#Chrissy's retribution | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

milkybonezz · 2 years

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Did I read stranger things asks ?

Ok it just popped in my mind :

What about some angst with Jason nabing Eddie’s SO to ask them where he is, he and his bunch of jokes just “take them for a ride” and ask questions on where Eddie “the freak” munson is, probably with baseball bats (“I’m more a basketball man, but today I’ll do an exeption.”) and obviously Jason never planned to let them go (“he took my girlfriend, I’ll do the same”)

Idk if it’s a good idea, but looks like it fits on your blog, so maybe? (Please )

muhahaha I love this I love it so much. I've opted for she/her pronouns but i would be more than happy to do another gn or amab one!!

Hunt the freak

It had been days, and Eddie hadn't called... He always called. It had gotten to the point where y/n would sit by the phone and wait for something, anything to let her know that he was still out there. That he hadn't forgotten about her. Most importantly that he was safe.

Another morning had gone by with no calls at all, the fact her boyfriend had up and left without giving her so much as an inkling of where he was headed or where to find him was really beginning to weigh on y/n. So much so that the firm rapping on her front door was met with unmatched excitement. Unfortunately for her, it was not her boyfriend on the other side of the door, but Jason Carver. A very disheveled looking Jason nonetheless, backed up by a crowd of other Hawkins basketball stars. He greeted her with a sly smile on his lips, looking at her expectantly "Hey there, we need to ask you a few questions. You're that freak's girlfriend right? We got the right house?" A flash of cold rand down her body and she lunged to shut the door, frightened almost to death of being hurt.

He didn't take kindly to having the door shut in his face, or at least an attempt at that being made. To his fatigued, grief stricken mind that action insinuated she was hiding something. Keeping secrets. He couldn't afford to have people keeping secrets, especially after what happened to his Chrissy. Maybe he was bitter, maybe. But he wanted retribution. Answers. In that moment more than ever, Jason Carver felt very badly done to; unable to wrap his head around why this had happened. Why him of all people? Why Chrissy? Why did she have to die? Why did that freak get to keep living? Why wasn't he grieving? Why would God let that vessel of Satan escape? Why? Why? Why?

Jason launched himself forwards, pushing the door back open, eyes narrowed. He didn't hesitate to snatch y/n out of her house by the arm, his fingers digging into her arm hard enough to leave bruises. "Now you're gonna come with us, and you're gonna tell us where that fucking freak is" he snarled, his hot breath dancing on her skin "we're going to sit down and you're gonna fucking talk... no harm done" . It was a hassle to keep her breathing steady when she was surrounded by teenage boys wielding baseball bats. "Don't you think I'd be with him right now if I knew where he was? I'm just as in the dark about it as you guys are" she bleated, panic rushing down her spine in quick, rattling chills. Making her hair stand on end and her heard quicken its pace. If she wasn't careful they would beat her to death. That seemed clear to her. "I promise you, I don't know where he is. He hasn't called me in days."

This was not the answer that blonde Sherlock Holmes was looking for, obviously too desperate for closure to pay attention to laws anymore "Take her for a ride" he hissed, releasing y/n's arm, giving her a shove over to one of his goons "I'm gonna take a look around". Jason seemed pretty nonchalant about committing two felonies in a row, so too did his goons that stepped forward and grabbed her arms restraining her almost as if she was being arrested. Pinning her so that she couldn't squirm. Even if she did manage to get out, the way they were brandishing those bats made it pretty apparent that they were not opposed to using them.

From his position on her doorstep, Jason turned to smile at y/n, at her face twisted in fear and resentment "What? He took my girlfriend, I'm taking his... it's only fair right?"

It didn't take long for them to shove her into the beat up truck they were patrolling Hawkins in, they sort of left her in the back with Lucas, a young man she recognised from Hellfire. He looked at her sympathetically but it was apparent he did not feel safe defying them any more than she did. Clearly, Chrissy's disappearance and unfortunate demise had unlocked something awful in Jason. A mass hysteria swept over Hawkins overnight as the community searched frantically for Eddie, pitchforks and torches raised high.

Hunting the freak.

Defying all rationality for a scapegoat.

Humans do funny things for closure. For answers to unsolvable questions. For opportunities to ease their aching hearts and fretting minds. Anything to help them sleep at night. Sometimes going to incredible lengths to achieve this, closure. This peace of mind.

It appeared to y/n in this moment that Jason Carver's funny thing was taking an innocent teenager away from home and keeping her hostage, for retribution. Retribution for a crime that Edward Munson had absolutely no capacity to carry out whatsoever.

She had no idea where they were taking her, or what sort of plan they had for her on arrival. But y/n was certain that they had no intention of letting her go. Not until they had gotten their shrewd idea of justice on Eddie. It appeared they did not have any sort of capacity for rationality, not now. Maybe it was never truly there to begin with. From the looks of it, they were bloodthirsty. An eye for an eye was the mindset.

They were going to kill her fucking boyfriend.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

#hee hee hoo hoo #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #jason carver #stranger things jason #eddie munson angst #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fandom #this was so fun wtff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson ff #breaking up all the smut in these tags #milkyspeaks

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velvetmayhem · 1 year

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The Killing Moon

-- A Hellcheer Werewolf AU

“I just came home from night shift,” Wayne explains, turning his back on her to get another mug from the cabinet above the stove, while she sits down on one of the stools at the counter, grateful that Eddie’s shirt is long enough to cover her thighs.

He fills the cup with steaming, dark coffee and hands it to her, “And since my nephew woke me up so gently yesterday morning, on my day off, I thought I'd return the favor. Besides, it's school today anyway, isn't it?”

Chrissy adds two cubes of sugar from the tray on the counter to her drink and nods, when he points to the milk carton next to the fridge. “Yes, it is…” She says, drawing out the words, stirring her mug, and watching the milk mix with the black liquid.

Wayne looks at her, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “You should go. Tonight comes soon enough.”

She meets his gaze. The serenity of last night seems to have vanished, instead this morning she is beset by an inner restlessness, a certain thirst for retribution, an insatiable craving for cruel revenge, the urge to sink her claws into the soft flesh of her adversary, the desire to hear him scream in pain and beg for mercy.

“Christine, is everything alright?” Wayne asks, snapping her out of her violent daydream.

“What? Why?” She blinks in confusion.

Chapter 23 - Race With The Devil

#hellcheer #hellcheer fanfic #eddissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #eddissy fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things s4 #werewolf au

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theswampspirit · 2 years

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Stranger Things S4 Vol 1: Simple Thoughts

These are some of my some of favorite moments. I may go into more detail on some these in the future, but I figured I would just create a simple outline to start.

1. Max almost getting Vecna’d, Lucas knowing her favorite song, Steve and Dustin putting reassuring or comforting hands on them.

2. Max and Lucas talking in the woods, plus Robin’s reaction.

3. Dustin’s ego, plus Steve and Eddie’s reactions to it.

4. Argyle, just Argyle.

5. Steve going beast mode on the demobat and the others coming in to help him.

6. Nancy and Robin’s budding friendship.

7. Lucas’ attempts to reach out to Max.

8. Lucas choosing the safety of his friends over the going with the “cool crowd” (or I guess not-so-cool crowd).

9. Their portrayal Max in general, how she’s shut everyone out but eventually opens back up.

10. Everyone’s parents looking concerned at the fact that the town of Hawkins is turning into a mob, looking for their kids.

11. The reveal of who Vecna really is. That was honestly insane, and I didn’t really put every piece together until it was almost right there.

12. Suzie’s home life.

13. Getting a good look at Eleven’s past.

14. Eleven knocking Angela’s lights out. Honestly, I think she deserved some level of retribution.

15. Erica not taking anyone’s shit. Especially Jason’s.

16. Chrissy ad Eddie’s budding friendship, before, well...you know.

17. Mike and Will repairing their friendship (I see the appeal of Byler, I just don’t want to get any hopes up. They may repair Mike and El’s relationship, have Mike and El break up and have Mike and Will be together, or they may still have Mike and El break up and have Mike and Will be “friends”. Honestly, it could go anyway.)

18. Hopper and Enzo vs the USSR’s Demigorgon.

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eddie · 1 year

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PLOTTED STARTER for : @daemondaes

⛧˖ ‒‒‒‒‒ IT WAS HARD FOR EDDIE TO REMEMBER a time when he felt as though the universe wasn't actively conspiring against him, but ever since that night in his trailer when he'd witnessed the demise of the Hawkins' High cheer captain in his living room, it seemed as though the notion of catching a break had become so rare and elusive that it bordered on being impossible. Like rows of dominos, everything in his life was collapsing one at a time, creating a misfortune-paved pathway to his impeding doom.

On this night, the falling domino had introduced Jason Carver and his cronies to the location of his hideout. That should have been where the turmoil of his evening peaked, but of course, in classic Munson style, things only spiraled after he’d fled the boathouse. Patrick Mckinney was plucked from the lake by the same invisible entity that had hoisted Chrissy Cunningham onto his ceiling, and just like her, the bones in his body began to snap beneath the ghostly force of whatever was haunting him until his limp corpse was mangled and twisted like the gnarled branches of a corkscrew willow tree.

It wasn’t as though Eddie was counting his lucky stars for it or anything, but the grizzly event had allowed him to pull off a successful escape from whatever retribution Jason Carver had been planning to exact upon him. Panicked strokes and flailing arms propelled him through the shadowy lake and up onto the shore, the cold water threatening to swallow him whole as hysteria refused to grant him any sense of composure. With almost no breath in his lungs and no strength in his body, it was pure adrenaline that had carried him into the woods, and it was unadulterated fear that guided him on an aimless path through the trees.

It wasn't until Eddie had burst out from the treeline that he'd finally stopped, although it hadn’t been by choice. As he’d crested the hill, a car rounded the corner and nearly clipped him, a well-executed leap saving him from his otherwise would-be fate as ROADKILL. The metalhead tumbled forwards after his boots hit the pavement, sheer momentum rolling him across the asphalt and early into the ditch on the other side of the road before he’d stopped altogether, his limbs sprawled out in every direction. With the wind knocked entirely from his lungs, the silence that fell afterwards was entirely unintentional. Against his will, even, as he wanted nothing more than to portray his discomfort aloud.

A groan escaped through a clenched jaw as soon as the composure of his breathing would allow it to, the metalhead’s body shaking with protest as he tried, and failed, to sit himself up. ❝ Shit. ❞ The word was hissed from his lips in utter exasperation, his dark eyes wincing shut for a moment despite everything in his mind telling him that he needed to get up and RUN. ❝ Son of a BITCH! ❞ His world was spinning, but he couldn’t feel any pain … yet. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure if he’d been hit or not, and he was genuinely terrified to look down and see a pair of busted legs or, even worse, his insides ... on the outside. Adrenaline could sugar-coat like nothing else could.

#「 ❛ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵉᵃᵏ ❜ 」 ⛧ 𝕰 𝖉 𝖉 𝖎 𝖊 𝕸 𝖚 𝖓 𝖘 𝖔 𝖓 | | ‎‏‏‎ ‎replies #「 ❛ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵉᵃᵏ ❜ 」 ⛧ 𝕰 𝖉 𝖉 𝖎 𝖊 𝕸 𝖚 𝖓 𝖘 𝖔 𝖓 | | ‎‏‏‎ starter #「 ❛ ᵒᵖᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵉ ❜ 」 ⛧ 𝕮 𝖍 𝖊 𝖗 𝖗 𝖞 𝕸 𝖆 𝖗 𝖙 𝖎 𝖓 𝖎 | | ‎‏‏‎ daemondaes #daemondaes #[ i'm so sorry this got so long omg. i got too excited ;; ]

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hellmartyr · 2 years

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you deserve better than this . . . better than me . . . — @greenscrunchy / angsty prompts

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒.

at first eddie thought her sadness was a detail in a dream. a specter of the subconscious, summoned by whatever bullshit mayhem his beer-battered brain was slathering across his cortex. bad trip without the high, when senses got so convinced that reality was just a suggestion right up until your eyes split open and the lucid imagery turned a slippery mess.

awareness emerged from a cloudy pool, prodding floaty nerves with tingling pins and needles. chrissy was a silent echo ringing in his ears, her words too old to be strung together were now indiscernible water drops dispersed into the corners like shades.

dark eyes fluttered open to an even darker room. a backlighting of blue cut through the gap between the curtains and the window. the back of his hand, stationed beside his nose, soaked up the cobalt. eddie’s fingers retracted from the temptation to reach over and prove to himself that his friend was still asleep. that the lonely lie had not been real, just a figment of a morbid imagination. but the sour knot in his gut warned that the moment his warmth met hers, she’d betray them both with a wince.

❝ whose voice told you that? ❞ he asked the deep blue, ❝ vecna’s? ❞ venom coated the name. two thousand miles was not enough to stall a fresh the anger felt each time eddie recalled his unseen enemy. the lich survive, the chorus of heartbeats buried in his honeycomb scars reminded him that the promise of retribution at the climax of a hero’s tale was a fantasy, not a guarantee.

crisp sheets rustled as the young man twisted around and peered at the soft outline balled up on the other side of the barrier. eddie hovered, searching for an explanation too private to see.

❝ yours? ❞ gingerly he sat up to project his plea over the fort, ❝ chris? ❞

the headboard creaked against his weight as eddie propped himself against the frame. his perspective switched between the popcorn ceiling and the vortexed donald duck on his nightshirt.

❝ y’know, for a really long time, the only friends i had were in books. i, uh, i think middle school was the first time i hung out with someone and not because we were sent to the principal’s office together. so, can you level with me? because this isn’t exactly my field of expertise, ❞ the back of his skull clocked the wall as eddie fixated plaster clusters above, finding cohesive shapes were there was none, ❝ and fuck if i know what can be better than the best. ❞

#forget eddie not liking this #i don't like this #but it's love on chrissy day and i'm just gonna have to accept the l #hero tbt.#college au tbt.#answered tbt.#greenscrunchy / 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯. — 04 #greenscrunchy

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pearlypairings · 11 months

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For the wip game: I'm so curious about chrissy's retribution!

Snippet 1 | Snippet 2

So I gave bit of Chrissy's resurrection and some of her revenge, and I thought let's give you a little bit before she's murdered and set on her path of vengeance...

Chrissy knew better than to wander in the endless pines alone during a rager. She knew what Jason's friend, Chance, wanted from her if she followed him out there. But alcohol had long been flowing and her so-called boyfriend had been a total dick all night.

So fine, she thought, two can play at that game.

Our girl has had it with the disrespect 🤷‍♀️

#wip excerpt #WIP weekend challenge #Chrissy's retribution #wip game answer #ask pearly #pearly answers #Chrissy is at her wits end with stress and emotional abuse from her mother/jason #this is the catalyst right before the uh main event

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fyrbol · 2 years

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❛ of course you have. you feel guilt. you want redemption. ❜ -- from chrissy!

* quotes that broke me / no longer accepting.

TO BE GUILTY IS TO FEEL REMORSE, to bolster the blame for an unspeakable act. that's what it accounts to nowadays. to survive amidst death is a crime. redemption is the key, the retribution to relieving that aforementioned guilt. a mythical oasis in the desert : purge yourself of blame here. and while that temptation is ever prominent, throat raw and relinquishing itself to the potential for sustenance, for freedom, is it what he wants ? with certainty.

but is it what he wants most ?

❛ i want her back. if that's what redemption is, then fine. but i'll hold myself responsible 'til i die if that's what it needs. if that's what it takes . . . i just want her back. ❜ his voice cracks with the pressure of such an admission : selfish in its nature, righteous in its reasoning. she had earned her escape, deserved it more than any of them, and yet it was her who was caged away into pitch black.

that didn't seem fair.

❛ i'll kill him. i'll KILL him, chrissy. if that's what it takes. ❜

#everlightblessing #WHEW..........#( * v. ▸ knowing we are eternal ! / ╰ ✧ ◦ * ◃ a : 04. )#( * i. ▸ code red ! / ╰ ✧ ◦ * ◃ ask msg. )#queue.

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compassionatedestiny · 3 years

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Helena returns to her office, grumbling about some imagined slight or another as she flips through paperwork.

Bad enough that Mustang filed that complaint for her "minor squabble" with her niece and the "mis-quoted comment" of the Belladonna, but the Fuhrer isn't going to enforce punishment for Isabel's tattoo?! How annoying!

She opens the bottom draw of her desk, pulling out a glass and a bottle of whiskey, still muttering to herself about the day so far. She doesn't even care that the draw doesn't close properly when she knees it and throws her papers on the desk. It's barely noon and her day is already going to crap.

Helena picks up her glass and plops in her chair to take a gulp...

CRACK!

With a yelp and flinging her drink right into her face, Helena finds herself on the floor, her chair completely broken to pieces.

As she tries to pull herself up by the edge of her wooden desk, that too collapses with a snap, papers and other office supplies flying as her whiskey bottle shatters, along with her back up bottle still in the broken draw.

A loud, frustrated scream is heard throughout the hall and most of the Command building.

Isabel smirks and gives Edward a fist bump.

#fmab verse drabble #the hag helena #fmab verse #state alchemist!isabel #alchemic elric mention #//is this petty pay back for Helena pissing off the majority of the dash for attempting to slander Chrissy?#// yes it is #//is this also retribution for her insulting and hurting Isabel? also yes #deathleads mention #//muwhahaha

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myosotisa · 1 year

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ceilings - s.h.

Steve Harrington x Reader, Chrissy Cunningham x Steve Harrington

‖ summary: 2 and a half years of your relationship with your best friend Steve.

‖ tags: cheating/infidelity, dubcon, sexual content. you're the one outside of the relationship. slight emetophobia warning. reader is described AFAB, no pronouns, no y/n. angst. hurt no comfort. it's a rough one folks, no happy endings here. please consume with caution.

‖ word count: 2k

The first time your best friend touches you is October 30th.

A few times a month you and your tight knit group of friends get together around a hand stained table and play board games. Those are your favorite nights – full of laughs and screaming and jokes and drinking. You count the days of your quiet, empty life between those evenings.

It's a Friday. You've had more to drink than you normally do. Steve, your best friend, is sitting next to you, your friends Jonathan and Nancy across the table. Eddie, the only other single person in your friend group, and Chrissy, Steve's girlfriend, are both not there.

When Steve gets up to refill his drink, you swing your legs up to rest on his chair, laughing to yourself. When he comes back, you expect him to throw your legs off with a fake scowl, maybe sit on your shins in retribution. Instead, he scoops a forearm under both your calves to lift them and settles them into his lap after he sits down.

You're stunned, but only for a moment. The 4 of you return to the game, your legs resting on Steve's thighs beneath the table.

Another drink later, you feel Steve's warm palm against your shin. It's a completely innocent touch, just resting on your skin. To you it feels strange, unfamiliar – you're touch starved and accept it as is.

The night goes on and Steve's hand starts to move. A subtle brush of his thumb turns into a gentle rub along your shin and keeps inching higher and higher. You're intoxicated, dizzy, struggling to keep up with what's going on as it progresses. And his touch feels good.

Jonathan excuses himself to stumble over to the bathroom so you, Steve, and Nancy pause the game to talk. Steve tucks the tip of his finger beneath the hem of your shorts and you can't help but look over at him in shock. He just smiles, same as always, and goes back to talking to Nancy. You face forward and try to get your fuzzy brain to figure out what's going on.

Am I just imagining this? You've known Steve for years and he's never shown any interest in you beyond playful flirting. He flirts with everyone. And he's with Chrissy: beautiful, blonde, skinny, perky. They say I love you daily and live in this apartment together.

But she's not here. And Steve's hand is brushing your clit over your shorts.

You don't stop him.

When Nancy and Jonathan say they are getting ready to call a ride, you get up too. Your head is spinning and you can't think straight. Steve looks a bit disappointed but doesn't stop you.

The next 2 times you all meet up to play games, Steve finds a way between your legs. Even when he's sober. Even when Chrissy is home. Under the table, around a corner, behind someone's back. He takes two fingers and drags them up and down your slit, over your clothes, and looks delighted when your breath catches in your throat.

You never stop him. Even when you're sober. Even when you go home hating yourself.

You tell yourself it's thrilling, the sneaking around. Rationalize how nice it is for someone to know everything about you, even the dark and dusty corners of your heart, and still desire you. One night he whispers how much he wants you, what he'd do if the two of you were alone. And you can't remember the last time you felt wanted. It's like a drug – a strong hit of Steve in a dark corner soothes the lonely ache inside your heart. Even when you go home alone and he gets into bed with her.

The first time he fucks you, she's asleep in the room next door. It's the middle of the night and he has his hand over your mouth, whispering that you need to be quiet so she doesn't hear you. It feels like you're being torn in two; feeling wanted and feeling alive as you do something you shouldn't, drowning in your guilt and shame at what the reality is.

He finishes inside you without even getting you close. You walk home alone with his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh.

A year goes by.

Every time is the last time, both of you say so. He complains of feeling like the guilt is crushing him. You try to offer solutions that he never accepts. You both talk about how wrong it is, how fucked up you both are. How it hardly even feels good or exciting anymore.

He pulls your pants down anyway, whispering that it's the last time.

It isn't.

It's October again and an unhelpful part of your brain tells you that it's a few days off from 1 year since it began. You are sitting at your desk at work and unlock your phone, pulling up Instagram. You scroll by a few posts when you spot his username.

It's like dropping an anchor through glass.

He proposed to her this weekend, the caption explains. The photo is Steve on one knee in front of Chrissy at the place they had their first date. You swipe and it's a selfie – Chrissy holding up a pretty little diamond on her slender finger and 100 watt smiles from both of them. The comment section is full of people congratulating them: how perfect they are together, how happy they look.

You run to the bathroom and lose your lunch.

That weekend after the games are put away, he stands in front of you, asking if he can fuck your mouth. His hand is so comforting on your jaw, his eyes so full of tenderness. You undo his pants yourself and part your lips like you have a hundred times before.

You go home unsatisfied and sob into your bedspread.

2 months later and he has a crisis. The worst day of his life. He's shaking, crying, panicking. But he doesn't go to her. He goes to you.

You hold him as he cries, comfort him, tell him everything is going to be okay. A bitter part of you can't stop thinking about all the times you walked home alone after getting him off, drowning in guilt and emptiness. Comforting yourself as you cried into your pillows. But you tell yourself this moment is important – he needs you, he wants you, he is choosing you. He feels like his world is ending and he knocks on your door.

3 weeks later and the moment means nothing. The cycle continues.

The first time you tell someone the whole story, from the very beginning, it doesn't go as you hoped. It's someone who doesn't know anyone involved, 3 steps removed from all of them. You are desperate to get it off your chest, beg for help from how it weighs you down day after day.

A part of you thought maybe they would understand. They would see why you do it, why you keep saying yes, why you don't put a stop to it. You hoped they would at least try to see you.

The only questions they ask are, "Does his fiance know? Are you going to tell her?" You don't know how to answer. And all you feel is judgement. The weight only gets heavier.

You never speak of it again. To anyone.

A few more months pass. Steve and Chrissy have another fight. He ends up in your bed. After coming inside you (again), and not asking if you came (again), you lay there and talk. He explains the fight, says they just keep fighting, that sometimes he dreads going home to her.

You tell him maybe this isn't working, maybe he should consider leaving her.

"You're only saying that because you want to be with me."

It hits like a punch to the gut. "Steve, you know everything about me. Do you really think I'd do that?"

He doesn't answer, but you know he understands. You'd never put yourself before him. He knows that. "She loves me… And I love her."

If you loved her, how could you do this to her for all this time? You want to scream.

If you loved her, why are you here in my bed?

Instead you listen to him make more and more excuses of why he stays with her. Despite his own betrayal, despite how shitty they treat each other, despite how wrong they are together.

I love you and it's killing me. You want to scream.

You never do. And he goes home to her the next morning.

You ignore his advances for the next 6 months.

It feels good. To set a boundary that way. To choose yourself. And eventually he stops trying, accepts it as it is. The two of you go back to being the same best friends you were before that October 2 years ago. It feels like growth, like you're finally doing something right.

Sure, you're lonely. And sometimes seeing him with her, knowing she still doesn't know, makes the guilt crawl back up your throat and threaten to choke you. But it gets easier.

Then you have a crisis. The worst day of your life. You're shaking, crying, panicking. And you don't have anyone to go to but him.

He buys you food, streams your favorite movie. He sits right next to you on his couch, a comforting arm around your shoulders, a warm touch you haven't felt in months. It's something that friends do. It's casual, normal.

But you feel so empty, so broken, so hopeless. You're so fucking alone. It feels like your world is ending. And when his hand strays too low, you are desperate to feel something different. Something else, even if it's worse.

It's like a drug – and you relapse.

The cycle begins again.

A few more weeks go by. You get home from work and check your mailbox. There's a pristine white envelope with gold embellishments sitting on top of the normal junk mail. You flip it over and see your name in the perfect curve of Chrissy's handwriting.

A wedding invitation. Asking you to save the date. There's a handwritten note from her on the bottom next to the RSVP. "Don't bring a plus one if you can help it! There's someone coming I want you to meet and I really think you'll hit it off ;)"

You didn't think it was possible, but you hate yourself just a little bit more.

2 weeks later Steve shows up at your door. He walks in like he owns the place but stops short when he sees the invitation on your counter.

With a kitchen island's width of safety between the two of you, you finally ask. "Does she know?"

Steve's eyes meet yours. The flop of hair on his head moves as he shakes it in a 'no.'

"Are you really going to marry her without saying anything?"

He doesn't answer. Just stares.

Bile rises in your throat. The white envelope in his hand gives you the strength to ask the question you knew would destroy everything. "Just tell me this, Steve. Was all of this because of how you feel about me?" Your voice cracks, tears pushing at your eyes. "Or, if I had said no, would you just have gone and found someone else to fuck behind her back?"

There's a long stretch of silence. It feels more and more like a noose tightening around your neck as the seconds pass.

"I don't know."

A sob tears its way out of your throat, your hands grappling for the counter between you to stop from collapsing. Through your tears you see him falter and then try to reach for you, but you flinch away.

"Get out."

He actually has the gall to look shocked. "Come on, let's just talk about this."

"Steve." Your voice is liquid nitrogen and he freezes on contact. You've never spoken to him like this before and he doesn't know what to do. "Get. Out."

He whispers your name and it hits you like a slap, another sob tearing up your esophagus as you turn away. Eventually he stops hovering, collects his briefcase, puts his shoes back on. The door clicks shut behind him.

You collapse onto your kitchen floor and cry your fucking eyes out while he goes home to her.

They get married that spring.

thanks for reading.

#steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #myos ideas #myo4harrington

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