#st writing
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my absolutely massive will and hopper post because i have a lot of emotions
Concept: we’ve seen hopper and mike argue, but what about hopper and will? don’t get me wrong, I think the two of them actually get along really well, but at the same time, Will’s had sort of like. snarky little really short mini arguments with Jonathan right? (the whole “I’m a freak” scene).
And so he’d eventually likely haves something similar with Hopper, right? Especially as they get more comfortable + Will is less in “polite mode” around him.
And so maybe the first time it happens, it’s still s5, and the final battle isn’t over yet, and Will and sort of makes a snarky remark towards Hopper, like he did in the freak scene with Jonathan, and it’s not even an argument yet, but will just sort of immediately freezes after he says it, not really realizing what he’d said/done until that moment.
And Hopper just sort of annoyedly huffs and goes to run a hand through his own hair, and starts to snark back, and Hopper doesn’t think he’s being too harsh, just sort of stressed and tired, and loud, and not really paying attention, but suddenly, Will is staring at him like a deer in the headlights, and sort of stammering out an apology.
Will is clearly nervous/panicked and Hopper is confused because honestly he’s surprised that will wasn’t snarky towards him sooner (new father figure and all that), and part of him is relieved to see that Will isn’t holding back his emotions around Hopper anymore, and Hopper didn’t think his reply was that harsh, although maybe it was a little too loud and rough around the edges, now that Hopper thinks about it. And maybe he did talk for longer than he thought he did. And maybe it was almost a rant. And maybe he did loom over Will a little bit. But still, he doesn’t really understand why Will did such a 180 in his behaviour from snarky to anxious.
Will looks scared of him, and seems to get even more anxious as time passes and the two stare at eachother, and Hopper doesn’t understand it. is Will having an episode? is there some sort of upside-down creature looming behind Hopper and Will’s too frozen to alert him to it? Is Will’s neck tingling again? What’s going on? Why’d Will’s demeanour shift so fast? He reaches out towards Will, in an attempt to see what’s wrong with him, and Will sort of instinctively leans backwards, away from Hopper.
And then it hits him: Lonnie. Hopper didn’t really realize how unintentionally intimidating of a presence he is + how even though he knows that Will trusts him to an extent/knows that Will knows that Hopper’s always been on his side (hospital in s2, rescuing Will from the upside down in s1, etc), the trauma of dealing with Lonnie hasn’t fully faded yet.
And that almost makes Will feel worse because now he’s upset someone who’s actually been nice to him, unlike Lonnie.
And so they’re standing there, staring at eachother, and Will’s clearly on his way to a panic attack. And Hopper isn’t sure what to say. Or do. But he’s definitely concerned at the idea that Will feels on edge around him. And in that moment, Will resembles Hopper- despite not being his biological son, Hopper recognizes the tenseness of his shoulders, the quickness of his breath, the shining of his eyes. Hopper recognizes those things because he can see himself in Will, he can see the echo of a 16 year old Jim Hopper, standing across the room from his own father.
And so, without really thinking, Hopper just sort of gives Will a knowing look and pulls him in for a hug. And even though it’s kind of awkward because hopper’s not great at physical affection, and even though in retrospect, Hopper thinks that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to hug someone who’s clearly nervous about any sort of physical contact, and even though Will sort of tenses up and flinches because usually hugs aren’t the sort of physical contact that he’d get from Lonnie, it’s still reassuring for both of them. Hopper doesn’t want to risk making things worse with his words + so similar to that scene with Mike, he just pulls Will in for a hug and rests his chin on Will’s head and says something about how he’s sorry, sorry for scaring him, sorry for never stepping in years ago with lonnie.
And Will doesn’t understand why hopper’s apologizing, or hugging him, because shouldn’t he be the one apologizing? and usually Will’s snarky, stands his ground, in arguments with both mike and Jonathan. But when it comes to arguments with hopper + the memories of lonnie, he’s not the snarky, bold 16 year old Will byers who survived literal hell and back: instead, he’s suddenly 8 years old again, in a hell before the upside-down, hiding from his father. He’s 8 years old again, and he doesn’t even know what queer is, but he knows that he’s queer, and he knows that it’s bad. And Will’s crying now. And part of him expects hopper to push him back, yell at him, demand to know what the hell he’s crying about, threaten to give him something to cry about. But hopper doesn’t. He just sort of mumbles an attempt at reassurance and ruffles his stepson’s hair.
And when hopper pulls away from the hug, it’s almost like he could read Will’s mind (since god knows hopper’s dad wasn’t much better), and so he keeps a firm hand on Will’s arm, trying to let him know that he doesn’t have to hide anymore, even though he doesn’t have the words to say it. He knows that he can’t change the past, can’t change the way that Lonnie treated Will, can’t change the way that Will reacts towards him. But he can change himself. He can change the way that he reacts to Will’s reactions. He can push down that snarky, bullheaded, confrontational side of himself, for a moment.
Because even though Will, right now, to himself, is both 16 years old and defiant and 8 years old and terrified- in this moment, to Hopper, he’s still the 12 year old whose ribs he felt crack beneath his fingers in the upside-down as he tried to bring him back to life. To hopper, he’s still the 13 year old kid that he carried through the hospital. To hopper, he’s still the 8 year old that hopper regrets not rescuing sooner.
He couldn’t- or didn’t- rescue Will from the monster that was Lonnie Byers. But he’s tried to rescue him from every monster since. He’s tried to make up for his failure to go through the door to the Byers house and pull Will (and Joyce and Jonathan) out of there by going through as many doors and portals as necessary to save him.
He can’t get rid of Will’s memories of Lonnie. But he can make new ones with him. He can try and help Will’s well-trodden mental path of fear and self loathing become less travelled, more overgrown, filled with memories in the shape of flowers and grass, and roots that stretch out across those paths, tripping up any journey of self-deprecation, and eventually interlocking and covering the path entirely, freeing Will from it.
He can’t undo the times that Lonnie grabbed Will in anger, he can’t turn back the clock and tell an 8 year old Will Byers that he isn’t a mistake, he can’t quietly crack open Will’s bedroom door late at night and ask a smaller version of his son why he’s crying, or why there’s half of a drawing of another rainbow spaceship in the garbage can, and half of it strewn across the floor, ripped into even smaller pieces. Hopper’s not sure how he knows about that incident- either Joyce or Jonathan had mentioned it to him in passing at some point. Hopper can’t undo the times when he was too loud, or slammed the door too many times, or used the wrong slang for ‘cigarette,’ when Will was in earshot.
He can’t undo those things. But he can grab Will out of love. He can put an arm around him, and steer him over towards the couch. He can tell 16 year old Will Byers that making mistakes doesn’t mean that you are a mistake, and that nothing about him is a mistake. He can crack open the bedroom door of the room that Will and El are temporarily sharing in the cabin, and although any shredded rainbow drawings are long gone, he can ask about the unshredded ones. He can ask about the one he’s currently working on, the familiar face of a certain Michael Wheeler beginning to take form on the page. He can ask a taller version of his son why he’s crying when, the next day, the drawing of Mike is strewn across the floor almost exactly like the drawing of the rainbow ship. He has done these things, having seen the drawing of Mike just yesterday. Having bought Will’s flimsy excuse about not liking the shading of the hair as a reason for ripping it in half.
There’s a lot of things that Jim Hopper can’t do. There’s things he can do. More importantly, though, there’s things he won’t do. And he won’t make the same mistake twice. He won’t retreat so far into feeling like he’s a mistake, shutting off the world and wallowing in self-pity and anger, and depression. Because if hopper lets himself linger on his own mistakes, on feeling like a curse and a burden, then he does become a curse and a burden. He becomes another weight for the already crushed shoulders of Will Byers. He becomes another father, so wrapped up in his own faults and insecurities that he pushes them into his son. If hopper sees himself as so incapable of being a father, of being loved, that he doesn’t even try? Then that simply shows Will that yet another father rejects Will’s love, it simply shows Will that he’s the mistake, that his love in any form, even familial, is a mistake simply because it comes from him.
And Hopper can’t do that to Will- no, he won’t do that to Will. Because he’s already crushed Will’s ribs with the weight of his hands, trying to pull him back to life, a physical representation of how Hopper seemingly only hurts people, even when he’s trying to help them. He’s already crushed Will’s ribs with the weight of his loss, with the force of his own grief for Sarah, memories of her flashing by as he tried to revive Will- he won’t crush Will’s heart with the the weight of his own. He won’t press down into Will’s heart anymore with the force born from Sarah’s death, or from his own failure to confront Lonnie.
Instead, Hopper, will simply lay there limp, like Will in the upside-down. He’ll let Will be the one to press at Hopper’s chest, to pound on it with the force of his grief, with the force of every hit from Lonnie, with the force of every emotion he ever felt for Mike, to crush hopper’s ribs with the pain of having his own ribs crushed, with the pain of being revived, only to face more horrors. He’ll let the weight of Will’s heart crush his own.
He’s already dug a knife into Will’s chest, tearing apart his eerily still fake body and pulling out everything inside of it- it’s about time that Will got to do the same, digging a metaphorical knife into hopper and pulling out the grief that stuffs him. It’s about time that Will gets to understand that the way people like Lonnie have treated him, the way that Hopper wasn’t there for him in the ways that Hopper thinks he should have been, isn’t because of what’s outside, it isn’t because of Will, or his actions- it’s because of what’s inside.
Not what’s inside of Will, but what’s inside of Lonnie, and Hopper. It’s about time that he gets to pull apart their grief, the stuffing of their bodies, and untangle it from his own, because he can’t close the wound that Hopper tore into his fake body, he can’t close the wound that Lonnie tore into him, he can’t close what was opened on the day he vanished, because even when all of the gates are closed, it still lives on in him, in his experiences, in his trauma, just like Lonnie does. But he can pull everything out of that wound, even if that means that it gapes wider in the end. He can untangle himself from it, he can find where his skin begins and where the hole in his chest ends, instead of letting that hole consume him.
Just like the upside-down, even if they never closed all of the gates, even when the gates tore through hawkins, once they pulled everything out of it, once Vecna was defeated, and his army left lying limp on the ground, when the glowing red faded, then the gaping wound in the ground didn’t seem to matter so much- it didn’t hurt so much to press on it anymore, the fire and brimstone and searing burn of it was gone.
Hopper will simply let Will walk those well-trodden mental paths. Hopper will simply do his best to extend roots onto those paths, extend himself out to Will, letting those roots break painfully past his own chest, out of his own heart, roots that Will will trip over, moments like today that Will will trip over- because although tripping is painful, it interrupts that path and begins to create a new one. It stops that cycle, if only briefly. Although tripping is painful, Hopper’s still going to be there to catch him . Every time the roots grow too thick and he falls, Hopper will carry him if he needs to, just like he did in the hospital, just like he did coming out of the upside-down. The way that Lonnie never did. Lonnie was simply another weight for Will to carry, Lonnie was the one who set Will onto those well-trodden path of self-loathing and fear, growing roots inside of Will instead of around him, roots that weighed down Will’s every step on that path, digging him deeper into it with simultaneously digging deeper into his heart. Hopper refuses to be another weight for him. He refuses to crush Will’s ribs again while digging roots into his heart.
Hopper will carry Will every time he trips, every time he falls, because Hopper has felt those vines, those roots choking him before. He knows what happens when those roots grow, when someone extends them across that path, but there’s nobody there to catch you.
He knows that Will saved him from those roots. From the ones that people had extended out to him, with no intention of catching him when he fell. He knows that years ago, Will had faced his nightmares simply for the sake of trying to catch the weight of another father figure. He knows that Will had failed to catch Hopper, that Hopper had tripped, and hit the ground hard and that he can still feel the roots across his neck sometimes. But he also knows that Will never should’ve needed to catch him, that it wasn’t his fault, nor his responsibility, and that despite that, Will still pulled Hopper up from those roots, still told Joyce and Bob where to go, still found him in those tunnels, still painfully tore at the roots that Lonnie had left in Will’s heart, in the hopes of figuring out which of those roots were choking Hopper.
Extending roots across that path is risky. It’s not something done lightly. If you’re not willing to catch someone when they trip over them, then you’re almost better simply leaving them on that trodden path, no matter what destruction the path leads to at the end, because at least then, they can try and enjoy the journey despite known the inevitability of its end, rather than having their life cut short when they fall in the roots. But Hopper knows that he’s going to catch Will.
He knows that if there’s ever a single moment of doubt, where he thinks that he can’t, or won’t catch Will, any moment where he hesitates and is tempted to turn back and follow his own, unrooted, well-trodden path, just like he did every single night when he didn’t intervene at the Byers household when Will was a child, then he’ll simply carry him the whole way. He’ll simply carry him, and pray that he himself doesn’t trip over those roots, he’ll simply try to memorize the position of every single root that he extended out to Will, remember every single moment between them, so that he doesn’t trip over them.
He knows what happens when somebody seemingly extends their love to you, their roots, only to leave and let you trip, and fall, and suffocate under their grasp. He knows that walking a rooted path alone is far more dangerous than walking a well-trodden one.
He also knows, though, that while a well-trodden path of misery, fear, and self-loathing is safer in the short-term, in the long run, the end of that path is firm, and devastating. painful, and unchanging. And that even though roots are dangerous, once they intertwine with the grass, and pull it across the path, covering it, the path itself begins to disappear- the end of the path is no longer firm, no longer unchanging, for the path itself is gone, and as such, can have no true end. Even if the end is the same- even if the end is devastating, and painful, at least it is not guaranteed. At least there is still a chance for it to be changed.
Hopper once told El, in his letter, that he was afraid of change. That change was what scared him. But now that he sits here with Will, now that he’s watched El grow and change in a way that means that she can finally leave behind the fear and the roots that grew inside of her in that lab, now that he’s watched Will, who may have flinched from his touch initally, but now cautiously leans into it, sitting next to him exhausted on the couch, he finds that stagnancy is what he fears. He finds that the finite, the unchanging, things like the upside-down, stuck on the day that Will disappeared, unchanging, is what he truly fears. If things never changed, then Will would remain on that path of self-loathing- and Hopper knows what’s at the end of that path, because he’s walked it long enough to just barely see the end of it, now thankful that the roots slowed him down before he reached the end.
If things never changed, then Will Byers, Hopper’s son, would still be eight years old, and cowering in front of his father. If things never changed, then Will Byers would still be in the upside-down, or Will Byers would still be in that exact moment in the uspide-down, actually, of Hopper bashing against his chest, crushing his ribs, his body there but Will himself off somewhere between life and death- and Hopper would still be in that moment too.
If things never changed, then logically, Will byers would go on believing that he was a mistake. And by god, if Will is a mistake, then what does that make Hopper?
If things never changed, then Hopper never would have lost Sarah. But he also never would have gained El, he never would have gained Will, and Joyce, and Jonathan- if things never changed, he never would have gained Sarah, despite lsoing her, because Hoppper himself would still be a young boy, wary and cautious of his own father.
That doesn’t mean that he was glad to lose Sarah. Part of him still wishes he never had, wishes that Will and El could have known her- sometimes he watches as Joyce braids El’s hair, and for a moment, El’s hair is bright blonde, almost white. Sometimes Holly Wheeler runs through the house whenever the Hoppers-Byers visit the Wheelers, and for a moment, Hopper has to suppress the urge to run after her and scoop her up, has to remind himself that the sound of Sarah’s laughter comes only from his memories.
Hopper will gladly carry the weight of both Sarah’s life, and her death for as long as he lives. Even longer than that, actually- even into death, Hopper will carry the weight of her life and her death, but hopefully, he’ll pass that weight onto others. Not because it’s too heavy, or because he doesn’t want to carry it- but because he simply wants everyone to know a little bit of her, the way that her roots are intertwined with the roots that he extends to people in his life. He’ll pass the weight of Sarah onto Will, not in a way that burdens Will, but rather, in a way that grounds him, keeps him present, reminds him that there are things to be here for.
Hopper will continue to gently step over Sarah’s roots, but he will also continue to trip over them, on his own path. Even though he has every single one memorized, every single interaction with her memorized, every single root that she extended into his life memorized, even though she can’t catch him, can’t lift him up from them the way that Will did, he will trip over them. Because although her roots are painful, they are small, and sometimes, tripping over them is necessary to remind him that they are there- that she was there. That maybe she is, not even in a spiritual way, but that she carries on through Hopper, in that weight of Hopper’s grief as he pounded Will’s chest, in that weight that brought Will back to life. Maybe that’s the way that Hopper passes the weight of Sarah onto Will- in a way that brings Will back to life.
But he won’t do it by crushing Will’s ribs again, not by hurting him again- not with the weight of his fists, an echo of Lonnie’s fists even though the blows were inflicted with different intentions, but rather, with the grounding weight of how Hopper held his stepson against him moments ago, with the weight of Hopper’s hand on Will’s arm, smoothing a thumb across it. A weight that doesn’t burden Will, but instead, brings him down from wherever he’s floating in those moments, back down from wherever he goes when he gets that faraway look in his eyes, when Hopper’s deep voice sounds a little bit too much like Lonnie, when Hopper slips up early-on and uses the wrong sort of slang synonym for “cigarette”. The weight not of a fist, but of a hand.
Just like how Hopper once told El to remember the hurt, because it meant that she was out of that dark cave. And he thinks the same applies here. He remembers the hurt of Sarah, the hurt of her death and her life, the way that he hurt but also the way that she hurt, because the pain that her suffering inflicted onto Hopper is nothing compared to her suffering in and of itself. Remembering that hurt is what keeps him from tripping over it- because he knows where the roots are, the pain of having tripped over Sarah’s other roots keeps him from tripping over future ones. The weight of her memory keeps him grounded.
As Hopper sits next to Will on the couch, having steered him there with an arm across his shoulders, he pulls Will towards his chest. He opens himself up, waits for Will to bash against his chest, waits for Will to crush Hopper’s ribs, to pound against them, to pull his heart from between them, dripping blood in the same pattern that Hopper’s watched the blood drip from Will’s nose, and his eyes, and his ears. He, like Will earlier in this whole interaction, waits for the blow to land. But just like how a blow never landed on Will from Hopper’s hand, to Hopper’s surprise (much in the same way that Will was surprised that Hopper hadn’t hit him), the blow never comes.
Will never hits him, never hurts him, not physically, not emotionally, no matter the degree of relief that it may bring to Will himself.
And not because he won’t- maybe he will one day, maybe he will beat against Hopper’s chest, and clearly see the injustices that have been done to him, maybe he will pull the stuffing right out of hopper. But for right now, he doesn’t And perhaps, that’s what devastates Hopper the most. Perhaps that’s what pulls the stuffing out of Hopper. Because right now, Will simply rests his head against Hopper’s chest. Will simply cries. It seems strange, perhaps to cry over such a small interaction, where no voices were raised, but something tells Hopper that this isn’t just about today.
That it isn’t just about what happened between them. Something tells him that it’s also about the ripped drawing of Mike from yesterday, that it’s about everything Lonnie’s ever said or done to Will, that it’s about the upside-down, and wondering why he was the one to be taken there- that it’s all interconnected, like the hivemind roots of the upside-down, and that by stepping on one of those roots today, no matter how small, the others had been awoken. And that it’s also about the fact that Will knows this, and that part of him can’t stand the way that his own mind, his own response to things, the interconnectedness of his trauma, almost mimics that hivemind.
The weight of Will is there, the weight of his head against Hopper’s chest, the almost imperceptible weight of the tears left on hopper’s shirt. But much like the weight of Sarah, it is not a burden- and even if it was, even when, or if, Will pushes the weight of his pain onto Hopper, Hopper will carry it gladly. Carry him gladly, when Hopper forces his roots to extend right beneath Will's feet.
Maybe Will will trip over the roots that Hopper’s extended tonight- he’s just not quite far enough on the path to have reached them yet, and Hopper isn’t quite ready to force them beneath Will’s feet, and he doesn’t think Will is ready for that either.
And if Will never pushes that weight onto Hopper, if he somehow dodges those faroff roots, because Hopper, in hindsight, should have seen it coming, that Will would try and keep his weight off of Hopper, would try and protect him as he has before, when he helped pull him out of the grasp of those roots in the tunnel, then Hopper will simply grab Will’s weight himself, force those roots beneath Will’s feet and catch him as he falls, not in an attack towards Will, but as an extension of his own love.
Because Hopper has realized that Will not only flinches and shies away from Hopper because of fear of being hurt, but also because of fear of hurting others. In the same way that Will flinched from Lonnie’s hand due to fear of being hurt, Will and his selfless nature, feared hurting Lonnie of all people- feared the shame and the pain of having a gay son, feared the hurt of having made a mistake, of having made Will. Feared the way that Lonnie would, in turn, hurt his mother, feared that it would be his fault that Lonnie had hurt her, or Jonathan.
Hopper realizes that Will fears that his own roots are like the ones in the upside-down; that they grab, and choke, and that no person can tear them away. Hopper realizes that Will doesn’t see himself as having saved Hopper that night, but rather, as having doomed him, as if the upside-down, and its entire existence was Will’s fault. As if Will’s own existence was his fault. As if he, himself, is not Lonnie’s mistake, or Joyce’s mistake, but a mistake all of his own, of his own making and of his own destruction.
Hopper realizes that Will fears that his roots are not only like the ones in the upside-down, but also like Hopper’s- roots, that Hopper’s extended out to people and then left them to trip over, not catching them because he feared their weight would be too heavy for him to bear.
Hopper always figured that his own roots were unimportant, that he was simply a burden and a curse, and that nobody could ever bear the weight when he tripped over their roots, when he fell, and so, he refused to catch them when they tripped over his roots. And initially, he wouldn’t extend those roots at all, and in turn, others would not extend their roots out to him, staying on his own clear path of self-loathing, not stretching out into the paths of others. But once he saw the end of that path, he, almost selfishly, tried to delay it by getting others to extend their roots onto his path, and figured that he could dodge all of the roots, step on them without alerting the others, that he wouldn’t fall, and that he didn’t need anyone to catch him.
And in turn, he would extend roots into their path- but again, he wouldn’t catch them, and the size of his roots into their path, was much larger than the size of their roots into his, and more importantly, he was unaware of that size, of that weight. His impact on others, the way he wound himself into their lives, was, to other people, bigger and more painful than their impact on him. But most people don’t walk their paths alone- they have people to catch them, people who don’t know where Hopper’s roots lie in their path as well as Hopper would know, but who are willing to face those roots when they do find them, which allows them to get over the huge roots that Hopper’s left together, even once Hopper is long gone.
When walking such a path alone, though, Hopper trips over even the smallest of roots. Even the tiniest ones choke him and strangle him, because he feels as if he doesn’t have the strength to break free. Because part of him feels as if he doesn’t deserve to.
Hopper realizes that his own self-loathing, the lack of acknowledgement of the size and the strength of his own roots, of his own love, is what has doomed the people around him.
And that if people in his life didn’t have others to rely on, to catch them, or to pull them up from those roots, them the sheer size and weight of those roots, of Hopper’s self-loathing, would have strangled them. Would have strangled El on the day that they fought in the cabin, if she didn’t leave, if she didn’t find people to lift her up when Hopper was so focused on his own self-loathing that he couldn’t face El, let alone catch her or carry her.
Hopper realizes that it is not hopper’s presence, or his love that is a burden to people, a curse- no, it is his leaving, his loathing, especially his self-loathing that is a burden and a curse on those that he loves. To not allow himself to be loved, is the burden, because it doesn’t make other people see him as unlovable- instead, it makes other people feel unworthy of loving him, it makes them feel as if their love the burden.
If Hopper had shied away from Will’s touch because he was afraid of hurting Will, then, Hopper realizes, Will would have felt as if Hopper was afraid of being hurt by Will, rather than being afraid of the one to hurt him. And maybe years ago, he would have feared that Will would hurt him, that getting too close to anyone would hurt. But he knows now, that isolation hurts more than love ever could- that sometimes, a touch withheld hurts more than an expected blow. And he knows now, that his fear of being hurt will simply hurt others- and hurting the people he loves is what truly hurts.
Hopper also knows, though, that such self-loathing doesn’t go away easily. And that to hate oneself for hating oneself is ironic and simply makes the problem worse. He knows that self-loathing isn’t always the fault of oneself- he knows this when he looks at Will, he knows this because Will’s self-loathing isn’t his fault, and he shouldn’t be made to hate himself even more for it.
But he also knows that Will’s self-loathing is going to choke Will, and choke everyone Will loves, including Hopper- but again, hating himself for hating himself is only going to make things worse for Will, and Will’s only going to start hating himself for hating himself if someone else, like Hopper, hates him for it.
So, he doesn’t hate Will for it. He doesn’t hate Will for the way that Will’s roots of trauma and self-loathing wind onto Hopper’s path, tripping him. He doesn’t even hate Will on the rare occasion like today, where Will trips over his own roots, and awakens other roots, awaken some of the deepest of Will’s roots that extend into Hopper’s path and choke Hopper for a moment, in a metaphorical, domestic mockery of that day in the tunnels.
He doesn’t hate Will for hating himself (and to Will’s credit, Hopper knows that Will doesn’t always hate himself- he’s heard Will’s snark, and seen the way his confidence has grown- but there’s some days, where the roots are too deep, and too numerous, and have covered the path too quickly for Will to dodge them, and on those days, Hopper catches him).
He doesn’t hate Will for those days when Hopper has to drag himself up from his own roots, or get someone else to drag him up, so that he can catch Will, he doesn’t hate Will for needing to be caught, or for all of the roots that extend into his path, roots even bigger and deeper than any of Hopper’s, roots from the upside-down, from Lonnie, the roots that started first in Will’s heart and then extended outwards, tripping him up on his own path.
Hopper doesn’t hate himself, because if he did, then he wouldn’t have the strength to pull himself up past Will’s roots, wouldn’t be able to face Joyce or El, or even Will himself when they extend their hand to pull him up. If Hopper hates himself so much that he can’t find the strength to push past those roots, if Hopper hates himself so much that even the smallest roots, like Sarah’s tiny roots choke him and leave him dead, then he can’t be there to catch Will.
He can’t carry him if he’s tripping over every root, if every memory is a death-sentence, because the roots will only grow stronger and more numerous- as they must, in order to cover the path, to act as new ground, and allow for Will to leave that familiar trail, to not be doomed to what lies at the end of the path.
There are roots that Hopper cannot pull Will from, though. Roots such as the ones that that twist from Mike, onto Will’s path. Only Mike can help Will with those. But Hopper can catch Will often enough, he can help with the roots that Hopper’s extended onto Will’s path, and to an extent, the ones that Lonnie and the upside-down, and the hateful people of hawkins have extended, and carry him far enough, that Mike’s roots don’t immediately devastate him, that his feet are not so weary that even the smallest of Mike’s roots trip and choke Will, that stepping on those tiny roots doesn’t always awaken all of the other ones.
And that even when it does awaken those other roots, those other traumas, makes them stretch further across the path, Will won’t be drug down by the roots in front of him, and instead, will use them to cover that trodden path, to cover it before he reaches the end of it. And that one day, once those roots are mingled with grass and wildflowers, covering the path entirely, he’ll be able to walk right across them as if they aren’t there at all.
But in order for that to happen, Will has to let people extend their roots onto his path, let himself feel others’ trauma, without the fear of the weight of his existence being too heavy to catch when he trips over those roots. He has to let himself extend his own roots onto others’ path, let himself bash against their chest, without fear of leaving his loved ones to choke, without fearing that he will crush their ribs, with the confidence that he can catch them, that they can catch eachother as their paths begin to overgrown and intertwine.
Hopper can help Will help himself, help Will accept Mike’s help, help Will let himself be caught by Mike, help Will let himself fall (because some roots are too big to get over without falling), so that Mike can catch him. Help Will realize that catching him is not a burden, not some impossible weight, that Mike catching him won’t drag Mike down into the roots, that catching him isn’t a mistake, that he isn’t a mistake.
Hopper stares down at his stepson- his son, who has long fallen asleep. He stares down at his own hand, absentmindedly smoothing Will’s hair, in the way that he’s seen Joyce do, in a gentler version of the way that Hopper ruffles El’s hair. Hopper frowns when he sees the dark circles under Will’s eyes, upset both by their existence, and by his own failure to notice them until now. The bags under Will’s eyes are just another weight for Will to carry, just another thing to pile onto Will feeling as if he’s too heavy, as if his exhaustion is a burden, as if he’s a burden.
Hopper tells himself that he’s going to make sure that Will knows that the weight of him isn’t too heavy, that it isn’t a burden. And Hopper knows that he’s going to do whatever it takes to carry Will whenever he can, even if he can’t get him past all of the roots. Initially, he thought that he could carry Will past everything, like he did at the hospital, like he did on the day they rescued him from the upside-down. But now, as he thinks about it, he knows that it’s foolish to think that Hopper could carry Will past everything- or that Will would even let him. He knows that the large size of Mike’s roots on Will’s path means that they’re going to do the most to pull Will off of that path, to create a new path, that Mike’s roots are the best chance that Will has at freeing himself from that self-loathing.
But he also knows that Mike’s roots are some of the strongest ones on Will’s path, the largest ones, the ones most likely to drag him down if he cannot step over them, if he cannot use them to make a new path. Hopper knows that Mike’s roots could just as easily trap Will forever on his current path, choking him in that well-worn dirt. But Hopper also knows that Mike’s roots could also free him from that path. And that they are roots that cannot simply be stepped over, like some of the smaller roots can- no, Mike’s roots are ones that that have always filled Will’s path, since kindergarten, pulling him out of that trail of self-loathing for a moment, but also tripping him and leaving him in the dirt for a moment, until Mike pulls him back up. Hopper just worries that Mike won’t get there in time, that the roots have grown too large and may trap both of them, in the end.
Hopper knows that he should give Mike more credit. He knows that Mike was there when Hopper carried Will in the hospital, and he knows that Mike would have carried Will if he could have. He knows that Mike did carry Will briefly, holding him outside of the lab when Hopper hadn’t been able to carry him any longer, unable to bear the weight of both Will and Joyce.
And deep down, Hopper also knows, that even if it the weight of Will was too heavy, even if Will does bash against Hopper’s chest like Hopper thinks he should, thinks he deserves to, with all of the weight of every trauma he’s ever experienced, even if the weight of everything Will Byers has experienced is far too heavy for Hopper, even if the force of every hit from Lonnie, the force of every emotion Will’s ever felt for mike, the force of every second he’s spent in the upside-down crushes Hopper’s ribs beneath Will’s hands, Hopper will carry that weight. Hopper will let the weight of Will’s heart seep down into the weight of Will’s fists, and crush his own.
If he can’t catch Will, and if Mike can’t catch Will, and if by some hellish turn of events, nobody can catch Will, then Hopper will lay there limp beneath the roots, like in the upside-down. Hopper would do the same for El, for Joyce, for Jonathan, if any of them were ever left without someone to catch them.
Hopper will let the roots on Will’s path choke him. Hopper will carry his own weight, his own self-loathing, he’ll let people into his life so that their roots, including Will’s roots, overgrow his path so that he is freed from it- simply to turn around and lay himself in the ones on Will’s path so that his body acts as a way off the trodden path, so that it falls beneath Will’s steps as a way to absorb some of the weight of the roots that burrow not on the path, but in Will’s heart and make his steps heavier. So that Will’s steps sink into Hopper’s chest, and not further into the dirt. So that he can, if only for a few steps, carry Will one last time, so that Will can take that last step onto the overgrown roots, finally so tightly interlocked that they can’t grab him or trip him, so that he’s not stuck on that path anymore.
For now, though, Hopper doesn’t lay his body in the roots- and frankly, he hopes he’ll never have to, because they’ve all survived so much together, and he doesn’t want to think of a world where Will would be left without anyone to catch him, to carry him. But he knows that this isn’t over, that none of them are safe yet. He knew this morning when he watched Will stagger out of the cabin bathroom, pale as a sheet and wiping at his nose. He knew when he turned on the faucet to wash the blood down the drain, seeing that Will had forgotten to do it himself.
Hopper isn’t stupid. He knows this isn’t over. He knows any poetic waxing about being willing to give up his life for those that he loves could very easily become a reality. He knows that the roots, both emotionally/metaphorically, and the real, tangible ones, could get him before he has a chance to get off his own path, leaving him tangled in his own roots, unable to lay his body on Will’s path. He also knows, though, that Will has other people to carry him, other people who would lay their bodies on his path- but he also knows that if too many people lay themselves on his path, if the steps towards freedom are steps taken atop too many bodies, too many loved ones, Will, in all of his selflessness, in all of the loss he has endured, may simply lay down beside them, and let the roots overtake them all.
There may come a day where he can’t carry Will. But for now, Jim Hopper loops an arm around Will’s shoulders, and one under his knees, and carries him. Carries him over today’s small root, a small root that awoke a thousand other ones, and almost sent Will careening into the dirt. A small root, that is now one more root that stretches and interlocks to create a way off of that trodden path. He’s surprised that Will doesn’t stir when he lifts him, or when he lays him on the bed, making a goodhearted shush motion towards El, because Will needs more sleep than he gets. Perhaps the roots that Hopper extended today have already built more of a way off of that path than Hopper anticipated. Perhaps he should have realized that when Will fell asleep against him, almost in an imitation of the way that Sarah used to.
The image of Sarah makes Hopper think about Max, in her hospital bed, and about how happy memories are supposed to be a way away from Vecna, almost like a way off of that path. For a moment, the image of Max in a hospital bed is overlaid atop Will laying in his cabin bed. Hopper doesn’t think that today’s memory would save himself or Will from Vecna, just like how a single root isn’t enough to cover a whole path. And like today, the line between good and bad memories can be a fine one- just like how the roots can both free someone from that path, and trap them in it eternally.
Will hasn’t yet reached those biggest roots on his path- like mentioned before, maybe he’ll still bash his fists against Hopper’s chest one day, on a day where the roots are bigger, where they pull him down faster, when he can’t quite see the way that they’re interlocking, can’t quite see the way off of that path. And when that day comes, Hopper will be there to catch him. Because today, a root grows across Hopper’s path, almost in the same shape as Will laying on the bed, in the shape of El sitting beside him- it’s a large root, but it’s an even bigger step off that path.
(I just think that not only should will have a good father figure who’s nice to him, but also that he should get a father figure that he can have conflict with without having to fear a yelling match/getting berated/abuse. healthy conflict!!! communication!!!)
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Prompt: Steve opened the door to her standing there, crying.
Author's note: I haven't written in so long and English isn't my first language, so be nice. Also, I usually write smut and stuff like that, but this was just a soft little start to my (possible) return to writing? Idk. Let me know what you think, if anyone reads it lol.
"Geez, I'm coming!" Steve said, his voice raised, after someone knocked rapidly on his front door for several minutes. Opening it, he saw y/n standing there in the rain, crying. "... what happened?" He asked, a frown forming on his face.
"Can I come in?"
"Y-yeah..." He stepped aside and let her in, still confused. Closing the door behind them, he hurried into the bathroom to grab a towel. "Here," He said, getting back to her. "What's going on?"
Y/n accepted the towel with a barely audible "Thanks," and wrapped it around herself. "J-just another horrible date..."
Steve clenched his jaw. Of course. Another douchebag who was no good for her, of course he had hurt her. They always did, and Steve couldn't understand why she kept going on these dates. He had been in love with his best friend forever and would do anything for her, which made it even harder to witness.
"Did he..." He started, looking at her intently. "Are you hurt? Because I'll kill him."
"No!" Y/n wiped the tears from her cheeks, "He... He tried to... But I got away..."
She didn't have to say the actual words, because Steve got it immediately, "You should have called me..." He said, his soft brown eyes meeting hers.
"Honestly, Steve, I just got up and ran..."
"You... Ran, all the way here?" Steve raised his eyebrows. No wonder she was soaked.
"Yeah..." Y/n sighed, "Do you mind if I shower? I feel gross."
Nodding, Steve followed her to one of the bathrooms in the big Harrington house, "You know how it works, you've been here before." He said, a small smile finally on his face. "Just... Let me know if you need anything? I'll make some popcorn and we can watch a movie, ok?"
"Thank you, Steve. Love you," Y/n said, turning on the water in the shower. They always said that to each other, but it was starting to hurt Steve more and more, because he wanted her to mean it the way he did. But she never would.
As he was setting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in the living room, y/n came down the stairs wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. She looked pretty as ever, the puffiness in her cheeks starting to subside.
"Hey," Steve said, sitting down on the couch after turning on the TV. "Feeling better?"
"Mmph..." Y/n shrugged, slumping down next to him. "I guess, what movie did you pick?"
"Breakfast Club," Steve said proudly, "Your favorite."
"You're the best," Y/n snuggled up to him, her eyes completely on the TV.
Steve's heart was beating so hard he felt like it was going to jump out of his chest when she got close to him. He swallowed hard, putting his arm around her shoulder and getting even closer, if possible.
They had watched a lot of movies together before, but never quite like this. Could she have feelings for him, too? No... That sounded ridiculous, he thought, trying to ignore all the feelings inside of him.
To be continued? Maybe?
#steve harrington#st writing#my writing#cute I guess#just a little fluffy#steve harrington x reader#friends to lovers#stranger things
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For anyone who missed the first invite, Stranger Things Writers Guild is live and we're having our first community writing event today! From 6 (ish!) pm EST to 10 pm EST we will be doing sprints, maybe listening to some music, and chilling out 😎😎
This is the link!
#stranger things#st#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#stranger things writers guild#Nancy wheeler#Jonathan byers#will byers#Dustin Henderson#st writing
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“Bloody Hell, put that thing down?” Amal scowls from his spot on the edge of the little cot, one leg pulled up so he can try and work the ill fitting boots off. “Giving me hives at this point.”
“Aye dunnae think it’s m’rosary that’s given ye the hives,” says Isaac, twisting the red crystal covered beads of the rosary tighter around his fingers. The tainted goddess stones catch in the wane light of the candles, fire and blood and stone all in one.
“Put it down, or go elsewhere. You ain’t gettin’ in this bed with that on.” The boot hits the floor with a thump. A second thump follows a moment later, and then the springs creak as he shifts backwards.
The tainted goddess stones growing from Amal’s skin glints in the wane light of the candles, too.
Isaac kisses the sun-cross at the end of the beads and tucks it into his trunk, just for the night.
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It's so weird how Will hasn't had much screentime or focus on the show these last seasons (not as much as he deserves and not as much as we want to) but he's one of the few characters that actually gets developed and evolves.
Similar to Lucas, in a sense, because Lucas and Will are, in my opinion, the most mature ones out of the kids.
Like, obviously, each character is used for different purposes but the growth Will (and Lucas) had is abysmal compared to Dustin and Steve, for example, who are like the most beloved characters (after El I guess?) out of the show that usually get very funny/heroic combos.
But most people are not aware of this.
#will byers#lucas sinclair#st analysis#st characters#character development#my post#my ramblings#byler tumblr#st writing#blame the duffers#tal-vez-o-quizas
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Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a letter featured in The Letters of Edna St. Vincent Millay
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mating press is so objectively ugly ... embarrassing
#why was i looking this up on images and ninja mutant turtle inc*st was like the fourth image??? ummmmm ok#anyway it's still happening i just dont like thinking abt what it looks like from far away#i prefer it when its not so......... x shaped? i guess#i like it better when it's more... ankles by ears man is kneeling#IM JUST SAYING#ive gravitated back to my weird toji + kids au lmaooo#cuz i made a cake today and it got me thinking abt it#when will i write something of substance please#caitie blabs
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Of Books & Beasts
Prompt: virginity
Paring: best friend!steve harrington x f!reader
Genre: romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, one bed trope
Notes: wc 9.1k // my first kinktober story (one of five) // hope everyone enjoys it // it’s very soft // a little scary movie night sleep over // reader falls asleep next to steve and things get a little steamy // i wrote everything to have as much consent as possible // steve is a bit of a perv lol
Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // slight somnophilia, dry humping, virginity loss, vaginal fingering // masturbation // smut // 'just the tip' is used once or twice // please let me know if there is anymore that need to be added!
ao3 // kinktober masterlist // full masterlist // lazy ghoul’s kinktober prompts
-:-:-:-:-
The night was meant to be a simple one. After weeks of assignments, exams, quizzes, and extracurricular activities at college, all you wanted to do was relax. Well, you still had one more assignment left to do, but maybe you were able to kill two birds with one stone, right?
Luckily, this assignment was one that you could easily ask for help with from your friend. Someone who always stole movies for you to borrow on many weekends anyways. With your class being based on books which turned into film adaptations, it means a lot of time spent reading and watching. In truth, you felt bad for your classmates who had to rent out the tapes for extended periods just to finish analysis for assignments; all while you didn’t even need to bat an eyelash in Steve’s direction for him to hide movies in your backpack while his manager wasn’t looking.
With the theme of this particular assignment matching the season and going with horror films, a movie night was something that you craved. Thick sweaters, even thicker blankets, a bit of hot chocolate, and candy from the grocery store that had the orange and black packaging — they were all of the aspects to the marathon you proposed when you walked into Family Video on a Friday afternoon after you got off the bus. Despite all of your convincing tactics, your friend already had his answer long before you began to ask.
“Anything for you, dove. I’ll get everything on this list for us,” Steve smiled at you, after looking at the assignment rubric, as you stood on the other side of the cash register.
“Alright, maybe I should place a pizza order now so that we don’t starve during the Friday dinner rush tonight,” you said sweetly as you nervously thought about what to order.
“Don’t you worry about it, it’s on me. Let me treat you a little.”
“I’m the one who asked you to have a movie marathon with me, I should really be the one paying,” you insisted while you brought your hand closer to the telephone.
But, quickly, the man was able to grasp it lightly to stop you from moving towards the numbers. You could never admit just how much your skin tingled at the touch. “I’m serious. This shift finishes in twenty minutes, then I can drive us home and I’m all yours. Do whatever you want with me, dove. I can even help out with your stress relief later. Maybe I’ll bend —”
“Please don’t continue that sentence,” you cut him off easily. Steve always loved to tease you and any eavesdroppers who may be listening in and theorizing if you two were dating or not. The town is full of gossip fiends. “Any louder and people will start to believe you.”
The younger Harrington chuckled as he got out from behind the counter to stand fully in front of you. He adored to see the way you outwardly pretended you hated the fake moves he would pull. From him putting his arm around your shoulder whilst walking around town, whistling every other time he picked you up from the city bus stop, to intimidating every guy who looked in your direction for too long. However, both of you never knew the other wished for it all to be real.
“Fine, fine, I’ll be good and stop teasing you,” he chuckled lowly.
“Thank you,” you smiled to yourself before looking up at Steve with wide eyes. “So will you also be buying garlic knots tonight too?”
“Yes, as long as you promise to stay awake until the final movie, sleepy girl.”
-:-:-:-:-
You, in fact, did not stay awake the whole movie night. It wasn’t Tim Curry’s fault either. Normally, it was tradition for you two to end off every evening like this with one musical or something more lighthearted to offset the mood. But the day just exhausted you from every angle, that once you finally got to relax and watch a movie for leisure — you relaxed a little too hard. Adding the components of the cold pizza and Steve putting a blanket on you while continuously keeping a grasp on your knee, you were bound to knock out before the movie ended. Later, it was Steve who woke you up with a whisper in your ear. The sound shocked you at first, and then when you opened your eyes to see the man kneeling in front of you, it did cause a slightly loud gasp to escape your lips. After some groaning on your end about not wanting to intrude, you finally gave in to the invitation Steve gave to let you sleep over tonight. The main contributing factor had to be the fact that the man had a really nice blanket and pillow set that felt like it came from a hotel.
However, as you both ended off the night in your room, it was Steve who began to groan — although, it was due to pure frustration.
“I don’t have any clean clothes,” your host said as he rummaged through his drawers.
“How about any sweater and some of those long johns your mother always buys you?” you giggled as you sat on the bed now, reading a book you recently checked out from the library.
“Or you could always sleep naked, I heard it’s really healthy for you. Plus, I would not mind at — ow,” Steve was on his little sarcastic joke before you threw an old pair of socks at his head.
“Maybe I should just head home, this feels like such a nuisance to you,” you smiled and whispered shyly.
Steve really was trying hard to find you something to sleep in. So much so that it caused some sweat to drop on his forehead. But, truly, the man was standing there trying to work up the courage to ask you to put on one of his old swim team sweaters and a cotton pair of shorts he knew would hug your body beautifully.
Yes, you have slept over before when you were younger. However, those were all planned out with you bringing something from home. Well, there was one emergency where you stayed the night due to a horrific snow storm; but, Mrs. Harrington was there to give you your Christmas present a few weeks early and allow you to sleep in some pyjamas which were covered in cute bunnies. This was the first time you would be here spontaneously alone with Steve — and god, did he feel like all of his prayers were answered. The amount of times he has imagined you laying on his bed, committing the most sinful acts, in various positions and scenarios, could be seen as absolutely perverted. So to have the opportunity to have you on his bed, wearing his clothes, covered in his blanket; it all seemed unfathomable to the man.
“Here,” Steve exclaimed quickly so that you would actually stay. “Maybe you would be alright with this sweatshirt and some shorts?”
“This is more than alright. Thank you, Steve,” You skipped off to the washroom to finally get ready for bed and let your friend change into his own pyjamas.
However, when you got the clothing on, it was so embarrassing to stare into the mirror. Everything fits fine — and on a normal day at home, you would probably wear something similar. But remembering the fact that you would be sleeping next to your best friend was so nerve wracking. It was just a lot shorter than what you would usually wear around him if you did wear a skirt or shorts. You just thanked the heavens that the blanket would be covering your legs so that you didn’t feel as exposed.
Not that you believed Steve would try anything; not that you didn’t want him to try anything either. But, you were scared of getting so cold and cuddling too close to him like you did last December during the winter storm. Waking up in Steve’s arms caused your heart to flutter so harshly that your heart rate didn’t go down for days. It made you think about how badly you wished you could wake up to his handsome face everyday. Most especially, it made you think about how nicely his leg felt right in between your thighs, and the way it massaged your —
No.
This was an innocent sleepover like the thousands that other best friends have had over the years. All you had to do was sleep next to him with a pillow between your bodies and hope you didn’t accidentally roll your way into his arms again. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the heartbreak of knowing that being entwined in each other’s arms would not last forever.
“Do you want the left or right side of the bed?” Steve called out from the other side of the door, startling you out of your thoughts.
“Anything is fine,” you replied whilst opening the door. Seeing that Steve was laying in the middle, ready to roll over to whichever side you preferred. The image of him with arms and legs spread out made you giggle.
“The left side is closer to the lamp if you’d like to read a bit before sleeping,” he said as he shifted over to the ride side of the bed and patted to your new spot.
“Are you a mind reader or something?” you chuckled between steps.
Steve put the book in the air as you tucked yourself into bed, a nice distance away from him. Once he saw you were comfortable, he placed the book gently in your lap and said: “no, but I could tell your little nap will probably have you staying awake for the next hour or so.”
“Oh, if the light is gonna bother you then I can turn it off and head to sleep too.”
The concern in your eyes was absolutely beautiful. As you started up at him with the lamp glowing behind you, you looked like a nymph in the night. And oh how Steve knew he would be the luckiest man alive to sleep next to you.
“Go ahead, dove. I can sleep through anything,” he whispered lowly whilst rubbing your thigh that was covered by the thick blanket. “What’s it about anyways?”
You took a deep breath to calm down before speaking. Steve’s touch caused you to feel warm, even more so when he squeezed your thigh every few moments. “Not too sure about the entire plot since I’m only on chapter two. But it’s about a prince and his beast companion. They’ve been best friends for a long time and are going on adventures. This was in the romance section so I’m guessing the best friends fall in love,” you rambled, getting quieter with the last few words.
What a dream.
“Is it dirty?” Steve teased as he sunk further underneath the blanket.
“No, I-I’ve never read a story like that before,” you said sternly.
“Oh, I believe you,” his voice got deeper and slower with each word, only indicating that he was bound to fall asleep any second. “Have fun reading.”
They were the last words he said before drifting off to sleep peacefully next to you. Luckily, that meant it was a lot easier to read the rest of the book until you felt your own eyes start closing and the words on the page started to become blurry.
It was a beautiful story, full of lore and love, a mix of historical fiction and mythology. After reading and watching stories based on the horror genre for a few weeks now, it was nice to have a little bit of a break and just read about love. Your heart started to feel warm and giddy as each page passed — even going as far as quietly giggling when you felt your cheeks feel warm as a result of the prince’s romantic actions throughout the book. You didn’t even notice that you were sinking further and further into the blanket because you were so engrossed in the imaginary world. It didn’t even matter that the angle made your back hurt a little.
Well, not really. Once you started to feel stiff, you moved into a straighter position. However, you were interrupted by a low and groggy voice.
“You want to get under here?” Steve asked you through half-lidded eyes and his arm moving to invite you to move even closer into his body.
Wordlessly, you accepted the offer and went right up to Steve’s body. The book was on his chest while your cheek was at his side. Everything felt so comfortable and domestic — a part of you wished this could last forever.
But right then, the storyline of the book went on a different path, to say the least.
You see, the prince got hurt whilst fighting off some evil spirits. He was bleeding everywhere and in so much pain. But the companion, a beautiful wolf-demon, was able to heal his wounds to the point where it wouldn’t be so life threatening. It was so simple, to use a little magic and bandages in hopes of survival, but the author was able to portray it wonderfully. To thank the woman, the prince moved his arms around her to hold her a warm embrace. It was so sweet, just like the position you were in now. However, it took a turn for the romantics. A little too romantic. An activity you definitely were not currently doing with Steve.
The man kissed her sweetly: from her shoulders, up to her neck, then finally landed on her plump lips. It was beautiful, so serene, accompanied by a drawing of the two in bed with locked lips and legs. Slowly, she started to rock against his leg, adoring the pressure against the place no one had touched before. As she gasped into each kiss, the prince smiled in tandem. Even moving his hips to help the lady feel more pleasure. You wondered how that felt, it was only a slight movement of the hips — there was no way it could feel that good.
But you were so wrong.
Just as you tried to move positions, Steve moved his leg upwards, moving his thigh right against your heat. It felt so good, to the point where you bit your lip to suppress the whimper that was about to escape your lips. The man next to you, tried to find a better position to sleep in too, moving his legs some more until it found solace as it intertwined with your own legs.
Fuck, it felt really good. You tried so hard not to move your hips in tandem so that you could amp up the pleasure. So instead, you continued to read, trying to focus on the writing techniques and nothing else. However, you only began noting the things the characters did with one another. How they whispered sweet nothings as they continued their game to see how long it would take the lady to climax. And you noticed the way you felt warm between your legs, a slight throbbing to seal the deal.
Maybe in another world you would wake up Steve and ask him to let you out of his embrace so that you could excuse yourself to the washroom and down. But not in this one. In this world, you were at peace in his arms. In this world, you really didn’t care about the throbbing ache between your legs because you were extremely sleepy. In this world, you would convince yourself that it would pass. In this world, the sound of both your hearts beating as one was enough of a lullaby to cause even the most stubborn of characters to sleep. Just as you did now, with the book still on Steve’s chest, and your bodies squeezing closer together.
-:-:-:-:-
Steve was an extremely heavy sleeper when he was with you. Most of the time, you would be awake first during these little sleepovers and do something before he even pried his eyes open and then decided to keep them shut because of the sun seeping through the windows. It wouldn’t surprise Steve to see you reading at your desk or braiding friendship bracelets when you had that arts n’ crafts phase a couple years ago. This time, however, he was the one who awoke in the middle of the night to movement from beside him. Maybe it was due to some level of paranoia he has gained over the past few years regarding a life that he wishes you would never need to experience. It’s funny that you were reading books with monsters the world has nightmares about, while he was one of the people who was facing them. He wishes so badly to protect you from all of it. So when you started moving in your sleep, something you never do, Steve felt his body wake up in an instant.
His eyes were having trouble fully opening themselves as he could hear faint whimpering sounds coming from you and slight movements near his thigh. It was enough to turn his head to the left to see what was wrong. But nothing was wrong per se. If anything this was right out of a perverted fantasy he has had millions of times before.
As his eyes finally came into focus at what was in front of him, Steve could only smile and thank the heavens. You were laying in the same position you initially fell asleep in: book held in your hand, it being face down on Steve’s chest on a particular page, while your own face was on the side of his chest. But, the thing that surprised him the most was the grip your thighs had around his own. Slowly, your hips were thrusting back and forth against his leg, humping over and over. Whenever your body hit the perfect spot against your clit, you would mewl against his chest, sending a vibration through his body. Your hard nipples would poke Steve’s stomach once in a while too.
Good Lord, he was so distracted by the vision of you thrusting against his thigh, that he didn’t realize just how hard he had become. He only noticed it when your leg tensed up and moved towards his crotch, touching the underside and head in the process.
You were about to become the death of him tonight.
Curiously, he picked up the book you were reading to put it on the bedside table, when the words jumped out at him.
“And then the prince lifted the dress of the maiden beast. How scary she was to the eyes of the kingdom, but how beautiful she looked with swollen lips and lust-filled eyes. She was wet, so wet that it seeped through the layers of clothing.”
Just then, Steve looked down to notice how your wetness was doing the same thing. Your arousal had gone past your shorts and went onto the cotton bottoms he was wearing. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
The man skipped a few paragraphs to see just exactly what the prince and his lady were up to. Words of biting, screaming, thrusting harshly against the wall, even scratches along one another’s backs. It was pornographic, it was beautiful, and Steve was shocked that your virgin eyes read through some of this before falling asleep.
If only he could recreate it with you. Seeing you moan and move to your lust-filled slumber was more than enough of a dream come true to the man. But this was wrong. So wrong. You both were best friends. He loved you, wished he could be more with you. But he believed that wasn’t worthy of you. You were the princess this whole town adored while he was just a former playboy many people seemed to dislike sometimes. There was a part of him that wanted to see how long it would take for you to come against his leg. However, his guilt took over quickly.
“Wake up, my dove. It’s getting hot in here.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. The mixture of blankets and his arousal made Steve sweat through his clothes easily.
“Hm? What?” You rolled more onto his chest, your weight atop his body nicely. It would have been the world’s most comfortable position, one that would start off most of his perverted fantasies about you; however, he had to stop himself from thrusting against your thigh that was now perfectly on top of his hardness. “Feels so nice, Stevie,” you murmured, still half-asleep.
“Fuck — you really like that, huh?” The man whispered as you looked up at him with glazed eyes. You were still not cognizant that what you were doing was not in a dream.
“I feel so warm down there, your leg is massaging me nicely,” you moaned whilst humping some more. “Kiss me, please.”
Every move you were doing, every word you were saying, every whimper that came out of your throat — the man has imagined it all before. You were all of his greatest fantasies come to life. He wished so badly to ravish you on the spot and satiate all of the pent-up pleasure your body needed to release. Your lips were swollen now from all of the biting you’ve been doing to quiet down your moans; but, good god, the man was going to memorize it all for the sake of his future sessions with his right hand.
Steve really needed to stop this, and fully wake you up as soon as possible. This wasn’t the normal you, you didn’t even realize exactly what you were doing. “Pretty girl, no matter how much I want to continue this, we can’t.” The words fell from his lips painfully.
“Why not? You don’t feel good?” You whimpered as you reached up and put your arms around Steve’s neck, stopping your hips’ movements all together.
“Feels so good, baby,” Steve moaned loudly this time as he thrusted against your leg like he imagined a million times before. It wasn't helping that you thought your face closer to his in order to hear his breathy moans easier. The man was so close to leaning forward and kissing your plump lips. “But, this isn’t a dream, and you’re not fully awake. I don’t want you to regret this—”
The man was going to ramble on and continue to comfort you into waking up fully. However, you got the message loud and clear. So much so, that your heart dropped and you gasped.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll move over t-there — ah.” The moan coming out of your mouth was completely involuntary as you lifted your body up and intended on moving down and away from Steve’s figure.
“Did that feel good?” Steve teased, now that you were both fully cognizant of your sleeping status.
“I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry.” If only you could apologize a million times, because you would; your guilty conscience would make sure of it.
“You probably had some sweet dreams, huh?”
Just as you were separated from the man, you heard his words and looked over at his figure. Through the dim lighting of the lamp, you could see that he was holding up the novel you were reading before bed, and it was open to the very scene that inspired any of your hormone-induced movements tonight.
“Oh no,” you whispered. Looking down, there was a wet spot on Steve’s thigh where your heat was pressed against. He was admiring it as if he were memorizing just how it looks. And he was. “This is so embarrassing,” you though out loud
“It’s no big deal, dove. Guys have nudie magazines and a video here and there. I would never judge you for a little novel,” Steve chuckled as he sat up to the headboard to mirror your actions.
“I didn’t know it was going to be like that in the story,” you whispered.
“Did you like it?” Your friend was genuinely curious. Throughout your history as friends, you had never even asked him for advice about relationships — this erotic chapter of the novel must have been a shocking first exposure to it all.
You thought about the question for a few moments. Remembering the emotions and fire you felt in different parts of your body, you could really only tell him the truth. “Y-yeah, I suppose so.”
“Then don’t feel embarrassed or bad about it,” Steve nudged your shoulder sweetly to make you feel less embarrassed over the situation. “Never thought you were into reading it in front of other people though.”
“Don’t tease,” you pouted, putting your head under the blanket to hide from the embarrassment.
“I’ll stop, I promise. But, you did give me a wonderful way to wake up,” you could hear him smiling just by the sound of his voice.
Those words made you slowly peek your way out of the thick blanket to see Steve looming over you with a smirk that teased your soul. The lamp in the room made him glow, while the moon’s beams that were seeping through the blinds made him look like one of the many drawings of the prince in the book you were just reading. It took all the strength within you, not to squeeze your thighs together and satiate the throbbing between them.
“Let’s never talk about this again,” you whispered, the blanket still covering your mouth.
“If that’s what you would be comfortable with,” Steve chuckled as he laid back in his spot.
“Y-yes, I would be.”
After a moment of awkward silence, you both in regular sleeping positions, Steve wanted to break the ice a bit. “It is a well-written book. Maybe I could borrow it sometime.”
“You’re so annoying,” you giggled, grabbing a small pillow on the bed and lightly hitting his chest with it.
“Learn anything while reading? You could use me as a practice dummy.” The man laid on his side now, looking at you as he put on a seductive tone.
“You’re just a dummy, Steve,” you playfully scoffed with a giggle.
“That was the last one, promise. Sweet dreams, dove.”
In truth, Steve wanted you to sleep as quickly as possible so that he could make his way to the washroom and get rid of his hard problem. It was hurting now, even as he tried to think about anything else that would possibly subside his arousal. Your movements and moans will never be erased from his mind. Steve’s imagination was running wild with how you actually sounded as you were feeling pleasure.
No one has ever thanked a book more in the history of mankind.
“Is that what sex is like?” You whispered into the night, cutting off the man’s thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Steve replied as he turned to his side to look at you staring up to the ceiling.
“In the book, they talk about it like it happens so fast and hard,” you said the words with a concerned tone while turning your body towards his to face him.
“Well, it can be fast and hard if the couple wants it that way. But, taking it slow is nice too,” the man next to you chuckled sweetly.
You felt dumb asking the question. For years, you have known that Steve was a lot more experienced than you in the department of relations with the opposite sex. There have been countless times where Steve would tell you about any dates that he has gone on, or imply lewd acts he committed with his girlfriend of the week. And all you would do is nod out of pure curiosity. However, this was the first time you outright spoke about sex with him.
“Right, right, that makes sense. It must feel really nice,” you continued your thoughts.
“It does. Everything is so warm and wet. The noises too are something you’ll never forget. My hand and imagination does not do it justice sometimes.” Right then, Steve’s mind went through flashbacks of times he has laid in bed with the image of you stuck as his muse. He has imagined the way you would react and moan to things he would do with you. Would you bite your lip whilst looking down between your bodies? Would you whimper in the same way you do when you beg Steve to drive you somewhere and he just had a long day at work? Anything you would do would be erotic, and enough fire for him to reach the happiest of endings. However, by the end, he would pray for the day he could experience the real thing with you.
“I wonder what it will be like for me,” you giggled, bringing the blanket close to your face again.
“You got a good idea a few minutes ago,” Steve teased as he looked you up and down.
All you could do was hit his shoulder then hide your face into it as he leaned back onto the bed. “It did feel really, really nice, Steve. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You liked it, didn’t you?” he said, trying to soothe your embarrassment of it all. As he squeezed his arm around you tighter to have you closer to his chest, Steve realized that your bare thighs had found their way around his again. You looked so beautiful cuddling next to him, tightening your legs slowly. “Then, maybe I can help. You didn’t get to finish, sweet girl.”
The deepness of Steve’s voice resonated through your entire body as you looked up at him with desperate eyes. His proposal sounded so good. You felt this constant throbbing between your legs that only increased ten-fold every time you and Steve accidentally breathed too close together. As you gripped his chest with your hands, and his thigh with your own — you really craved to continue the pleasure you were feeling moments before.
“I didn’t even know that I started,” you pouted.
“Oh, but finishing is one of the best parts,” he teased whilst moving his thigh upwards to massage your cunt slowly.
“Steve—” you moaned like music to his ears.
Your friend began to move his thigh up and down to stroke your pussy, hitting your clit from the right angle to make you bite your lip in between whimpers. He held your face sweetly, making sure that he could see how every movement affected you. Steve was sure that the image of your pupils getting darker would be engraved in his mind forever.
“My best friend needs help, and you know I would do anything for you,” he whispered, hovering his lips above yours.
“More, please.”
“So polite,” Steve teased, quickening his pace and moving one hand to your breasts. “Doing such a dirty thing and now you’re being so nice.”
“I feel so — I feel like I need more,” you said quietly as if it were a desperate plea.
Steve squeezed your right breast sweetly, pinching your hardened nipple through the thick sweater fabric. He noted how you thrusted yourself against his thigh and nearly fell onto his lips as you moaned.
“Is your body on fire? You feel nice, dove,” he smiled, kissing your cheek to tease you.
“So good. Kiss me, Steve, please.” You weren’t sure what took over your body in that moment, but you gripped onto his hair and leaned your lips towards his. Yet, he was the one who kissed you first. It was a kiss that made the angels sing above you, one that you both have been imagining for years and years. Hearing all of the stories of girls in school raving about his talents with his mouth and tongue — a part of you could never believe that he would be that amazing.
But, you were wrong, so wrong.
As he kissed you deeply, poking his tongue through to taste you more, you couldn’t help but whimper loudly into the kiss. Steve adored it, promising himself to try everything he could to hear every variation of your beautiful sounds. Just when he brought a hand down to your back, urging your hips to move forwards on his leg, you swear you were about to see stars. This is what all the magazines were talking about. This is what all the whispered conversations during girl talk were giggling about. This is what the novel you were just reading was writing about when it came to the pleasures of the flesh. You remembered what the lady did in the book, and decided to emulate her actions. Although you were slowing down your kisses, your hand found its way to Steve’s clothed hardness. It was nearly peeking out of the sweatpant elastic by now which made you gasp in surprise.
“God, what did you learn in that book?” Steve moaned as he felt your delicate hand on him.
“The characters in the story were really good friends too. She was always tempted to be the one who helped him out when he was really stressed out.” You smiled into the kiss, noticing how teasing him only made you wetter.
You hand gripped his hardness some more, focusing on the large head that could be felt through the fabric.
“Here I thought that was going to be my job tonight,” Steve’s voice was low now as he kissed you down your neck and moved the hand that was previously on your back, to your front. The shorts you were wearing rode up to tighten upon your cunt. The fabric squeezed your clit, and caused your arousal to get all over the place where your thighs met.
Steve pushed the fabric to the side, noticing how you didn’t wear panties to sleep, and started to lightly massage your clit. “Oh God,” you moaned into his mouth while arching your back.
The movement made Steve want to lay you down on your back to have easier access between your legs. Although you whimpered in slight disappointment when you didn’t feel the pressure of his thigh, that all went away when the man teased your wet entrance with his fingers before going up to your clit again.
“No panties, huh? You’re bound to be the death of me.”
“I normally don’t wear any to bed if I’m wearing shorts,” you whispered, moving yourself to feel his fingers more against your nub.
“Is it alright if I take these off?” He barely got the question out before you began to nod.
Looking at you in all your glory was absolutely mind blowing to Steve. He swears that he felt his cock twitch in excitement when he saw your arousal dripping on his sheets. The light from the lamp made you look like you were glowing, and the man was so tempted to taste what he has been craving for so long. But, he took it slow, circling your clit faster and faster as he leaned down to kiss you deeply. As every moan was swallowed by him, Steve began to thrust himself upon the side of your hip to satiate his arousal.
The moment he stopped kissing you for a moment, he wordlessly looked you in the eye, teasing your entrance now with his fingers. With a nod and smile through bitten lips, you gave him full permission to fill your hole that has been desperately throbbing around nothingness.
“Feels so good, Stevie. Keep doing that, please,” you groaned as he fingered you deeper and deeper.
“Are you close, dove? Are you gonna come? You’re so tight, can barely fit these two fingers,” Steve teased as he kissed your neck to make you moan louder.
“More — need more.” The grip you had on his hair became tighter as you pushed yourself down on his hand, nearly fucking yourself on his fingers. Feeling so stretched out was a brand new experience. You were never one to masturbate, even when everyone mentioned it was so much fun. Everything from seeing a hot guy at the mall, a rockstar who was shirtless on the cover of a magazine, or the angle of a showerhead accidentally focusing on a sweet spot — none of those experiences ever happened in your life. In truth, nothing ever made you curious enough to even try to see if other things would have a similar effect. But something about this night made you want to experience it all with Steve.
The man quickened his pace with his fingers, using one hand to thrust into you while the other massaged your clit sweetly. Your moans echoed through the room as you arch your back in ecstasy. The feeling of Steve’s lips on your throat made you want to thrust against his hand harder, but you were too overwhelmed to move your hips in tandem. Instead, you lifted up your shirt and started to squeeze your lonely nipples.
You aren’t sure what took over — all you knew was that everything felt so good.
“Fuck, you really do have the most perfect tits,” Steve whispered to himself when he got up from your neck. He felt your movements and thought something was wrong. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of your swollen nipples, eager for some sort of touch. When he saw your fingers squeeze your right nipple, he could not handle it anymore and dove down to suck on them, leaving marks on your smooth skin.
“Steve, everything you’re doing feels so good,” you moaned.
“Are you gonna come for me, baby? I know you can do it.”
And you did. Loudly. Just those words, working in tandem with his fingers and mouth, were more than enough to make you orgasm into oblivion. Steve had two fingers inside of you whilst his thumb was massaging your clit in small circles. You barely had the strength to tell him how good it felt since you were shaking below him in pleasure. All you could do was grasp Steve’s hair as he kissed one nipple of yours to the next. It was your very first orgasm, and you were welcoming it with open arms.
“So nice —” you whimpered incoherently.
Steve kissed you, swallowing in your moans of ecstasy. “I’m never gonna get tired of that sound,” he teased as he took out his fingers from inside of you and just massaged your clit as you got down from your high.
“So much better than reading a book,” you giggled as your body calmed down.
“Maybe we gotta find you crazier books then,” Steve smiled with you while kissing your soft lips.
The kiss became deeper as you embraced one another. Your friend found his way on top of you which felt so surreal. Throughout your friendship, you never believed that some of your naughty dreams that you pushed to the side, would ever come true. Steve was having the same thoughts; however, he never pushed those dreams to the side. More likely, he would take care of any hard problem that was in between his legs. But, kissing you only made him throb harder. Especially now that he knows what your pussy felt like on his fingertips,
“Again — I can take more,” you whispered between kisses.
“Needy girl, you really want to?” Steve asked, making sure this wasn’t a dream for him now.
“Mhm, yes, what if we slipped it in?” your hand moved down his body and to the waistband of his pants. Without even stretching the fabric, you looked up at him with sweet eyes. “Would it feel good too? Maybe just the tip?”
Fuck.
Steve needed to calm himself down. He was already on the verge of cumming in his pants, watching you orgasm on his sheets. Even now, as the remnants of your arousal covered his fingers, he wondered how it would feel against his hardness. But, Steve couldn’t do that to you now. Especially knowing the fact that it would be your first time. However, the lust that clouded your eyes as you pouted up at him, was convincing him slowly.
The conflict on Steve’s face was so apparent that you whispered: “oh, we don’t need to—”
“Fuck, I want to,” Steve kissed you sweetly. “Are you sure, baby? Sure that you can take it all?”
“Yes, yes, I promise you that I can,” you smiled up at him and then bit your lips out of a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
You kissed one another again, not being to stand the time your lips were apart from each other’s. As you did so, Steve brought his hands under your sweater to nearly rip it off of you — leaving you beautifully naked on his plaid sheets. His hands were calling to him, telling him that one day he needed to take a picture of you like this. But, there is going to be another time, surely. Right now, he wanted to satiate your body’s cravings. As you stared up at him and squeezed your thighs together, Steve was truly about to combust.
“It’s kinda cold,” you giggled as you stared down at your hardened nipples. Then, you sat up slightly to meet his lips again, but not without whispering close to his mouth. “Can I take off your clothes too?”
With those words, Steve helped you take off his tight shirt and sweatpants. You’ve been teasingly touching it throughout tonight’s escapades; however, seeing his hardness in all its glory, stunned you. It was a lot thicker and longer than you initially believed. In truth, there were countless moments where you had gotten a glimpse of his size. Like the times he invited you to his backyard to swim, and he always seemed to choose tighter swim shorts every week. Or the one time he forgot to bring a towel into the shower so you brought one to him, thinking that he was going to keep the shower curtain atop his body for some modesty; however, when you were on your way out the room, he let go of the plastic curtain a bit too early and you saw a definite outline from the side of your eyes. Every single time, no matter how crazy the situation may be, you felt warm all over your body. This time, however, seeing the way it hung and the precum leaking out of it, you were hypnotized to say the least.
“One sec, dove,” Steve whispered as he saw that you were about to touch it. You looked to see that he bent his body to reach his nightstand and take out a little clear bottle.
“What is that?” You asked innocently as you began to stroke him while he wasn’t looking.
“I-it’s — fuck — it’s lube. We could use a little if you wanted to,” Steve said seriously before bringing a hand to your arousal and massaging your clit sweetly. “Not sure if we will need much,” he teased.
Steve kissed you again, having you lay down on the bed fully. He thrusted his hardness against your pussy a few times, seeing how you reacted to the feeling. You adored it, mewling every time the head of his cock coincided with your clit. In truth, you both could have been doing this for the rest of the night until you two came; however, you were throbbing around nothing and you craved to feel more stretched out than with Steve’s fingers.
You broke away from the kiss, eyeing the bottle of lube curiously, before Steve grabbed it and put it in your hands to look at closer. There were times you saw a similar bottle in the drug store and noticed they were next to the condoms and pregnancy tests. You saw that there were big bold letters on the front: ‘for her pleasure,’ which confused you slightly. But, you decided to give it a try anyways — it must be something good, you guessed.
“Let's use a little, Steve.”
“Yeah, sure. You want me to put it on?” He asked sweetly as he outstretched his hand.
“N-no, I wanna try something,” you smiled up at him before putting a dollop of the gel in your right hand. “You’re so big, Stevie. You’re gonna stretch me out so good.”
Your words were hypnotizing the man above you as you circled your hand over his cock and stroked a few times. And to think that he believed that he was to be taking the lead tonight.
“F-fuck, dove. Your hands are so soft.” Steve’s moans were making you wetter by the second. You felt your heat throb harshly around nothing, before you moved your hips upwards a little and guided his cock into you.
Just the tip — you said the words before.
But, fuck, it felt so nice that you both needed so much more. Steve stayed still above you as he watched the way you move your hips to bounce on his cock from below. Inch by inch, you thrusted yourself upon his lube-covered hardness, causing moans to echo through the room as you got stretched out.
This was so much better than you both could have ever dreamed of.
“So hard,” you whispered as you got in the last inch and took all of Steve’s cock in.
“You’re taking me so well, dove. So fucking wet,” he said as he kissed you and let you get used to the large size.
“Feels nice.”
“Tell me if you don’t like it,” Steve whispered as he kissed your lips one last time before moving his mouth down your neck and finally thrusting his hips into you.
Everything seemed to amplify ten-fold. All of the pleasure, moans, tingling, stretching — it all felt so nice. It was if you two were the only people in the world, with the sky changing from a navy blue to a bright orange. Sweet nothings were whispered into the air as you both wanted to give each other the poetic justice you deserved.
Steve kissed you every time he heard your moans get louder and louder, wanting to taste your ecstasy. He moved back and forth from kissing your lips, to your neck, to your breasts. It all made you grip his hair tightly no matter where he was focusing on your body.
“Keep going please, Steve. Everything feels so full,” you screamed incoherently.
“God, you're throbbing around me. I don’t think I can take it.” The man above you was thrusting into you at an increasingly faster pace, missing the feeling of your warm pussy every time he was even an inch out of you.
“Steve, I wanna feel you cum,” you whispered before grabbing his hair to have him stop sucking on your nipples in order to look at you.
He adored how needy you were. “Dirty little mouth, Princess.”
“Need more — need you to go faster.”
“You know I've been dreaming about this moment time and time again. Who knew all it would take is a dirty novel, isn’t that right?” Steve teased as he reached town and pinched your clit playfully.
“You’ll never regret driving me to the bookstore from now on,” you giggled in between whimpers.
In truth, you didn’t notice the way you were moving yourself upwards to meet his thrusts. It made Steve bite his lip to stop himself from cumming inside of you prematurely. “Dove, you're taking me so well — fuck — better than I’ve ever imagined,” he moaned.
“What have you imagined? What were we doing?” you asked it so innocently, stroking his chest as he continued to thrust into you.
Where did you learn how to do that? — was what he really wanted to ask. Instead, his mind started to blurt out his fantasies.
“Sometimes I’d have you like this: fucked out and cock drunk in the middle of the night. Other times it would be me bending you over while you’re studying. Always wearing those tiny skirts with the slit.”
“For you, I wear it for you. I know the yellow skirt is your favourite, isn’t it?” You teased him now.
You always noticed the way he would ask you pick things up from the floor, mention that your shoes were untied while he was standing behind you, or the way he would always take off a piece of lint from the back of your skirt — even if you had just used a lint roller on it a few moments before. He loved the way the fabric would sway, and you loved the way he looked at you. It made you feel so warm even on the windiest and coldest of days.
One thing was for certain, it definitely felt like such a tease in comparison to how your heart and body felt right now.
“You little minx,” Steve moaned as he thrusted into you faster.
“Do you think I don’t imagine you ripping my skirt into a million pieces every time you stare at me?” the words fell from your lips breathily while Steve’s pace increased more and more. “You’re not so good at recognizing mirrors in front of you when you’re staring at the back of my tiny skirt, huh?”
“God, you like it when I’m being your perv, naughty girl,” Steve stated.
“Makes me feel nice. Just like this.”
Just then, Steve made sure that his thrusts and massages on your clit were working in tandem with the way your pussy was throbbing on his cock. He could tell with the way you were arching your back more and closing your eyes, that you were bound to orgasm soon. “You’re so beautiful, dove. So beautiful and taking me so well.”
“Oh my—” your voice sounded so sweet as you looked up at him with desperation in your eyes.
“That’s it, let it happen,” Steve grunted, making sure to stop himself from cumming so that he could time it with yours.
“Faster, please,” you nearly screamed now as everything was hitting you in all the perfect spots.
Steve took that as his sign to move faster: from his hands to his hips. He loved to see the way you were reaching your climax on his cock — an image he would never get out of his mind for the rest of his life. You were squeezing his hardness tighter and tighter, with your moans getting louder in tandem. And so, Steve angled his cock upwards to try and hit your sweetest spot inside of you.
And he did.
Good god, he did.
“That’s it, that’s my dove.” He chanted over and over as you were shaking beneath him, orgasming harder than you did previously.
“S-Steve, fuck.” You rarely swear, but to know that he was the one to cause this little word to fall from lips with such grace — it was the final straw for Steve.
He began to cum inside of you, your pussy milking him with each thrust. All of his arousal was filling you up to the point where it started to spill out and glisten all over your thighs. “So tight,” he whimpered above you.
For a few moments, you both came down from your highs. With a few thrusts and kisses, you allowed your bodies and heart rates to calm down as one. It was beautiful and so bewitching to experience it all. You weren’t so sure what it would be like now. Being friends for so long meant that you both knew so much about each other. However, now, you two seemed to see a lot of each other too. There was no turning back to what it was before. Not after everything felt so good in this way.
You both looked into each other’s eyes before kissing sweetly, enveloping each other in one last kiss before breaking apart under the morning sun’s rays.
“You are so beautiful,” Steve whispered as he moved to lay next to you.
“So are you,” you smiled while cuddling close to him.
“Are you alright?” He asked sweetly, kissing your forehead in the process.
“Yeah, I guess I feel a little sore,” you giggled as you moved your head upwards to feel your lips on his again.
Steve gasped into the kiss, breaking it apart to get some tissues from his nightstand. “Do you need a bath, some water, or food?” He asked whilst wiping the remnants of his climax away on your thighs.
“I’m fine, Steve, I promise.” You smiled as he looked at you with the biggest hazel gaze.
Truthfully, you looked like a goddess glowing next to him with the dawn reflecting on your skin. He wasn’t sure if there were enough words in any dictionary to describe your beauty. Maybe not even from the book you were reading before bed. “How about you sleep for a bit and then when you wake up, I’ll have all your favourite breakfast foods on the kitchen table?” The offer was so tempting coming from Steve’s lips.
“Hmm, what if I want to help you?” You giggled. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be separate from him for too long. The place in between your thighs was begging for his touch again. “There is a scene in that book where the prince and the lady were eating breakfast and then—”
You stopped speaking when you saw Steve reach behind him to find the novel on his nightstand, before flipping pages in the book to see what you were talking about. “Maybe you should read this story to me another day and I can help you every time you get really excited during a scene,” he winked.
“Another day?”
“Yes, for now, we could get started on writing the beginning of our newest story, dove. If you would like to, of course.” Steve whispered the words as he hovered his lips above yours, teasing you with each breath that tickled your skin.
“I’d really, really love that,” you smiled up at him, bringing your arms around his neck in the process.
If one thing was for certain after tonight: both of you found comfort and love in each other’s arms — and later on in a few different sections of the book store too.
-:-:-:-:-
#my writing#writing#st fanfic#st fanfiction#fanfiction#kinktober#kinktober 2023#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#LazyGhoulsKinktober2023#friends to lover#fluff#fluff and smut#best friend!steve#innocent!reader#perv!steve harrington#perv!steve harrington x innocent!reader#steve harrington x f!reader#afab reader#slight somnophilia#just the tip#st#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#my fic#writing prompt#steve harrington#set before season 4
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The eagerly awaited part 2 of the DILF!Steve concert saga is here!! Part 1, in case you missed it.
"You're not going."
"Come on! I haven't thrown up in an hour!"
"The drive to the venue is an hour and a half."
"Steve-"
"And if you throw up in my car-"
"Oh my God-"
"I'll kill you."
Steve doesn't need to see Dustin's eye roll in order to feel the full force of it through the phone.
"I'll just kill you. You'll have a headstone within the week that says Here Lies Dustin Henderson: Rightfully Murdered for Puking in Steve Harrington's Car," he continues as he packs Capri-Suns into the cooler for the car ride.
He doesn't remember ever being that thirsty as a kid, but if Anna wants strawberry kiwi, Anna gets strawberry kiwi. It helps that it's Steve's favorite flavor, too.
"I'd need a big ass headstone to fit all of that," Dustin snaps.
"Your big-ass ego would demand no less, shithead," Steve shoots back.
"Swear jar, Daddy!" Anna calls from her room, across the house because while she doesn't listen to Steve when he's right in front of her, she can hear him break the swear jar rule from halfway across the world.
He zips up the cooler, fishes a quarter out of his pocket, and throws it into the half-full soup can next to the stove.
(A quarter doesn't mean much, but Anna doesn't know that. The day Steve teaches that kid about inflation is the day his pockets become permanently empty.)
"Did she just swear jar you?" Dustin asks from over the phone.
"You baited me into it."
"I did no such thing."
Steve rolls his eyes. "You're not coming, though, are you?"
Dustin sighs, and, for all his teasing, Steve does genuinely feel bad. "I still feel like if I breathe wrong, I'll hurl, so, no. I don't think I'll manage the car ride, nevermind the actual show."
"Sorry dude."
"Don't be. Some dickhead will live stream the whole thing on Instagram, anyway. I'll live vicariously through them."
Steve snorts and picks up the cooler. He got Anna dressed beforehand, so it's just a matter of getting her to stop playing with whatever toy she dug up - Play-Doh has been the fixation of the week - in her room so they can go.
"Besides," Dustin continues, and Steve hates where this is going. "Anna loved the show, and you've got a reason-"
"Nope," Steve says, knocking on Anna's door. "Don't finish that sentence."
"All I'm saying-"
"I know what you're gong to say, which means you know my answer. I don't date."
Anna opens her door. From the little Steve can see inside, there are at least three containers of Play-Doh open and strewn across the floor. He thinks her Barbies are involved in it somehow.
"Time to go," Steve says, and he thinks, Please don't let there be Play-Doh in the Barbie hair.
"Five more minutes," Anna tries.
"Nope. Clean up and roll out."
"Hi, Anna," Dustin says through the phone.
"Uncle Dusty!" Anna shrieks, and she starts jumping up and down. "Are you comin', too?"
Dustin sighs, and Steve can't tell if it's at the nickname or if he's still cursing the universe. "No, but you and your dad have a great time, okay?"
"Can you, can you tell Daddy I should get five more minutes?"
Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Anna, to her credit, ignores him wonderfully.
"If you clean up," Dustin says, because he's actually Steve's favorite person right now, "you get to do more headbanging at the concert."
Anna gasps like Steve didn't already tell her that earlier today, and she gets to work on putting her toys away. Steve helps, of course, and he finds that there is, in fact, Play-Doh in two of her Barbies' hair.
Fun. They're going to turn into Buzzcut Barbies when Anna goes to sleep because he can already tell that they are the furthest thing from salvageable.
But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting Anna in the car, deploying the first two of many strawberry kiwi Capri Suns from the cooler, and making the drive to the venue, which Steve does with minimal road rage and accompanied by the Disney radio station.
Success by all metrics, really.
Dinner might as well be now, so Steve shells out a truly disgusting amount of money for overpriced chicken nuggets and fries at the venue. Anna will only eat half her portion but say she's hungry later, but that's what the snacks and water Steve smuggled in via his jacket are for.
They get to their seats, dinner finished up, just as the lights go down for the first opener. Steve looks to his left, half-expecting Eddie and his friends to be there before remembering that they won't be.
He tries not to feel too disappointed. He fails miserably.
The seat next to him, however, isn't empty. There's a note taped to the back of it, one addressed to Steve and Miss Anna, so Steve feels alright taking and opening it.
At the top, there's a messily scrawled phone number. Underneath, it says:
Here's my number. Probably a bad idea to call with all the noise. Texting works, though you should do that after the show. I'll be a little busy until then.
-Eddie
Steve puts the note in his pocket, puts Anna's ear defenders on, puts his own earplugs in, and looks at the stage, where-
Hang on.
He squints at the stage, where four guys have started playing a song that, frankly, sounds too much like literally all the music Steve listened to yesterday for him to care about all that much. The drummer is pretty small, with wild, curly hair. The bassist looks familiar. The lead singer, who is very talented but not to Steve's personal taste, also looks familiar. And the guitarist-
No way. No way in hell.
It's a total coincidence. Lots of guys have long, curly hair and heavy jewelry and big eyes and are wearing formal wear, for some reason, and catch Steve's eye, and-
"Thank you for such a great welcome!" the guitarist says, and his smile totally isn't doing anything to Steve, thanks very much.
Anna stops moving, where she's standing next to Steve, and climbs up into his lap to get a better look at the stage. She looks out, then back at Steve, then out, then back at Steve, making a face as confused as Steve feels.
Some days, he thinks he ended up with a clone, not a kid.
"I'll get off the mic in a second. I only do the talking because Jeff," the guitarist points at the lead singer, who ducks his head, "is really shy."
Jeff. That name is definitely relevant, but Steve is a permanent resident of denial.
"We fought about what song we were going to include next in our set list, so much so that we didn't decide until yesterday and had to consult a tiebreaker."
Okay, maybe Steve is a less permanent resident of denial than he thought.
"So, thank you to Miss Anna, who did great at headbanging for her first time-"
Anna whips around so fast, her forehead nearly collides with Steve's jaw.
"And to Steve, who's a big fan of American Psycho."
At the song name, the crowd loses their minds, and if Anna wasn't sitting right in front of him, Steve would join them.
Because what the fuck is happening right now?
His question isn't answered. In fact, about five more questions pop up in its stead when, during the bridge of the song, Jeff puts on a clear rain jacket and picks up a prop axe.
Please, God, don't let this traumatize my kid, Steve thinks.
Anna, thankfully, doesn't get scared. When Jeff brings the axe down, again and again, Steve's weirdo daughter fucking smiles. And giggles. It's kind of cute, actually.
When the song ends, she turns back to Steve.
"That's Eddie onstage," Steve says, and saying it, somehow, makes it real.
"I thought so!" Anna says, and she turns back to watch the show. Steve puts an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall off his lap when she bangs her head to the music.
The rest of the songs, in Steve's opinion, are better than the opening song. They're more melodic, which Steve can definitely get behind, and each of them has a gimmick onstage, all based off of various horror movies. It's ridiculous, but also really, really cool.
And Eddie, onstage, because it is the same guy who flirted with him and was so sweet to Anna yesterday, is really, really hot.
Steve has never had a thing for guitarists before. He's never had a thing for musicians before. Hell, until a year ago, he didn't realize he had a thing for men.
Eddie is. Uh. Yeah. Really doing it for him.
Steve doesn't know whether it's his enthusiasm, or the way he moves, or seeing his hair tied up, or the fucking dress pants and suspenders, or just his hands, but he does know he has to get himself in check because this is an all ages show and he's here with his daughter.
He already knows he can't add these songs to his grading playlist, not when they're accompanied by visuals of Eddie playing his guitar.
Sweet Jesus.
"Alright, that's our set!" Eddie says. "Thanks, y'all, for sticking around for us, and let's give it up for the next act!"
The crowd, including Anna and Steve, cheer as they exit and the lights go up.
Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to add Eddie's number to his contacts, and is greeted by not one, not two, but sixteen missed calls from Dustin Henderson.
Naturally, Steve calls him back. "Who died?"
"What the fuck?" Dustin yells, and Steve just puts the phone on speaker to save the rest of his hearing. "Did Eddie fucking Munson just personally thank you from the stage?"
"Swear jar, Uncle Dusty!" Anna says.
"Sorry," Dustin says. "But Steve. Answers. Now."
"How do you even-"
"Instagram live. Is Eddie the guy you were telling me about yesterday?"
Steve takes his phone off speaker. Prior experience tells him that this conversation has a less than zero chance of staying PG, nevermind PG-13.
"Yeah," Steve says. "He is."
"The one who flirted with you, and you forgot to ask for his number."
"Well, I have it now."
"What?" Dustin shrieks, and Steve is incredibly thankful that he didn't take his earplugs out.
"He left me his number on the seat."
"Text him."
"I was going to, until I saw that you called me sixteen times."
"Jesus Christ, Eddie Munson was flirting with you."
Steve rolls his eyes and hands a pack of gummy bears to Anna when she taps his arm. "He could have just been nice. I don't even know if he's into guys."
"Have you looked at him?"
"Wow, Dustybuns, I didn't know you were homophobic."
"I think it's the complete opposite of homophobic to try to get you laid."
"Hanging up!" Steve shouts because a part of him will never see Dustin as any older than thirteen, and no thirteen year old should ever say that.
"Text-"
Steve hangs up the call. "Can I have a gummy bear?"
"No," Anna says, mouth full, in her seat, legs swinging.
"I bought them."
She shrugs. "You gave them to me. Mine now."
Steve stares. She stares right back.
He sighs and opens a new pack of gummy bears.
With his mouth full of sweet Haribo corpses, Steve takes out the note and adds Eddie to his contacts. Before he can overthink it, he sends him a message:
I guess I don't have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we're even on that front, I'm a teacher, and Anna's full time job is preschool.
He tucks his phone back into his pocket and focuses on making this a good experience for Anna, who somehow wormed her way into a conversation with the intimidating-looking couple sitting next to her.
Because it's totally not like a literal rockstar is going to text him back. Right?
Part 3!!
#ria writes#this au needs a tag#uhhh#d&c au#there we go#dilf & concert#this was inspired by me seeing ice nine kills open for metallica#in case you couldn't tell#as well as the really cool dad and kid i sat next to#at fall out boy#shoutout to them#they were awesome#anyway#real tags time!#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steddie ficlet#st#st ficlet#stranger things#stranger things ficlet#corroded coffin#rockstar eddie munson#dilf steve harrington
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you've been writing a lot about parentified Mike lately, and while I appreciate it, from a story perspective I just don't understand why.
Maybe its just because I'm an elmike truther, but it really doesn't make sense to me why they would put such an unpleasant aspect into their friendship or romance when they could have just had her upset at him over Max's death or not sharing interests? With steve and nancy they broke up over barb and nancy wanting something else which made of sense without making steve "parent" her. idk. Maybe you're the wrong person to ask lol I'm just thinking out loud
I mean. Maybe I'm not the best person to give insight into why the duffers do what they do, but I can give why I think they did it?
Forewarning: this got really long, apologies lmao
Honestly (and take this from an out-of-universe perspective): I think they're fully aware of the strangeness of El as a character, and how she has a lot of narrative/personal "growth needs" that other characters don't just by nature of her background. She even from the pitch is referred to as "the outsider," and all of her arc, not just the romantic one, has been centered around finding a 'home' in the world, on top of finding the family she lacked before.
This, I'm almost certain, is why she always ends up on different paths than every other person she interacts with—she started with almost no sense of self as an individual, which means a sense of "self" has to be built and discovered (and remembered) for El in a way it already has been for our other characters. Max, Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas—all of them have interests and desires, a sense of family (good or bad), know what they enjoy, and are evolving as they go along...but El didn't at the start of ST beyond lab trauma, which is why The Duffers have centered almost all of her character growth since then around discovering where she came from & who she wants to be.
With Mike though...there is an entirely different set of relational and character needs that have to be addressed. With Mike, the main struggles he has (from the pitch, again) are with insecurity, his belief that a girl will resolve that insecurity, his feeling valueless unless he can do something for the people he loves (almost like 'earning his place' in their lives) and his (almost certain) queerness...combined with how he is, at the end of the day, just another "everyman" guy.
Unlike El, Mike has some sense of personhood, his own established friends and interests and a home—but he doesn't feel like he has a place he's intrinsically appreciated, because (for whatever reason) he feels who he is inherently inadequate. Its why every season (and every time we hear Finn dig a little into Mike's character) we hear about Mike trying to serve others and "feel needed again," despite being hesitant to let them in—he desires unconditional acceptance, and to be valued for who he is inherently...while also being terrified to let people in enough to see him (lest his core identity be rejected).
When Mike and El were just friends, it was easier to sort them out as some version of "equals;" we all have friends who are in different life phases than us, or who have different needs we're trying to walk alongside as they try to meet them, which is why their friendship is cute in S1. With actual romantic partners though, we introduce an element of "trying to get your needs met" with the person you're most closely involved with...and for Mike and El, that means blending "a nebulous sense of self and desire to find an identity + family" with "a desire to have a girl fill a sense of inherent unworthiness," which, as most of us can see, leads to disaster.
Basically: From the snowball onward, writing romantic mlvn meant exploring what happens when you mix what El is looking for with what Mike tries to do to feel valued...and The Duffers have decided (rightfully, I think) that this means Mike is going to (consciously or not) move towards becoming the things El lacks to "become valuable," aka: protection from the "bad men," someone who is able to keep her safe from them, and...someone who can help her fill her needs for home + family, even though he is dramatically under-equipped at all of 12-15 to meet that task.
Because (especially s4) one of El's core needs has become a healthy father figure and found family, Mike is going to move toward behaving that way to be valuable...which means he's going to inadvertently conflate himself with the men who have also placed themselves in that role: Hopper and Brenner. It also means that Mike is going to feel that same "my child is leaving the nest" energy when El "grows up" and into herself as a wholly independent entity—which is why we see him say as much to Will in the van before the painting—
—and why it sometimes seems like El is almost "rebelling" against Mike as much as she has Hopper and Brenner over the seasons.
To your point though: all of this is inherently different from Steve and Nancy...because both Steve and Nancy had that sense of individual identity that El lacked at the start of the show. There was no space for a "parental" aspect to enter their romance in that sense—it was just two people who were incompatible, which is why they failed. Similarly, if Mike and El would have started the romantic part of their relationship at end of S4 points of the narrative—or even end of S3, after El had a second to come into her own with Max—things would have been a lot different for them, I think.
Only...that's not what happened, and...not how they're resolving Mike's insecurity about being inherently valuable. They broke Mike and El down romantically vis a vis this "she's looking for herself and he's trying to fill his own void with her" track, and then gave Will the entirety of the hand to soothe Mike's deepest fears instead, which is why Mike and El will break up and Mike will end up with and around Will more, because Will knows Mike’s heart and sees Mike as an equal even with his flaws...and loves him for it. 🤷🏽♀️
(There are also (in my opinion) fundamental thematic reasons they were working toward as reason why they wrote even the breakdown of mlvn that way (the themes of rejecting forced conformity, found family, and even embracing your love for things other people might think are childish are served by this "version" of the Mlvn to Byler transition) but. I can see why someone wouldn't like it if they were attached to Mike and El being close anyway lmao).
Anyway! I hope...that helps? Honestly that's just how I've come to understand it, and hope that offers some sort of solace or explanation. Its what makes the most sense to me anyway (lol).
Regardless, thanks for the ask! :)
#anti mlvn#elmike#stranger things#byler#mike wheeler#el hopper#st analysis#my st commentary#st writing#asks#the me tag#duffer brothers#the come back tag
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Concept: Will gets vecna’d and there’s a scene of him running through the forest in the dark in the upside-down, and he can hear the search party and hopper yelling “Will Byers,” but they can’t hear him when he stop running and yells back, screams that he’s here. they just keep yelling his name, over and over and over. he’s still screaming back to them, voice raw and sobbing, and they’re right there but he can’t get to them, he’s stuck again.
All he can hear is his name. And not for the first time in his life, Will Byers wishes he was somebody else, if only so that he wouldn’t have to keep hearing that name over, and over, as if he’s stuck in a loop, unable to get out. unable to get away from being himself, from his own name, his own existence, the mistake that it is.
Its like when Lonnie would scream for him, “Will Byers,” entering the house with a bang, knocking the door against the wall and using Will’s full name to discipline him as if it was an insult in and of itself.
It’s like when Lonnie boarded up the hole in the wall, how despite Will’s begging and screaming, and pleading from the other side, his father simply couldn’t hear him. That was almost worse than before, than the way that his father would usually ignore him- because at least before, his father chose not to hear him, at least before, it was deserved, a choice Lonnie was making, a punishment dealt for the crime of being Will Byers.
At least before, it wasn’t a mistake that Lonnie couldn’t hear him. Or maybe this time, with the boarded up walls, it was a choice- maybe it couldn’t be a mistake, because Will is the mistake, maybe it was deserved. Maybe his father had known this when he boarded up the wall. Maybe he’d always known it, and Will was the ignorant one, blind to the error of his very being.
Will can still hear the screaming. It’s only grown in volume, in size, threatening to swallow him whole. It’s mixed with Lonnie’s voice now, the voices of those searching for him mingled with the voice of the person who’d gotten rid of him.
Lonnie had gotten rid of Will long before the upside-down, long before the boarded up wall, when he left all those years ago. Joyce would insist that they were the ones who’s gotten rid of Lonnie, but Will knew better. Lonnie was finally rid of him. And it’s a pity that Joyce and Jonathan couldn’t do the same.
Maybe they had. Maybe that’s why they weren’t home that night. Maybe his mother, and his brother were finally rid of him, in the way that like Lonnie, they didn’t come home that night.
Maybe like Lonnie, they left him in the upside-down. Instead of boarding up the hole, maybe his mother had taken an axe to the wall not to try and give Will an opening, but to try and create a hole, a hole in the wall and a hole in the family, tried to cut Will out of it.
But as Will runs through the forest, runs through the upside-down, he wonders if he ever really left- maybe Will never came home that night. Maybe he left them. Maybe he abandoned them. Maybe Joyce and Jonathan ran through an empty house, searching for Will. Maybe Joyce wouldn’t have needed to chop a hole in the wall if Will hadn’t torn through the wall first, trying to save himself- if he hadn’t torn through the family, if he hadn’t made Lonnie leave in an attempt to save himself.
The screams continue- people searching for him, people (Lonnie) finding him, spewing his name in a drunken rage. People caught in an eternal cycle, an eternal loop of looking for something that they’ll never find, and his father stuck in an eternal loop of finding something he’d never been looking for. The screaming of people who could never see him, mixed with the voice of the person who did know the truth, who always saw right through him.
They wouldn’t look for him if they knew what they would find. Lonnie knows what he’ll find. He’s always known. And as a result, he never had to look for Will, never bothered looking for Will- Will would simply appear when the door crashed open, jump out like a deer in the headlights, running into the light, hoping that maybe he could find safety in it, that maybe if he got close enough to the lights, somehow, the car wouldn’t hit him. He knows it doesn’t make sense. But just like the deer, he’s blinded.
Maybe if he got close enough to Lonnie. Maybe Lonnie only reached out because Will was too far away. Maybe if he put himself in Lonnie’s range, within his grasp, Lonnie would cease to reach for him, would stop grabbing him entirely because Will was already close and didn’t need to be pulled any closer. He doesn’t. Instead, it simply aids the swiftness of his grasp, it simply lets Lonnie pull Will in, grab him close, only to shove him away.
Will does appear when the door crashes open, rattling against the wall behind him, rattling off the wall in the same way that the screams do, when Will finds himself out of the forest and in his living room. And again, Lonnie doesn’t look for him.
Lonnie never needed to look, because he would simply see Will. He would see him for all he is- a mistake, a queer- and so when Will disappeared, Lonnie didn’t look for him, because Will knows that Lonnie knew why he was gone. He knows that Lonnie didn’t know about the upside-down, but that he knew that one day, the universe would correct its mistake, that Will would correct his own mistake, his own existence, that either by his own hand or that of fate, Will Byers would vanish. And so, just as quickly as he appears, he vanishes, bolting into his bedroom.
He was always good at hiding. But he can’t hide from himself, from his own name, still filling the air as the screams continue. People are still searching for him, Lonnie’s still found him- Will can hear the heavy footsteps and the heavier hollering. Deeper, more visceral than all the other screams, as if it somehow came from somewhere within Will himself.
And right as the screams get too loud, too numerous, like a wave, his own name and the weight of it, of him, of who he is, of what he is, crashing down on him, a deep voice rumbles from right behind him:
“Will Byers.”
Vecna.
Just like Lonnie, Will can feel Vecna looming over him, the way that the air becomes coarse and tight, and heavy, burdened with the weight of his name. WIth the weight of him, of all that was inside of him now turned outside for everyone to see, so that they can stop looking. So that the search ends and the silence finally falls- so that he’ll stay here, forever.
But it doesn’t end. The screaming continues. The searching, the looking continues, because they still can’t see him, even though it feels as if he’s on display, as if his insides have turned outward. Blood drips from Will’s ears. It drips from his mouth, too, and his nose, and his eyes. It slides down the skin on this body, the smaller one, in Will’s bedroom, on the body that Lonnie- or Vecna, Will realizes distantly, has his hands on, digging claws into his shoulders, shaking them, the enraged face of his father resting in that heavy air, expelled from Will’s insides like the dust of the mindflayer was, mingling with Vecna’s stoic features.
The blood also slides down the skin of his other body, the one in the flower field, the one that Mike has his hands on. The one whose shoulders are being held, not grabbed, whose ears are bleeding as Mike calls “Will! Will!”
Mike’s the only person saying his name that Will can’t hear in the sea of screaming. And maybe that’s for the best. Because Mike’s voice is the only one he’d be able to follow. The only one that could have possibly risen above the noise, not by higher volume but by a lower one, not by harshness, but by softness, the only voice that could ever rival the screaming without screaming at all. The only voice that truly soothed away that pain, that made him feel like he wasn’t a mistake.
And Will knows, in his heart, that he doesn’t deserve that. Doesn’t deserve to escape, to hide, to follow that voice.
And, in what Will recognizes as a final mercy, as a selfish, undeserved relief for himself, he knows that Mike doesn’t hear him either. He knows that when Vecna sinks his claws into him and Will screams, Mike won’t hear him, can’t hear him, doesn’t hear him screaming Mike’s name out into the void. He hopes he doesn’t, at least.
But Mike does hear Will- finally, Mike hears him. He hears his bones crack. He hears his body hit the ground. He hears Will’s heart stop, the silence of its absence more defeaning than any scream Will could ever muster.
#stranger things#byler#mike wheeler#will byers#st5#st5 scenarios#will gets vecna’d#st writing#i wanted to try and show vecnas influence slipping more and more into wills line of thinking#like almost being resentful towards joyce and jonathan even tho he actually isnt#and then feeling guilty for that resent#i am cringe but i am free#one day i will edit my posts#today is not that day
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Steve snaps a little polaroid of his ass and stashes it into Eddie’s room when he leaves the town for a couple of days with Robin to look at her college.
He hears from Eddie the same night, cursing over how Wayne almost found it when he was cleaning Eddie’s beer cans and how he’s about to lose his mind and come fuck Steve right now even if it meant he’d have to drive six hours to him.
Steve just smirks into the phone, being proud of himself that his boyfriend is gonna be miserably horny for the next three days.
”I really don’t wanna know.” Robin side eyes him from the other bed and it makes Steve laugh while Eddie still rants to him from the other side of the line.
”Oh you think this is funny, huh? You little shit now you’re asking for it! Maybe when you get back I won’t fuck you, is that what you want?”
That makes Steve snort.
”Pleaaase, like you’d be able to hold yourself back. If I recall you said something about wanting to just live with your dick buried inside my ass forever—”
”Ew! No no no no NO! Stop!” Robin yells and Steve feels a little bad for her so he says his goodbyes in the most sweetest tone and hangs up to a whining Eddie.
”You are the worst.”
#steddie#He’s a TEAAAAAAASE#Steve is a tease#Who knew?#POOR ROBS#GOTTA GO THROUGH ALL OF THIS#LOL#a small something#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#robin buckley#stranger things#st#my writing#text
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Amal’s voice, deep and cutting, “keep moving! Bring them to their knees!”
It’s not meant for Isaac but as a rally for the templars. Branson makes another strangled sound and lurches back onto his feet, hand grabbing up the sword. The world expands and narrows, suffocating like a stolen breath. Someone screams. A building finally gives beneath the flames, groaning and shrieking in its own right as it crumbles in on itself.
Chiddish, barked out and shrill. If the world was not so pin prick small, Isaac might have been able to pick out a familiar word or two from the time that Donnal was occupied. But he can’t. It’s a narrow wide thing. Amal says bring them to their knees and the Daughter once said we are Yours, and none shall stand before us.
Isaac made his choice months ago. He stands by it, here and now, with the Mother’s light on his heart and Amal’s sword a flashing thing at his back. He aims at the ground just in front of Cicero’s boots and lets his arrow fly.
<3
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Ugh, I'm actually kinda mad that we had to wait for a new character like Eddie to die for Dustin to get more of an individual arc again.
In S2 he had Dart and Dart was Dustin's Eleven (which has already been mentioned, I think).
Think about it:
Dustin found Dart in a trashcan, hid it in his bedroom (he even had to move his turtle pet to make space for Dart, which tells us so much about Mike and El), fed him, watched it grow becoming "a friend" and someone to take care of which made him grew fond of it.
Dart became trouble after Will was able to identify him as a being from the Upside Down, meaning that he was dangerous, but Dustin still tried to protect it.
In season 3 Dustin felt disappointed because he came back from Camp Know Where and Milkvan was being annoying, the rest got tired of waiting for Dustin to get a signal to speak to Suzie so he was "left alone" and thus began The Troops adventures at the mall, but that "issue" wasn't brought up again (except for when Dustin spoke about it briefly with Steve).
We all know Eddie is the new Barb and The Duffers said his death will detonate other stuff, much like Barb back in S1 and S2, but Barb died at the beginning of the series and Eddie at the end of the show on S4.
I hope they handle Dustin's feelings towards Eddie's death in a good way and not make it all about Eddie. This sounds bad but what I mean is, I hope is also used as something that would help Dustin as a person?
I don't know, I'm just kinda annoyed it had to come to this.
#BLAME THE DUFFERS#dustin henderson#st analysis#st5#my post#my ramblings#byler tumblr#st writing#tal-vez-o-quizas
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“I don’t think I’m straight.”
Steve had reached that conclusion exactly ten seconds before saying it out loud. Laying upside down on the couch of his house with his best friend draping her legs on top of him.
“Is that what you were thinking about?” Robin asked, not lifting her eyes from her book.
“Yeah, it just makes sense.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Steve hummed thoughtfully. Did he want to talk about it? Was it important enough? Did it change anything?
“I feel the same,” he said. “I thought being gay would feel different.” For a second, Steve was sure Robin would tell him that was a stupid thing to think.
“Are you gay?” Robin asked instead, because she is Robin. She was able to ask something in a judgemental tone without being judgy.
“I'm not straight.” he repeated.
“Pretty sure there are more than two options.” She explained with a joking tone. It was lucky, she thought, that she found a zine hidden in a library when she visited her aunt in Indianapolis.
“How do I know what I am?”
“I don't know, actually,” she said, putting her book down. “I've never seen what the big deal with men is.” Robin explained, crossing her arms. “That's how I knew.”
“I definitely see the big deal with women,” Steve responded simply.
“What about men?”
“I think I always saw the big deal, I just pretended it did not exist.” Steve explained.
“Oh, sweet old denial.” She teased. “How do you feel about this?”
“I would feel better if I had better taste.” Steve deadpanned, causing Robin to laugh and kick him. He slid out of the sofa dramatically to the floor. “Kicking me while I'm most vulnerable, Buckley? I see your game.”
“I have been bidding my time to find your weak spot, Harrington.” Robin joked lightly, jabbing Steve’s legs with her foot. “You will fall, Steven!”
Steve retaliated by pulling her into the floor.
“Look who's falling now?”
“Whatever,” Robin pushed herself to sit upward, sitting on the floor with her back against the sofa. Steve mimicked her with his back against the coffee table. “Who is the guy?” she asked.
“I don't wanna tell you,” Steve whispered, more out of respect for their tradition than anything else. “You’ll make fun of me.”
“Of course I will,” she whispered back. Steve reached for her hand to intertwine their fingers and she held him without batting an eye. “That’s kinda my job as your soulmate.” Steve chuckled. “I have to make sure whoever it is doesn’t mess up our vibe, you know?” He didn’t.
“I’m sure he won’t."
"Are you really gonna make me guess?" Steve lit up at the suggestion. Before he could speak, Robin continued "I'm not gonna guess, just tell me."
"Are you afraid of getting it wrong and looking like a fool?" He teased.
"It's Eddie." She answered less than a second later.
Steve did not respond, shocked at her quick response.
"Who's the fool now, Steve?" The smile on her face was infectious to Steve, who poker her with his foot.
"How did you do that?"
"By having eyes."
"What do you think?" She closed her eyes and hummed as Steve waited for her response.
"I think he looks at you the same way you look at him."
"I should ask him out."
"I can be your wingman!" She exclaimed.
"Oh, my god, yes!"
"We have to make a plan," Robin yelled. She jumped to her feet, letting go of Steve's hand, and dashed up the stairs. "I'm going to get some paper."
Steve stayed behind, sitting more comfortably on the floor, and removing the magazines they had on the coffee table off.
They made a plan, that ended in more of a disaster which is a story for another time. There is only one thing that is important.
Eddie said yes.
#stranger things#steve harrington#steddie#st eddie munson#st steve#st4#stranger things 4#fanfic#st fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#arin writes#platonic soulmates stobin#platonic stobin#stobin friendship#stranger things robin#st robin#robin buckley
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let me paint you a picture
Vecna is dead. The Upside Down is gone. A thing of the past, really. Except... it's not, of course it's not. Enough time goes by for things to start settling down. But. There's always a but.
Steve disappears and no one notices. But not because no one cared. It's not the case of Steve the Rich Jock. Of Steve the Friendless. Of Steve with Big House and No Parents.
No one notices because no one remembers him ever existing.
Robin feels like a part of her is missing, like there's an itch she can't quite scratch. Her shifts at the bookstore that she owns seem dull and her eyes keep sliding over to the doors like she's waiting for someone to enter. Her flat feels cold. There's an empty room across the hall.
There's a guy Eddie's kissing in the back alley and it makes him feel nothing at all. There's an S tattoed on his hip. He doesn't remember getting it. He must've been drunk. Or high. He keeps wondering why he stayed so close to Hawkins despite all the trouble it brought him. Must've been Wayne, even though his uncle has more than once declared himself ready to move on.
Dustin mourns an older brother he never had. He stylizes his hair but can't remember where he learnt it from when Suzie asks. The Scoops Troops has always been three people; him, and Erica, and Robin, but no, that doesn't sound right. How would they get past that one guard? And those demodogs in '84? Jonathan? Nancy? They were busy with Will, weren't they?
Nancy hates pools. She can't remember why. There was a party of some sort and Barb...Barb got sucked into the Hell that lives and breathes under Hawkins. But...why would they go to a party in the first place? It makes no sense.
And so on, and so on.
Until, one day, Eddie and Robin stumble upon an abondanoed car in the middle of a forgotten road by the forrest. Keys still inside. And a bat full of nails on the driver's seat.
#steddie#stobin#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#st#i offer you tonight a half-baked idea that's been rattling around my school#it's just an excuse to write the party losing their collective mind while obsessing over a thing they don't remember but know is missing#anyway g'night
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