guys saving my life was way more metal,” you say, voice weak but grateful.  You look at Eddie and Jonathan, then turn to Steve — squeezing his leg again.  His hand on your neck slips to rest there, wrapped around the curve protectively.  Almost possessively.

Now Robin is onto something.

“Steve never stopped,” Dustin adds.  "Not for a second."

Jonathan's nodding. "Not one."

Steve digs his toe into the ground, eyes staring a hole into the carpet.  He’s seated so close to you, letting it ground him as he frowns at the ground.

Jonathan can tell someone needs to change the subject, for both your sakes.  He clears his throat.  “So let’s figure this out then.  A plan that won’t cost any of us our lives again.”

You turn to look at him, nodding.  Everyone else nods, too.

Hopper takes a deep breath, looking at everyone intently before turning to Joyce.  “Alright.  First, let’s sift through the supplies you all got today.  Get it stashed.  We also need to start storing things in the basement soon, so that we can all stay there safely after the mandate gets put in place.  We'll need to do it this weekend.”

Joyce gets everyone to follow her outside to her car and unload everything into the kitchen, so that they can all sort through the canned food and other supplies.  Robin quickly knelt to give you a tight hug first, saying how fucking relieved she was that you were still here.  You hugged her back before she ran off to help the others.  Hopper stays behind with you, Murray and Steve.

“Dr. Owens will be coming here in the morning to check on your shoulder,” Hopper is telling you.  He really is a comforting father figure, and a strangely calming presence.  “Here, lemme take a look real quick.” 

You let him feel around, swallowing down the urge to hiss out in pain.  Hopper says it could just be sprained, or maybe even fractured.  But he says it's best if you don’t take any chances.  “Go ahead and lay down for the rest of the day, alright?  Get some sleep.  You’ve done…more than enough.”

You look down, ashamed.  “I’m so sorry.”

That makes Hopper look at you quizzically, brow furrowed.  Murray does too. 

“Why in the world are you sorry?” Hopper asks.

Steve looks at you in silent dismay. But you're sighing with your eyes downcast, not noticing...instead feeling his gaze.

“...'cause, if this hadn’t happened," you were saying, "We might’ve actually gotten something.  This put everyone behind.  I just…hate that I did that.”

Your uncle looked so disheartened.  “Kiddo, this isn’t your fault.  You didn’t do this.”

“It’s my fault,” Steve murmured, shamefully.  “I should’ve – should’ve…”

“No one is at fault here.  Period.”  Hopper spoke firmly, but with parental empathy and assurance.  He looked at Steve, hard now.  Then back at you.  “You guys did everything you could.  Alright?  We’re not behind.  If anything, we’re farther along now that we’re all safe and can actually come up with a better plan.”

You nodded.  He was right.  Hopper gave your knee a squeeze, ruffingling your hair for a moment before looking back at Steve sadly.  Steve hadn’t looked up again, frowning at his lap.  Hopper ducked his head to his eye level.  “Hey, kid.  You busted ass in making sure we didn’t let us lose a soldier today.  You get that, right?”

Steve shuddered a deep breath through his nose, curling in his lips.  After a few beats, he gave a curt nod.  Hopper’s frown deepened. 

“Steve.  You saved a life today.”

Steve looked up at him with the saddest eyes.  Murray was watching him with more empathy than you’ve ever seen.  You reached over to take Steve’s hand with your wrapped one.  He clutched it instantly, mindful of your injured palms and applying the pressure of his grasp to your fingers. 

“Yeah, you did,” you added softly.

Murray swallows, shuffling.  “Thank you.  For saving my niece today, Steve.”

Steve gives him the quickest of smiles and nods.  It’s clear that he’s fighting off emotion.

Hopper can tell that Steve is really struggling, and he gives his shoulder a squeeze before rising to stand.  He looks between the two of you.  He’s…picking up on the vibe.  He thought that maybe Steve just felt really shaken up about having to watch someone actually die today, then save their life.  That shit causes lifelong PTSD.  But Hopper could tell, it was more than that.  He cleared his throat.  “Let’s help her upstairs.”

But Steve immediately stood. “I got her.” 

Hopper and Murray watched him help you up, hooking your good arm over his shoulders.  Tenderly.  Kindly.  Protectively.  Steve's eyes, soft and fond, never looked away from you.

…yeah, the two grown men knew. They were 19 once.

Robin rounded the corner.  “Steve, can I help?”

Steve was walking up the stairs with you.  “S’okay, I got it.  Love you, Robs.” 

Robin scrunched her eyebrows together, confused as she watched her best friend continue to mount the stairs with you.  But Hopper, who was still watching you both as you walked upstairs, just gave her a reassuring nod.  Robin cocked an eyebrow.  What did Hopper know that she didn’t yet?  And Murray, who had an all-knowing expression on his face.  It was much more somber, compared to his usual shit-eating-grins that he wears when he’s onto something.  But still.  He was onto something. 

Murray cleared his throat awkwardly, before moving towards the kitchen. 

Hopper stopped him.  “Hey.  You alright?”

The smart-alec know-it-all actually paused to reflect before answering that question.  He took a deep breath. 

“You know that feeling you get when you’re worried sick El won’t come back, or something’ll take her?” 

Something flashes in Murray’s eyes, and it holds more vulnerability than he has ever shown. 

“I get it now.  That’s how I felt today.  And it did get her.  And I was the one here, telling them –” Murray stopped, intasking a sharp inhale and collecting himself.  “I get it now.”

Hopper’s concerned gaze exuded empathy and kindness towards Murray.  He patted his shoulder, hard, before Murray nodded and walked off to his room, muttering something about being back to help in a bit.  Hopper let him go.

Robin was still standing there, awkwardly.  “Hop, should I…do something?  I mean, my best friend just brought someone back from the dead today, and I’m not really sure he’s alright because he’s never one to crack but I know that he needs to eventually and —”

Hopper sighed, giving her a polite shake of the head and gently cutting her off.  “I think he needs to be with her for a while.  Trust me.  He’ll thank you for it.”

With a pat on her shoulder, he walked to the kitchen.  Robin stood there, perplexed.  Because while the circumstances were grim, and Steve was the most giving person that she knew — since when did her best friend fall hard for the girl he hated the most?

***

Steve was helping you slip out of your combat boots and socks.  Then your army pants.  He carefully helped slip some of his sweatpants over your legs, fasting them over your hips and tightening the string as tight as they’d go.  Then, he gingerly peeled your shirt off — mindful of your bad arm.  He slipped your hands into the arms of his yellow crewneck before you ducked to let him pull it over your head.  It was all definitely baggy on you...which you found yourself adoring. It felt intimate. Special.

The whole time, Steve was quiet.  The air felt tense.  And you knew that he was not about to make it much longer without finally releasing whatever it was that he was holding back.

Until today, you had never seen Steve Harrington cry.  You began to wonder if he ever let himself cry.  Even when the Russians were torturing him, he panicked instead of crying.  The only time that Steve had allowed himself to even get tearful was about Max.  But even so, he didn’t let it show much.  You figured that he maybe let himself cry whenever he was alone, or whenever it was just him in Max’s room.  He’d shown vulnerability that one day, when you both sat with her, when you read her letter to him out loud.  Steve was just…determined not to break down. 

So yeah, seeing him like that today?  Bawling his eyes out over you, of all things?  You were still processing that.

“Hey… How you feeling?” you asked him in a low voice, ducking your head and trying to catch his gaze.  Reaching up with your good arm, you played with the ends of his hair.  But he didn’t answer.  He seemed distracted, lost in thought as he stared at his shirt on you, his hands on your hips.

You swallowed, trying again.  “...wanna talk about it?”

He pursed his lips so you wouldn’t see them tremble. The words he should have said got stuck in his throat.  He swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing.  He settled for —

“M’gonna shower real quick, okay?” 

Your heart sank at his words, breathed more than spoken.

Steve looked up at you with his best tight-lipped smile. You almost cried at the pain you saw behind it.  It was unfamiliar.  Completely foreign for him.  But there was a time for everything, and you knew it best not to push him right now. Not that anything had stopped you before. Normally, you’d grill him and not pay any mind to whatever argument it would cause.  But something about the way that Steve looked right now — so solemn, almost defeated — made you want to forget any sort of friction that the two of you so often had. It had seemed to subside a bit.

After that night.

Not completely, of course. Would it ever be gone completely? This catastrophic rivalry between the two of you? Unlikely. Then again, maybe it was just a matter of figuring out what to do with it.  For now, you knew it best to let him be.

You cautiously cupped his cheeks and dared to peck his lips. “Okay.  I’ll be right here.”

He didn’t say anything, but you knew that he was silently grateful.  He gave you a nod and headed into the bathroom.

You laid in bed, waiting patiently.  Some time passed before you heard the shower turning on.  Maybe ten minutes or so.  Finally, you could hear the faucet squeaking and the water began to run.  You laid underneath the covers, twiddling your thumbs and trying to not feel the pain in your shoulder.  But when another 20 minutes went by…then another 10…you couldn’t help but feel worried.  Something inside of you told you to go check on him.  It was like this…gut feeling. Still, you waited.

...and then you heard it.

A strangled choke.

The door had been left cracked, so you followed the sound and slowly pushed it open.  The air was hot, steamy.  You swallowed hard, hesitant to speak.

“Steve?”  Your tone was wary, timid. “I just…wanted to check on you.”

The silence that followed felt like it lasted a year.  The water splashing onto the ceramic floor of the tub is all you heard behind the shower curtain. 

"Can I come in?" you asked softly, pleading.

Then finally, a tight voice answered —

“Please."

Your clothes were on the floor in seconds, even though you grunted and hissed in pain when removing the shirt.  You couldn’t get into the shower fast enough.

Peeling back the shower curtain, you found Steve’s back to you with his head underneath the stream of water. He was engulfed in steam and mist, yet you could make out his back muscles and how tense he was as he leaned a palm against the tile wall.  His head was down, the hot water seeping down and hard onto the tub at his feet near the drain.  God, he was beautiful.  Even when he was such a prick in high school, you knew even then that Steve was still pretty. If you were being honest, though, he seemed far more beautiful now.  His toned, athletic torso glistened underneath the shower head, his skin the perfect shade of sun kissed tan.

Steve turned his head over his shoulder in your direction, slowly.  Almost afraid.  His gorgeous brown eyes were red and bloodshot, even more than they had been before.  Sad brown orbs stared back at you, water clinging to his lashes and his soaked hair.  There were unshed tears pooling inside those eyes, and he was just a blink away from letting them all fall down. 

He finally turned his whole body to you as you looked back at him, heartbroken, stepping towards him and reaching for his waist.  You could see his breathing intakes were short, the way you get just before you have a breakdown.

“Steve,” you started, devastated.

“I just — c-can you just —”

Hold me, you knew he was trying to ask.  Just hold me.

Steve’s voice broke halfway, timid in a way you’d never heard before. Not even that night, when you two had let all the walls come down. You knew what he was asking now. To be held, comforted. He just couldn’t say it, because he didn’t know how. For a fleeting second, you wondered if he considered the possibility of you saying no. If he thought that maybe his pain was some kind of burden, or shameful.

You brought him into your arms without saying a word, using your good arm to wrap up around his neck and your bad arm — screw it — to hold his waist.  You stroked and gripped at the wet hair that sat at the nape of his neck, feeling his lips dig into your shoulder.  You turned your head so that your lips were pressed to his temple, breathing against him.  Steve clung to you desperately, as if trying to use it as confirmation that you were actually still here...

Despite the last two nights, this is the first time you both truly felt naked in front of each other. You both stood, skin to skin, the water falling around you both, and while there was nothing sexual about this time — that seemed to make it stronger.  It felt as though your bodies were connecting in some sort of irreversible way.  Two souls being tethered, permanently intertwined.

“I almost lost you today.”  

Steve’s words sent shivers against your skin. You felt them more than you heard them. 

The memory of it was haunting for you, yes — but the way that his body trembled against yours with a barely restrained sob in his throat while in your hold, made you believe it had been even worse for him. It’s not every day that you witness someone’s eyes go lifeless in front of you. It’s not every day that you almost have the person you began to care about be taken from you in the worst possible way.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Harrington,” you tried, but when the only answer you got was him squeezing you tighter, you stopped deflecting. 

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured into his shoulder, brushing your lips against his skin. “M’really, really sorry.”

You felt him shake his head against you. No, don’t be sorry.

“I know that you…” you trailed off, sighing.  “You guys went through hell.  Bringing me back. But hey, I knew that you’d be there for me. Even when I was astral planing.”

He still didn’t laugh.  Not even a little.  He just clung to you like a lifeline, trembling against you and haunted by the memory. 

You knew he was mentally fucked up from it.  Hell, you were too. But if you were being honest, there’s not much hell you’d had to go through on your end.  You were out like a light, then back again.  Sure, the pain was excruciating.  But for you, it was over just as soon as it had started.

Steve didn’t have such luxury, though.  You realized now that he’d had to watch you.  

Watch you fall.  

Watch you get hurt.  

Watch you die. Before —

“You saved me, okay? I’m right here.”

Pulling back only enough to look at him, you dared to cup his cheeks again and brush away his stray tears with your thumbs. Normally, he’d cringe at the mere thought of being emotional in front of you. That just wasn’t like him to be that way in front of anyone, least of all you. But right now, he looked lost and afraid. And he didn’t seem to care in the slightest how weak he looked or felt in front of you right now. 

In fact, the way he was looking at you — so haunted and traumatized — brought your heart a sense of pain that it never usually felt. You wanted to take it away from him, make it go away.

“Not going anywhere,” you promised him in a whisper, gently pulling the nape of his neck towards you so that he was leaning his forehead against yours.

In this moment, you thought back on how Steve had always had an oddly comforting presence about him, despite his cocky attitude. It surprised you, really. It came so naturally to him. But right now, it’s him who needed it. And that was alright with you.

“You guys got me,” you murmured.

Steve closed his eyes, his sharp nose nuzzling yours. 

“But what if we didn’t?” he breathed.

You watched as trails of shower droplets and tears made trails, finally released and passing over his perfectly placed moles and faint freckles.

“Fuck, Bauman, if I didn’t — if you’d…”

You held your breath as he choked on his whispered words, scared of them as he bit down hard on his lip. He couldn’t say it. He just couldn’t. 

“God,” he shuddered in a whisper, clenching his eyes shut again as he leaned his forehead to yours. “If you were gone…”

“Hey, hey,” you shushed him gently.  

“After everything I’ve said, fuck…”

“Steve, it’s okay,” you breathed, your fingers stroking the wet locks of his hair near the nape of his neck.

“Can’t lose you,” Steve said in the most inaudible, croaked whisper.

“You didn’t, okay?” 

“I did,” he managed to wheeze, whispered and cracked. “I fucking did.”

You pulled back, forcing him to look at you.  His chocolate brown eyes were rimmed red, strained and distraught at the memory. 

Your hands still cupped his cheeks, gently tugging at the skin beneath his anguished eyes.  “You didn’t, and you won’t.”

You carded your fingers through his dropping locks of hair, pushing it away from his face so that you could look him dead in the eye when speaking to him.  You spoken in that foreign hushed tone that you seemed to only have reserved for Steve, breathing the words against his skin in the hot mist of the shower.  You pecked his lips between the words of comfort, letting each one linger long and longer.  And Steve leaned into each one, becoming more desperate and passionate each time.  And he physically refused to part his lips from yours, even when coming up for air was something you both needed. He just kept pressing short kisses, both feather-like yet urgent, to your lips in a series multiple pecks before burying his head back into your shoulder again. Steve curled more into you as you stroked his back.

“I’m right here, Steve,” you murmured to him.

Finally, he choked on a broken sob that he’d been so desperately holding back. The way it sounded so strangled and strained, you could tell just how painfully lodged it had been in his throat this whole time. It broke your heart into a million microscopic pieces, and as you held him in your arms you realized just how vulnerable this boy was despite never letting it show. Steve Harrington might’ve been an arrogant heartthrob in his teen years, but underneath it all he was just a boy longing for something more. He had so much love to give, despite not knowing what it felt like to have it given to him.

Except with you. With you, he could. 

He would.  He did.

“Here as long as you’ll have me,” you promised him.

The two of you stood there in the shower for God knows how long. You let him break down for however long he needed, which still felt cut off too soon. And after you both finally got out, Steve kissed you all the way from the bathroom to the bed, mindful of your injury. You let him lift you up and carry you there, lowering you onto the mattress with his lips still glued to yours. You let him feel every inch of your skin, delicately exploring it with hunger and need, as his lips glided across your jaw and his perfect teeth nipped at your neck. You let him suck your nipples as he squeezed your hips, keening in his grasp and allowing yourself to let go. 

And when Steve’s hard length pushed against your thigh, you let his hand lift you from underneath the bend of your knee so that he could push into you until you felt him up in your ribcage.

Everything was slow, lovesick and heartfelt.

This time it wasn't sex. This was lovemaking.

You let him groan into your mouth as you moaned into his. You let him whisper things to you that were somehow dirty yet beautiful, and when he began to quietly murmur into your lips something about needing you — something about not leaving him alone — you pulled his perfect mess of damp hair and swore into his lips that you would never leave him. Never never never, thrust thrust thrust.  He fell apart, and so did you. He was desperate, and so were you. He needed you, and you needed him.

Steve loves you.

And you love Steve.

Neither of you said it yet. But it didn't matter, because your uncle was right. 

We do love Steve.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

thank u angels sm or supporting this series. :''') it's been so fun writing a reader related to someone other than Dustin or Hopper, or even the Wheelers. feel free to send me requests related to this series -- do you have ideas or things you might wanna see unfold in this? I'm open.

tag list (thank u guys ily): @xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers @pleuviors @pumpkinonice @ihaveproblemsihaveproblems @brinleighsstuff @definitelynotherr Originalthingparadise @goosy-goose @frostandflamesfanfic @x-theolivia @beesox @definitelynotherr

IF I FORGOT YOUR TAG, PLS LMK! SOME OF THEM, TUMBLR WOULD NOT NOT LET ME TAG :( BUT FOLLOW ME FOR UPDATES:)

[rapz-rites]

Oh Baby

Damian Wayne x Reader established relationship

Jon Kent x Reader (Platonic)

You’re not telling Damian something, and he thinks it’s that you're cheating

A/N: A lovely anon requested this. I hope you like it and feel free to send more requests or even message me.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: misunderstandings, pregnancy, secrets 

You and Damian met sophomore year at Gotham Academy. You were in most of his classes. But he never truly paid any mind to you until your government class. It was a small class of 15 students. 

Your government teacher was holding a class mock debate. 3 students would ask questions as there were 3 topics of discussion. The rest of the students would pair off into 2s and prepare on all the 3 topics as it would be random and no one would know which topic they might get. 

“The three topics of debate will be abortion, racial discrimination, and immigration. And the 3 question leads will be Marcus, Catelyn, and Luca. Everyone else, pair up.”

Girls immediately started surrounding Damian and the boys with you. Damian saw how uncomfortable you were with the boys' awful advances at you. He continued to ignore the girls and walked to you. 

“You can leave. I’m partnered with Y/N.”

Everyone was confused. Even the teacher. Damian never willingly chose to work with anyone. But you decided to take advantage of the opportunity before it went away. 

“Yup. It’s true. So all can go now.” With that, you waved them off and Damian took a seat next to you. 

Everyone else paired off and the teacher started talking. She explained the instructions for the debate and the rubric as it would be graded. 

“There are 15 minutes left of class. You have this time to yourselves, use it wisely.”

You turned to Damian.

“When do you want to start working on the project? I'm available after school today to work in the library.”

“I can't today. I am tomorrow though. Let's exchange numbers.”

And that's how it started. The next day, you and Damian started going to the library after school and texted about the assignment. Even after the in class debate you two would talk. 

Damian found you more tolerable than the rest of the kids at Gotham, and much smarter. He started hanging out with you more and more. In and out of school, obviously without his brothers knowing. 

Eventually, he asked you out, you said yes, and both of you started dating. It’s been over 2 years since. You both have a lot into the relationship. You and Damian opened up to each other. He gave you his trust, which is difficult for him, and you gave him your virginity. 

Though Damian wasn’t your first boyfriend or kiss, he was your first time. And you were happy about it. Even though it was a bit awkward, especially at the beginning, he made it special for you. He would ask if you were ok with something, how you felt, and he just took care of you. Something you never truly had with past boyfriends. 

“Oh my gosh!”

You and Damian only had sex 2 times, both in the past 6 months. Damian took care of you after and you peed.  You were both safe and used protection. That's why you couldn't understand the 3 positive pregnancy tests. 

“No. It can't be.”

You suddenly started crying, collapsing on the bathroom floor of your one-bedroom apartment. 

Since then you haven't been the same. After a few days of thinking, you decided that you would keep the baby. You lost your parents at 15, in an accident. They were wealthy. They had a mansion on the outskirts of Gotham, just like all the other socialites, and a condo near your school. In their passing your parents left everything in your name. You refused to go in the system. You were able to convince your old nanny to become your legal guardian, at least until you could get emancipated. You’ve always wanted a family anyways

You had to tell Damian. Your mind had been running through any possible reactions you'd get from Damian once you told him. Best case scenario he accepts it and decides to stay with you and be a father to the baby. Worst case, he leaves you and you have to raise the baby all by yourself. 

Damian noticed your odd behavior. You were secretive, jittery and would always make excuses not to hang out with him. 

“Sorry, I have a test coming up and need to study. I'll text you” you would say. But you never texted. 

“I'm volunteering this afternoon. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.” You kissed him goodbye on his cheek and walked away

You did the same to your friends. He didn't understand why. Did he do something wrong?

Keeping your pregnancy a secret was eating you alone. You had to tell someone. So you texted someone you could trust. 

You: Hey. Are you busy? I really need someone right now. 

Suddenly there was a gust of wind in your condo. Before you stood Jon Kent. Before you could even speak, that’s when he heard it. Not one, but 2 heart beats. Before you can even process him getting into your place, he hugs and spins you. 

“Oh my gosh! Congratulations!” He smiles from ear to ear. “Wait. I probably should be spinning you.”

Once he put you down he started looking around. Where’s Damian? How come he isn’t here telling me with you? That’s when you started to break down crying. 

“He doesn’t know. And I don’t know how to tell him.” You say hiccupping. Jon just comforted you until you stopped crying. You explained everything to him. 

“You have to tell him at some point. He probably thinks that you're avoiding him because he did something wrong. But I'm here for you.” You hugged him crying. 

“Sorry, it's the hormones.”

For the next 2 weeks, Jon comes to visit you whenever he gets the chance. No one knew.

Clark and Bruce had to collaborate on some League business. So, he and Jon would be staying in Gotham for a few days. 

Jon was heading out when he passed the kitchen 

“Hey Jon” said Dick. 

Damian was paying no mind to them. He was testing you, hoping he could see you today. 

D💚: Hello Beloved

Beloved💜: Hiii Dami

D💚: Are you available today?

Beloved💜: I’m sorry I can’t 😕

                     I promised Layla we could hang out today

                     We can hang out tomorrow tho

                     Pinkie Promise 🤞

D💚: Okay 🤞

         Have fun and be safe

Beloved💜: I will try

                    Won’t be much fun without you 😚

Once, at school you were texting Jon. You were stressing over telling Damian for the 4th time that day… It was only 11 am. And you were spamming him phone

Jon 🦸🏻: OMG

            We’re both at school go learn or something

            My parents are going on a date tonight so I’ll try to swing by

Y/N🤞🏾: ok ok

           See you tonight

“Hey Beloved. Who were you texting?” Damian came up to you. You quickly closed messages and put your phone in your pocket. 

“Hey Damian. It was Layla.” You responded hesitantly. “It’s nothing really but I have to go. I have to study before my test next period” You kissed him goodbye on his cheek and rushed off. 

He knew you weren’t texting Layla, he just saw her a few moments ago when he was looking for you. She told him that you were probably at your locker. Before he went to look for you she told him to tell you that her phone died last period. 

Why were you lying and hiding stuff from him? Damian didn’t want to think it, but were you cheating on him?

Damian looked up from his phone to notice Jon wasn’t there anymore. 

“Where did Jon go?” Damian asked. 

“He said he was going to meet up with ‘a friend’, but it’s obvious he’s meeting with a girl/boy the way he was nervous.” Dick responded

“We should follow him,” Jason spoke up. Damian didn’t know why he was here. Jason wasn’t too fond of staying at the manor. Usually, he would do whatever business he had, get food from Alfred then leave. 

“Sure. Why not” said Tim. Damian forgot he was here. But they all agreed. 

You hated lying to Damian. You decided that when you were going to see him tomorrow, you were going to tell him the truth, everything. You were meeting with Jon to get everything ready to tell Damian everything tomorrow.

Incoming Call: Jon 🦸🏻

You immediately picked up. You were sitting in a booth at yours and damian fav coffee shop. Damian thought that they had these great muffins that tasted even better the day after, so you were going to get him some.

You told Layla about your pregnancy after you told Jon. She was very upset with you. That you didn’t tell her first. 

“I can’t believe it. I mean I can because between both of us, you would have kids and I would be the hot, rich aunt that they love.”

You laughed at her little rant on how your kid would call her “Auntie Lay” and she would bring gifts every time she saw them. How she would have a room for them to crash at her place for when they're a teen and they get mad at you, or they just want to spend time with their auntie. 

“Thank you,” you said as you got up and hugged her “for being here for me. I don't know what I would do without you and Jon”

You were so glad that you had Jon and Layla. 

Jon was walking up to the coffee shop when he saw your call.

“Hey Jon. Layla and I are at the shop, where are you?”

“I’m across the street I’m heading in now.”

Jon didn’t realize the boys were following him. They were confused as to why Jon was at this coffee shop. He had never been there before. 

The boys watched Jon walk in and waited. Eventually, he would come out with whoever he's been secretly meeting up with for weeks. 

Being the type they are, they didn't notice Layla coming out of the shop and getting into her car. She was waiting for you and Jon to go back to your place. 

“He's coming out now,” Dick said excitedly. They all froze in anticipation. What they didn’t expect was to see you walking out after him. 

Damian's heart was breaking. You were secretly meeting up with Jon and cheating on him behind his back. How could you? He kept watch in hopes he was wrong. 

You walked out with a light brown paper bag in hand. You were struggling to seal it without dropping it. That’s when Jon took it from you and sealed it himself. They didn’t have audio but they had visuals. They could say thank you to him.

“Thank you my hero,” you said with a small giggle. Suddenly your face was serious. 

“What if- What if even if Damian accepts this, he won’t regret it later? He won’t think we ruined his life?” 

You started tearing up. From the angle the boys were at they couldn’t see your face. Jon hugged you. 

“Shhh it’s going to be fine.”

“What if he thinks I’m trying to baby trap him and he'll end up hating me?”

You were about to cry when Jon took your face into his hands. You were like the sister he never had. He hated to see you cry. 

“Listen to me. Damian could never hate you. He loves you.”

You nodded and hugged him again. That’s when Damian’s heart truly shattered. 

“I can’t read lips that well but I saw something along the lines of ‘I love you’” Dick said. Damian took off is “disguise”, it was just a hat and sunglasses.

“So she's cheating on me?” Anyone could hear the pain in his voice, even Jon did. 

Jon suddenly let go of you, and turned to look at Damian. He could see the pain written all over his face. Even though mind reading wasn’t a Kryptonian power, he knew what he was thinking: that you were cheating on him with him. 

You were confused. You moved over to see what Jon was looking at. That's when you saw Damian with his brothers. Now he was looking at you.

“Oh no.”

Part 2

So… what do y’all think??? Please let me know.

[noellawrites]

Souvenir Part 2 - Yandere!Luca x reader

part one linked here

summary: someone pays you a surprise visit at The Bear’s friends and family night.

warnings: baby trapping mention, abortion mention, s2 finale spoilers

It was the night of The Bear’s soft opening and emotions were running high.

You were back to waitressing after having passed Luca’s pastry expertise to Marcus. You were just thankful to be back where you knew you belonged.

Too much time spent at the dessert station just made you think more about your time in Copenhagen and your little souvenir that has been growing inside of you for the last three months.

If you never saw Luca again, it would be too soon.

—

“Hands!” Tina yelled and you approached from behind her at lightning speed, reaching out and grabbing table twenty’s focaccia.

“Fire up three t-bones and four calamari!” Sydney’s voice echoed from behind you as you rushed through the doors and walked briskly towards the middle of the restaurant.

On your way back, Natalie gestured to you from her and Pete’s table.

“What’s up, Nat?” you asked, feeling your nerves being reflected in her expression.

“I have some news for you,” she grimaced, reaching her soft hand up to touch yours gently.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Richie, uh… may or may not have invited Luca tonight,” Sugar said, wincing at your reaction.

“W-what? But he’s in Copenhagen, that’s… that’s not possible!” you exclaimed, louder than you meant to.

It wasn’t enough that he had to force a baby into you, but now he had to come all the way to America to rub it all in? You wanted to throw up.

“If he shows up, I’m switching to back of house. I can’t handle seeing him right now,” you stated.

“I understand, (y/n). We’ll figure it out,” Sugar promised.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna fucking kill Richie.”

—

“Shit, there he is!” you hissed as you looked through the thin glass strip into the front of house.

“Oh shit, like, baby daddy Luca?” Sydney exclaimed, eyes wide in disbelief.

You nodded, gnawing at your lip as you watched him being seated at the bar. He was already looking around, no doubt searching for you.

You decided to help Tina and take over Josh’s station, since he’d disappeared and Carmy was still stuck in the walk-in. Tina and Syd both knew what’d happened to you and had been nothing but supportive through it all.

As you were distracting yourself by prepping dishes for Tina, you heard the door swing open and hit the wall.

“I thought I’d find you here,” said a voice with a familiar British accent.

“Uh, sorry dude, you can’t be back here,” Sydney stated, pointing at the door and raising her eyebrows at Luca.

As much as you wanted to scream at him, you knew that making a scene would only make things worse.

“Outside,” you said, nodding your head towards the back door.

—

“You never answered my calls.”

“You baby trapped me!”

“You could’ve gotten an abortion.”

“I can’t afford one!”

“Oh, poor you,” he sneered.

You swallowed a sob as you stared into his cruel, intense eyes.

“Why are you acting like this? Why are you even here?” you sniffled.

“I wanted to watch Carmy fail, of course. And visiting you and the baby is an added bonus,” he said, then reached his tattooed hand out to cup your rounded belly over your apron.

“Don’t touch me!”

“(Y/n), come back with me. You won’t have to do grunt work for Carmy or live in that tiny apartment anymore. You and the baby could live with me and you could focus on raising them. And you can work in my restaurant if you miss waiting tables.”

“I never wanted this baby, Luca.” you sighed, shaking your head.

“But I did. I do. So let me take care of everything, yeah?” he said so gently, holding out his arms to you.

You were weak and needy and tired, and you let him hold you close just like he had done three months ago.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Sinclair

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.7k || cw: check the tags

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper ao3

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Evil monsters from a hell dimension are easy to spot, like a dog with a face that blooms open to eat your cat, or a monster clawing it’s way out from the ceiling. Everything about them feels wrong on base-level instinct. But all you have to do is just get it in your sights, plant your feet, and swing for the fences. Dodging helps too, Steve supposes. 

Monsters like Billy Hargrove, however, are harder to spot. They look and sound like everyone else if you’re not paying close enough attention. The guy radiated violence, and all Steve could hope for was to stay out of his way. To stand off to the side and hope Billy would pass him by, sight unseen.

After what happened to Lucas, Steve can’t afford to stand by anymore. There’s more kids out there like Billy. Fucking christ he used to be friends with those kinds of people. He thought it was all just meaningless jokes and empty words– Steve and all his friends and his family and their neighbors in the Loch, it was all just jokes.

But then he’d called Jonathan Byers queer, laced with venom and meant to sting. As Jonathan’s fist hit its mark, Steve finally realized that maybe the people in his life weren’t just joking. He’d started to understand what they actually meant, how to look past the casual tone and see it for what it truly meant. 

Since then, Steve’s worked to separate himself from people like Tommy and Billy, like his parents. That still doesn’t mean everyone believes he’s trying to change, or that he’ll be forgiven. But that doesn’t matter, he’ll spend the rest of his life making amends regardless. Steve will do whatever it takes to be the best person he can be for the kids.

Anxiety churns through his gut as he knocks on the front door. The cold November breeze ruffles his hair. It sends a shiver down his spine and he finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet to shake out both the chill and his nerves.

After a few moments, a woman with a delicate heart-shaped face and stylishly short black hair opens the door with a warm smile. He never saw Mrs. Sinclair in the moments after it was all over, everyone congregated in the Byers’ living room exhausted, sharing information, and tending each other's wounds. Steve had slipped out the back just as Claudia had arrived for Dustin. 

Her smile falters, only for a moment, before she overcomes the surprise at her unexpected guest. She smoothes her hands down the front of her blue jeans then crosses them over her chest, wrapping the crochet shawl on her back tight around her shoulders. It’s cute, patterned with little yellow and green flowers with dark brown in between.

He smiles awkwardly, bringing his hand up in a wave only to abort the movement halfway through because she opened the door and she’s waiting, just say something.

“Hello, dear,” she prompts, saving him from his spiral by following a simple script. The things you’re supposed to say when some random boy knocks on your door late into the evening but doesn’t say anything.

“Hello, Mrs. Sinclair,” his voice cracks, and he winces. “Umm, my name’s–”

“Steve Harrington,” she says, not unkindly. “Yes, I know.”

He swallows, desperately maintaining an appropriate amount of eye contact. On top of everything else, that sentence alone could mean so much.

Even though Steve’s never met Mrs. Sinclair, he knew of her from his mother. He remembers listening to her rehash the events of whatever social event they’d both attended over dinner, notable only because it was one of few occasions his father would actually listen while his mother talked.

She was a little outspoken during book club.

Richard, you should’ve seen her new hairstyle.

Sue wore a very interesting outfit today.

His parents have nothing in common, but they both love tearing down others to feel better about themselves. Sue Sinclair eventually quit attending the same clubs, and his mother adjusted her sights to new targets. Steve can only hope that Mrs. Sinclair is referring to things Lucas might have mentioned about him, and not because of Beth Harrington and her luncheon book clubs.

“Right, yeah,” he says. “I was hoping I could talk to you and Mr. Sinclair about Lucas. About what happened that night at the Byers’ house.”

His gaze has drifted back down to the pavement, and he can’t help running a hand through his hair only for it to pull at the stitches on his forehead. They would’ve been healed by now if he didn’t keep pulling them out. If he could keep his hands in his pockets like Dustin keeps telling him.

It’s dark, and it’s quiet. It’s silent for so long he expects to be turned away, until he hears a soft sigh.

“Come in then,” she says, stepping to the side to open the door fully. “I’m sure we’ll all want to sit down for this.”

Even on a dark, cold winter night, the sunshine yellow walls help the home feel warm and bright– to match the family inside, he thinks fondly. Steve spots multiple science fair plaques hung up in the living room and a fridge covered in what look like pages of meticulously colored pink and purple horses. A stark contrast to his own home, lifeless and lackluster.

A small cough breaks him of his reverie, and he turns to find her carefully watching him. She’s eyeing him like he’s a code she can crack, making him even more nervous. Her lips quirk up at the corner of her mouth and she gestures for him to sit at the table.

“Would you like anything to drink, Steven? There’s lemonade, tea, and milk, and there’s pop out in the garage.” She moves into the kitchen, the hanging cabinets obscure her face. Her voice is pleasant and genuine.

“Just water, thank you, Mrs. Sinclair.” She sets the water glass next to him and leaves the room only to return a moment later with Mr. Sinclair. He’s sporting a wide smile, but his eyes are strained. 

“Steve Harrington, isn’t that right,” he asks. He gently guides his wife to a chair at the opposite corner of the table, pulling it out for her and softly kissing her cheek. She smiles at Steve and rolls her eyes. The normalcy of the domestic gesture causes Steve’s cheeks to burn and he averts his eyes. He’s been here all of five minutes and has seen more love within the Sinclair home than he’s ever seen within his own. 

“Uh, yes sir,” Steve responds as Mr. Sinclair takes the seat opposite of him, like this is an interview for a high class job. Which, he figures, it kind of is. Except the man’s wearing blue flannel pajama pants and an oversized grey hooded sweatshirt with a Pacers logo on the chest. It helps Steve relax slightly, the perceived casualness hopefully setting the tone for the situation.

“So what brings you by? Sue mentioned something about what happened at the Byers’ house.”

“Yeah, I just umm–” he swallows around a lump clogging his throat– “I’ve already talked with Ms. Henderson and Mrs. Hargrove about being Dustin and Max’s official babysitter, and I’m really hoping I can do the same for Lucas.” In through his nose, out through his mouth. In, and out.

“I’m not sure what all Lucas told you, but the kids got into a lot of trouble that night. Dustin came looking for Mike to help find his lost cat, but he found me instead. I wasn’t even supposed to be there.” He pauses, replaying the cover story in his head. “Lucas and Max found us just before the pack of feral dogs did. We ended up ok, hitched a ride with Nancy and Jonathan back to the Byers’ house. Then that’s when Will got sick and they all left to go to the hospital.

“I didn’t know Billy was Max’s brother. She kept telling me, over and over, that she had to get home or her brother would kill her. I was too busy trying to keep the boys distracted– I should’ve listened to her. We heard the car pull in the driveway, and I knew straight away who it was.

“I told the kids to hide and I tried to convince him to leave, but he saw them. He pushed past me to get into the house, but by the time I got back inside he had Lucas pinned to the wall and– I’ve never seen someone look like that before. The way Billy looked at Lucas– I know I was a bully, but I’ve never– Billy hated him.”

He’s prepared for this, even done it twice already like he said. He’d hoped it’d be easier this time around, yet he’s still just as tense. But the Sincair’s sit patiently across from him, waiting for him to continue. So he musters his courage, takes deep breaths, and pushes on.

“If it wasn’t for Max,” he plows forward, “I’m not sure what would’ve happened. She knocked Billy out while he was on top of me. We managed to take his car and get out. When we came back later, he was gone.”

Steve’s eyes fall to his lap and he wrings his hands together, rubs them harshly against the tops of his thighs to feel the rough denim scratch against his palms– to keep himself from hyperventilating, to calm down, to breathe. Anything to show these nice and normal people that he’s stable enough to care for their son. That he’s not the kind of person to panic when nothing’s wrong. 

“What about the parents?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. When he looks up, there’s a comforting smile on her face that doesn’t meet her eyes, still filled with a hesitancy Steve can’t pinpoint.

He knew the question was coming, yet he still finds it difficult to answer. “I feel like everyone in town knows The Harrington’s,” he says, voice laced with distaste for his own last name.

Mr. Sinclair’s lips form a fine, thin line across his carefully restrained face, disappearing under his  trimmed mustache. Mrs. Sinclair reaches out to hold her husband’s hand again, rubbing her fingers across his knuckles. She still holds Steve’s gaze, unwavering, as he tries to explain himself.

“I can’t ever make up for what my parents have said or done. All I can promise is that I’m trying not to be like them. And those kids,” he stops, digging deep for the right words to explain emotions he’s never had to articulate before. “I feel more like myself around the kids than I ever have with anyone else. It’s like they give me a purpose. They matter to me, and I’m not really used to that. I’d do anything to keep them safe.”

They’re quiet for what feels like ages, leaving him waiting for them to pass their judgements, weighing his heart. “I’m glad you’ve told us this,” Mrs. Sinclair replies, “but that’s not what I was asking, hun.”

Steve racks his brain, sorting through his words to find what he’s missed. The confusion must show on his face.

“The girl, Max,” Mr. Sinclair fills in, “what about her parents?”

Steve’s confusion only worsens as he tries to reason out why they’re asking about Max’s family and not his own. The Harrington’s have terrorized this town for decades, and the Hargrove’s moved in less than six months ago.

“Max?” Steve asks. “Why– I don’t understand.”

“Steven,” she starts again, “we know all about the kind of people Beth and Richard Harrigton are, and we know the kind of boy you used to be,” he smile softens, finally reaching her eyes as they shine at him with a sad affection. He feels bare, and moves his gaze to just over her right shoulder instead. “Just because your parents are bad people, doesn’t mean you are. And just because you’ve made mistakes, doesn’t make you a bad person. Especially when it’s so obvious how hard you’re trying to fix them.”

“But this young girl, Max, that Lucas has been spending time with. She’s new to town, from California, right?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. Steve nods.

“We don’t know them,” she says, her smile melted into a frown. “Lucas and the boys talk about her well enough, and she sounds like a sweet kid.” She blinks, hard, and Steve realizes she’s trying not to cry.

“If her parents are like her brother, Billy,” Mr. Sinclair picks up her train of thought, “Lucas could be in danger just by being her friend, Steve. If her parents are anything like that, I can’t have our son spending time with her. It won’t matter whether you’re there to protect them or not. There are some things in this world you can’t save them from.”

There’s nothing he can say that’ll meet the gravity of their questions, except sit in their beautiful, warm, yellow kitchen and process the small fraction of their world they’ve laid plain. He’s imagining Billy catching them at the movies, sharing a popcorn bucket and a soda with two straws. He can’t help but morbidly wonder what would happen if Neil passed them on the street with Max riding on the back of Lucas’s bike. 

Even if Steve were there with them, they’d still be seen. He can’t be around all the time, won’t always be there to help. Shoving down the panic at that thought, he leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair and yanks at the strands. The stitches rip from his scalp, and the sting of it keeps him present.

“Her stepdad, Neil, is the problem,” Steve starts. “I haven’t met him, but he seems– I think he’s the reason Billy is the way that he is. I’ve heard him yelling from the driveway when I pick Max up sometimes.” 

His thoughts stray to last week, standing in the driveway, half out of the car trying to decide if he should go knock or stay and wait. The shouts were hard to ignore. As Steve finally decided knocking would be worth the risk of confrontation, Max burst out the front door, red-faced with bloodshot eyes, and her jaw clenched tight. Words like ‘spoiled’ and ‘ungrateful brat’ floated between the snowflakes after her, carried along by the frigid evening.

“Max’s mom seems alright,” Steve says. Beth Harrington’s years of training kicks in and Steve falls back on typical midwest niceties. “Susan loves Max, and she’s the one who agreed to let me watch her instead of Billy. I think she knows that their house isn't– great. She lets Max stay with me a lot. Hell, half the time she practically lives with me.”

He knows Dustin’s happy when Steve’s around, and he hopes eventually the rest of the kids would eventually feel the same way. Max likes having him around too, but Steve thinks she might need him more than the others do. Because unlike The Party– but very much like himself– she doesn’t have anyone or anywhere safe to escape. 

He never had a person waiting in the driveway with the car running, ready to take him away. With Max, Steve gets to be the person he needed when he was her age. 

Steve sighs, resistant to the decision he’s come to, but hopefully the Sinclairs will understand. He meets their gazes, a solemn look from both of them tells him maybe he’s easier to read than he thought.

“I want them all to be together, but when it comes down to it, the boys all have their families to fall back on. Max– she doesn’t have that. So I can’t leave her behind– I won’t.” Steve hesitates, closing his mouth before he oversteps.

“But?” Mr. Sinclair prompts, eyeing him across the table.

Steve considers his words carefully before saying, “I think keeping them apart would be a mistake. You know Lucas won’t stop trying to see Max. He really cares about her, and the way she looks at him–I don’t think you could keep them apart no matter how hard you try.” He sighs, anxious he’s undoing all the trust he’s gained tonight. “And it’s like you said, right? Just because someone’s family is all bad, doesn’t mean you’re like them. We– I mean, Max– can be different. Better.”

They glance at each other, but when Mr. Sinclair opens his mouth to respond, a blur of red and blue crashes into Steve’s side, almost toppling him out of the kitchen chair. All he can see are fingers entwined together across his chest and small arms covered in red and blue rocket ships. Of course Lucas would wear nerdy pajamas, it’s so goddamn adorable. Just another reminder that Steve is so utterly screwed for these kids.

“Lucky,” Mrs. Sinclair admonishes, “what are you doing out of bed?” She stands and moves over to her son, who clutches Steve’s chest like it’ll keep him from being pried away and dragged back to his room.

“You can’t keep me from hanging out with Max,” he shouts, muffled by his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. “She belongs to The Party now, just like Steve. And we don’t leave anyone behind. Ever.”

Something he might think is fondness balloons in his ribs at Lucas’s admission. Steve hadn’t really considered himself included in The Party, as Dustin explained it. He always assumed it was mostly just the kids, plus Nancy and Jonathan because of Mike and Will. He’s more like an accessory, if anything at all. A guy on the fringes, brought in by random chance. 

“I want Steve to be my babysitter, and I want Max to be my friend,” he answers.

“Son,” his dad says, who stands up to place his hand on his son’s shoulder, “we’re talking to Steve about this.”

“No,” Lucas interrupts. He pops his head up to look at them, but doesn’t loosen his grip around Steve’s shoulders. “You don’t get it. Steve’s not like Billy and neither is Max. Max is the coolest. She’s nice and funny and laughs at my jokes. And Steve gives rides in his super fancy car. He lets them hang out at his house after school. Sometimes he even buys us candy and gives us extra quarters for the arcade.”

Mrs. Sinclair clears her throat, a very motherly excuse me, you did what? Steve realizes she’s teasing Lucas, the slight smirk on her face giving the game away. He gives Lucas a gentle nudge, and chuckles when Lucas tries his best to back pedal. 

“I mean,” the poor boy stammers, “he never buys us candy. Only, like, apples and stuff.”

His mom laughs and his dad gives his shoulder a slight shake, bringing a smile to Lucas’s face. He knows the world will be tough for Lucas, but Steve can’t help but think how lucky the kid is to have a family like this. Safe and loving, comfortable enough to tease each other, and carefree enough for affection in front of company.

“Ok, Lucky, we’ll think about it, alright? Now let’s get to bed,” Mrs. Sinclair says, gently leaning Lucas into her arms and guiding him away from the table. He groans, burying his face into his mother’s stomach as she laughs. “You’ve got to get up early for school tomorrow, you know that.”

“Mom,” Lucas draws out the word, whining obnoxiously, “don’t call me that when people are here.”

Steve listens to Lucas’s lamentations as the two disappear down the hallway. Mr. Sinclair gives Steve’s shoulder a hard pat and firm shake, just like he had to his own son. Steve’s throat clogs slightly, and the gesture makes him think of Hopper.

Mr. Sinclair says on the back of an exasperated sigh, “Lucas is a good kid. When he likes something– or someone– it’s fierce. He gets consumed with whatever he sets his sights on, almost like it’s all he can think about sometimes.”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Sinclair chuckles at her husband, stepping back into the room. “Remember when Mike first showed him Dungeons and Dragons? Stayed up all night for weeks working on his character even after we grounded him for it. It’s been years and it’s still all he talks about.”

Mr. Sinclair laughs, shaking his head, but when he looks back to Steve there’s resolve scrunched between his brows. He turns to his wife who nods, a soft smile spreads across her face. “Unfortunately for us, I think you might be right, Steve. If Lucas and the boys have already decided Max is their friend– and if what you’re implying about the two of them is true– I don’t think we could keep him from seeing her. No matter how dangerous it might be. That boy will always do what he thinks is right, consequences be damned.”

“You can watch him this week, and we’ll see how it goes,” Mrs. Sinclair says, her smile now wide and loving, bright enough to match the home her family has built.  “All we ask is that you keep us in the loop, and he stays away from the Hargrove’s.”

“The kids talk about you constantly,” Mr. Sinclair continues, “and Claudia only has good things to say about you– Max too. We only got to meet her when we drove her home that night, but it’d be nice if we got another chance. Maybe sometime next week we can have the both of you over for dinner to get to know each other.” 

Butterflies erupt in Steve’s stomach at the giddy realization that they’re willing to take a chance on him. To trust him with something as important as their son’s safety is a blessing Steve thought he’d never be worthy of.

They work out the scheduling details, and Steve leaves feeling higher than he has in months. He’ll do everything he can to prove to the Sinclair’s that he deserves the chance they’re giving him, that neither he nor Max are their parents, and that Lucas will be happier for it. He can’t imagine how Lucas would’ve felt if kept away from Max, but now it doesn’t matter. Steve can keep his kids under one roof.

Three down, three more to go.

[aleksa-sims]

Simself Story

CW: abortion

About two weeks later, my little one and I were alone again. N. was back abroad to play soccer (he's always put his career first, at least that’s what it felt like to me), while I was at home taking care of our son. However, I wasn’t mad at him. I knew what I was getting into. But this time, the farewell was... harder than usual. Probably because I was pregnant and felt alone with... the decision on how to proceed. I mean-... I don’t wanna lie, I was sure , I didn’t want a second Baby. It's just too fast for me. Also, I had a bad conscience. Lucas was not even a year old. With a second Baby I would be totally overwhelmed at this point. My little one didn’t deserve that. I have not forgotten how.... depressed I was after the c-section and also what my son has been through (withdrawal symptoms). I would not endure this a second time, I think.

So I called a clinic. I got an appointment for an abortion right away, in just 3 days!! I thought I would be examined by a doctor first?? But they told me, that I will be examined that day anyway, and right after, the procedure/abortion will be performed. Now I only had 3 days to find a babysitter for Lucas. 🤯🤯

Usually this was not really a prob. My family always helps me. Mostly my Mom or Ana. But I haven’t told my family that I’m pregnant again and my Mom will definitely ask me, what kind of appointment I have? Either I tell her, or I ask Philip for help. But I had a fight with Philip recently. He told me who his new girlfriend is. Her name's Bianca. 💁‍♀️🤨 She has a twin sister, Patricia, and this girl, had a crush on Nico. He and Philip had some.... fun🔥with those twin sisters in the past. And well, I was jealous! That Patricia still tried to to get my boyfriend. Philip knew that! He knew that his girlfriend’s stupid twin sister wants N.! ... Anyway I’m gonna call Philip later and ask him to watch Lucas, while I’m in that clinic. It’s only for a few hours. And I just didn’t want to tell my Mom about it!! But she's gonna find out anyway. 😩Nico had been worried about me. So he just told my Mom to take care of me and Lucas after the abortion....

Oh, and btw, Daniel finally called me! He wants to see me, to talk about our divorce. 😰

Previous/Next

[spicybylerpolls]

All of the teenage relationships are sexualised from the get-go. Stancy's introduction was all about the trope where bad boy Steve just wants to try getting good girl Nancy into bed. Jancy is also immediately sexualised when Jonathan takes the spicy photos of Nancy. And Steve and Robin make booby jokes before Vickie is even introduced. Meanwhile for Stobin, we only really got Steve thinking that he and Robin would be a cute couple but no sexual innuendos whatsoever, hinting that the relationship will not happen because there is no sexual attraction there.

It is initially a bit different for Mileven/Lumax/Byler because they are actually kids at the start of the show. But Season 3 makes such a big fuss about them not being kids anymore and it is coincidentally also the time some of the characters start to make innuendos themselves. Which also means that who they liked as kids is not necessarily who they are eventually attracted to as teenagers.

In comparison to the other teenage relationships, Mileven seems to be a relationship free of any sexual implications. In Season 3 Hopper wants the door certainly not open because he is afraid of them kissing - however, Mike and El never overtly express a desire for sex, neither with each other nor for other people. Milevens like to say "Oh, this means that Mike and El only have eyes for each other" although the sexual implications are completely absent from their relationship.

Of course you could argue that the characters may be demi/ace, but I think especially in Mike's case it is made clear that he is not acespec but a repressed queer (with the Season 4 Episode 1 montage as biggest proof). Some people also insisted (and still insist) that Will is ace too because they are subconsciously so afraid to see any sort of queer attraction on screen. (As a person on the acespec myself, I really long for the day where asexuality is finally done justice on screen. But Stranger Things is clearly a show where they actively contrast lack of sexual attraction and actual sexual attraction with each other. Unfortunately, 99% of media does not include intentionally-accurate representation of asexuality, so right now Stranger Things is not under the obligation to be the show that is suddenly an exception)

This is all so true! People try to argue that Mike and El "making out all the time" is evidence that they have interest in sexual exploration, but A) the show very clearly draws our attention to the fact that he takes his hands off her when they're making out, B) Mike doesn't express sexual interest in the Phoebe Cates, the hot girl of the day, like his friends, C) the show draws our attention to how unnatural it is by having Hopper comment on it, and D) this doesn't progress or increase in any way. In fact, it decreases. In S4, they have one fairly awkward kiss and never show any signs of desire for each other. Instead, the emphasis is on Mike not being able to say ILY to her.

For a ship that's allegedly the main ship, this is all pretty unusual. When was the last time you saw a ship with teenage characters who "only have eyes for each other" yet never show even the slightest sign that they want to explore the physical side of things, even if only 2nd base? It's like Mike got to 1st base and immediately wanted to abort mission and backtrack and never do anything straight again.

Some Milkvans will say it's because Mike is a gentleman, but... come on. Lucas is a gentleman with Max, and the show goes out of its way to emphasize his sexual desire multiple times. Dustin and his girlfriend aren't even in the same state, and she's a devout Mormon, and still there's no doubt that Dustin would round all the bases multiple times in a heartbeat if he got the chance.

Meanwhile, everything between Mike and El looks like a weird, unnatural performance. And they don't even kiss in the desert!

Especially considering the fact that Mike and Will, who are allegedly just platonic friends, do show signs of physical desire. This is what they're like JUST touching arms ever so slightly. Get a room.

[steviewashere]

Time loop fic where there's elements of Life is Strange; so a fusion of sorts, but not an exact au.

Steve Harrington, a seemingly normal dude—almost a nobody, is chosen to have these time-altering powers; similar to how Max Caulfield did in Life is Strange, where she traveled through old photos. In which he realizes the "destiny" of it all is to try and save Eddie Munson from supernatural danger/death. It happens when Eddie "dies" from the demobats. And right as Steve actually reverses time to save him, he's spat back out into 1983, following an aloof, and wanting to do good for the world, Eddie Munson.

(Also, Eddie would come to know about Steve's powers. He'd wonder: why me? Why Steve? He'd think of his life to be selfish, it would be a whole thing. Anyway.) My full idea is under the cut, I'm so sorry for rambling.

Eddie gets caught up trying to find Will Byers in 1983—nearly drowns when he discovers a "body"; Steve is there sulking (over something, you decide what) and notices somebody swimming out, doesn't think anything of it until they sink and don't come up for forty-five seconds—he jumps into lifeguard mode.

Eddie is at the junkyard trying to find metal scraps for a D&D map he's handcrafting for a campaign, gets caught up in the demodogs—Steve shoves him out of the way, all the while taking a gnarly claw to the chest. He survives, but it's a near sort of thing.

Eddie wanders out from a showing of a late night movie, Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are drugged out by the water fountains, he follows them to the bathroom where they proceed to tell him how Steve got beat up, he overhears a confession he probably wasn't supposed to be privy to—eventually, he's out fighting the mind flayer, being told to duck and get down by Steve Harrington.

The events of 1986 happen, as they initially played out. Except, this time, Steve has the memory of what it's like to watch Eddie come close to death. Over and over and over again. He had moments in time where he knew what it was like to be covered in Eddie's blood; knowing he cared too much and had to go back.

He's in 1986, staring at Eddie Munson's big, doe eyes. "Don't be a hero," he says—a threat, no longer a warning. And he's faced with two choices:

Save Eddie Munson OR

Save Hawkins, Indiana

If he saves Eddie, he swaps places with Dustin. If Dustin takes Steve's place, the demobats are no longer distracted. Steve realizes something that he must do. He has to abort mission, like what should've happened in the first place. Instead of fighting, Steve hauls Eddie out as soon as the others leave for Vecna's lair. Eddie squawks, protests, tries to put up a fight. But it's no use. Steve is set in stone. He could've left Eddie to rot in the Upside Down, but coming to know him, coming to know every version of Eddie, coming to know his family and his life and his secrets over the years (even if it seems like seconds to everybody else), Steve can't stomach that. He cares too much; knows what he wants.

Eddie is what he wants.

And Vecna, the Upside Down, Eleven's powers, the resurgence of the ugly and awful every year can finally be over if he makes this choice.

Up to this point, he had used the missing posters of Eddie to save him, to go back through time. But each time he goes back in time, Vecna gets stronger and stronger. If he tries it again, he knows they'll be fucked even if he actually does save Eddie.

He can choose to save Eddie.

He can leave Hawkins all behind, right before the demobats come flooding through the trailer. He can quickly escort Eddie out. In doing so, however, the demobats get to Vecna's lair. The demobats kill the others. Vecna gets Max. Jason gets Lucas. And Erica doesn't fair any better. In the end, with Steve and Eddie skipping town, Hawkins is destroyed by Vecna and his powers, succumbing. Everybody in this scenario dies. Eddie will not be known as a "satanic murderer", he would not face the death penalty after surviving the Upside Down and coming back to Hawkins; nobody will know that he was there when Chrissy died.

With choosing to save Eddie, Steve will forever live with a gnawing guilt towards the others. He would become less of who he was. He'd be forever altered. He would know that Hawkins succumbing would be his entire fault.

If he doesn't save Eddie, the events of season four still happen. However, Vecna doesn't win. With Eddie's death, Vecna dies—almost like they have an odd hive mind connection (you choose how or why Eddie has this connection, I don't have the brain to do so).

Steve comes out of the Upside Down with Nancy, Robin, and Dustin. He comes out clean and harm-free. Max does, and Lucas, and Erica. Everybody is safe—except for Eddie.

Since the town doesn't go into ruin, Wayne doesn't go to the high school when the trailer is ruined. He's still putting up the posters around town.

I think, too, that outside of Eddie knowing, Nancy would know. Because I mean, come on. She's the journalist, knows of the crazy other worldly shit. She had been somebody that Steve trusted, and he trusted her in turn. He comes to her with this knowledge. And they know, with the outcome of Eddie's death, they have to break the news. Edit: I also think Robin would come to know, she'd spot something wrong with Steve and she'd beg for him to tell her; she believes him, of course, and helps however she can.

They tell Wayne. Who takes it as well as any mourning father would.

And in the end, when Wayne isn't looking, Steve and Nancy take the rest of the missing posters. They take down all the other ones around town.

They burn them. Burn all of the missing posters. They burn any trace Steve has of interacting with Eddie in 1983, 1984, 1985. He gets rid of it all.

Steve won't forget who Eddie Munson is. And, yes, unfortunately, the town will still think of Eddie as the "satanic murderer". But everybody else would be safe. And in Eddie's last moments, right before he succumbs to his injuries, he tells Steve, "Do it. For Dustin. Nancy. Robin...Wayne."

If he doesn't save Eddie, Steve will forever live with a gnawing guilt anyway. He will know that Eddie's death was something he could not prevent, even if he wanted to. He would know that Eddie's death isn't his fault, it was supposed to happen in the first place, but he interfered just in time. Only Nancy would know of Steve's choice, of his guilt. (This wouldn't bring them together romantically (don't think of this as me pushing a stancy agenda onto you or whatever), but this would lead to a deeper understanding of their friendship; Nancy couldn't save Barb, Steve couldn't save Eddie. Something, something: You can't save people, you can only love them.)

And that's the dilemma that Steve would have to wade through. Does he sacrifice the guy that meets everything that Steve has ever wanted, the guy that he created literal years worth of memories with, the one he was so set in stone over saving; does he live with the guilt of killing his other friends? Or does he save the family he's come to know, just with a black, absent spot where the rest of his family should be—Eddie Munson; the guilt from his death instead?

Is Eddie worth saving?

That's the thought going through his head when he looks back at Eddie in the Upside Down. Is Eddie worth saving?

(Also, this could work as Jonathan x Steve or, another angsty one I just thought of, Jonathan x Nancy.)