#stoncy fanfic

[wroteclassicaly]

Insecurities get the best of you, but your partners are there to help.

You watch as they marvel over her - every angle, each inch. From her head to her toes, Nancy Wheeler is beautiful. And clad in pale pink lace panties with a matching bra and white garters - she’s looks plucked straight from some ethereal garden. You cling to your own baby blue set, palms sweaty, lower lip trembling. It’s not that you envy your girlfriend, no.

But you don’t look like her and it’s never been more obvious than now, standing in Steve Harrington’s hallway, watching through the gap in his bedroom door as they trace her skin with timid, fragile fingertip grazes. They both fought over her years ago, loved her through what you’ve all went through. No one ever fought over you, probably wouldn’t even care for you if you didn’t experience things together. Are you just personality? Formally, completely off their radars?

It’s not fair that you aren’t communicating this, and having these thoughts only makes you feel more isolated, guilty. You swallow the burning lump inside your jugular and force yourself to step away, immediately working back on your clothing in the bathroom and shoving your lingerie into your bag. You’ve got a plan already. They deserve to have the time and not let it be ruined by your baggage, or by having to reassure your insecurities. Once you reach his doorway, toes sunk into the soft carpet, you gently rasp your knuckles, before feeling as if you’re intruding by opening the door.

They’re completely engrossed in her, and you’d hoped they wouldn’t notice, but what you can’t grasp is that they were also waiting for you, baited breaths and excited heart rates. When you step into the room fully clothed and all eyes find yours, they frown, faces falling. Steve is the first to speak.

“I thought Nance said you two went shopping together? Where’s yours?”

You’ve thought this stuff before, especially once the intimacy started, but it’s staring you in the face more than ever before, and you aren’t sure if you can handle the way you’re trembling, throat quaking, bile rising, making you want to throw up. You’re in love with them, you are well aware. You shake your head, tossing on a smile that is genuine for the guys, for her. Because you’d love nothing more than to let it be about her tonight, but it wasn’t the agreed upon plan when you and Nancy visited the Indianapolis mall, and they’ll figure out something is wrong if you outright refuse. You motion to your shoulder bag, tongue burning with your lie.

“I actually forget my outfit at my house. Remember when went there to take our bags, baby?” You smile and Nancy looks confused, but nods at that fact.

Her maroon painted lips part. “But I thought you put yours in your bag? Are you sure?”

You follow through with your lie. “I am. That’s what took me forever, I did my makeup and stuff, then I had to dig through my bag, but I couldn’t find it. I’ll run home though, okay?”

It’s an automatic response from your three partners standing before you. “We will all go.”

“I’ll drive, too,” Steve says.

You shake your head. “I can drive home and get it, I don’t want anyone to have to pause because of me. Just twenty minutes tops, yeah?” Instead of waiting for an answer, you back out and close the door, springing down the hall and staircase.

Your lungs greedily suck in the cool evening breeze as you close the Harrington’s double front door behind you, feet slapping on the pavement to help you reach your car. Jonathan Byers is hot on your tail, hand splaying out above yours before you can open your driver’s door. “Hey —“

You swing your bag into his torso without thinking, heart beat dropping into your ass and slapping into your throat, adrenaline surfacing, fueled by past trauma with the things that went bump in the dark. He catches it with ease after your second swing, gripping your shoulder. Once you realize you’re safe, it molds into you hitting him by accident, and combines with your current mood. The tears find themselves flowing freely, unable to be hidden.

He’s intuitive, having figured you out the second you stepped into the room and lied to them. You were his best-friend before even started dating Nancy. And then you fell in love with Steve Harrington when he got with her, only to end up in love with Jonathan and Nancy when they began dating. It was a messy thing. Everyone finding feelings at various times.

It did not diminish anything, however.

He cups your neck’s nape and brings you into his chest as you apologize. There’s not a point in lying anymore. His voice is deep as he says it, that soft way that reminds you of a warm fire, a cold, fizzy drink that makes you dizzy, and even the ice cubes that he’d pinched between his teeth to trace your body with at Steve’s Fourth of July barbecue. He helps you by cupping your cheeks and bringing you into his sights, thumb wiping away your tears.

“You think you can’t be honest about stuff like that with us?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the mood or make Nancy feel like I’m just being a bitch —“

“Well, she doesn’t think that, but she is worried about you.” A strong but soft voice cuts you off. Nancy is clad in Steve’s robe, making her way towards you with him.

Jonathan rubs his palms up and down your shoulders, everyone now huddled together. Steve settles behind you, Nancy at your side, fingers pinching your chin. “Look at me. Right now.” You want to cry when you see the tears in her beautiful blue eyes. She’s got your full attention.

The boys share looks over your shoulder.

“I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman than you. The way you make me feel every single day, the first person to truly see me. To see all of us?” She motions to everyone around with a manicured hand.

She finds yours and turns you towards her, holding your grip with strength. “You don’t think we also compare ourselves sometimes? It happens, but it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Not when we know what we have. It’s something that no one can touch, not if we keep it safe.” Her lips purse as she brings your entwined hands to her chest, nostrils flaring.

“I know we’re all weird as hell, but there’s one thing that I’m sure of too,” Steve chimes in. “It’s that without you, our goofy little puzzle wouldn’t be complete.”

You’re still looking at Nancy as he says it, his defined palms lacing with Jonathan’s as they settle on you. She speaks again after a few breaths. “How about we go upstairs to Steve’s room and I’ll help you into your outfit, and we can be our weird little puzzle pieces together?” There’s a beautiful smirk that quirks in the corner of her mouth.

You agree.

~*~

Nancy helps you into your set, lets you balance on her to slide on your garters, and once she gets a good look at you, with you also seeing her up close — there’s a ravaging inferno blazing, boiling behind both your irises, pooling into your pupils. There’s less hesitation as she takes you into the room and both men turn, jaws unhinged. She clings to your hand and you two walk together. Your doubt settles at the wayside, your body joining them onto Steve’s new California king, and nothing matters but your weird little puzzle, finally complete.

[monsterhunting]

with great power | 64k, spider-man!steve au, complete

“Nancy cares about real journalism.” Steve raises his eyebrows. “And Spider-Man isn’t?” “A man in tights swinging from webs?” Jonathan deadpans. “Definitely not, no.” In which: Jonathan is the unfortunate Daily Bugle intern tasked with taking pictures of New York's new favorite superhero, Steve struggles with the trials and tribulations of maintaining a secret identity, and Nancy is just trying to do some actual goddamn investigative journalism for once.

[targetf0rce]

Transfering this from my twitter! NSFW Stoncy! I am working on making this a full on fic and not a drabble but im very burnt out rn Pairing: Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler Rating: Mature Tags: Smut, Fluff, Bottom Steve, Switch Jonathan, Top Nancy, Future fic Jonathan returns late to their flat, its dark outside while the city is still alive. He quietly creeps into their home because they tend to sleep early due to work.

He enters the main bedroom and finds steve laid on his back, naked on top of the sheets. His head in the pillow and he could make out the dopey, content look he gets on his face from getting fucked out.

Nancy is perched on him, her thighs bracketing Steve's, Jon can tell shes wearing a strap on and its buried deep in Steve due to the bulge of his abdomen and his hard dick that has been leaking all over his stomach. For long enough that its even dried there too. He can swear that he can see it on his chest too, and on Nancy.

She's not thrusting into it. Just holding it in him while he lazily smiles at her. Sometimes Steve got this way where he wanted to be full and warm on the inside. He was a massive suckler for cock-warming and would fall asleep like that, even if he halfheartedly complains about his arse aching afterwards.

Jonathan approached their bed, melting at the way Steve's sleepy eyes would shift to his and were filled with such emotion. He whined at him softly and reached his hands out towards him while Nancy giggled.

"Use your words, Steve." She chided lightly.

"Kiss, please?" He voiced softly and Jonathan couldn't refuse.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against Steve's. Shuddering when his hands grabbed the collar of his shirt to guide him. Those soft plump lips parting as Jonathan kissed at him hungrily while he could feel Nance kissing at his shoulder and nape.

When he felt Steve trying to stick his tongue in his mouth he pulled away, their breathing laboured as they gazed at each other. Steve's eyes half lidded and his lips kiss swollen.

Steve whined for him desperately and tightened the hold on his collar

"Steve, you look tired." Jon urged softly.

"Want you too though."

Jonathan had to ignore the twitch of his dick at his words and shook his head.

"You've already got Nance. You can't have me too."

"'ve got a mouth." He stated with big puppy eyes. And honestly, he was weak for him. He couldn't help but crumple.

"I'm sure Steve can be a good boy for us both, can't you?"

He nodded happily at that, his smile growing a little as hands hovered around the fly of his jeans. Not undoing them yet until Jonathan stated he could, but waiting patiently.

"Okay. But I want you to pat my waist or thigh if you want me to pull out okay?"

Steve nodded, tenderly unbuttoning his jeans for him. His eyes on Jon's too detect any little change in his comfort and demeanour. He must have not found anything as he gently slipped down his boxers to free his cock and licked at the head softly. Jonathan couldn't help but moan at his tongue lapping at him, before slowly slipping his dick into his mouth. He rested a hand on the shaft to help guide it in for Steve and smiled softly at the guttural hum he made in contentment.

"Look at him, he's such a good boy, keeping us so well in him." Nancy cooed.

He couldn't miss the muffled moan and slow shut off his eyes at her praise. He knew Steve was content and safe. Happy and warm. Their boyfriend slowly drifting off to gentle praises and comforting touches. Their bodies hot and close in a warm intimacy. Steve gradually fell asleep with a Jonathan's dick down his throat and Nance's strap on in his ass.

Jonathan pulled out from his mouth and gently wiped his face and body clean with wipes for him. Taking care with cleaning up their baby boy.

Nancy stayed in him, but she shifted to lay on Steve. Her head resting in the crook of his neck, while Jonathan settled beside them both, snuggling up to Steve as Nancy wrapped an arm around him. Jon couldn't ask for more in his life, he's happy.

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

looking back on the fic I've written in the last few years and my own sexuality journey has made me realize that there is an argument that poly folk and ace/aro folk process love in a lot of the same ways, like the idea that you can have significant, life-defining relationships with different people and you get something important and sometimes even a similar flavor from each relationship but each one is still fundamentally different and significant in its own way and sometimes you don't want sex but you do want hugs and your partner may be having sex with their other partner but that does not make your relationship any less important because they come back to hug you and having more hearts bound up in your own is never a bad thing, because being loved no matter the form is never a bad thing, you are lovable and you can love so many people and having a heart overflowing with love for other people and things and the universe just means that you're healing and finding the people who fit you in whatever way that comes and there will always be someone cooking in the kitchen filling your heart and stomach no matter what and in this essay i will-

[thaliaisalesbian]

Fic Masterpost

In chronological order by fandom.

Many of these are whump fics, and not all of the work warnings are mentioned here, read at your own risk.

green = ongoing

orange = nsfw

red = not complete, currently inactive

Maze Runner Masterpost

Percy Jackson

Demigods at Hogwarts

Annabeth/Percy, Jason/Piper, Thalia/Reyna, Hazel/Frank, Caylpso/Leo, Clarisse/Chris, Nico/Will, Hermione/Luna/Ginny, Draco/Harry Ten demigods are going on a quest, this time to Hogwarts. They're going in blind, and have no idea what the place is like or who they'll meet. Hermione and Harry are pursing tentive relationships. Ron is grieving his brother's death, coming to terms with a few things, and helping George with his shop.

dance, dance (the night away)

Annabeth/Percy Percy throws Annabeth a birthday party.

free floating

Annabeth/Percy Annabeth is determined not to let Percy win Capture the Flag tonight. She'll fight him if she has to! She doesn't get that far.

forever (on my lips)

Annabeth/Percy; MCD with an eventual happy ending. Annabeth wants to know, wants to know why. Why now, why him, why them? (she never gets her answers but she does get her peace.)

no more demons (in my head)

Annabeth/Percy, Clarisse & Annabeth, Clarisse & Percy Percy and Annabeth had a good night out, everything was going well. Until it wasn't. And Percy didn't know why.

(don't) pull your stitches

Annabeth/Percy, Thalia & Percy; Hidden Injury. Percy is tired. Why do all of these monsters have to be angry at the same time? Can't they plan a schedule or something?

forever and always

Annabeth/Percy Annabeth is kidnapped, but she's a badass who gets herself out of it.

these monsters (can't keep you)

Annabeth/Percy Percy has been taken by the gods yet again, and this time, he's stuck in a maze, fighting for his life. Annabeth has to watch him as he begins running out of time.

I thought I saw a sign (somewhere between the lines)

Annabeth/Percy, Annabeth & Clarisse, Percy & Clarisse; Emotional Hurt/Comfort Annabeth isn't sure, now, what she'd ever really seen in Percy. Not as a person, but as a boyfriend. After Tartarus, after everything. It's understandable, but she's not going to let him keep treating her this way. She deserves better than a boyfriend who can't seem to stand her presence, even if she might have thought before that they were happy. Annabeth just wants one thing in her life to be good, to be permanent. She thought that might be Percy. Now, she's not so sure. As they near the one-year anniversary of the battle against Gaea, Annabeth has been pulling away. After all that’s happened, it’s understandable. But, because of that, he’s having a harder and harder time squishing down the voice in the back of his head that says she's rethinking their relationship. Percy just wants Annabeth to talk to him, to figure things out. He thought they were past avoidance and pushing each other away. Now, he's not so sure.

Light will guide you home

Annabeth/Percy, Annabeth & Percy & Grover, Annabeth & Percy & Thalia, Annabeth & Clarisse & Percy. Post-HOO, Torture, Hurt/Comfort. You know how sometimes you think a bad day can't get any worse, and then it somehow does? Percy and Annabeth were trying to make a bad day better, only for it all to go wrong.

When It's Dire

Annabeth/Percy, Thalia & Annabeth & Percy; Injury recovery and blood, post-HOO. Percy's got to be tired; he's been doing this all day. Annabeth just has to get to him, and then it'll all be fine.

MCU

explosions got nothing on migraines

Tony/T'Challa Tony and Shuri set off an explosion on accident.

better than you (forever and always)

Tony/T'Challa; Carol & Tony Tony works himself into delirium and doesn't know that Carol's alive, so when she shows up... well, there are some issues with that.

for you (and coffee), a bullet wound is nothing

Tony/T'Challa; No Powers AU T'Challa is just trying to get a coffee, go to a meeting, and then wrap up his day by calling his family. Too bad the man in front of him seems to be a target.

bad ideas

Female!Tony, Tony & Shuri Shuri and Toni get kidnapped and Shuri is awesome.

blood isn't too bad (unless you die)

Tony/T'Challa, Shuri & T'Challa, Tony & Shuri Shuri, Tony, and T'Challa are on a trip and they get kidnapped. Shuri remains awesome.

stay here (in my thoughts)

Tony/T'Challa Of course they had to fight Doom, and of course he had to leave a radiation cloud behind. It would have been too easy for him to just leave them an exit. (How much would have changed, T'Challa will ask himself later, if it hadn't been there?)

as the day bleeds on

Tony/T'Challa; Endgame Fix-it Tony doesn't know how long he's been out for, but he's back now, and he's going to recover, dammit.

over and over and over again, i wake up here

Nick Fury & Tony, Carol & Tony Tony gets kidnapped, again, and has to get himself out, again. There are just some... complications, we'll say, along the way.

Star Wars

chains? they cannot hold you, dear

Poe/Finn, Leia & Finn, Poe & Finn & Rey; Force-sensitive Finn Finn volunteers for an infiltration mission, which somehow proceeds as planned. It's lucky that he has damn good pilot for a boyfriend and an entire Resistance ready to back him up when he needs it most.

she blinks and i'm lost, lost, lost

Poe/Finn; accidental baby acquisition. A normal recruiting mission turns into a special type of rescue mission.

Criminal Minds

seven for a secret

Derek/Spencer, JJ/Will, Will & Derek, Will & Spencer, Derek & Emily & Spencer Will doesn't want to watch JJ's family--his family, his friends, too--fall apart more than they already have. So he takes matters into his own hands, to ensure they won't be going to another funeral this year. Majorly inspired by Butterbeerandbutterknives’s fic One for Sorrow. Actually, it's set in their fic. Highly suggest reading that first; it's fantastic.

bleeding hands and beating hearts

Derek/Spencer This has been a hard case--the unsubs are dropping off videotapes of the victims hours before the bodies are found. They know everything these victims are going though. Spencer's been missing since he left the hotel this morning. Derek doesn't want to think about what's on the tape with his name on it. (see end notes for more detailed trigger warnings)

giant owls: not as good for cuddling as you'd think

Derek/Spencer, Emily & Spencer Emily's exhausted, and worried. They all are. It's been a hard couple of months--nonstop cases, and the LEOs seem to dislike them more than usual lately. It doesn't help that Spencer is already seen as an easy target, and when he's not cleared for field work? Things only get worse. "And there’s Spencer, soaking wet. “Oh, god, Spence!” JJ gasps. Derek’s already moving, wrapping his jacket around his shivering boyfriend and carefully probing at his head. “What happened, Reid?” Hotch asks, moving to help Derek settle Spencer on the couch. Spencer’s eyes are unfocused, and he’s not tracking movement well. Derek can’t fight the sinking feeling in his stomach as he realizes what’s going on."

guns raised (don't fire)

Derek/Spencer "The door opens again, and Spencer abruptly turns and backhands Hotch. Oh, God, this better not be what Derek thinks it is. “Come on, then.” The man in the door grabs Spencer by the shoulder and leads him away. “Hotch, what’s going on?” Derek asks." Being kidnapped? Not fun. Being one of four of your team kidnapped by at least three unsubs? Even worse. All Derek can do is hope that Spencer's plan works.

Original Work

bled dry (i wish)

Vampirism is seen as a curse. Hurt/No Comfort Prompt: Chestnut, short hair slightly covers a lean, menacing face. Dead brown eyes, set dreadfully within their sockets, watch guardedly over the tribes they've safeguarded for so long. A goatee graciously compliments his cheeks and leaves a bittersweet memory of his reckless luck. This is the face of Orlando Hanson, a true dreamer among vampires. He stands oddly among others, despite his tough frame. There's something different about him, perhaps it's his sense of honor or perhaps it's simply his personality. But nonetheless, people tend to socialize with him, while spreading rumors about him behind his back. Or: Orlando Hanson gets a short backstory. And neither he nor Hanson Victor are quite the victims or villains that they each think they are.

to break a fence (to kill a man)

MCD; Hurt/No Comfort. No dialogue. Prompt: Seth Ostler is a man in his late twenties, who is very adventurous. He comes from a wealthy background, lives in a rough neighborhood and tends to a huge collection of potted plants. Seth's adventures these days consist of the walk to work and back. It certainly scares him enough to feel like it could be a dream. Turns out, the walk isn't what he should be afraid of.

Stranger Things

silver lining

Spicy Six Polycule; only Eddie/Steve/Jonathan seen. Scene gone wrong with safeword use. Eddie wants to try tying someone up. Steve volunteers. For all their talks about it, though, he doesn't mention his biggest fear about it. @rememberthatiloveyou for more discussion on this (and any other nsfw fics)

i get myself twisted in threads

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Jonathan/Steve/Nancy, Steve & Everyone; Post-Season 2. Blood and injury, hurt/comfort, some fluff mixed in with the angst Jonathan wants to rush after Steve, to explain, but there's no time. Not when the kids have found another gate, not when there's more than his love life at stake. Now he might never get a chance to explain. Or: Steve walks into a conversation between Jonathan and Nancy at just the wrong time, and then everything gets worse (because Steve's just gone and tried to die for them, and this time, they might not get him back.)

loved you never (mourning forever)

Jonathan & Steve; unhappy ending. Steve's fine. He's always fine, he's the one who takes the hits and gets back up. Sure, this might be a harder hit than most, but he'll manage… as long as no one else catches on. (Jonathan might ruin that for him.)

Delicately Intertwined

Jonathan/Steve/Nancy; Post-S4, subdrop, sickfic After so long apart, and with everything that's happened, Jonathan's just eager to see his both of his partners alive and well. The 'well' part turns out to be highly debatable, and not as easily fixable as Jonathan would like it to be.

your presence still lingers here

Robin & Steve; Implied Torture and experimentation. Post-S4, vaguely, Magic AU. Samuel is not sure that this lordling's so-called mission is actually a mission. (all steve had ever wanted was to protect them) Robin just wants Steve back, and now that they're so close, she's not going to let anything stop her from saving him.

[pjlotrhhjeml]

I love the "canon straight couple with their partner" trouple

[karadanverss]

Spark Notes

Words: 12992

Rating: Teens and Up

Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters(s): Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, Barbara Holland

Pairing(s): Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler

Summary: It was love at first sight. One look at Nancy Wheeler was enough for Steve Harrington to fall head over heels. While Steve is no stranger to the art of seduction, he soon realizes that Nancy is going to require a different level of courting than he's accustomed to. He enlists the help of Jonathan Byers to help send love letters to her. Over time they develop a friendship and while Steve's affections for Nancy never falter, he begins to think he might be able to feel this way for two people at once.

Fic by NomadicWolf

Art by @freedom-in-darkness!

beta read by @melsmalone

for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Joyce didn't set out to adopt three kids, or not-marry Jim Hopper. It just sort of happened.

Author: @jupitermelichios

[madwomanwithawarehouse]

obsessed with the dynamic of "we're dating, but we'd both rather be with this 3rd, other person who has no idea that we're into them. and maybe i love you but i love you more when we're both pretending that one of us is that other person so I'm not alone in my shame about it"

[threewaywithdelusion]

Nightmares (Nancy POV)

Nancy awoke to her heart pumping and the hair on the back of her neck standing up, and for a moment she didn’t understand why. 

Even half-asleep, she was scrambling to her feet, Jonathan sitting up in bed. 

That was when she realized what had woken her up. 

Steve was screaming. 

It was a horrible sound, full of fear and pain, and it made Nancy’s blood turn to ice in her veins. She yanked the drawer to her beside table open and grabbed her Makarov and its magazine, loading the gun as she moved towards the screams. She felt Jonathan stand and follow after her, unarmed, and she wanted to push him back but there was no time because Steve was whimpering. 

Nancy quickly crossed the distance to Steve and Robin’s room. Jonathan reached around her for the doorknob so she could keep both hands on the gun and he raised three fingers in her line of sight. 

3, 2, 1. 

Jonathan flung open the door and Nancy stepped into the doorframe, aiming her gun into the room and clicking the safety. 

Steve and Robin were on the bed. 

Jonathan flicked on the light switch as Nancy stepped further into the room, swiveling so she could see the wall, pointing her gun as she moved. 

Empty. It was empty. 

She turned back to Steve and Robin. 

Steve was sitting up, Robin straddling his lap and holding his face with one hand. Her other hand was pressing Steve’s palm over her heart. Her eyes were locked on Steve, who was looking back just as intently, shaking, sweating, and holding Robin in a death grip. 

Robin glanced at Nancy, but kept murmuring, “We’re safe. We’re in New York. The Upside Down is gone and there are no Russians here. I’m not hurt. You’re a little banged up from a fight a few days ago, but you’re fine.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath, like a repressed sob, grabbing at Robin’s shoulder. 

“We’re safe,” Robin repeated in a calm, even voice. “No one is going to hurt you.” 

“I would kill them if they tried,” Nancy said. 

Steve looked over and blinked, like he was only just realizing she and Jonathan were in the room. The tension drained out of his shoulders. The far side of his face was beat to hell from the bar fight he’d been in two days ago, the bruises a deep, ugly purple. 

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I thought I… it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

Robin huffed. “Dingus. You don’t have to apologize.”

But Steve kept looking at Nancy. 

Yeah,” Nancy said. “It’s fine. A nightmare?”

Steve nodded. 

A touch to Nancy’s shoulder made her jump before she realized it was Jonathan. His touch followed the line of her arm down to her wrist and gently pressed down, which was when Nancy realized she was still pointing a loaded gun at Steve and Robin. 

She hastily clicked the safety back on and dropped her hand to her side. 

“Do you sleep with your gun?” Steve asked.

Nancy looked at gun and pursed her lips. That was insane of her, right? To keep a gun and ammo stored in her bedside table (and another one in the living room, in case of emergencies). 

She hadn’t needed to fire a gun to protect herself since Hawkins, but she still went to the gun range once a month to keep her skills sharp. She still checked on her gun every night before she went to sleep, a comforting step in her bedtime routine. One, take off her makeup and brush her teeth. Two, drink a glass of water. Three, check her gun was where it was supposed to be. Four, curl up in Jonathan’s arms and pray the nightmares stayed away. 

“Would you think I was crazy if I said yes?” Nancy asked. 

“No,” Steve said. “I’d think it makes me feel safe.” 

Nancy didn’t know what to say to that. 

Nancy hadn’t felt safe — not deep-in-her-bones, sleep-like-a-baby safe — since Barb had disappeared and Nancy had crawled through a tree into the Upside Down to look for her. Sure, there were moments where she felt okay — when Jonathan’s arms were around her, when her gun was in her hands, when the weather was sunny and bright and there wasn’t a single tree or vine or bat or dog in sight — but that was all they were: moments. 

Nancy still jumped at every loud sound, hands reaching for a weapon. She hated malls and forests and the last time she’d been in a hospital, she’d had a panic attack. She’d had to pass over a job to interview a promising scientist because just the idea of being inside of a lab had made her heart beat so fast she’d gone light-headed. 

It didn’t ever stop. How was she supposed to feel safe when she knew monsters could crawl through cracks in the skin of the world? When her phone made a distinct clicking sound before connecting that she knew was the government listening in. When she’d signed a dozen NDAs to let powerful men get away with their sins while she got nothing but a lifetime of nightmares in return?

Nancy hated being afraid. She hated how weak it made her. She hated that no matter what she did, the fear never left. 

But here Steve was, telling Nancy that she made him feel safe. 

That her neurotic over-preparedness and her hyper-vigilance were what had let him loosen his white-knuckled hold on Robin. That at least for a second she had made him feel the way she did, sleeping in Jonathan’s arms. 

The way she’d felt after Fred Benson had died, when she’d seen Steve climb out of his car and felt an overwhelming sense of relief that she wasn’t alone and that the weight of the world wasn’t on her shoulders because Steve would believe her and Steve would keep her safe. 

“My gun stays in my bedside table,” Nancy said. “There’s also a revolver in a biscuit tin in the living room, if you ever need it.”

Robin gave Nancy a wide-eyed look, but Steve just nodded. 

“Thanks,” he said, “but I’ve never been a good shot. I’ve got my bat in the closet if I ever need a weapon.”

Weirdly, that made Nancy feel better. 

She’d always told Jonathan that he should keep a weapon in the house. He had refused, claiming that he could use whatever was around if he had to. Nancy had spent a lot of nights comforting him over his nightmares of sticking a pair of scissors into their old boss’s neck, so she believed him. Jonathan could hold his own if he had to — he just wasn’t a fighter. He didn’t need to arm himself to feel safe. 

But Steve — Steve was something. He’d lost a lot of fights, including to Jonathan. But there was something in Steve that felt like a kindred spirit to Nancy — something inside him that was brave enough to get up every time he got knocked down, or maybe terrified enough to know that if he didn’t stand up and fight, no one else would do it and he would die. 

Knowing Steve had a nail-studded bat in his closet made Nancy feel like she could breathe. If she couldn’t fight, Steve would. He would protect Jonathan and Robin and make sure they were safe. 

Nancy didn’t have to be the protector alone. 

“That’s good to know,” Nancy said. 

“Sorry we woke you at-“ Robin leaned across Steve to look at her alarm clock “3:47 in the morning. It, um, it might be kind rough this week, so if you have earplugs this would probably be a great time to use them.”

We. Robin apologized for Steve’s nightmares like there was no difference between them, like they were one unit, RobinandSteve. 

It made Nancy burn. 

“It’s okay,” Jonathan said. “In October and November, we’ll probably be returning the favor, so…”

Jonathan trailed off, because there was no need to point out the obvious. 

Jonathan wasn’t a screamer though, and neither was Nancy. Jonathan tossed and turned and tensed his muscles, but he woke quietly and calmed himself down. He didn’t wake Nancy on purpose and if it was a really bad night the only thing that helped was calling Will and hearing his voice to make sure that he was okay. 

Nancy didn’t wake from her nightmares. She was locked in them all night, sleeping her full eight hours regardless of what her subconscious decided to torture her with. She ground her teeth and woke up with sore muscles in her jaw and pretty pearly whites that ached when she ate raspberries or ice cream. 

“Goodnight,” Nancy said awkwardly. 

Robin climbed off Steve’s lap and under the covers beside him. “Goodnight.”

“Night Nance,” Steve said. He cleared his throat. “Night Jonathan.”

“Goodnight,” Jonathan said. 

He backed out of the room and Nancy followed him, flicking the light switch off as she went. 

They went back into their own room and Nancy carefully pulled the magazine out of the gun, returning both to their proper place in her beside table. 

When she crawled into bed, Jonathan was facing her. She crawled close enough that she could feel him exhale, laying down on his shoulder and letting him wrap his arms around her. 

“He sounded so scared,” Jonathan said. 

“Yeah.”

“I forget sometimes,” Jonathan whispered. “He was with us for the first year, but after that… I have no idea what happened to him. I was never with him.”

Nancy had been. At least for Vecna. She’d seen Steve get strangled and have chunks of his sides torn out before biking four miles. She remembered thinking, then, that he wasn’t the same Steve who’d run when she’d pointed a gun at him. 

She remembered wondering what had happened to him, to make pain no longer mean anything. 

“I think it was bad,” Nancy said. “Whatever we weren’t there for… it was bad.”

She felt Jonathan shift slightly, stroking over his own arm. Over the burn scars that ran from his left elbow across both shoulders and down his back. 

None of them had gotten away unscathed. 

Nancy closed her eyes and pressed herself closer to Jonathan, scooting down a little so she could hear his heartbeat against her ear. 

Here, Jonathan’s arms around her and his heart loud under her head, she could be reassured that she and Jonathan were both alive. That they were safe. 

She let the thrum of Jonathan’s heartbeat lull her into an uneasy sleep, Steve’s screams still ringing in her ears.

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

No, I did not just have a vision of you and Nance completely losing yourselves in one another as Steve and Jonathan eat you both out. Everyone is just so… lost in the haze of pleasure. The boys are eagerly indulging in your tastes, warming at your affections for one another, taking from them what you deserve. Nancy has her hands on your face, your fingers cupping atop her own. Steve and Jonathan are grinding into the bed below, holding onto your widely spread thighs, which are draped down their backs.

Steve works dutifully on Nancy, Jonathan on you. It’s a switch off after the first time that you both come, Nancy deepening the kiss as she holds onto you for dear life. All the boys can do is to hold onto one another, and watch their two favorite girls be in love.

[monsterhunting]

who you gonna call? | 65k, complete, on ao3

“Just because you can’t see a ghost doesn’t mean it isn’t real,” Robin says. “There are plenty of things we can’t see that are real.”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “Name one.”

“Uh, fucking gravity?” Steve says.

“Yeah, I can drop an apple,” Jonathan deadpans.

Nancy clears her throat. “Is this an important conversation, or can we get back to the ghosts now?”

Or: a ghost files AU

[targetf0rce]

Ship: Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler

Rating: Mature

Wordcount: 2.7K

Steve is Nancy's boyfriend, but so is Jonathan. So when Nancy brings Steve into the bedroom with her and Jonathan, things take a different turn than he was expecting.

[unfinishedslurs]

jock on jock violence (past steve/tommy)

“Just leave people alone, Tommy,” Harrington says lowly. Dangerously. Harrington’s always been dangerous, in the way that straight, entitled jocks have always been dangerous to Eddie, but sometimes Eddie thinks he dropped the crown to pick up a sword. There’s something sharper about him now, something that wasn’t there before Halloween. Different from the fake smiles and shifty eyes after the Byers kid went missing. Not that Eddie’s been looking. 

“Leave them alone?” Hagan demands. “Like how you left me alone?” And wow, is he delusional? Did he just completely forget about his girlfriend, Hargrove, and the entire fucking basketball team?

“Not everything is about you! Seriously, man? You’re just gonna twist what I’m saying like that?” Harrington snaps, and oh, Eddie doesn’t want to be here for this. If the former king and his old lackey duke it out, he does not want to get caught in the crossfire. “Jesus, grow up. Sorry I got sick of being a total dick.”

“Oh, yeah, now you’re just sucking Byers’s—“

“You want to go there? Do you really wanna go there, Tommy?”

Shit, Eddie should not be here for this. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Hagan says, suddenly panicked. 

“I thought you liked my mouth.”

Eddie has to practically stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from sputtering. 

“What the fuck, man,” Hagan hisses. Eddie knows he’s looking around, even though no one’s in the bathroom except them and Eddie. And Eddie’s never going to breathe a fucking word of this to anyone, on account of not wanting his face rearranged ten times over. “What, are you some kind of fag now? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Harrington almost sounds bored when he replies. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you to watch your mouth.”

“You gonna shut me up?”

“What has gotten into you?” Hagan finally asks the million dollar question. Harrington’s acting like he’s got a fucking death wish. “One minute we’re calling out Byers for being a creep, and the next you’re dumping me like it’s nothing. And now you’re suddenly best buds? Even after he stole your girlfriend twice? You know how pathetic that is, right? What, do you share her or something? The slut putting out—“

There’s a rustle of clothes, and then a thud, like something—someone getting slammed into a wall. 

“Don’t talk about Nancy like that,” Harrington growls. “This isn’t about her.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, man, it’s about you being a total asshole, and I’m telling you to leave people the fuck alone.”

“Or what?” Hagan almost sounds amused, over obvious nerves. He’s not even trying to escape the hold he’s in. “I’m stronger than you, and we both know it. You’ve still got a concussion, don’t you? Hargrove told me he beat your face in.”

“Hargrove this, Hargrove that. You sound like you’ve got a crush or something. You suck him like you sucked me?”

Jesus fucking Christ. 

“You can’t win this fight, Steve.”

“I don’t need to. Mutually assured destruction, asshole. You stop hurting people, and I won’t tell the entire town about us.”

Oh shit. Oh shit. Harrington sounds serious. It almost makes him sick to his stomach, even as a hysterical laugh tries to bubble out. Who woulda guessed that the former king of Hawkins High had enough guts to paint himself as a queer to their conservative, stick in the mud town?

That is, if Hagan doesn’t fucking kill him first. 

“You wouldn’t.” Hagan sounds panicked now, and for good fucking reason. He’s been on the “right” end of what happens to their kind of freaks for years. How quickly would the vultures turn on him? They descended on Harrington pretty damn quick. 

“Wanna bet?”

“You do that, you lose everything. Peace, daddy’s money, your precious sports scholarships…”

“I’m not going to college,” Harrington says. “Look in my eyes, Hagan. Do I look like I’m bluffing? I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Eddie has to keep in a scoff at that. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that there’s always something to lose with shit like this. Namely your life. 

This is fucked. This is so fucked. Eddie wants out of this stall, Jesus H. Christ. He’d take Mrs. Smith’s class anyday over knowing one wrong move will end with two jocks beating his fucking face in for hearing something he wasn’t supposed to hear. Or potentially having to jump in to try and save Harrington’s stupid fucking mug. 

There’s a long pause that does absolutely nothing for Eddie’s nerves, before Hagan finally spits out, “Fine.”

“What was that?”

“Fine.”

“Good man,” Harrington says, as if they’re discussing some kind of business deal and not outing themselves in front of God and Mrs. Jenkins and everyone. “Now get the fuck outta here, Tommy.”

Rustling, quick footsteps, and then the door opens and shuts without a word. 

Silence.

Eddie sighs in relief. 

“Hello?” Harrington asks, voice on edge. 

Shit. 

His stall door swings open, and there he is, in all his fallen kingly glory. Bruise over one eye, scowl on his face, and dangerous set to his shoulders that Eddie knows all too well. 

“Uhh, hi?” Eddie squeaks. He’s still sitting like fucking Gollum, feet on the toilet, unlit cigarette in hand. He drops it, and neither of them look away from each other as it rolls behind the toilet bowl. 

Excellent first impression, really. 

“What the fuck, man?” Harrington asks. “Were you just listening to that?”

“Look,” Eddie says quickly. “In my defense, I was here first. Also, if he saw me, Hagan was definitely going to beat me up. Except, uh, you’re definitely going to kick my ass anyway for hearing that, so I probably should just cut my losses and accept death at this point.”

Harrington doesn’t seem to know what to say to this, mouth opening and closing slowly. 

“Also, for the record?” Eddie says. “I won’t say anything. I know you have, like, zero reason to trust me, but I’m really good at secrets, dude, like you wouldn’t believe. I haven’t even told Jeff that Gareth—anyways, secrets? What secrets? I didn’t hear anything. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

He gets a scathing look in return. “If you tell anyone—“

“Wait, wait, wait! You said something about mutually assured destruction, right? I get it. I get it, Harrington, fuck, you know I do. Who would believe me if I blabbed, anyway? Who are they gonna believe, the King or the Freak?”

Harrington sighs, but he must see the truth in what Eddie said because he moves away from the stall. Takes a wad of paper towels and starts running them under the sink. 

It emboldens Eddie enough to follow him. “I mean, really, they’d probably just call it wishful thinking or something. Plus, I’m pretty sure most of the school would rather die than talk to me, so, like, you’re safe, man. I’ve already blacked it out in my memory, it’s gone.”

It seems like Harrington has tuned him out, pressing the wet paper towels to his forehead and eye. That’s good, because Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. 

“Also, for the record? That was badass. I don’t think I’d have the guts to do that, even if the entire town kind of knows about me anyway. Which, wow, you were really good at hiding it. Hagan I kind of suspected, given the giant fucking boner he had for you, but you—“

“Do you ever shut up?”

Eddie’s mouth shuts with a click. Harrington sighs again and pinches his nose, looking almost like a mother trying to herd her seven rambunctious children into the minivan. His hands are shaking.  

“You okay, man?” Eddie finally asks quietly. 

Harrington doesn’t say anything, just presses the paper towels over both eyes, like he’s trying to stave something off. Oh, shit, is he…

“Are you…crying?”

“What? No,” Harrington says, obviously lying. “It’s the light, I get headaches. Concussion.”

“Right.”

“Look, can we just forget this ever happened?”

“Already forgotten,” he promises. “But, uh, for the record? That was really brave of you, man.”

“I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“That actually kind of surprises me, because I could not tell from your voice. You sounded like you were ready to march up to The Post then and there and spill all Hagan’s dirty little secrets. All ‘I’ve got nothing to lose,’ and shit.” He pitches his voice lower, in a mimic of some action movie hero or something. 

Harrington finally laughs, and something in Eddie thrills at it. “I pulled that outta my ass,” he admits. “I knew he would believe it, ‘cause to him I already did lose everything. My friends, my girlfriend, my…”  he waves his hand around, “my status, or whatever. And a few screws, probably.”

“Well I can attest to the screws, because I think you might be actually insane. You cornered him in an empty bathroom without checking to see if it was actually empty and threatened to out him to the entire town? I thought I was going to have to save your life, Jesus shit. Don’t fucking do that, do you have a death wish or something?”

“I did check,” Harrington snaps. “I looked under the stalls, and none of the doors were locked. Who the hell sits on a toilet like that anyway? You looked like one of those ugly stone fuckers, the ones they put on buildings and shit.”

Eddie bursts out laughing, too incredulous to be offended. “You mean gargoyles?”

“Whatever. Besides, Hagan won’t kill me. He’s too much of a coward.”

“I hate to break it to you, Harrington, but cowards are dangerous too.”

“Not Tommy’s kind of coward” Harrington says. “Not to me.” He wonders about the surety in his voice. Does he think Hagan still has feelings for him? Ex-boyfriends can be the worst kind of assholes. Hell hath no fury like a man scorned. Harrington gives him a look, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. “He’s a bully and an asshole, but he doesn’t have the guts,” he insists. “He’s no Hargrove.”

Eddie sneers. “Hargrove. The guy’s a fucking psycho.”

“Tell me about it,” Harrington says dryly. He finally looks at Eddie, eyes him up and down. Eddie could take him, honestly, he’s scrappy and Hagan wasn’t lying when he said everyone knows Harrington can’t win a fight. Pair that with the concussion he’s sporting, and it’d probably take a love tap to take him down. But he doesn’t want to. 

“You’re probably better off without Hagan anyway,” he offers helpfully. It doesn’t work, just makes Harrington look like a kicked puppy, damaged and sad and cold. It makes Eddie want to take him in as one of his little lost sheep, honestly, which is an impulse he pushes far, far down. Abdicated or not, a king is no fit for a freak’s friend. Even if he and Byers have been pretty friendly. 

“I know,” he says. “But he was still my friend, you know? Like, the first one I ever had. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to realize.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s an awkward silence, where Harrington turns his focus back to the mirror. Eddie clears his throat and tries to lighten the mood. “So, you and Byers…”

The look he receives could make the Demogorgon shake in his boots. “Don’t you have a class to fail or something? You should probably go to that before—”

The bell interrupts Harrington perfectly, and he snaps his mouth shut. Eddie snorts. 

“Think it’s a little late for that, but I know a dismissal when I see one. See you around, Harrington.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hey, remember—“

“I know,” he calls behind him, striding for the door. “Mutually assured destruction!”

Leaving the bathroom feels like being reborn a whole new man. He swears the air is cleaner than it ever was before he went in. His last glance behind himself shows Harrington looking in the mirror, no sign of moving as the door shuts. 

As he’s walking to his next class, he spies Wheeler and Byers huddled together, whispering. They look worried. 

They both startle when he speaks. “If you’re looking for Harrington,” he says quietly, stopping next to them, “check the smoke bathroom, by the band hall. I think he’s still in there.”

Wheeler’s brows furrow, but Byers gives him a nod, already moving. Eddie moves along as Wheeler shoots him a quick look of gratitude before following, books hugged to her chest. 

Eddie doesn’t know what’s going on between the three of them, but he kind of wants to now, especially considering Harrington’s non-answer when he asked. He doubts Wheeler is a cover-up, not after her and Harrington’s breakup and the quiet, lovey-dovey honeymoon phase she and Byers seem to be having. The one that kind of seems to tear Harrington to pieces sometimes, even as he sits with them and walks to class with them and even hangs out with them outside of school, if Jeff really saw the three of them at the diner together last week. Maybe Steve Harrington’s a secret masochist.

Then he remembers the bruise yellowing around his eye, the weird tension he has with the guy who beat him up last year. The way he damn near begged Hagan to beat his ass in the bathroom. Not so secret, then. 

Whatever. It’s none of Eddie’s business. He’s gonna soil his reputation if he keeps focusing on Hawkins royalty like this. Never mind the way Harrington’s soiled his own reputation enough. So what if King Steve isn’t king anymore? He’s still just another pretty face. 

A pretty face, with nice arms and big eyes and thighs. And he’s queer, and doesn’t seem like the kind of closeted that would have the usual jock shove him away after getting a blowie. Shit.

His lungs itch for the cigarette he never got to smoke. Too bad the bathroom is occupied.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Me, writing a fic and muttering under my breath: I will shove the unsubtle Greek myth allusions in if it is the LAST thing I do-