#steve harrington x disabled!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

curiositydooropened · 5 months

Text

Wildfire • Combustion

You're in trouble. When Vecna sinks he's claws into you, your friends rally around you to help exorcise your demons.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 10,887

Warnings: This chapter contains smut. Minor DNI. • enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire, panic attacks, insomnia

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Five: Searing • Chapter Seven: Inferno

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The sun hit the front window and bounced off bright orange, drowning your front yard in an amber glow. It was hot, and your shirt stuck to your skin with summer sweat. The yard was littered in toys, a tractor sprinkler, double bicycles with baskets and tassels on the handlebars. Chalk was strewn across the sidewalk, hopscotch traced in stark whites. Gravel crunched in the drive beneath your feet.

Your mom called your name from the front door, asked if Vickie was staying for dinner. The girl beside you confirmed with a thumbs up and a wave, limbs longer than she was tall. She grinned at you, two front teeth missing, red hair pulled back into braids. She elbowed at your waist. “Can I stay with you forever?”

You smiled, excited at the prospect of your best friend moving in, hauling her little rubber suitcase full of dolls and horsies down the road to your house and unloading on your bedroom floor. You would share peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day for the rest of your lives.

“Till death do you part, right?” A deep voice came from behind you, a chill of breath to the back of your neck.

You spun and found no one, just a chill on the breeze, the landscape faded to harsh blues and burgundies, everything covered in black ichor and vines.

Vickie called your name, and when you turned again to face her, she was writhing in agony, skin melting from the bones of her cheeks, collarbone exposed. She reached out, mouth agape, flames that engulfed her the same color as her shock of red hair. Her eyes were pale blue, clouded.

You slammed your eyes closed, and the heat of her was wiped away in an instant. Instead, you were pushed and prodded toward a closed window. A crowd of strangers filed outside around you, staring up at a cloud-filled sky. Particles of grey and white snowed down on the parking lot of the high school gym.

“Is that snow?”

“I think it’s ash.”

“Like Mount Vesuvius?”

“I didn’t even know Hawkins was on a fault line.”

You looked around for a familiar face, panic crawling up your chest.

Vickie stood an arm’s length away, and you rushed to her side, tugging on her sleeve. “We need to get out of here.”

“Steve!” A kid with curly hair limped over to the couple posted up beside your best friend. You noticed Vickie was watching a freckled blonde girl exchange concerned looks with the handsome brunette beside her.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” the handsome man copycatted you, tugging on the arm of the blonde girl beside him.

“Robin, where are you guys going?” Vickie asked, taking the girl’s other hand in her own. A bloom of jealousy radiated through you, of interest, while the panic rose higher behind your sternum.

Robin made eyes with the two boys beside her, an unspoken conversation between them.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Vickie prodded, stepping into their little circle to face her friend.

Once again, the girl made eyes at the boy beside her, and you watched him roll his eyes before grabbing the younger boy and leading him out the door.

“Come on,” Robin gripped Vickie’s hand tighter and yanked her out across the lot after them.

“Wait, Vic!” You chased after your best friend, and this crew she’d acquired in the last hour or so since you left her at the sandwich counter. “Where are you going?”

You all halted at a burgundy BMW, and the driver held a hand up to stop you from joining. He was taller than you, broader, but couldn’t be any older, and something about his air of authority had you prickling.

“This is my best friend,” Vickie introduced, climbing into the car beside Robin.

The boy ran a hand down his face and opened the back door for you. “Get in.”

You did as instructed, but yanked the door from his grasp to slam it, satisfied at the look of frustration across his pretty boy features.

“I’m Robin,” the freckled girl reached across Vickie to introduce herself, and you shook her hand before eyeing your best friend. Vickie’s face had nearly turned violet in embarrassment. “This is Steve and Dustin.”

Steve didn’t have the capacity to greet you properly as he peeled out of his parking spot and sped away from the growing crowd.

You hung onto the headrest to stop from slamming into your friend beside you, and grit your teeth. “Great, can someone please tell me where we’re going?”

Dustin turned to face you, black ichor spilling from between braced teeth in a menacing grimace. His eyes were a pale, cloudy blue. “Didn’t you know? This is the road to Hell.”

The landscape around you flickered in greyscale. The crowd disappeared and was replaced by rotting buildings, fallen trees, a city on fire.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the flower-faced panic monster rearing its ugly head, clawed its way through your esophagus, breathing fire and sputtering blood, and you choked on your scream. “Vickie!”

You climbed the final hill in front of her childhood home. The pale yellow facade had peeling paint, fire having ripped through it months earlier. You were out of breath, had been chasing her for hours according to the watch on your wrist. Sweat clung to the base of your skull, and the straps of your flamethrower pinched at the skin of your shoulders. You cried out for your best friend again.

Something loud banged on the other side of the garage door, startling you, and you swung your weapon that direction. The door shook on its rails , hinges rattling violently. You sidestepped to see the side door, ready to fire when Vickie appeared in the side yard.

“Listen!” She called out, waving her arms over her head.

“To what?” You frowned. “Where the Hell have you been?”

“Bonnie Tyler,” she pointed upward. She seemed rushed, crossing the yard to peel part of the chain link from the fence to block the garage side door. She hummed the tune as she worked, and you took a few steps closer to her before you heard it.

It was a little distorted, tune a little wonky, a little muted. You looked around for a cassette player, wondered if the car was playing it in the garage.

“It’s Steve. He’s trying to pull you out of this, and it’s getting harder to fight Vecna off, so I’m going to need you to snap out of it and wake the Hell up.” Vickie stated, irritated as she grabbed a patio chair and dragged it to the door.

The garage shook again, a pound to the door that had the entire building trembling on its foundations. That spot behind your shoulder blade tickled, a chill down your spine, and the pieces all fell into place.

“Look,” Vickie pointed to the skyline above the woods, and when you turned, you saw a split in the clouds. Greyscale had poured pale yellow onto the canvas and you were watching yourself, catatonic and limp in the arms of Steve Harrington. Large hands were pressed to your cheeks, wrapped around your waist, his body pressed to yours, warm and hard, and there was panic in his eyes as he shouted words you couldn’t hear over the music. Hopper and Owens stood nearby. Several soldiers and Eddie were behind them.

“Now wake up, damnit,” Vickie shook your shoulder, shoved you their direction. You stumbled two steps.

“Wait,” you halted and grabbed her wrist, tiny, pulse warm in your hand. “Not without you.”

“Yes, without me!” Her body was against the door now, the building rattling at her back. “I’ve spent a year holding him back, I can handle him for a little bit longer.”

You shook your head, the music growing louder against your skull, somewhere just behind your ears. “I don’t understand.” You shouted over it.

“I told you I’d never leave you,” she bit down on her bottom lip, eyes fierce. “I’m sorry he piggybacked, but now you know he’s here, and you have to get him out. You have the help I never got. Take advantage of that.” The door banged harder, and she slipped before regaining her strength. “Go.”

“What am I supposed to do?” You screamed, the music all-encompassing, rhythm of the knocks on the garage against the beat of the track on loop.

“He’s weak, but he gains strength in your subconscious when you sleep.” She explained, eyes closed in her attempt to keep him out. “Destroy the Ether. I think he - oof -” A particularly large hit sent her flying, and you took her place, holding the handle closed tight as it turned in your hand.

She stood, knees bloodied, and took it from your hands. “Go! I can’t hold him much longer.” She shoved you back in the direction of the clouds.

You felt conflicted, rooted to the spot as you watched your best friend struggle.

She made eye contact with you, eyes blurred with tears, and she grit her teeth before she screamed, “GO!” Her visage flashed fiery red, a ghost of her former self, the screaming face of a loved one charred and burned.

You reached out for her before you felt yourself thrust off your feet, yanked backwards by your spine. The forces around you, the pulsating of music in your skull, the scream that ripped from your chest to mirror her own, caught you spiraling into blackness, falling, falling, falling through a never-ending abyss. Arms and legs flailed, and you gained speed as you neared the bottom, music so loud you could no longer make out the words, and then you hit bottom.

Warmth flooded your senses, a stuffy heat that clung the fabric of your clothes to your skin and stifled your lungs which fought to catch a breath. Your eyes flew open to find two big, brown eyes and a crumpled brow. The smell of sweat and steam and cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and every square inch of you was hyper aware of the hand on your waist, your cheek, the abdomen pressed to your own.

“Are you here? Are you okay?” Steve’s sweet voice croaked, just under the volume of Bonnie Tyler on overhead speakers, and you crashed into him, burying your face in his throat as reality broke and you realized you were alive, and he was there to keep you safe.

You felt his arms snake around you while your body wracked with sobs, and lips to your temple as he comforted you with soft hums of reassurance. The sounds of soldiers filing in replaced the music and the ringing in your ears.

—

The coffee in your cup didn’t stay still long enough to see your reflection. Your hands trembled, or maybe they were jittery, and the glare from the fluorescents stung in your skull like a migraine. You sipped, lukewarm and a bit burnt, and wrapped the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“So what? You stay awake forever? This isn’t sustainable,” Steve argued, arms crossed over his chest as he sat propped on the table across from your hospital bed.

You rolled your eyes and continued to drink.

“No, it isn’t,” Owens agreed, face stuck in the pitying frown you possibly had never seen him without.

“So we need a solution,” Hopper grumbled. Your nurse pulled his cigarette from between his lips and slipped it back into his pocket before scribbling stats onto her charts.

“I feel like it’s pretty obvious,” you said, trying to ignore the fear that rocketed through you. “We nuke it all. Ether goes to Hell with me inside.” Destroy the host, destroy the parasite.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.” Steve and Eddie snapped in unison. Eddie was seated at your bedside, knuckles gripping his walker so hard you thought it might snap.

You closed your eyes, steadied your breath. “I appreciate that you want to protect me, but let’s be realistic here. We don’t have any other plans, and if he latched onto Vickie and then onto me when she died, it seems like I need to take care of this.”

“You’re right,” Nancy said from her seat beside Steve. His jaw ticked, and you avoided his glare. “We don’t have any other plans, but we can’t just nuke the Upside Down.”

“The infrastructure doesn’t support that. We blow the place up, the entire Midwest could crumble into the Earth.” Hopper rubbed at tired eyes.

“We shouldn’t make our plans in front of you,” Eddie grit his teeth, his good leg bouncing. “He can hear and see everything you can. He’s in you, but he’s in all of them too.”

You could feel them: claws and teeth and bloodlust. A shiver wracked through you, that breath of cold air to the base of your skull.

“He’s right. We can’t risk an ambush walking in there.”

Something firm in Nancy’s voice had your heart pounding, that panic clawing its way up and out. Control was swiftly being removed from your reach, one way or the other. “We don’t know that.”

“That’s what he does,” Eddie’s voice matched Nancy’s. He ran a tired hand down his face. “He listens to you, knows your every thought. He listens to the people you care about the most, and then he hurts them. He makes you hurt them.”

You reached a hand to his, but he recoiled from your grasp. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and you saw fear in those big, brown eyes. Eddie was terrified. You swallowed back the emotion that rose in your chest and replaced your trembling hand to your coffee cup. “If you can’t discuss plans with me in the room, can I be dismissed to my quarters?”

Sighs were exchanged all around you. Owens looked over your vital chart, and you watched him make eyes at Hopper. Hopper scratched the mustache on his upper lip and nodded.

“No leaving the compound, and for now, no sleeping.”

“I’ll go with you,” Steve stood from his lean, arms out to help you off of the hospital bed as a nurse went about unplugging you from the beeping machines.

“Harrington, we’re going to need you and the full Scorch team. Munson, you too.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve gestured your direction. “She wants to nuke the Ether with herself inside it. We can’t trust her to be by herself.”

His words rang true, but you couldn’t help the sting of betrayal that settled somewhere within you.

“She won’t be alone.” Hopper said, flashing you a smile that filled your with an equal amount of unease.

—

The steady ba-dunk ba-dunk ba-dunk of a tennis ball against hard wood flooring echoed your heartbeat. Over-caffeinated, the tips of your fingers tingled, and your legs bounced in tandem as you sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Bob Marley, man. One Love.” Argyle slammed the tennis ball against the ground beside you, and it bounced and hit the concrete wall. You caught it on the rebound.

“Solid choice,” you nodded. Your mouth was dry, and the way adrenaline pumped through you felt the exact opposite of Argyle’s chill demeanor in a moment like this. He seemed entirely unbothered by the horrifying aberration attached to your psyche.

He caught your throw. “Yeah, dude. That’s what it’s all about. We stick together, and he can’t win.”

You glanced up at the man beside you, long hair tucked back beneath a camouflage hat. He’d been dragged from his home, his life, the calm of slinging pizzas, and how he’d maintained the positive look on life, you’d never understand.

“Did someone call a babysitter?” A voice called from behind you.

“Hey, Buckley, what’s your Vecna song?” Argyle called, tossing the tennis ball in the air a few times.

“Steve Miller Band, Joker, obviously,” Robin responded, shoes clacking against the hard wood upon her approach. You couldn’t face her immediately, catching that bit of flame in your periphery, but eventually she kicked at your knee with her toe, pulling your attention to the sad look in blue eyes.

“Right on,” Argyle approved of her response. You knew it was a lie.

“You hungry?” Robin asked, extending her hand to help you up.

With a sigh, you took her grasp and lifted yourself from the ground. Your stomach had growled at the mention of food, unable to keep anything down in the passing days in Quarantine.

“Wish I could go with you, space cowboys, but I have a Scorch meeting to attend,” Argyle tapped at the watch on his wrist and tossed you the tennis ball.

You caught the bright green fuzz and squeezed, offering him a wave. “Thanks for watching me.”

The man crossed to you, enveloping you in a surprise hug, tight and warm. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you, bud.” He muttered into your ear before giving Robin a quick kiss to the forehead and exiting the small court.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you finally greeted Robin, adjusting the sweatshirt over your shoulders as you followed Argyle toward the hallway.

She elbowed your side. “I don’t think you really get a say anymore.”

You know she was teasing, but you’d been stewing for hours. Your jaw ached from being clenched, and your mind raced with your heartbeat of all the possibilities they could be discussing in their meetings a few floors up. You knew none of them would make the right call. “So I don’t have control over what’s going on in my subconscious, and I’m not allowed to make conscious decisions for myself either? How is that fair, Robin?”

“Sometimes life isn’t fair.” Her tone was ice-cold. The polar opposite of Argyle’s warmth, she stopped you dead in your tracks in the center of a dim hallway.

You half-expected her to grow a long claw, to be a part of this never-ending nightmare, but when you turned to face her, it was just Robin. It was just that beautiful woman that spent two years of her life loving your best friend for you to rip her away.

“Vickie died for his cause, whether she meant to or not, she didn’t leave us a choice.” She said, fists clenching around the satchel strap across her chest.

Your own hands shook at your sides.

“So, yes, we have to keep an eye on you, so you don’t run away and do the same thing.”

Light from the adjacent room cast in her soft yellows, the same, sickly pale that clung to the concrete walls of this cold building you’ve called your home for years now. Now it felt like a prison, and Robin a well-dressed guard.

“Robin…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The hurt in her eyes struck you like wind on a crisp day, sucking the air from your lungs.

“What happens if you die like Vickie, huh? Then Steve gets flayed? Eddie? What was your plan?”

You grit your teeth at the accusations, clenched your fists. “You know I’d never hurt them.”

“I know,” she snapped, like you’d been the insinuator, “but you have to consider the consequences of hiding this from the world until you burst and Vecna himself comes slithering out in the form of a giant flesh monster.”

Another chill wracked through you, familiar, a buzz at the base of your skull.

Robin took a few uneasy steps toward you. “Can he hear us?”

You swallowed, shrugged, though a tickle above your earlobe said yes, said absolutely, said speak.

Your friend crossed to you, and for a moment you thought she might avoid you, like Eddie had, but instead, she pressed a warm palm to your cheek. Her other hand reached for your fist at your side. Her blue eyes were fierce, steadfast, terrifying. “We are going to burn him out of you, and he’ll have to watch in agony as his world burns around him.”

Fear hung in her chest at your promise, settled right above the rapid beating of your heart, more fear than you’d ever felt in the Ether, staring down the barrel of a flamethrower at a monster, even in your nightmares.

Robin blinked, laughed back the emotion that threatened to spill. “Sorry, I just really love you, and I don’t want to imagine a world without you in it.”

This time, the emotion bubbled up your esophagus because you weren’t sure if she was talking to you or to Vickie.

She waved it off with another laugh, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. “Let’s go get lunch in the caf exactly like we used to, in a safe space where I don’t have to be the only one to keep my eyes on you. Sound good?”

You wanted to talk, to tell her Vickie loved her, to apologize again for all that you’d done. The feigned smile on her face told you she was done. You nodded.

“Good.” She linked your arms at the elbows and tugged you in the direction of the caf.

—

Scalding water cascaded over the aches in your shoulders and back. You’d turned the faucet too high, steam enveloping the ladies’ locker room, but you needed it to hurt. You scrubbed yourself raw, wanting to rid yourself of the sweat and grime that had clung to your flesh in quarantine. You needed to wash it all off of you.

You kept your eyes trained on the cold, white tile ahead of you, on the in-laid shiny chrome knobs. If you closed your eyes, you’d see ice cold landscapes full of vines, you’d see the slam of garage door on its hinges, you’d see the terror and fury in Vickie’s eyes.

You grit your teeth and tipped your head back, allowing the water to pummel your brow, your cheeks, that surge ripping through your stomach, begging for air, but you lingered just a second longer, pushing through the guilt and pain and the need to scream.

A door slammed, followed by the sound of heavy footfall, and you sputtered, stepping out of the spray to catch your breath.

“Where the Hell have you been!?” Harrington’s voice echoed against tile, his head and shoulders visible above the row of tiled stalls.

Instinctively, you covered yourself and glanced throughout the room to find yourself alone. “Where does it look like I’ve been, Harrington?” You snapped, turning your back to him to rinse your front.

“Robin said you’d be in your dorm. I’ve been looking for you for an hour.”

“I was taking some gym time. That okay with you, Warden?” You shot over your shoulder.

His shoulders rose and fell, and he ran both hands through his hair. It stuck up at odd angles like he’d been doing that all day. His eyes were bloodshot, face already shiny from the steam that enveloped the room. “We were worried you ran off and did something stupid.”

You scoffed. “Good to know I have your confidence.”

The sound of frustration that escaped him roiled in your stomach, unearthed something deep, something familiar. “That’s not…”

You glanced over your shoulder again to watch him chew on his words. You couldn’t decide if he was searching for another retort or finding a way to hold it back, and it felt good. You delighted in the competition, in catching his tongue. Your friendship used to be this, a playful back-and-forth.

“No, I get it, Harrington,” you turned under the water again, feeling the pressure weaken from prolonged use. You gargled water and spit it into the drain at your feet. “I can’t be trusted.”

“I didn’t say that.” He huffed.

“No, really,” you bit back the smirk that was beginning to tug at the corners of your mouth. “You never know when I could do something incredibly…” You slapped off the faucet and stepped out of the stall into the aisle to face him. “Foolish.”

The end of your word fell from your mouth with a whisper when you caught the look on his face.

Harrington’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened, though they stay trained on your face. He stood ten, maybe twenty feet from you, hands to his hips, stance wide, shoulders square.

Your entire body caught ablaze, cooler air pebbling every inch of you, but you couldn’t cower now, couldn’t shield yourself, exposed and raw in front of him.

After a prolonged silence, the drip of the faucet against tile floors, he moved. With slow, measured strides, the squeak of rubber soles against wet tile, he closed the distance.

You sucked in a breath and held it, the warmth of him flooding your senses all at once.

Maintaining eye contact, he reached beside you for your government grade towel, and it wasn’t until he held it out for you to take, did you notice the quick sweep of his eyes along your frame.

Your hands shook receiving the towel and covering your front, hoping to hide the burn in your cheeks with dry terry cloth as you dabbed at droplets on your nose.

Harrington turned his back to you then, and you watched the red that crawled up his neck and to his ears from the collar of his shirt. “When I couldn’t find you,” he cleared his throat, brought his hands up to scratch at that little row of stitches starting to heal, “I panicked.”

You warmed at his confession, the tidal of an adrenaline rush crashing into something softer, waves along a shoreline. You dried your body and reached for the pile of clean clothes, slowly stepping into them. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, pulling the drawstring on your pants.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re in prison,” again, the soft tone to his voice sent a chill through you.

You pulled a sweatshirt over your head and reached for him, pausing to stare at the back of him for a moment, broad shoulders and shaved neck, hair a mess on top. He seemed taller than you remembered, maybe it was the boots on his feet. Your fingers came into contact with the dip of his tricep, warm under pruned fingertips.

He turned, and you felt yourself heat again at the quick one-over flick of his eyes before he met your gaze again. The honeyed brown was still dark, that crease in his brow remained, but you perceived the smallest uptick of the corners of his pink lips when he asked, “You hungry?”

—

Loneliness sunk in like a hot blade through butter. You ate dinner surrounded by friends, and you still felt sequestered, miles away. Maybe it was the exchanged looks on their faces, the pitying glances when they thought you weren’t looking or wouldn’t notice. Maybe it was the way they spoke of their shared future when this was all over, the one you weren’t sure you’d be there for. Something sliced right through you and cauterized the wound.

Even as you climbed the spiral staircase, trailing two steps behind Harrington, the vacuous concrete loomed in ways you’d never experienced until now. The compound felt vast, a labyrinth of memories you’d rather not dwell on lest they be used against you in your subconscious.

The prospect of stepping into your room and the door closing behind you had your heart racing. So when Steve held his own door open and nodded for you to join him, you didn’t argue.

His room was warm and tidy and smelled of his aftershave. His sink was void of dishes, the little countertop holding various tubs and tubes of toothpaste and hair product. His bed was unmade, in a way that looked enticing, cozy, a clump of blankets bunched near the foot to expose the indentation of his frame. A few books were stacked on the bedside table near that secret pair of glasses he kept folded beneath a lamp.

He crossed the room and turned on a little clock radio, shifting through the static until an unfamiliar pop crooner’s voice filled the little space. You wondered if this was a habit he’d always had, or if he thought it’d keep your parasite at bay.

Then, he opened his wardrobe to retrieve a matching sweatshirt to your own, pulling it over his head. He popped from the collar mussy haired and yawning. He caught his yawn in his hand before rubbing at tired eyes. He reached across the bed for his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose, bleary eyed.

You shifted on the balls of your feet, lingering just inside the threshold.

He filled up a couple red plastic cups of water, checking the temperature on his hand first. He set them both on the rickety tabletop, gesturing for you to come join him, before he pulled a deck of cards from a nearby drawer full of pens and paper.

“Any - “ He stifled another yawn, shaking it off with a frown. “Sorry. Any good at Slap Jack?”

The circles under his eyes looked darker in this light, accentuating the yellowed bruise on his cheekbone you’d given him nearly a week earlier. His shoulders slumped, and his hair stood on end. He looked ragged, run through.

You rolled your eyes. “Harrington, go to bed.”

“What? No. I’m fine,” he shrugged you off, pulling out his seat to dump the deck into one hand. He began to shuffle, and you watched him with crossed arms. “Will you come sit down?”

“When’s the last time you slept?” You asked, toeing out of your sneakers and leaving them at the door.

You didn’t like the look he gave you. The last time you’d run into his room in the middle of the night, he was up and reading. That was nearly a month ago. Hairs prickled at the base of your skull.

Caught, he shrugged it off, kept shuffling. “Last night, whenever.” You knew he’d spent last night sneaking in to see you.

You leaned forward and peeled the cards from his hands, straightening the deck before sliding it back into its box.

He shot you an irritated look, crossing his arms over his chest.

You challenged his with a look of your own, tossing the cards back to the tabletop.

Finally, he spoke, voice soft. “I can’t.”

You swallowed. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer, only traced your frame with big brown eyes.

Self-conscious, you adjusted your sweatshirt as it fell over your shoulders. The ribbed hems of your sleeves were frayed from use. A big yellow stain splotched the left side of your chest, source unknown and impossible to wash out. Now clean and dry, you were sure you looked only slightly less haggard than the man in front of you.

“I’ll stay up with you,” he offered, a polite way of saying he was terrified of letting you fall asleep.

You shook your head. “I won’t fall asleep.” It was a polite way of saying you were terrified too. “Besides, I don’t feel very safe knowing you’re running on fumes.”

You avoided his gaze by looking back around the space, finding some escape, some trick. You spotted the stack of books near his bedside, and crossed the tight space to pull The Shining from the middle of the stack.

Steve grumbled your name, rubbed at tired eyes from beneath the rims of his glasses.

You lifted his pillow, floppier than your own, and propped it against the radiator he used as a headboard. Holding your breath, you climbed into his space on the bed, folding your legs in front of you and patting your lap. “C’mere.”

He blinked back at you and didn’t move, sideways in his chair, rooted to the spot.

You held your book aloft, flipping to a random page. “This book is terrifying. I’ll be too scared to sleep, but if I do…” You feigned sleep, a bit melodramatic, like you were acting a skit to convince a child, and you dropped the book into your lap. “It’ll wake you up.”

You blinked one eye open to catch the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. He scratched at the back of his neck. “You want me uh…” He pointed at your lap.

You warmed, wondered what the hell you were thinking, and licked your lips before you nodded. “Sure.” The word came out with a tight breath.

Again, he didn’t move. He stared at his feet for a moment, as if willing them to pick themselves up, and then with a sigh, he reached to untie the laces of his boots before he stepped out of them.

Your heart began to race, the steady drum behind your sternum that heated your chest, your throat, your cheeks.

He stood, and took slow strides toward you, stopping at the foot of the bed. He scratched at his jaw again before mumbling, “Are you sure?”

You nodded and shifted again, a vain attempt to become more comfortable, more accommodating.

With a series of loud sighs, he fell to the mattress, the whole thing bouncing under his weight until he managed to crawl and roll his head into your lap. He hesitated to rest the full weight of his head on your thigh, so you placed a stiff hand to his shoulder to encourage him to relax. He was warm and heavy, but not uncomfortably so.

“Want me to put your glasses up?” You asked, suddenly self-conscious about everything at this angle.

“Hm? Oh.” He pulled the frames from his nose and folded them, placing them in your outstretched hand.

You replaced them onto the beside table and adjusted your hips with a mumbled apology.

Steve was too long for the bed, socked ankles and feet dangling off the far end. He still wore his tactical pants, all straps and pockets and buckles, and the collar of his sweatshirt scrunched up around his jaw. He sat up a little to pull his sweatshirt down and tried to settle to a softer part of your leg.

“Do you need a blanket?” You asked, tugging at the army green fleece. You hated how breathy you sounded, how your voice betrayed you every time.

He shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m okay. Are you sure?”

You snorted, lifted the book high enough to hide your face, and said, “Harrington, go to sleep.”

“Okay,” his skull rumbled against your thigh. “But if anything happens.”

“I will happily smack you with this book,” you lifted it higher to glance back down at him.

His eyes were closed, but the corner of his lips quirked upward. His eye lashes were so long, casting shadows on freckled cheeks, pinched rosy in the heat or embarrassment of your positions.

You swallowed and flipped the book to the front page, lest he open his eyes again and catch you staring. You pretended to read until his head grew heavy, and the steady rise and fall of his chest came out in near imperceptible snores.

Despite the warmth emanating from him, something deep in the recesses of your mind reminded you how alone you now were.

The radio remained on beside you, pop songs you’d let fade into the background. The clock told you it was late into the night, and the lack of sounds from the hall exemplified that. You wondered if anyone could hear you call for help.

You closed the book and added it to its stack, glancing around the room for signs it was real, that you were there and you weren’t alone.

Harrington rolled, cheek to your thigh, breath fanned hot and wet against the soft cloth of your sweatpants. His fists unclenched from beneath his biceps, and he stretched one large hand under your calf. He was real, and he was there.

He always had been, just as he promised. Late nights nose-to-nose, exchanging secrets and promises and breath had all come to this. He’d kept you as safe as he could, and you did the same. Every time you needed him, he’d appeared with strong arms wrapped around you, brow crumpled in concern.

In the past two years, you were sure you’d only seen him this relaxed, this content, once before. Careful not to wake him, you tucked his hair up and out of his face.

—

Eddie frowned over his white ceramic mug while he slurped.

The morning crowd had since dispersed, leaving the caf in silence, but at your over-caffeinated state, your mind was lost in a cacophony of sounds: the squeak of sneakers against the linoleum, the brush of a flat broom into a pile in the corner, the clang of dishes being washed somewhere in the back, the rattle of screws in the table leg as your leg bounced with reckless abandon.

Eddie set his mug to the tabletop, the silver rings around his finger tinkling the bottom of the cup.

You wrapped your knuckles against the table, unable to stop moving, too overstimulated, too anxious, too much kinetic energy.

Eddie stared at your knuckles for a moment. You watched his jaw tick.

You shuddered and reached for your lukewarm cup of coffee.

Eddie snatched it out of your fingers, and it tumbled to the table with a surprising bounce, casting brown liquid across orange tabletop. “Shit, sorry,” he grumbled, and stood to grab a wet rag from a nearby table to clean up the mess.

“Munson, what the hell, dude?” Harrington stood and swiped coffee from the crotch of his pants. His chair groaned against chipped flooring, snagged on a lifted tile.

You reached out to grab the back before it went teetering to the floor.

“She’s tweaking out!” Eddie gestured to you, juices from the wet rag spattering your cheek. “Reminds me of my old man.”

“Is that why you won’t even look at me?” You snapped, mopping your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“No,” he pointed at you. “I won’t look at you because you’ve got a fucking monster living inside of you, and I’m sorry I can’t coddle you like Harrington does.”

“Hey!” Harrington argued. You noticed his shoulders started to square in defense, stepping between you.

“No, dude, fuck off. I don’t want to hear it. She doesn’t need you to be her knight and shining armor. It’s not that deep.” Eddie waved him off with the shake of his head, curls falling over slumped shoulders. He gripped his walker and looked directly at you.

“You can’t seem to understand that your shit affects the people around you too. We can talk once you’ve figured that out.” He pushed off from the table, and you heard the squeak of rubber pads against flooring as he left.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but you tugged on the elbow of his sweatshirt until he stepped aside. He frowned down at you, obstinate, but you placed a hand to his chest, and he seemed to soften.

“He’s right,” you said.

“Doesn’t mean he has to be an asshole about it.”

You shrugged, catching a snap of anger at unsuspecting recruits in the hallway. “We’re all on edge.”

After another long moment, the crash of tin cans sounded, followed by a series of shouted curse words. A trash lid rolled by the caf double doors. You took a deep breath.

“You’re the only one who understands what he’s gone through,” Steve muttered.

You hoped he felt the animosity in your expression. You hoped he couldn’t sense how your shoulders relaxed when he tugged at the elbow of your own sweatshirt.

He nodded toward the hallway. “Go talk to Munson. He’s been really shit in the War Room, and I think it’s because he’s worried about you.”

You groaned, stamped your feet, but slowly let them carry out away from the smell of stale coffee and cleaning chemicals.

You found him a few floors up. He’d taken the elevator to the offices, and had settled into a rolling chair behind an oversized desk that would have been reception at a busier time. He looked up as you entered, rolled his eyes, and leaned back with arms crossed over his slender chest.

“Hey,” you crossed your arms over your own chest, a challenge. You stopped a few feet from the desk. You could hear Hopper’s mumble just beyond a dented steel door down the hall.

“Hello,” Eddie countered. “What do you want?”

“Apparently my shit affects the people around me.”

He didn’t smile at that. Instead, he sighed and adjusted himself on the chair. The gears squeaked under his weight.

You grit your teeth through any need to keep pushing his buttons and rubbed at exhausted eyes before you took a few steps forward to the front panel of the desk. You leaned over it, two fists to the tabletop, and muttered. “His plan is to keep reminding me that I’ve murdered everyone who ever loved me. Why perpetuate that by letting me think you hate me too?”

“Shit,” he grumbled and pawed at his own face, scrubbing at the stubble that had grown on his chin. He looked about as rough as you all had, and you knew he hadn’t slept the night before either. “I don’t hate you,” he hissed, though he did back the chair up a few more feet until he hit the wall.

“I know,” you stood back up. “I just wanted to make you feel shitty for ignoring me for the past two days. You know, I’d feel a lot less hopeless about my fate if the one person who knew what I was going through wasn’t, I don’t know, terrified of me?”

His gaze softened, big brown eyes turned downward as he gnawed on the cuticle of a nail that you’re sure had been shredded. “It’s not you,” he said through his teeth. “It’s the other dickhead.” He gestured toward your head, but his eyes went somewhere far-off, somewhere full of beasts and burned woods and horror.

“He can’t get you, Eds,” you shrugged off the sharp pain in your shoulder, the gnawing at your spinal cord.

“You don’t know that,” he whispered.

Another sting strung through you, like fingers plucking your strings, and you closed your eyes through the pain, pushed through. “How did you get out of it before? This… mindfuck, how did you escape it?”

Eddie shrugged, shook out his curls. “I don’t know.”

Panic at the familiarity of having questions unanswered began to claw at your insides, and you snapped, slamming your hands back down onto the table. “Don’t bullshit me, Munson. You guys are plotting how to get this parasite out of me. You won’t let me sleep. I need to be babysat at all times by people who are afraid of me. I’m not a child! Teach me how to defend myself against this.”

“What in the Hell is going on out here?” A gruff shout preceded the creak of a door on its hinges, the stomping of boots from down the hall. When Hopper caught sight of you both, his shoulders relaxed in a sigh.

“We’re just screaming about our impending doom,” Eddie explained, that sardonic grin spreading across his features.

Hopper made eye contact with you and cocked a brow, frown-unmoved by Munson’s sarcasm. “You okay?”

You shrugged, shoved your hands in your pants pockets. “You guys figure out how to get this asshole out of me yet?”

Hop made eyes at your best friend, and the two of them exchanged cryptic glances before he said, “Working on it. Is there a reason you’re fighting outside my office?”

Eddie looked at you, and you thought he was expecting an answer until his smile fell, and you watched the sadness pierce his brown eyes. “No, sir,” he said, “I was just coming to ask how soon we could get back into the War Room.”

The old man looked between you two again. “Twenty minutes sound good?”

Eddie sighed, rubbing at tired eyes. “Better make it thirty.”

With a salute, Hopper turned and walked back to his office, floor squeaking beneath his feet.

Eddie pulled himself off his chair and started making his way back toward the elevators. You gave him a wide berth, until he gestured for you to catch up, and you did so tentatively.

The doors buzzed open when the lift arrived, and you both stepped inside. It quaked a little under your combined weight, but managed to start its ascent the moment the doors closed again. The mechanics whirred a little, and the little box smelled of hot metal.

“Dustin sang to me.” Munson broke the silence. His hand was trembling, rings clanging against the metal hand-hold of his walker. “I beat the ever-loving shit out of him. He almost died at my hands, and he was laying there, bloodied, face-swollen, and he started singing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You remembered seeing Henderson afterward. You remember visiting him in the Med Bay, of seeing the pain everyone had suffered at the hands of this monster. “What did he sing?”

Eddie snorted, rolled his eyes. “The Never-Ending Story theme.”

The halt of the elevator stifled the chuckle you emitted at the image, and you reached a hand to hold the door open for your friend while he exited into a dark hallway.

“Yeah, it was so stupid, but all those little shits were there, and they were telling me stories about Hellfire,” he continued, pushing forward toward mid-morning light cast across pale yellow walls. “They remembered shit I’d forgotten about, and they talked about these characters like we were all there living it. Like we’d destroyed Lord Vecna with swords and axes and a slingshot.”

The mention of his name brought ice-cold to the warmth of your chest.

“So I think it was all of those memories. That’s what snapped me out of it: those weird ass kids and the stupid tabletop game we played after school.”

The idea itself was heartwarming, wholesome, and you ought to be inspired, happy even, that these kids managed to rescue your best friend from the brink. Somehow, the only thing that came to mind was a shock of red hair, black smoke, ash and char and agonizing screams.

“Stop,” Eddie stopped and reached out to grab your hand. “I know you’re thinking about Vickie right now, and you couldn’t have saved her. You didn’t know, and she didn’t know.”

His hand was warm, and a bit damp, and his eyes were fierce.

“Think about all of the good times you had with her. Think about all the times I knocked on your door to find you two whispering and cackling. Think about all the fights we’ve gotten into about music. Think about Robin’s horrible taste in ice cream. Think about how good it feels to kiss Harrington. Think about how stupid Hopper looks without a mustache.”

You laughed, a barked thing that stung at emotional-filled vocal chords, and batted at the grin that formed on his stupid face.

“Ow,” he chuckled, shoving you back, hard enough to have you stumbling backwards slightly, and he zoomed around a corner before you scrambled to catch-up, still chuckling.

Light poured in from adjacent windows, across the common area. The soft curls atop his head glowed in sunlight and warmth, and before you could stop yourself, you swung your arms tight around his slender waist and buried your face into the sweet sting of marijuana that lingered in his t-shirt.

He stumbled a little, tensed, but quickly relaxed into the embrace, folding his arms around you too. “We’re not going to let him win, damnit. Fucking promise me.”

You grit your teeth and nodded, that uneasy pull settling into your shoulders like wings. “Promise.”

—

Day slipped to night, and you watched pale yellow hallways burn orange and peach with the setting sun. Teams took turns chauffeuring you around the compound, keeping you company and keeping you caffeinated. You tried to keep Eddie’s words at heart, lingering on the smiles and laughter, and you were bid goodnight with hugs and high-fives in the common room just as Scorch was making their way to their respective dorms for the night.

You heard the whispers first, pulling yourself off a barstool to greet everyone with a smile that fell the moment you caught their gazes, their judgment, their disdain.

Panic dug its claws into your chest. Each of your teammates passed with terror in their eyes until the last two squeezed themselves through the stairwell doorway. Harrington held the heavy steel door open to let Wheeler through.

She spotted you as the others had, jaw clenched, blue eyes fierce. Unlike the others, she crossed right to you. “We’re getting it figured out. You’ll be out of the dark soon, I promise. How’re you feeling?”

“F-fine,” you swallowed, glanced over her shoulder at Harrington. He was staring at his feet, scratching that scar at the back of his skull. “Tired.”

Nancy nodded, and glanced over her shoulder before dipping her own gaze to the ground. “Listen, I know I’ve never told you this, but I really admire you.”

Her words stirred something within you, that panic kicking back up again, all claws and teeth and gaping mouth. “What?” Your mouth felt dry.

She looked up at you then, shrugged, the softest smile quirking at the corner of her bow lips. “You were an amazing team lead, and you had to make some horrific decisions, I can’t imagine…” She cut herself off, cleared her throat. “I just think you’re really brave.”

You managed to thank her, somehow, though you were stunned, and she bid you both a goodnight.

You stared at her back as she retreated, curly hair cascading over her petite shoulders. Even now, in the glow of an Exit sign, she stood tall, proud.

“C’,mon,” Harrington gestured for you to follow him, hands shoved into his pockets. He still hadn’t made eye contact with you, and the panic crawled on all-fours up your esophagus.

“Harrington,” you hissed, pulling your keys and lanyard from your pocket as he stopped beside you dorm room door.

“Can I come in?”

Your hands trembled unlocking your door. You room was stale, cold. You kicked off your shoes near the door and hung your key on its hook by the door. Harrington crossed to your radio to flick it on, static breaking through tracks until he found a station he was satisfied with.

“Harrington,” you hated the way your voice wavered, fear chattering your teeth. “You have to tell me if I’m going to die.”

He looked up at you then, brow crumpled. “You know I won’t let that happen.”

“You might not have a choice!”

“Stop saying that!” His volume matched yours, and his own fists shook at his sides, and his tone warmed you.

That same excitement, the familiarity of a fight kicked up in your chest. You rolled your eyes. “Harrington…”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m sick of you saying you’re going to give up on me. I’ve put everything into keeping you alive, and you go and say shit like that and make it all feel meaningless?”

The excitement fluttered, wavered, burned out, a flame doused with water to drown it with reality. You swallowed, frowned, ground your molars until something ached in your jaw.

“I promised - ”

“Cut the bullshit,” you snapped. “We all made promises to her, but she’s dead now, okay?”

“I’m not talking about Vickie.” He cut you off again.

Your ears rang in the silence of the room, the steady thump of your heartbeat, the in-and-out of your breath.

“I promised you,” his jaw tightened, “that night, in my room, when we fell asleep, you told me you were scared of all this, and that you couldn’t tell Vickie how scared you were because you had to be brave for her. Do you remember that?”

Secrets were exchanged nose-to-nose, mixing breath warm, gentle circles drawn with thumbs on bare thighs, promises made.

“I told you I’d be brave for you. I promised I’d keep you safe.”

He had muttered the words to your forehead, soft lips to your brow as you dozed off, dreaming only of fire and ash.

“I’m trying so hard to be brave here,” he stepped toward you painfully slow, the creak of boots against linoleum. “But it’s hard when I don’t know if I can keep you safe, and that scares me because I love you, and I’m not letting you go that easily.”

The table separated you, a rickety excuse for a boundary that teetered under your touch. This was entirely new territory, an attack you hadn’t expected, were unsure how to navigate. You resorted to comfort.

“I didn’t ask you to be brave for me,” you scoffed, hand trembling against the back of a chair.

Harrington’s eyes remained on you, brow crumpled, less in anger now than something more fragile. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I said I’m in love with you.”

Your stomach swooped, heart clawing to get out with rapid beats, screaming in your ears. “I-I know.” You stammered.

“Do you…” He cleared his throat, fingertips tracing the tabletop dangerously close to your own. He licked his lips and watched you carefully, eyes hopeful. “How do you… I mean?” He gestured wildly, mouth quirking upward in panic.

You chewed back a laugh, something warm and familiar kicking back up. You managed to roll your eyes. “Yeah, Harrington, yes. You can calm down. I’ve been in love with you since I got into your stupid car.”

“It’s not a competition,” he grumbled, stepping around the table to approach you. He was warm, brown eyes and upturned pink lips.

“I’m not competing with you, I’m just telling you how I feel. I’m starting to think you’re the one obsessed with competition.” You were rambling, a nervous habit you must’ve picked up from your best friend, tongue running while your heart raced.

“Will you shut up and let me kiss you?” He mumbled, lashes long and eyes dark. He cupped your face with one strong hand, tracing the curves of your face with his thumb.

“Okay,” you breathed. Your eyes sunk closed at the pull of his nose against your own, the dip of his cupid’s bow to your own, and when his lips met yours, you could have melted into the floor.

His kiss was sweet, soft, the gentle press of his lips to your own while he cradled your face. When you separated, eyes fluttering open to see him hovering over you, that smile across his features, you found yourself hungry for more.

Gripping the shoulder seams of his t-shirt, you pulled him in for another go, took his gasp for air as an invitation to deepen the kiss. You tasted him, all tongues and teeth as you vied for dominance, and his free hand gripped the elastic waistband at your hip until the material was taut.

He kissed better than you remembered, a wash of warm and safety and heat and passion, but memory still begged for the feeling of your hands in his hair and his large, warm hands on you.

He sucked in a breath when you scratched at his scalp, gently passing by the healing scar on your way to bury your fingers in the thick of his hair. He hummed into your lips, dropping his hand from your cheek to grip the other side of your sweatpants.

You groaned, tilting your head sideways to allow him to place damp kisses along the column of your throat. “Harrington, put your hands on me.”

He groaned, a rumble deep in his chest that coursed another wave of need through you. “You can use my first name, you know.” He nosed at your earlobe, smile evident in his voice.

“You have to earn it,” you bit back a smile, and yelped when his hands found your ribcage and pushed you up against your cabinets and countertop. The linoleum was cold against the small of your back, and your arms raised above your head for him to pull your sweatshirt up and over.

He cupped your face again, crowding you with his oversized frame as he pressed himself into you. His lips were soft against yours, soft enough to make you feel vulnerable, taken off-guard. He kissed your cheek where it met your lips and the tip of your chin. He trailed warm, breathy kisses along the curve of your jaw, moving his hands to your shoulders until his lips met them there.

You watched him, breathless, as his fingers pushed one strap of your tank top down, and you bit back a whimper as his lips replaced the strap at the juncture of your clavicle.

His hands clutched at your waist band again, and he rocked his hips into yours, and you gasped at the friction of yourself against his hard length.

He pulled back, eyes dark, chest rising and falling rapidly, to gauge your reaction, and it was enough to have you clawing at his t-shirt again. He reached to pull it from the back of its collar, and you shrugged yourself out of your sweatpants, allowing the comfortable fabric to pool at the floor.

You lifted yourself onto the countertop and embraced the heat of his bare abdomen against you as he dove in for another passionate kiss. You clutched at the meat between his shoulder blades, delighting in the rumble of a groan as you dug your nails in and dragged to the base of his skull.

His hands were on you, finally, warm and strong and dexterous, worshiping your waist, your ribcage, your breasts.

You arched into his touch, gasping into his mouth, and he gripped your hips with one hand to pull you to the counter’s edge to grind himself into you again. Your body responded in kind to his touch, pliable.

You leaned your head against the upper cabinets, what few possessions that lived inside rattled.

He kissed your neck and chest, thumb pebbling your nipple, while his other hand massaged from your hip crease to your knee.

You clawed at the expanse of his chest, desperate for him to get closer, but delighting in the feel of his tongue against you until he stopped.

He pulled back, pulling his hand from beneath your shirt to rest on your hip while his other continued slow ministrations along your thigh. You watched as his fingertips ghosted the thick scarring there, five distinct claw marks from ribcage to knee, a part of you now you’d nearly forgotten, invisible under your own gaze.

You swallowed, suddenly too warm, exposed. You ducked your head, eyeing the curves of him instead, the breadth of his chest, smattering of hair that covered his sternum and trailed down past his navel to disappear beneath his waistband. On either side of his ribs were scars that matched yours, purple and puckered and violent.

“You are brave,” he said, recapturing your focus, voice syrupy sweet, gaze dangerous. “You are beautiful.”

You sucked in a breath as his fingertips ghosted your inner thigh, a trickle of ticklish touches against the softest bits of you until you felt the sweet press of fingertips to your center.

“Can I touch you?” He muttered. He licked his lips, eyes cast downward.

“Yes,” you whined, gripping the countertop’s edge, “please.”

His forearm flexed as he moved your underwear to the side, and his thick fingers gathered the slick at your core to coat your folds. “Please who?” He asked.

You almost didn’t catch it, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, but you blinked to the forefront of your consciousness to see the cocky smirk stretched across his features. You bit back a smile and managed half an eye roll before he sunk two fingers into you, the perfect stretch. Your eyes slid closed, and you clung to his forearm, gasping his name. “Steve.”

“Uh uh,” he tutted, “don’t go away. Open your eyes, beautiful. Want to watch you.”

Your eyes snapped back open, and his cheeks flushed in a wide smile.

“Good girl,” he nodded, and proceeded to take you apart with nimble fingers, watching you ride the wave until you came crashing down, digging your nails into his arms and stars scattered in your eyesight.

He caught your lips in a sweet kiss, dropping your thigh from his hip with a squeeze. He chuckled as you caught your breath against his chest, spent, and nosed at your earlobe, planting a sweet kiss there too.

“I hate you,” you grumbled, nipping at his clavicle to hide the smile stretched across your features.

“Liar,” he countered, rumbling in a hearty laugh.

“You’re awfully cocky,” you countered, reaching your hand to palm at his hardened length through his pants.

He groaned and ground against your hand until your mouth watered.

You gestured behind him, shoving at his shoulders until he gave you enough space to hop off the counter. The linoleum tiles were freezing beneath the balls of your feet. “Get on the bed.”

He stumbled backwards, the grin across his face possibly the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You pulled your tank top from your head and tossed it to the growing clothes pile. “Take off your pants, boots too.” You stepped out of your underwear.

“Yes, ma’am,” he sat on the foot of your bed to unlace his boots, before standing to frantically paw at the buckle of his belts before he worked his pants down his thick thighs.

His movements were eager, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you met him where he stood. “Can I help?” You dipped your hand into the waistband of his underwear.

“Fuck,” he breathed, arms stretched over his head before he pulled you in tight. “Full disclosure?”

You hummed, wrapping your fingers around him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed your arm to stop your movements. When he looked at you again, he seemed scared. “It’s been like two years…”

You smiled, pulling your hand from his boxers before tugging them all the way down, cock springing free. With his pants around his ankles, you shoved your partner to the mattress, springs groaning under his weight, and you carefully climbed on top.

“C’mere,” he grumbled, pulling you down to meet his lips in a warm kiss. He snaked his arms around you, large hands running over the curves of your back. “You’re perfect,” he said, squeezing the dips of your hips, rolling you into him.

You shared lazy kisses and appreciated one another’s bodies with wandering hands and lips. You sat up, hands extended to his shoulders, his pecs, the ripple of abs that twitched with laughter under your fingertips. “Steve,” you whispered, an unfamiliar emotion sticking to your vocal cords.

He hummed, tilting his head to catch your gaze. His brow crumpled in concern. You felt so blessed to see him relaxed, comfortable, safe.

“I love you.” The tears threatened to spill, and you held them back, holding his hands against your hip creases. “I love you, and I’m…” Scared, guilty, sad, grateful, heartbroken, fulfilled, home.

“Hey,” he reached a hand to catch your cheek. “I love you, and I promise I’m going to keep you safe.”

You nodded, kissed the palm of his hand. You maintained his gaze, kissing his wrist, the tips of his fingers, before you centered yourself over him.

He tangled his fingers in your own and nodded, biting down on his lower lip as you sunk down onto him.

If you were fire, Steve was water, the sweet swell of calm emotions and tranquility. For every push, he offered soft kisses, for every pull, he hummed praises. You rode the wave through peaks and valleys, and he worshipped your peaks and valleys. He rolled you over, pressing you into the warm woolen fabric of your blanket, and washed over your in warmth and love and devotion. He was all hands and protection and licked kisses, the snap of hips and sweet confessions of love.

Your body buzzed with overstimulation, aching muscles stretched taut and plied soft again, and you stared up at water-stained ceilings, your surroundings coming quickly back into focus.

Steve kissed you, mouth sweet with you, and eyes heavy with exhaustion, both satisfied and well-spent. He moved the hair from his eyes, pushing it up and back until it stood on end, and he leaned on one arm to trace circle into your chest, pulling the covers up higher to cover his waist. “Hey,” he whispered, cupping your cheek in his face. “Where’d you go?”

You blinked back at him, feigning a smile to quell the worry on his face. “You should get some sleep.”

His face fell, and he glanced over your shoulder at the clock radio. The late night advertisements buzzed back into your periphery.

He rolled onto his back beside you, pulling you into his chest with an arm around you. He squeezed you in tight, pressing his lips to your hairline again and again and again. He felt stiff, the easiness of the last few hours wiped away with one question.

Anxiety bloomed in your chest, flower-faced with rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, claws at the flesh that hid your sternum.

Harrington cleared his throat, kissing you one last time before he muttered, “We should get dressed.”

---

[A/N: They're in love!? Who knew!? This chapter was really a labor of love for me, and I'm getting very emotional knowing the next chapter is the last one. This story has honestly meant so much to me. Thank you so much for reading xo]

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Sundrop's Stranger Things Masterlist

Please note - I am just posting this masterlist to get it out of my drafts - I worked on it when I was working on the fic listed below, and then I completely randomly lost interest in it, and this has been sitting in my drafts for months ever since. And I love the formatting and style of this masterlist and I don't want to accidentally lose it by accidentally deleting the draft - and I am gonna need this masterlist at some point. So I'm posting it.

Coming "Soon":

Nasty - Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut. You hesitate to tell Eddie your true sexual desires, fearing that he'll be turned off. But when he finds out - he is more turned on than ever. (3,000 words.)

Note: The rest of these link off to AO3 (which is the bulk of them unfortunately) - but at some point, I hope to have them edited and posted to Tumblr.

Sugar, We're Goin' Down - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader x Eddie Munson. Friends to Lovers. Smut. Eddie hasn't gotten laid in months, so when he walks in on you and Steve (and neither of you seem to notice), he has just enough sexual frustration built up that he can’t bring himself to look away. He discovers quite a few things about Steve, and you. And himself. (12,700 words.)

Eat Me Up Alive - Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Fem!Thick!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut. Eddie is a very annoying person. And when he goes too far, you push back. Turns out - he likes it. Loves it, actually. (11,200 words.)

I'm Still Standing - Nancy Wheeler x Fem Disabled/Chronically Ill Reader. Friends to Lovers. Angst, Smut, (very slight Fluff). Hurt and Comfort. You start having horrible waking nightmares, but you don't want to worry your best friend Nancy by telling her. She's already occupied trying to chase down a trans-dimensional killer wizard, and you are convinced that the two aren't possibly related. (37,800 words.)

Bless This Mess - ADHD!Eddie Munson x Fem!Thick!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut and Fluff. Eddie accidentally forgets the two of you have a date planned. Rather than getting mad at him, you let him make it up to you. (5,700 words.)

Always Yours - Steve Harrington x Fem!Pregnant!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Fluff and Smut. Steve tells you about his 'six lil nuggets' dream, and you let him know that he's actually a lot closer to it than he thought. (2,500 words.)

Obey Your Master - Eddie Munson x Fem!Autistic!Thick!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut (and some Fluff). You are taking care of Eddie while his wounds from the Upside Down are healing. And when you offer to help 'take care' of him in other ways, he's convinced that he survived to live just for this exact moment. (11,200 words.)

Fix You - Eddie Munson x Fem!Mute!Powered!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Fix-It Fic. Hurt and Comfort. Most of your life, all you knew was darkness. Eddie was the one light in all of it. And you refused to lose him. (5,300 words.)

Drowning In You - Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader. Enemies to Lovers. Smut (slight Emotional Angst). Working with Billy at Hawkins Pool forced you to be around him. But forgetting part of your mandatory uniform at home and being harassed by random men because of it forced you to truly confront your feelings for him. (22,100 words.)

You Shook Me All Night Long - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Smut and Fluff. Steve never really saw you. Until one day, when you stood out as the hottest babe he had ever seen. And on that day, he just happened to be wearing the dorkiest outfit ever and stuttering over himself to impress you. Somehow, it worked. (45,000 words.)

Daisy Fields (Companion to You Shook Me All Night Long) - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader. Established Relationship, Family Fluff. Some Smut, Fluff. You and Steve happily pursue your life together, more than thankful for the silly little ice cream shop that brought the two of you together. (20,600 words.)

(This last one, I don't really like. I wrote it a long time ago, and it doesn't really go with my current style. But perhaps somebody seeing this masterlist can get some reading enjoyment out of it. It's just very unlikely to be re-posted on Tumblr.)

Monstrous - Steve Harrington x Fem!Powered!Reader. Established Relationship. Angst and Fluff. Steve finds out your big secret, and you are surprised when he doesn't hate you for it. (5,200 words.)

#sundrop writes #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader

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nivisdreaming · 1 year

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my writing/daydreaming blog <3

about author: any pronouns, autistic, potentially dyslexic, physically disabled, full-time student, multifandom

currently obsessing over: eddie munson, steve harrington, touya todoroki, aizawa shota, bakugo katsuki, eijoru kirishima, hitoshi shinsou, ghost/simon riley, könig, any book boyfriend ever

requests?: sure, if you want! inbox should be open with anon on! nothing involving emeto, male!reader, or dom!reader for personal comfort please! pick any character i’ve previously written for or is on my obsessed list, give me an prompt/idea, and send it in!

navigation?: see below!

Eddie Munson:

Skittish - Shy!reader meetcute fluff!

Kinks And Cookies - hurt/comfort and love confession with some BDSM themes! : Drops And Jumps - Part 2 with subdrop hurt/comfort!

Sickly sweet hurt/comfort fluff after sub!reader gets insecure about using their safeword!

Physical hurt/comfort with sub!reader getting too worked up during a scene while left alone!

Eddie and his passenger princess!

Soft aftercare after falling too deep in subspace!

Roommates to lovers purposeful exhibitionism/accidental vouyerism! : A very smutty part 2 with orgasm denial and degradation/praise mix!

Red Light, Green Light - some soft aftercare after eddie calls safeword for a stubborn reader!

literally just me elaborating on my thanking kink

Reader getting insecure about squirting x Eddie taking none of that shit

Katsuki Bakugo:

Hard!Dom Baku x pup!reader

Steve Harrington:

Whiny Puppy - Sub!reader puppyplay and overstim!

Run, Rabbit, Run - Brat taming Steve + predator/prey

Harsh overstim + the gentlest of aftercare!

Unsupervised Aftercare - Tooth rotting hurt/comfort fluff where Steve accidentally falls asleep before giving reader aftercare!

#pinned

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thewriterg · 2 years

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♡︎In the moment♡︎S.H

pairing(s): Steve Harrington x Fem!reader, Steve Harrington x Powerful!reader, Eddie Munson x Fem!reader, Nancy Wheeler x Fem!reader, Robin Buckley x Fem!reader

Summary: You get your powers back and in the process get hurt instead of Steve and he bandages you up instead of Nancy

Word count: 700+

Warning(s): Faint mention of blood, injuries, Slight stranger things spoiler ig?, reader has powers like the scarlet witch, Horny thoughts at a horrible time, sexual tension, and Language but that’s nothing new 😍

A/n: -GIF is not mine- But can we talk abt how Steve was so hottt in this season?? I Switched Roles for this and added my own spin but this Inspo is from @kiss-inthekitchen

“And you just couldn’t save of us from our death like this before!” Eddie screamed fighting off the oversized what you would say bats mixed with an eagle as you flicked your wrist a ball of crimson energy disabling the bats around Steve’s neck the group stopping to look at you in shock

“I told you I didn’t have my powers up until five minutes ago” You responded and as one of the creatures flew over Nancy before the girl could get bitten you threw another power source the creature squawking as it fell out of the air with a thud

“Just try to watch your backs!” You called out gravitating in the air a Flock of the spawn coming at all directions your friends fighting the few ones that got past you with a Canoe ore’s

Being distracted looking down at your friends one of the squealing bat-eagles launched itself on your back as you groaned loudly enough for the group to hear as more of the creatures swarmed you attacking any skin they could get as you struggled against them before screaming out in pain a crimson energy knocking the teens over the bat-eagles dropped out of the air like dead flies as you slow leveled yourself as well

“Get up we have to get moving there a lot more where that came from”

☏☏☏☏

While the group hid under skull rock watching the air clear from the creatures as you all slowly made you ways out sigh’s of relief heard throughout the group as you stumbled slightly dizziness rushing through you randomly as you leaned against the stone for support Steve quick to rush to your side forcing you to sit down with a grunt

“Im sorry what happened to The Whole vampire healing voo-doo” Robin rushed to your side next to Steve while Nancy ripped a piece of skirt

“Robin I just got my powers back I’m a little rusty I’m healing slower than usual” You groaned removing your hand from the front of your lower hip revealing the bite that was dug deep in your skin as Robin began to ramble on about symptoms of rabies as Steve Roughly pushed the girls arm

“Robin?”

“Yea?”

“I kinda wanna punch you” you panted as the girl nervously laughed just as Nancy finished ripping her skirt handing the fabric to Steve before dragging Robin by the arm out from under the rock

“You ready?” Steve questioned with the make like bandage hovering over your lower abdomen while you breathed heavily nodding out for him to get it over with as you lifted yourself from leaning on the rock your arms lifted in the air while you hands went to rake themselves through your tangled hair

Steve pressed bandage against your punctured skin the boy immediately noticing how your chest rose and fell and fell in uneven breaths before the boy shook his head bringing the ends of the bandage together as you let out a groan

Now Steve would’ve been fine if it was normal, regular groan but it was your groan that was high pitched and sounded like a moan more than anything while your head fell back the veins in your neck more prominent as Steve continued to stare at you

God you were so fucking pretty

At the long pause you eventually opened your eyes looking down at Steve while he shot you an apologetic look as he continued to tie the knot on the back of your skin and you were confused for a while before it was Like a light bulb went off in your head

“Are you serious Harrington I could be dying of rabies and you can’t keep it in your pants for three minutes. I wonder what my funeral would be like” You whispered shouted picking yourself up from the ground the bandage secure around your torso your shirt long gone in the Canoe you all came in your Jeans, boots, and bra the only thing shielding your body

“Oh come on Y/l/n it was in the moment” Steve muttered taking your hand guiding you from out the rock your bodies pressed tight together and it was pretty much in the moment but now not so much

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dumbfuck-mojave · 2 years

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Coming Out to Steve and Eddie as Bisexual (Separate Scenarios)

Franchise: Stranger Things

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader (Can be read as platonic or romantic!! Whatever suits you most <3)

Also Featured: Mentions of Wayne, Robin, unnamed Family Video Customer

Warnings: Food, a really brief mention of the pencil scene from Evil Dead (injury, blood). Eddie and Steve both use petnames but it can still be platonic.

A/N: Well I didn’t plan on the over a month writing hiatus but I’m back, writing for more Midwestern characters. I wanted to have an undeniable Midwestern thing in this one and that evolved into Eddie being a diehard Puppy Chow fan, and me wanting to write a full fic where he and his partner make it for Hellfire lol. So if you like Stranger Things and my writing style, give me a follow and look forward to that. I also made Eddie specifically unlabeled queer, I was originally gonna make it ambiguous but this is my fic so >:(. And I think it’s funny if he’s a little bitch when it comes to horror movies so I also threw that in lol. I hope you enjoy!! I might do this for Jonathan in the future as well.

This was inspired by @kaylawritesfics headcanons on coming out to the older ST characters! Make sure to give that post a like/reblog and give her a follow, she was one of the first ST writers I read on my private account and her work is amazing!!

Word Count:

Steve- 1,368

Eddie- 1,177

@dollyghostface @horrorstolemyheart @kaylawritesfics and @loveronlineee who I also read a lot and recall seeing they were okay with being tagged in stuff :))

Support a disabled creator this disability pride month :D

-Steve Harrington-

It was almost closing time when a young woman slipped through the door of Family Video, carrying a stack of tapes the length of her torso. You had your back partially turned to the register and the door, sorting through the new inventory, so Steve had hopped up from the rolling chair he was sitting in to assist her. It had been relatively quiet for the past few hours, and that didn’t change much; The woman had a quiet voice, the sound barely overshadowing the methodic tapping of computer keys as Steve typed and the pirouetting seat of the chair, still recovering from his sudden upheaval. You figured, despite the amount of tapes she had brought in, it would be a relatively quick final task of the day. You were wrong.

“I’m honestly appalled.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Steve.”

“No, Y/N, because look at this!” He gestures aggressively to the partially broken down stack in front of him, then picks one up with flamboyance, “There’s like 20 tapes here! Are we even allowed to rent out that many to one person!?”

“Actually, I don’t think so-”

“AND SHE DIDN’T REWIND ANY OF THEM! Like Jeez, if you’re gonna be a lousy customer at least be only half lousy! Thank God I didn’t just shove them out like I wanted because if I didn’t discover this I would be in so much shit-”

“Aw, you poor baby. Actually having to do your job.” You fake pouted at him.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m doing something productive.” He shot back, even though it didn’t have much fire behind it. It’s rare that he’s genuinely mad at you (Or anyone else, for that matter).

You looked down at your swinging feet coming in to view over your knees every few seconds or so, having hopped onto the counter after finishing sorting the new tapes into “easy to put out genre piles” for tomorrow. There’s been a bit of delay with your stock recently, and you had gotten triple the amount you usually did in one delivery today so you thought the normal system could change a little bit because of it. Sort it all out today, put it all out when you come in for the opening shift tomorrow. Simple.

“I’ve been productive all day, Steve! I didn’t see your ass wanting to sort through all this bullshit.”

Steve clicks his tongue, “Language.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You both started chuckling at that. You glance over at his stack of tapes, still messy but forming some sense of order as he places the rewound ones back in their own pile. He sighs as he pulls another one out of its cover, changing it out for the one that has just finished rewinding with a pop.

Your caution blanks on you for a moment, just one moment. But it allows your words to overtake you.

“Hey, can I tell you something?”

Oh shit.

As Steve looks at you curiously, you feel like you’re going to pass out, or throw up, or both. You debated on getting off the counter, but decided to stay put so as to not make a fool of yourself floundering to find a new seat.

It’s not like you didn’t want to tell Steve, you loved him and you knew he would be accepting, but even knowing that information didn’t help the anxiety that blanketed the struggle of trying to build yourself up to this point over the last few months. This wasn’t the way you wanted to do it, you wanted it to happen when you were completely comfortable and secure, maybe during a late night talk or near the end of a long phone call. The still moment in the car as you finally arrive home after a long trip. Anything but this, right now.

“Yeah, of course? Are you okay?”

“It’s something important.” Once again, not what you wanted to say.

“Alright, but are you okay? You’re looking a little sick there, peaches.”

You feel a little more life rush back into you as you scoff.

“Again with the ‘peaches’?”

“What, I thought you liked it!”

“When you said it the first time I laughed, that’s not confirmation I like it.”

Steve saunters towards you, “Welllll, you’re laughing now and you don’t look 2 seconds away from dying anymore, so I consider it a win.”

A small chuckle bubbles up in your throat, “Scoffing is not laughing, Harrington. Now this, what I’m doing right now? Is laughing.”

“A win!”

“A win because of how stupid you are!”

“Still a win!” Steve had made it over to you by now, leaning back against the counter as he looks up at you. He nudges your knee with his elbow, “So, what do you want to talk about?”

Nervousness invades you again, and Steve notices as your lips slightly turn down.

“Hey, it’s okay! I promise, don’t back out on me now. I’m sure you’ll feel better after saying it.”

He says it with a smile, and you can’t help but silently agree with him. Your gaze diverts to the door and Steve follows it, turning his head.

“Do you want me to lock the door? That way no one will come in, it’ll be just us.”

You nod. Steve moves quickly throughout the store, first locking the door then flipping off some switches so all the outside lights were off and only a few remained on inside. Legs flew in your peripheral as he launched over the counter, nearly falling as he situated himself up beside you.

“If you would have fallen and broken your face, I would’ve laughed as I drove you to the hospital.”

“Shhhh,” Steve hushes as he puts his arm around your shoulders, “We’re focusing on you now.”

“Yeah… focusing on me.”

Steve’s brows furrow, “I know what I said a few minutes ago but you really don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

You took a deep breath in, “No, I want to.”

You pause again, leaning your head on Steve's shoulder as his thumb starts to rub gentle circles into your cloth covered one.

Finally, you speak.

“I’m bisexual.” You close your eyes and a beat passes. But you have to hand it to Steve, there’s barely any time for you to start doubting before he replies.

“That…. That means you’re into both boys and girls, right? Just want to make sure before I say anything stupidly incorrect.”

You smile, nuzzling more into his shoulder as his grip around you tightens, “That and the in-between, but yes.”

“Alright, cool.” You can feel his jaw move against the side of your head as he lays his own on top of yours, “Thank you for trusting me. I’m sorry I don’t have much else to say.”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything.” You nudge your head away from his, looking at his face, “I feel a lot better now.”

He softly smiles at you, “I’m glad. You know I wouldn’t care no matter what, right?”

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah, but it’s still scary.”

“Yeah, yeah, for sure. Your ‘secret’ is safe with me.” He sloppily salutes and you cackle, hoping off the counter.

“Alright sailor boy, how about we head out of this joint. The seas await us.”

“That’s former sailor boy to you. And a fellow employee pressuring me into leaving before I’ve finished all my work? I might just report you for that.”

“Whatever, I can just get Robin to do the rest tomorrow!” You yell over your shoulder, heading into the back to pick up your and Steve’s stuff as he shuts off the rest of the lights. There’s still dim natural light out, so you see his featureless form waiting for you by the door. He swings it open when you get close enough.

“I’m really happy I told you, I’ve been freaking out about it for so long.” You look over at him as you both walk towards his car.

“I’m glad you told me too, now I can judge your taste in both guys and girls,” He unlocks the car and finger guns at you over the hood, “And everything in between.”

-Eddie Munson-

“Home sweet home!” Eddie yelled out as he kicked his leg up to hold the door open, hands full as he gestures you inside with his head.

“Your home, not my home.” You reply as you set your own bags down on the small collapsible table in the kitchen area. You weren’t even sure who had pulled it out, or why, Wayne usually eats a small supper at work while Eddie takes whatever he can scrounge up into his room. Even when there were people over, like you or some neighbor Wayne was friendly with, the meal was eaten while watching TV in the living area, surrounded by hats and mugs basked in the dim overhead light. It was nice. Homey, you thought.

“It could be our home. What do you say, roommates?” Eddie wiggled his eyebrows at you and you laughed, pulling the last of the things out of your bags and reaching over to unpack Eddie’s.

“I’m sure your uncle would absolutely adore having another person cramped up in here.”

“Hey, it’s not cramped!”

“With three people and three people’s amount of stuff, it definitely will be.”

When Eddie doesn't respond immediately, you glance up and are met with a confused expression on his face while he looks down at his hands, flexing them slightly.

“Hey, bud, you doing okay?”

“I’m trying to remember if I forgot anything.” He mumbles quietly, his fingers starting to move as he counted to himself.

“We picked up the movie yesterday, we walked in just as Steve dropped a tape in front of that group of girls.”

He smacked his hand down on the table, rings clacking together as he pointed the other one at you, “That’s it! I swear, I remembered we did that all day, but it just… flew off right then.”

“It’s okay, I was kind of expecting it.”

Eddie clutches his chest, eyes widening as he gasps dramatically, “Sweetheart, light of my life, how could you say such things!”

You smirk but roll your eyes, taking a slight step back as he tries to throw his arms around you, just to up the dramatics a bit.

“Light of my life? Seems a bit too Grecian for you, Eds.”

“Oh, I have more where that came from. I can be one sappy motherfucker if I do so desire to be.” He shoulder shimmies, a teasing look in his brown eyes.

“Alright, Euripides, let’s get to what we’re actually supposed to be doing tonight.”

“What?”

“He was a tragedian in ancient Greece, his play is where the ‘light of my life’ thing first popped up. He wrote depressing shit, I had to do a report on it, let’s move on.”

Eddie’s body, which had been surprisingly still during your explanation, jumped back into motion at your suggestion.

“Let’s! So, we got Bottle Caps, M&M’s, Nerds, like six different types of chips, that Puppy Chow we made yesterday after we apparently rented out the movie, let’s see what else....”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pencil impales the back of Linda’s ankle, gooey red blood pouring out, as Eddie hides his face into the pillow he’s been clutching and groans.

“Wow, that’s gnarly.” You chuckle as you pause the movie, turning to him. His head shoots up to look at you, a look of disbelief in his wide eyes.

“Are you kidding me? That was awful. That was torture, who would ever want to watch this shit?”

“Uh, you, Eddie. You’re the one who suggested Evil Dead.” You deadpan back.

“Well, I forgot about this scene.”

“If you would just admit you’re a pussy-”

“I AM NOT-”

“Then stop complaining and watch the damn movie, Munson!”

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of sick fuck you are if you want to watch some lady get stabbed in the foot but I’m really starting to reconsider the people I choose to spend time with right now! I may write some mean shit for my campaigns, but at least I don’t have to visually witness it happening.”

You sigh, flopping further into the couch, “We can stop if you’d like.”

Eddie bites his nails in thought, “No, I just want to take a break. I need more Puppy Chow, and can you please not keep it paused at this particular moment.”

“Yes sir, anything you say sir.”

“I hate you.” Eddie mumbles halfheartedly, standing up from the couch as you rewind the movie back and stop on an innocent shot of cards.

He returns after a brief moment, carrying the rest of the Puppy Chow in his hands. He shakes the bowl out to you in offering, but you decline.

“I’m good. Have at it, Puppy Chow Fiend.”

It’s almost silent for the next few minutes, the only sound being Eddie’s chewing and spring insects outside. But it isn’t awkward, more relaxing than anything. You feel like you could drift off as you close your eyes, surrounded by the warmth of blankets and Eddie next to you. You feel… safe.

“Hey, Eds, can I tell you something?” You peek one eye open, watching him quickly swallow and nod.

“Of course, anything.”

Sighing, you scoot closer to him, turning so you can be face to face. Putting the bowl on the floor, he mirrors you and holds out his hands. You grasp them in your own, feeling the foreign texture of metal clashing with his rough skin.

“I wanted to tell you I’m bisexual.” You give him a small smile, and he grins back at you, his eyes lighting up as he processes your words.

“That’s so sick, dude! Obviously, I won’t tell anyone else but I’m happy you found yourself and felt comfortable enough telling me. You already know I don’t care about gender or attraction, whether it’s me or anyone else, so it’ll be nice to have someone else around to talk about that stuff on a personal level with, even if I don’t really use labels.”

“Yeah, yeah I totally get that. It just feels like I can breathe now, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie holds out his arms for you, “Wanna hug?”

“Yes, please.” You hold him tightly, his fluffy hair tickling your face. Your hand reaches up to stroke it, “You know, I should braid this again.”

“After last time? No way.”

“It’s not my fault you tore out the ponytail like a little heathen. If you did it nicely, it wouldn’t have pulled so badly.”

“Yeah, Yeah, whatever.” Eddie pulls away and looks over at the TV, grimacing.

“Maybe we should have taken Steve’s suggestion instead.” You giggle, and Eddie raises an eyebrow at you.

“You want to watch Grease?”

You throw your hands up, “It’s fun!”

Eddie scoffs, “All the characters suck! And it totally breaks the realism at the end.”

“Eddie Munson, are you really trying to call out a movie where people break into song constantly on breaking realism?”

He picks the almost empty bowl of Puppy Chow back up.

“I’m just saying, it would be a little more believable if they just drove away.”

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kizanakinnie · 1 year

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Rules/Boundaries

Hello!! I am a new writer on Tumblr but I've been practicing on wattpad sense around 2019 .

About me:

My name is Cherry! Im better at writing head cannons then one shots but I will do both, I do not disclose my real name or my age on the internet for personal reasons so please do not ask!

What I write for:

Danganronpa , stranger things, toilet-bound hanako kun, kakegurui, yan-sim

What I will write:

Fluff, agere, petere, most mental illnesses, angst, autism, headcannons, disabled!reader, x reader

Iffy:

Oneshots, light nsfw, character x character, Yandere characters

Do not request: Full on smut/nsfw, anything to do with racism, pedophilia, abelism, homophobia, etc, smut for younger characters

Charcters I mostly write for:

Rantaro Amami, Kokichi Ouma, Kyoko Kirigiri, Himoko Yumeno, Hiyoko Saianji, Mikan Tsumiki, Ibuki Mioda, Steve Harrington, Robin whatever her last name is, Eleven, Max Mayfeild, All the byers, Hanako, Yashiro, Yumeko, Amai, Kizana, Ayano, Kokona. Ill try to do others but I'm better at these characters bc theyre my favorite lol.

Who I will not write for: Fuyuhiko, Kazuichi, Makato, Eddie Munson, Gareth Emmerson, info-chan, senpai, Megami.

Feel to make requests! Please try to make requests detailed but if you can't I understand! If you don't put masc! Or fem!reader ill do gn. Have a good day!!

#danganronpa #kakegurui #tbhk manga #kokichi x reader #rantaro x reader #yashiro nene #hanako x reader #yumeko jabami #stranger things #yandere simulator #i love them #fanfic #x reader #new writers on tumblr #fluff #sfw blog #dont be creepy

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emsgoodthinkin · 5 months

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Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington

Rafe Cameron

⤬ reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated ⤬

Multi-Fandom imagines / videos 💭 📺

Eddie watching his gf stim

Eddie said sit on it

Obx daddy issues

I watch Scream for the plot

Subby lil Eddie

Joe🤝Joe

Eddie and Steve? Nah, Ghost and Konig

Eddie in a ski mask

Cute stupid head Ed

I can take them both (not in a fight)

Steve’s predator stare

If Billy was in Queen of the Damned

We all wanna sit on Keerys lap

Daddy Steve vibes

Head? Head.

Hybrid puppy Ralph vibes

Joes an ass man

Billy loves Steve’s eye contact

Joe calls Dacre mommy

Cocky Keery

Let Quinn take you to a bad place too

Arthur can’t take the pressure

Arthur deserves a good ride

Sweaty Ed

Joseph’s BBC

Eddie and corrupted princess vibes

Eddie soundgasm

Rockstar Eddie’s f*ck song

Looks can be deceiving Mr. Keery

Oh yes Rio

Steve Harrington? No, Steve Gallagher

Dacres fine like wine

Twitter links

Put a knife in me Rory

Rafe can handle it

Mommy Nancy

Damon’s words get you wet

Big boy Hopper

Big boy Billy

Riding Steve’s thick limbs

Eddie whoppin yo ass

Eddie say please?

Steddie voices

Do it in the shower Billy

Spencer is a womanizer

Dacre can’t stop lookin at you

Eddie’s warning stare

You crawling to Eddie

Eddie being too calm during punishment

Steve grabbing Eddie’s ass

Eddie’s jeans..

Which Joe can you see

I need Billy and Eddie to wreck me

Joe reacting to a dirty text

Eddie loses V-card

Your beautiful goofball Ed

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therosebunpost · 11 months

Text

Summer Vacation Regrets

—————

Steve Harrington x Disabled! Disfigured!Fem!Reader

The Summer where you finally get that major surgery, but for some reason you don’t want to hang out with Steve before it happens. (A prequel/drabble to my Regret Series)

TW: Underaged drinking, heavily discussion of surgery, self esteem issues, hospitals, mentions of a near death incident, Reader is as neutral as possible but this story is heavily influenced by my life and experiences, so there may be some incidental coding. (Please feel free to give me feed back on anyway I can make this better!)

(Not beta’d, so I apologize for grammar)

—————

Steve was looking forward to summer. He already had it mapped out. Taking a job at the pool as a lifeguard, he was determined to save up for a car by the time he was 16 years old. His parents were proud, he was proud, and you were proud. Proud enough to promise him that you’d make the trek to hang out with him at the pool as many times as your parents let you, or you could sneak away on your big, clunky three wheeled bike.

It’s why getting that call was so confusing.

“I…I can’t hang out with you at the pool anymore. At least not for a few months.”

“Months? How many??”

There was some muttering on the line that Steve couldn’t quite make out. Not that he was really focusing on it too much. Months? You wouldn’t hang out with him for months?

“Two, two months.”

He says your name, exasperated. “That’s almost the entire summer! We’ll only have a month left!”

More muttering, now he can hear the sudden pain in your voice. “Wait, it…it might be…the whole Summer, Stevie.”

“What?!”

“I just came back from my doctor. They say it’s finally time, that I’m so close to getting my prosthetic. I just need to um, do something else first. That I need to recover from. So, no pool or anything.”

That gets him to calm down, just a bit. Right, your appointment. Your surgery. “Well, alright. Then we’ll just hang out another way! You know there’s that movie coming out, maybe you can ask your mom-“

“I can’t.”

Steve blinks, once again confused. “O…kay. I’ll bring stuff over then! Or you can come over! Oh, we could hang out in my pool. Does your mom know I’m a lifeguard? I promise we’ll be super safe, and she can even stay over with you, we have the room-!”

“I don’t want you to see me!”

There was that pain in your voice again.

"Oh god Steve it's, it's so awful. They have to put this implant inside of me, and it's gonna end up looking like this growth on my face. I hate it, I hate this so fucking much." You finally break down on the phone and Steve takes a moment to gather what your saying.

Sometimes the things you went through confused him. He's known you for years at this point but your condition still didn't make a lot of sense to him. From what you've told him, it didn't make sense to your doctor's either.

"...So I can't see you at all? You really are gonna spend all summer alone?"

"We can still call." You rush to tell him, and Steve can imagine the way you strangle the phone cord in your hands. "I dont…i just don't want to be seen. But I'll call you. i'll call you everyday."

"...When is it? The..implant?"

"Next week. Im going to home school for the last weeks of school."

"Holy shit, your serious?"

"Yeah. It's…Its bad, Steve. I…I cried after they told me the plan. Right in the room with mom."

"...Will you at least come over one more time this week? At least come hang out at the pool once?"

"..I'll ask mom."

-.-.-

Your mom does say yes, and hanging out at the pool was just as fun as Steve thought it would be. Sure, you couldn't swim but you hung out with him in the guard chairs. You spent the night, and you both sneak out to hang by his pool, alone.

Steve, ever the bad influence at times, passes you the bottle of beer. "...Are you really not going to do anything? Or see anybody?"

"...I just…I think I was finally starting to accept my appearance and now this? For months? I just…I hate it so much. Its like the universe hates me."

"It's probably won't be as bad as you think, I mean-"

"It's gonna be pretty damn bad. like, it's gonna be the size of my cheek. Maybe even bigger! I'll look gross." You lean back against the warm ground.

"The doctor said they could do a skin graph but they wanted to use the skin on my face first so it matches better. But like come on, it's all my skin, the difference can't be that much! It's not like they had that issue trying to use a part of my rib as a prosthetic!"

"....Didn't you say that your body…like…sucked it back in and that's why it didn't work?"

".....Okay, fair but still! A balloon?? On my face? It's like they don't even fucking care how awful that's going to be.The stares I'll get, the grossed out faces. It's like, how do they expect me to live with that?"

Steve laid down with you, and while he didn't know a lot about what you were going on about, he knows your frustrated.

"Remember when you got that bar on your face? The metal one?"

You gave him a look. "..Yeah?"

"You lived after that. You survived."

"I was like, five."

"So? You gonna let a five year old be braver than you?"

"Oh that is not the same-"

"Okay, what about when you got that thing out of your stomach? The feeding thing-"

"My G-tube?"

"Yeah. You literally bragged about having your stomach stuff coming out of you and just living with it. We were like, ten?"

"Im still not over the fact that the doctors didn't believe me about it not closing all the way, those jackasses."

Steve says your name and you sigh. "Okay fine, but that was then and this is now. I'm older, I care more about myself."

Steve snickers and you reach over and shove at him. He makes a show of nearly falling into the pool which you scoff at.

"Last summer, you and I went out on a canoe together without a person with us. Mind you, you could have died if we tipped over. We gave the counselors a heart attack."

You laugh at the memory, the rebellion rushing through your veins. "I had you with me!"

For a moment Steve is taken aback, but he's quick to shake his head with a smile. "Obviously. But anyway, are you gonna let this get you? Are you just not gonna hang out with me because of a bunch of assholes? Do you think I'm an asshole?"

That makes you whip around to face him, aghast. "No, Steve what-"

He levels you with a long stare. "Then why do you think I'd care about it? You're my friend. I wanna spend the summer with you. Not just over the phone, which is bullshit because you hate phone calls anyway."

It's a moment like this where you ponder the real reason you don't want him to see you. The real reason that you refuse to acknowledge because it will never happen.

Only in fairy tales, or movies, or books. Things that happened to Pretty Girls, like the ones Steve talks about sometimes.

"...I'm scared." You whisper, softly. "...I'm really scared, Steve. This…this is going to change my life. I dunno if I'm ready for that." You look out at the water, which glows from the pool lights. "I've been told my whole life how this will fix things. Fix me. Getting this prosthetic, getting my trach taken out. There's gonna be a lot of benefits, yeah, but…I'm angry that I have to do this shit. I'm angry that it's something I just have to grin, and bare because there's no other fucking alternative."

Steve watches you as you talk. His eyes trained on the shape of your lips, the way the sounds are altered, the light of the pool on your face. You look…tired. More tired than anyone your age should be.

"....You know uh…worms?" He snickers a little when you furrow your eyes at him. "They go through that thing, that change thing."

"Metamorphosis."

"Yeah, metamor-whatever."

"Okay, end? Also those are caterpillars."

"Your a worm!"

"Caterpillar."

"Oh my god, shut up-"

You laugh, silent but obvious with the way your shoulders shake and you lean your head back.

"But like yeah, this is you going through your meta-thing. You're gonna be a pretty butterfly or Oh! A Swan. Yeah."

Pausing at his words, you can feel the heat creep up your cheeks. "...Pretty?" You echo, shy and just a little uncertain.

"Well duh. Really pretty." Steve insists, beaming at you. It's a brash, kinda backwards compliment but he's trying. He's really trying, and you aren't sure if you can keep shoving those fluttering feelings away.

-—————-

Those last three weeks of school pass. Steve doesn't get to see you until the first week of Summer, where he bikes all the way to your house. He had called to tell you he was coming, so he doesn't knock when he gets there.

"So, how did it go- Whoa-"

Well, you were not kidding. The implant was obvious. Very obvious, and Steve forced himself not to stare at it. Not that it mattered, since you were already crumbling away from him.

"It's awful, I know-" You gush, devastated. "Feels weird too." Your eyes are red rimmed from crying and Steve stands there awkwardly. Fuck, he was not good with crying.

"No! It's…Its not that bad. I just had a hard time picturing what it looked like when you told me." He explains, the words spilling from him. It was the truth, he really didn't know what to expect. "It's not bad, I swear on my collection of baseball cards, it's not!"

You narrow your eyes at him. "...Even the signed ones?"

"Yeah."

Your shoulders slowly relax and you rub at your eyes. You were always good at coming back from crying. Steve, well, he wishes he could bounce back that fast.

"..Wanna watch a movie?" He suggests, already heading into the living room. "Any one you want!"

-----

After that, the weeks passed and you slowly grew bored of keeping yourself locked away like some princess, or troll. You slowly started joining your mother on her errands. The implant grew and grew, but after a while you got used to it. Steve barely glanced at it anymore, instead focused on spending the summer with you, whenever you had the chance.

You do end up hanging out with him during lifeguard duties. He jokes about having you as his assistant whenever you bring him water or snacks, but you always retaliate with squirting at his hair with a water gun.

It's not all perfect. You do get stares. People sometimes avoid you, and kids your age are cruel, but Steve is there. He's getting popular, and with whatever grade school cred he has, he makes sure to use some of it to protect you.

It all shifts when the surgery finally arrives. You and Steve are sitting out by his pool again, now a month and a half older. "...I'm gonna miss you, at camp." He states, taking a sip of another beer.

"...Your still going??" You raise an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

"Because I like it? Besides, I'm thinking about being a counselor. Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Well, I…I mean I'm not gonna be there." You state, and the words sound ridiculous as soon as you let them out. Steve laughs and you shove at him. "I'm gonna miss you, sure, but I still wanna go! I need to defend my swimming record, and I already have what I'm gonna wear for theme night! Wouldn't you still go if I couldn't?"

The way he says it, it sounds like the answer should be obvious. The camp was for people like you, after all.

He says your name after a moment, confused. "...Wouldn't you?"

"...I dunno." You admit after a moment, breathing in slowly. "....It's kinda fun, but sometimes I hate the atmosphere. I hate the way the counselors talk to me at times, like I'm stupid. I don't feel like…I'm disabled enough to warrant even being there. Hanging out with you, it actually makes me enjoy it. It feels like an actual camp."

Steve doesn't say anything for a while. You watch the way his brows furrow, and the contemplative frown on his lips. "...Does that mean…last year was your last year?"

You ponder it before shaking your head. "...I want to go with you." You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your swim suit. "If you become a counselor, then I will too! Like hell am I gonna let you boss me around even more."

He laughs, loud and clear. You're jealous, and awed all at the same time. "But I will probably stop one day, I think."

Steve nods, and you wonder if the sadness in his eyes is just a trick of the light.

----

The next morning, you go in for early surgery. Steve is antsy the whole day, though he isn't sure why. You were a pro at this! He's heard countless stories about your various surgeries, so why does this one feel so…great? Monumental?

He doesn't get to come see you until the next day. He walks in, holding a bouquet of flowers and a plush of your favorite animal. He hopes he doesn't look as tired as he feels. He woke up early at 6 AM, zoning out to Twilight Zone reruns until 8, where he stumbled around to get ready to see you again. It hadn't been that long ago, but it felt like maybe you had gone three months without seeing each other.

As he makes his way over to your room, he's reminded of an episode he watched. A hospital themed one. It kind of confused him, really. The woman got surgery to be beautiful, but it failed.

Steve turns a corner, and passes a plastic surgery office where he can hear the distant sounds of a meeting.

He remembers watching the bandages being removed, and thinking he heard them wrong. The woman was beautiful. The surgery was a success and yet…the hospital staff had recoiled. He had been blown away by the revelation of what the doctors and nurses looked like, and something in the back of his mind wished you could have seen it with him.

He steps into the hospital room, his eyes landing on you. Your face isn't fully bandaged up, but there's a strip of cloth that keeps your mouth shut. You look as exhausted as he feels. Your eyes slowly open to see him, only to become slightly panicked.

"Hey." He greets, slowly walking closer and settling down in the plastic chair beside your bed. You don't say anything, you can't, but Steve does. "Y'know, I'm kinda confused." He admits, gently placing the tiny stuffed toy on your bed. “I don’t think the doctors did much.” You make a noise of confusion, gesturing at the bandage on your face. Obviously they did, what was he even getting at here?

"No, really. Like sure, the balloon thing is gone, but you look the same to me, Miss Butterfly." He admits, leaning on his arms and gazing up at you. Watching as the words slowly register. You slowly smile, eyes shining with tears before you wince and grab at your notepad.

'Stop making me smile, my face hurts like a bitch. >:('

He laughs, shaking his head and reaching over to grab the remote for the TV. "I'll ask the nurse for more drugs, maybe you'll be a little nicer to me." He grins, and flips through the channels. "But hey, there's this episode I want you to see.."

Midway through the re-runs, you fall asleep. The drugs and the pain dragging you under. Steve sits there, his hand in yours. He eyes the IV, his thumb brushing against the bandage keeping it inside. His gaze travels up your arm, and lands on your face. Your expression wasn’t exactly peaceful, but he was glad you were resting.

“I was scared this morning.” He admits, emboldened by the silence. “I know you’re like, super good at all of this, but…yeah.” He trails off, letting his eyes slowly drift closed. “You do look really pretty. In your hospital bed, or..anywhere really. You always have.”

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