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andvys · 10 months

Note

If you’re taking requests (and if you’re not totally ignore me) maybe a hurt comfort with Eddie? Like maybe the readers been sinking further into their head because they deal with anxiety and repetitive thoughts and no one in the party seems to notice except Eddie who is softer and more coddling?

You will be loved E.M.

Warnings: slight angst, anxiety, mentions of depression, mentions of Eddie almost dying, mentions of Steve's trauma, fluff

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word count: 2k

stranger things masterlist

You never had it easy in life, anxiety has always been a big part of you, ever since you were a kid, you struggled with your own thoughts, with fears that you couldn’t control and with things that you probably overthought. Whenever you tried to open up and talk about it, you got dismissed or worse, pushed away, especially by people you considered friends.

As you got older, you learned to keep things to yourself, to not talk about them, knowing that you will just be ignored, misunderstood or pushed away again.

Some days it’s easy to dismiss your thoughts, to distract yourself and to think about other things. You always wear a smile on your face and show everyone how happy you are, even when you’re not.

You have amazing friends now, ones that you went through hell and back with. You know that they would never push you away or ignore you and your struggles, yet your fears always keep you from opening up to someone.

It’s easier to keep quiet.

You know that Steve is struggling with everything that happened. He acts like he is fine when he really isn’t. He has no one to come home to, no one to comfort him, no one to make him feel safe. He experienced trauma, too much of it. He keeps his feelings to himself, pretending to be okay, he is lying to everyone and to himself. Just like you do.

Maybe it’s bad to look up to him when you know how much he is suffering in silence but you take him as an example.

Keep quiet and pretend that you’re okay for the sake of others and for yourself..

Though when things get truly bad and your thoughts and your fears take hold of you, you can’t continue to act like you’re okay, you can’t continue to smile and waltz around happily, showing everyone how ‘good’ you’re feeling.

You force that smile on yourself, you force that laugh or that giggle, you force yourself to show up, you force yourself to show them that you are still okay. And you are relieved to see that no one notices how much you are struggling.

At least that’s what you think.

Eddie notices. He always notices everything about you.

He knows when you are happy and he knows when you’re not.

He knows when a smile is genuine and when it isn’t.

And right now, he knows that you are pretending.

The Wheeler’s are on vacation– well, Ted, Karen and Holly are. Nancy stayed at home and after much convincing they allowed Mike to stay behind as well. Tonight, the whole party is here for movie night.

Eddie, who had been excited for this night all week, wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a tight hug the moment you walked through the door, he kissed your cheek and squeezed your sides, making you giggle.

That was a genuine giggle and so was the one when he surprised you with your favorite snacks that he got when he stopped by Big Buy’s just to get you the things you love.

Eddie might not be able to afford much but he spoils you with little things whenever he can, you are friends but he treats you like you’re his girl. He takes care of you, he makes sure you eat and drink enough, he reminds you to bring your jacket whenever you go out together but in case you don’t, he always brings one of his hoodies– just for you. He gets you little presents every now and then, whether it’s a cute stuffie that reminds him of you or a pretty necklace, anything he sees that he thinks you might like, he will get it for you.

He loves spoiling you, he loves paying attention to you.

Eddie always keeps a close eye on you and he always makes sure that you know that you can come to him, for anything. Whether it’s just to talk or to spend time together, Eddie is always here for you, anytime.

Tonight, he keeps an even closer eye on you. When he stopped by your workplace to bring you your favorite coffee and pastry, he had noticed that your eyes were glassy, a little red rimmed and filled with sadness– you were crying. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into a hug and ask you if you are okay but he didn’t want to push you.

Dustin, who claimed the spot next to you continuously tried to make you laugh during the movie, you did laugh and while the teen was proud of his jokes and of making you laugh, Eddie knew that you were forcing it. You didn’t even pay attention to the movie, your eyes looked distant, your mind was elsewhere.

Max asked if you were bored to which you shook your head and gave her a small smile, she offered you the snacks that Eddie got you but you declined.

Finally, you excused yourself during the second movie, no one really paid attention, everyone was too focused on the fight scene that erupted on the screen– you waited for this moment, waiting for everyone to be distracted so you could make an escape without getting unwanted attention.

Eddie’s eyes follow you, watching you walk out of the house and into the garden, you close the patio door behind you. He gives you a moment to yourself before he decides to follow you out.

He finds you sitting on the swing chair, looking up at the starry sky, your toes are touching the grass, your hair is flowing from the wind, even from a distance, Eddie can see that you are freezing, it’s a chilly summer night. Instantly, he takes his sweater off and walks towards you.

“You never bring a jacket do you?”

You flinch a little, lowering your head and turning towards him, your sad eyes lock with his but a smile tugs at your lips, “you know me.”

He chuckles, walking closer to you, he offers you his black sweater. You shake your head, “I don’t want you to get cold–”

“Sweetheart, I’m not the one wearing a sundress,” he says, raising his brows as he looks down at your cute dress, “it’s cute and you look very pretty but you must be freezing in that tiny thing.”

You blush at his words, breaking eye contact, you look down at his sweater and grab it, gladly putting it on. Warmth and Eddie’s scent embrace you, it makes your heart flutter and long for him even more.

He smiles to himself, his heart is soaring whenever he sees you in his clothes.

Sitting down next to you, he turns to you, “is the movie too boring for you?” He asks as he stares at your side profile, your skin is glowing beneath the moonlight, the urge to brush your hair back and kiss your cheek is so strong, “cause it’s definitely too boring for me,” he jokes, making you laugh.

“Are action movies not your thing?”

“Some of them are but I’m more into horror,” he shrugs, giving you a cheeky smile.

“Me too,” you smile.

“We should have a movie night by ourselves, just binge on horror movies, eat pizza and pretzels–”

“Of course we can never forget about the pretzels!” You laugh.

His eyes light up at your genuine laugh, “you know it, they’re my favorites.”

“You’re obsessed,” you chuckle. Still staring into his eyes that look even more beautiful than the stars in the night sky, “I’d love to have a horror movie night with you,” you smile.

His heart skips a beat as excitement rushes through him. It’s not that you have never hung out alone before, there were a few times but mostly, you always hang out in groups and Eddie has been waiting for a chance to be with you alone, so he can shower you with more love.

“Yeah?”

You nod, “yeah,” you whisper.

“Cool,” he says with a big smile on his face, one that makes you feel at ease.

Eddie scoots a little closer to you, he looks into your eyes. He can see the glint of happiness, the one that has been missing before. He reaches for your hand and as he turns it around, you instantly intertwine your fingers with his making his heart swell.

Even before he joined your friend group and became a big part of your life, he crushed on you hard. You were always the girl he had his eyes on, you were always the one he was excited to see whenever he walked into the hell hole that people call school. He is pretty sure that he failed too many tests because he was too busy staring at you.

“How are you, sweetheart?” He asks as he squeezes your hand.

The question isn’t half hearted, it isn’t forced or just a conversation starter, it’s a genuine question because he wants to know what you really feel like, he wants to know because he cares. He always cared. Eddie was always here, he was always the one who take care of you, the one who always noticed when you weren’t feeling well, the one who always did everything to show you how loved you are and as you think about all the moments, he was there to make you feel good, you suddenly feel tears welling up in your eyes.

His eyes widen a little when he sees the tears, when he notices the quivering lip, when he feels your tight grip on his hand. You don’t have to say it, he knows you are not doing well and as you start crying, he doesn’t even hesitate to pull you into his arms.

“Oh y/n,” he whispers as he picks you up and pulls you on his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around your form. You bury your face in his neck and put your arms around him, crying softly as he holds you.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing your back softly, “you’re not alone, I’m here.”

Your quiet sniffles break his heart just the way your sobs did that night when he almost died as he laid in your arms. You were there, you gave him the strength that he needed, you saved him, you took care of him, you never left his side and now he will do the same for you.

He kisses your shoulder and plays with your hair, whispering some reassuring words into your ear, trying to ease your pain, trying to comfort you as best as he can and when you calm down, you pull away to look into his eyes.

Eddie cups your cheeks, wiping away your fallen tears, he pulls you closer, “you don’t have to hide your feelings, baby,” he whispers as he presses a soft kiss to your damp cheek, “I’m always here, no matter what,” he kisses your other cheek, “I don’t want you to keep things to yourself,” he kisses your forehead, “you were there for me, so let me be here for you now,” he says as he kisses your nose, making you smile a little, “you’re my girl, let me take of you.”

Your glassy eyes meet his, you notice the blush on his cheeks, the hopeful look in his eyes.

“I’m your girl?”

He blinks, smiling nervously, “i-if you want to be,” he whispers shyly as his heart begins to race, just like yours does.

“I would love to be your girl, Eddie Munson.”

His smile grows bigger, happiness rushes through him, his eyes light up and he looks giddier than ever. He grabs your cheeks harder and pulls you closer, “my girl,” he whispers before he slams his lips against yours, pulling you into a sweet and passionate kiss, one that fills you with warmth, hope and love.

Eddie holds you tighter than before, he pours all the love he has for you into the kiss, you can feel his happiness and that alone shows you will be okay eventually.

You have him by your side, that means that you will always be loved.

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine

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hippielittlemetalhead · 5 months

Text

So... I lied about getting a full fix-it to This → Part 1. Y'all get parts focusing on different characters for now as Hop traverses his guilt trip. I won't say it gets worse before it gets better but... kinda in places? I promise it's a happy ending though!!

What do you want from me I'm stressed and depressed and I like making my blorbos suffer (a.k.a projecting my trauma instead of doing the healthy shit my shrink tells me to)

You've been warned... But I do hope you like it.

So here we have Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce Edition)

He goes to Joyce about it first. Thinks about her gentle herding of the trio that has become the Hopper-Byers brood. Thinks about how she put everything he was feeling about Mike and El and their giggling and the fucking door into words that kept him from looking like an imbecile (if he'd have ever used them instead of fucking it up 'winging it'). Thinks about the way her voice stays soft and kind of quiet even when she's spitting in his face about listening to her (and every time she's been right) and how that's translated to talking down government goons and wrangling the army of children that seems to get bigger each time they have to fight interdimensional terrors. So he goes to Joyce about what Murray said, the noise Steve made with That Look in his eyes and his bandages peeking out from under a shirt that looks like one of the Henleys he's been missing since coming 'back from the dead' and they dug out his clothes from storage. (El wouldn't let her throw anything out, not until she was ready to say goodbye. Thank whatever god[s] there may be she never needed to)

He doesn't expect Joyce to make a face like he suggested inviting Owens to family dinner. He doesn't expect the scoff and eye roll as her shoulders tense and her hands flex at her sides like she's about to let loose her (honestly really attractive) righteous fury. About the Harrington kid.

Maybe he should have asked when the kids weren't home. Before El quietly told them the bullying wasn't as bad as it was in California but some people still made fun of how she spoke and how all of her friends were boys (and just as quietly asked they not do anything. Asked that they let her and The Party handle it until they couldn't). Before Will came home sulking about something idiotic Mike said or did or something the kid missed (though lately the latest Wheeler mistake is followed by bashful mention of the Emerson kid doing something specifically to make Will feel better in the moment). Before Jonathan came home from 'job hunting' or 'volunteering at the school's relief center' reeking of weed and his long-haired friend in tow (less than usual but still enough to make Joyce feel guilty for missing it for so long, for making the boy grow up so fast that he spends his days out of his mind instead of the weekend bender like when they were kids). Before The Party had come by with what homework the school was still giving out and talking over each other about all the latest small-town gossip a teenager can get their hands on (Eddie's name has been cleared but he's still laid up at the hospital. Susan Mayfield has been noticeably absent according to every nosy housewife in Hawkins considering her daughter is in a coma. The Hagans, Carvers, Perkins and a handful of other 'well to do' families have skipped town taking most of the sports population with them. Steve has been letting people displaced by the damage crash at the Harrington mansion. Steve has kept up hours at Family Video somehow and is a regular volunteer at the various relief centers in town. Steve has been giving all of them rides and may have told Dustin he's thinking of trading in the Beemer for a bigger vehicle for all the kids and people he chauffeurs about. Steve keeps a room empty and waiting for when Max wakes up before her mother makes an appearance. Steve. Steve. Steve.)

He doesn't expect the way she spits his name like she's talking about Dick and Margaret under the bleachers over a smoke before the yard teacher catches them. The rant about bullies and broken cameras and trashed kitchens and dead monsters in her fridge. The crack in her voice when she crosses her arms to stop their shaking as she lays sin upon sin at this boy's feet.

And maybe before that would have been enough.

He doesn't expect the stone in his stomach or the burning in his chest as he looks the woman he loves in the eye and says "So I guess we should tell Nancy to break up with Jonathan before he pulls a Lonnie, huh?" It's a low blow. He knows from the hurt anger on her face and on the purse of her lips. He knows that's why he said it. "That kid is lucky to be alive let alone walking and have we ever even thanked him for keeping the fucking kids alive each time they pull their dumb shit when the world goes to hell? Does that sound like anything his folks would have ever done for us? Hell for their own fucking kid they practically signed over to ME of all people?"

He's shaking now too and Joyce has her hands fluttering between them like she wants to reach out. To touch, comfort. Pull him close and tell him to take a breath.

"He called me 'His Hop', Joyce" He barely has enough breath on him to squeeze the words past his tight throat. "Called me His Hop and watched Ellie and the kids when I just couldn't and you were at work. I don't think I've seen his folks in town since the mall was opened and all the donors had that big party. Don't think I've spoken to them since '83 and they made me the kid's guardian when they aren't around cause they didn't want to fly down for a government sized concussion."

By now he knows El and Will are peeking around the corner, their eyes wide and worried. Jonathan has his door cracked and Angus (is that the hippie's name? He can't remember) is whispering something about heavy auras. Joyce is staring somewhere off in the distance, wringing her hands and biting her lips like she's facing an interdimensional portal shaped problem.

"The kids are planning to have one of their games in a few days." Her voice is brittle in a way he's not used to anymore. Not since she pulled her youngest out of hell and faced down a demon clawing through her walls. "He always drives them over and- and disappears until they need to head home. I can make sure he stays for dinner. Like the rest of the kids. I know Claudia has been having him over so I- I can get some recipes from her that he likes."

Something in his shoulders shakes loose and he reaches out to pull her practically shaking from into his chest.

"I don't know what to say to him Hop. He's not Mike and he's not like either of my boys. In my head he's just always been..."

"Dick and Margaret's brat." He sighs out and rests his cheek on the top of her head as she nods and presses herself in closer.

He's aware of eyes on them. Confused and worried and judgemental and he'll pay that piper next. These kids taught him how to be a dad again once, they can do it again, right?

Part 3

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth

If I missed you in the tag list I'm sorry I tried 🙃🫡 Tell me what you think? 🫣🥲

#nttttf verse #Never Took The Time (To Forget)#yeah the ramblings of a madperson #rambler writes #hopper adopts steve #but make it sad #not fic #i need sleep #stranger things thoughts #hopper pov #hopper byers family #I swear I love Joyce #I just need her to realize she canonically dislikes Steve for VERY stupid reasons #jopper #fic writing #fic wip #stranger things wip

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myosotisa · 1 year

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there are bones in my closet - s.h.

Steve Harrington x Reader

‖ summary: You can't control what your scars have done to you, but you can control what you're going to do about it and who you're going to trust with them.

‖ tags: hurt/comfort, post season 4 volume 2. contains content referring to anxiety, depression, ptsd, unresolved trauma, and their symptoms. you comforting Steve and Steve comforting you. written all in one sitting and unedited, so sorry if there are mistakes. i'll go back and fix them at some point.

‖ word count: 3.8k

You both had scars; seen and unseen.

Some of his were physical. Puckered pink and tight scar tissue on either side of his torso, a smaller section on one shoulder. A straight, light line of discoloration across his throat. The special glasses he had to wear and the pills he had to take to keep the migraines at bay.

The rest were less obvious. A tensing of his shoulders whenever something flew by him and he wasn’t expecting it, even if it was as small as a bee. White knuckle grips, and sometimes a full body flinch, at the crack of thunder or flash of lightning. An uneasy feeling that led to irritability when he had to go outside while it was foggy. Wide, panicked eyes when he woke up in the middle of the night with a scream in his throat. His protective nature morphed, shifted, grew into something that could sometimes feel stifling. The anxiety that accompanied the fear behind the protection.

When you first got closer to Steve Harrington, it was easy for you to tell he had ghosts following him wherever he went. You knew because you had them too.

A tendency to jump or freeze at a loud noise or when someone raised their voice. Hints of subtle pain hiding behind your eyes around the holidays, your birthday, when people talked about their family and you forced a smile. How you could go from the life of the party, talking and laughing and helping everyone, and start to go quiet so quickly, sometimes entirely without warning. The way it wasn’t unusual for you to disappear for days at a time, no one knowing you were simply buried in your covers and unable to emerge. And sometimes, even when you were right next to him, right next to anyone, you would still feel so far away.

Steve was haunted by things that had long since died and you were too.

The first time you saw the signs in him was early April 1986.

You’d barely known him then. Both of you had known of each other in school but that was pretty much it – orbited different planets in the same solar system. When you met him again, or for the first time really, at the donation drive at the high school, he wasn’t at all what you remembered. King Steve was wearing a little name tag and folding shirts, pants, towels, and anything else set before him and then organizing it into piles just like one of your colleagues had asked him to.

Although pretty busy trying to wrangle a few other volunteers who seemed to have bitten off more than they could chew when it came to washing the bedding on the cots lining the gym, you couldn’t help but catch glimpses of him. How he had a heated but whispered argument with Robin Buckley from a year behind you, and then smiled like a proud father as she made peanut butter sandwiches. Turned into an absolute mother hen when a curly haired brunette walked by him with a limp, leaving his station to usher him over to a set of chairs and gave him what looked like a finger wag before ruffling the boy's curls. He only went back to folding when an older man, who you recognized as one of the people staying here, came and sat down next to the boy, waving Steve off with a shaky hand.

A few other preteens came by and talked to him, the only one you recognized being Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother Mike. He spoke with all of them with what could only be described as fond annoyance – like how you would talk to a younger sibling or a best friend. It intrigued you, for lack of a better word. An earthquake had shattered Hawkins and here was Steve Harrington: folding an endless number of fabrics that just kept growing, greeting anyone who tried to talk to him with a charming smile, and looking out for a select group of what appeared to be his friends.

After a particularly long conversation with two local moms, you noticed it. The smile was more forced, his responses less enthusiastic, shoulders rolling forward and eyes closing with a deep breath when he thought no one was looking at him.

He looked exhausted. The kind of tired sleeping can’t fix.

When another local came and chatted him up, carrying most of the conversation as Steve replied politely, and then clapped him on the back – he choked. A tightening of his chest, his neck, his eyes squeezing shut as he let out a few coughs. The man looked worried, asking him if he was okay, if he had hurt him. Then brown eyes blinked open wide again and flickered around wildly. His shoulders started to fall and rise faster, a flush creeping up his neck.

Your bleeding heart cracked a bit more as you stepped inbetween the man and him.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” you glanced back at the man, who gave a hesitant shrug before making an escape, and you returned to the wild eyes of Steve. “Volunteer coordinator here, do you think you could come help me with something?”

There was water collecting in the corners of his eyes as they glanced from you to the room like he was looking for a way to escape. His voice was slightly hoarse when he tried to respond, “I… I, uh-”

Lightly pressing the tips of your fingers to the clenched fist of his hand, you lowered your voice as quietly as you could. “Just come with me.”

His eyes squeezed shut, a single errant tear sliding down his pink cheek, before he gave a stunted nod.

You could feel eyes on your back as you walked with him off of the floor and into the swinging door of the kitchen.

Struggling with the weight, you pulled open the heavy metal door to the walk in fridge and motioned him inside. He didn’t question it as he stepped in and you followed behind him.

The space was small but not claustrophobic, large wire shelves on either side as the heavy door softly closed behind you. Eyes searching, you landed on a long plank of what looked like frozen pork ribs.

“Hold this please,” was the only thing you said as you thrust it into his hands. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion but he took the slab, the ice cold object ending up nestled into his chest. Perfect. “Thanks, now just wait here a minute,” you inched past him, both of you having to rotate in order for you to get past without touching each other, “I have to grab one more thing.”

You didn’t. You didn’t need the ribs either. But you opened up the faded white ice chest in the back of the walk in and started digging through it, looking for nothing. Your companion didn’t say a word in the enclosed space, but you could tell the cold was doing its job as his breathing started to slow down. After pretending to dig for another few minutes, you stood up straight again and let the lid fall closed before hopping up to sit on top of it.

Steve was standing there dutifully and holding the frozen meat close to him just as you’d asked. The flush rising up from his chest had been replaced with pink nose and cheeks from the cold, dry air, and his chest rose and fell at a more reasonable rate. The panic in his eyes had abated and the tears blinked away as his head slightly swiveled to look around the metal container you both were in.

“You can put the meat down now if you want.”

He startled a bit, gaze returning to you having not realized you were sitting there watching him. “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t actually need your help,” you offered plainly, motioning to the pork he was basically hugging. “The cold helps the panic go away.”

His head drops to look over the plastic bundle in his arms. “The…? No, I wasn’t-”

“It’s okay, Steve. You don’t have to explain.”

A few moments passed as Steve’s grip on the meat shifted before he set it back on the shelf you had taken it from. Now free, his arms crossed over his chest and he shifted on his feet slightly. You took your own few moments to slow down, to breathe. To let the cold air recover you as much as it could before you had to go back out there.

Go back to grieving widows and broken families and people suddenly without homes or possessions. People crying, screaming, trying to make sense of something senseless. Some looking out for ways to help, some desperately seeking help no one could reasonably provide. You would keep going until your heart bled dry and then just a little farther, just to go back to your empty apartment and do it again the next day.

But it was what you could do. It was something you could do. A way you could help.

Rescuing Steve Harrington from having a panic attack in a crowded school gym was a way you could help even when you felt like you were falling apart at the seams.

His voice is gentle when he asks, “how did you know…?”

That he was panicking? That the cold would help? That he needed help?

“Guess when you know what it feels like, you know what it looks like.”

He seems to quietly consider your answer as he quietly considers you. Eyes searching, posture guarded, energy unsettled. You want to show a kind smile, open palms, telling him sweet words that will settle him, do the job that you’re supposed to be doing here.

But you’re so exhausted. The kind of tired sleeping can’t fix. And you just need a few more minutes before you put the act back on.

Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to have found it, because his arms fell from his chest, one lowering to rest on his hip as he leaned the opposite shoulder against the shelf beside him.

“Do you, uh, have any other tips and tricks?” He hesitantly asks, his gaze locked on your dirty sneakers.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The first time he saw yours was early June 1986.

The two of you had spent a steadily increasing amount of time together as he continued to volunteer to help at the makeshift shelter and you continued coordinating. When it was possible, the two of you would end up on a station together and you’d get a few more clues into what exactly were the skeletons in Steve’s closet. Hushed conversations about a friend in the hospital, about a friend they’d lost, about one they’d gotten back. Stories like you heard every single time you worked, but these felt different. The more you watched, the more you saw the string that tied all of them together. How it wasn’t just Steve looking out for his people, but them looking out for him and each other too.

A group of people that made no sense to be together but bonded in a way that couldn’t have happened peacefully.

Sometimes he would be talking to one of them – one of the preteens, or Robin, or Nancy Wheeler, or Jonathan Byers, or Joyce Byers, or the newly revived Sheriff Hopper – and would nervously glance your way like they didn’t want you to hear. You pretended not to.

If you could have stopped listening, you would have. But you heard and processed everything around you whether you wanted to or not.

Regardless of some of the strange things that floated into your ears, you never said a word about it. Never talked about the scar on his neck, or the scars on his sides you had gotten peeks at when he reached for something up high. Never asked why sometimes his whole body would start to react as if he was in a life or death situation, never questioned what triggered those moments. Never mentioned that when you weren’t working together, you could feel his eyes on you like a hawk, like you were one of the people he looked out for now too.

Never admitted how terrified that made you.

In return, he never asked why you would suddenly disappear for an hour and re-emerge with frozen fingers. Never pressed when you told him you were fine even though you couldn’t say it convincingly. Never forced you to talk when you fell silent or made you feel like you had to act a certain way or fulfill a certain need for him.

He just needed someone. Someone who knew, but didn’t know. Who saw the weight, saw the string that wound tight to him and his friends, saw when the mask started to crack and needed to be whisked away from prying eyes, and didn’t ask to know anymore than that.

You needed someone too. Someone who knew, but didn’t know. Who could see past the performance, see when the shadows drew in tighter and started to choke you, see that you were trying so fucking hard all the time. You needed someone who would understand that you were going to fight tooth and nail against the idea of needing someone – a trapped animal lashing out at anyone who tried to get close because they didn’t know if they were going to set it free or make the killing blow.

You didn’t know Steve could be that person until he proved it.

The day had started off shit. You’d woken up in a haze and debated if this was one of the days that would make you bury your head in the sand and wait for the storm to pass. Your first mistake was deciding to get up and go back to work anyway.

Your second mistake was putting Butter Handy Andy on dish washing duty.

You’d been talking to Vickie McAdams about the supplies you all had available for making dinner tonight when a huge crash came from inside the kitchen. Completely unprepared for a sudden noise that loud, you couldn’t hold in the yelp, couldn’t mask the way your entire body tensed, couldn’t help the way you immediately stopped in the middle of your sentence. Frozen, heart stuttering an uneven rhythm in your chest, the contents of your stomach kicking up, and people were staring. People were staring. Everyone was looking at you and thinking there was something wrong with you and you’re weak and broken.

Sweet, sweet Vickie, with a concerned furrow to her brow and a calm smile, asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

It took 75% of what you had left to put the act back on.

“Yup, just spooked me a little.” You laughed and then she laughed and then it felt like you had saved it, fooled them, protected yourself. It felt like the eyes were off of you.

Well, all except 2.

Your third mistake was stepping in between two men who had started an argument by the missing persons board.

Already running on fumes, you really should’ve thrown in the towel an hour ago. But giving up wasn’t a skill of yours and all that awaited you at home was silence and skeletons, so you kept the engine running. The disagreement had started quietly but quickly escalated into a screaming match in front of everyone in the room. Having forgotten yourself, gotten lost in the role you were playing as a coordinator and a leader, you’d immediately approached and tried to talk them down. Neither paid any attention to you and more people were starting to gather, either to watch or concerned they needed to do something. A baby nearby started to wail and the murmur of the gathering people grew and all the noise continued to grow into a tidal wave that rushed in your ears.

One of the men raised a fist like he was going to throw a punch. You rocketed forward, putting yourself between them with your hands out to try to stop him. And you did – the forward motion of his fist stopped. But then his other hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt near the collar and he tossed you away like you were nothing. You stumbled and then fell, gasping out in pain and shock as your tailbone made contact with the shiny, wooden floor.

The crowd descended then; pulling the two men apart before either of them could come to harm. People rushed for you, throwing out questions of ‘are you hurt?’, ‘what were you thinking?’, ‘are you okay?’ as hands you didn’t know forced you back to your feet. There were so many eyes and so many questions and so many hands and everyone was so close and everything was so loud and you couldn’t see and you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t move and you couldn’t talk.

You ran.

Pushed your way through the small circle of near strangers that had formed around you and settled into a run toward the swinging kitchen door. Through the door, past where Andy was still dropping pots and pans into soapy water without a care in the world, past the walk in fridge, and out the back doors. The sun was setting but the air was still hot and humid and choking you as you kept fucking running. You didn’t know if anyone followed you, you didn’t even try to look. You just listened to the frantic beat of your heart that told you to keep going or else it would be the end of you.

Your feet carried you to a familiar place that you hadn’t seen in a few years. You ran out of breath and had to stop just as you reached the bleachers along the mile track behind the school. They were coated in shades of orange, making the dusty track beyond them look even older as the sun carried down toward the horizon.

Despite your lungs and legs not being able to run any further, you were still thrumming with adrenaline, muscles tensed, chest tight, heart and mind racing out of control. You couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get back in control.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder and you swung.

Steve Harrington dodged your fist like a man who had taken more than his fair share of punches.

“Woah, hey, just me,” he offered calmly, hands coming up in a surrender gesture. The wire rim glasses were a recent addition, only a month or so old. You’d overheard one of his friends joke that maybe if he had taken one less knock to the noggin he wouldn’t need them. Hurt eyes or not, they flickered over you, caught sight of the heaving of your chest, the blood shot eyes, how you panted out between your teeth and arched your back like a cornered animal.

You certainly sounded a bit like one as you barked, “What the fuck do you want, Steve?”

He instinctively stepped back at the venom in your tone, eyes widening slightly in surprise. His mouth opened, closed, opened, and said nothing. The fear in his eyes quickly abated and then his expression fell. Not into one of pity or worry, like you normally expected. No, Steve looked at you like someone who knew, but didn’t know. Someone who understood. And it broke you.

Denim covered knees hit dust as you fell on them hard enough to hurt. You didn’t feel it, the physical pain, too distracted by the agony of your bleeding heart cracking your chest wide open. A sob tore from your throat as you buried your face into your sweaty hands and shook with the force of your tears. Gasping in a few sharp gulps of air as the cries continued to force themselves out of your mouth.

Firm, warm arms circled your shoulders and forced you off your knees and onto your ass and thigh, legs off to one side as your upper body made contact with a solid chest. His grip around you was tight, almost bone crushing, and despite the way you thought it would trigger you more, it was grounding. Something solid, something real, something physical while everything else felt like sand running right through your fingers. Despite the unexpected comfort offered, your sobs continued.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, barely audible due to your crying. “You’re safe.”

The word ‘safe’ made your bleeding heart shatter into pieces, another sharp wail leaving you as your nails started to dig into the skin of your face. Almost like he knew, Steve momentarily released one of his arms to force your hands away from your face and press them into his chest, encouraging your fingers to fist in his shirt instead. You obliged subconsciously, hands twisting in his loose t-shirt as you pressed your eyes into his shoulder instead. Satisfied, he returned both arms to his tight circle that held you pressed to him.

You don’t know how long you both sat there on the track behind Hawkins High School. Long enough for the automatic lights to flick on over the field and the sunset to dip into golden reds and purples as night crept closer. Long enough for your ass to fall asleep and for your crying to stop and for your breathing to return to normal and then even longer than that.

He didn’t pull away until you did, and even then it was with reluctance.

Making eye contact for the first time, you didn’t think before the words tumbled out of you. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like his shirt wasn’t damp with your tears and he hadn’t followed you out here while you ran like your life depended on it.

Wanting to argue that you had plenty to be sorry for, instead you shifted gears to the part of you that desperately wanted to give some kind of excuse or a reason to what had just occurred. “I swear, I normally don’t-”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted you with a kind smile, one hand giving your knee a soft squeeze before returning to his own lap. “You don’t have to explain.”

The shattered bits of your heart that lay in the wasteland of your chest thumped once, twice.

“Thank you,” it came out of you as barely a whisper.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, eyes warm and gentle. “I’ve got you and you’ve got me.”

Thumped once, twice beneath the fear.

“I’ve got you and you’ve got me.”

thanks for reading!! if you liked it, please give it a reblog and leave a comment, as they make my day <3

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #steve harrington angst #stranger things hurt/comfort #myos ideas #myo4harrington

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aemiron-main · 8 months

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one day st tumblr will hopefully learn that they do not in fact need to shove every character into neat little boxes and archetypes that are completely separate from eachother and cant overlap but today is not that day. some of you guys will die of shock when you realize that more than one character can be mentally ill or sad or abused in the same show and even that those characters are often paralleled to eachother. max and mike can both be depressed over different things, to different degrees, and display it in different ways and they can also have some shared stuff there too/some parallels. same goes for chrissy and mike re: eating disorders. same goes for will and henry re: sexual assault. it’s not “stealing” from another character to point out the content of the show & to demonstrate shared behaviours/parallels between characters & its not stealing for more than one character to have A Problem.

like, so many people on here are SO fixated on cramming every single character into a neat little box and getting mad over anyone pointing out overlap with other characters because then that supposedly takes away from Their Pookie’s Special Victimhood And Specialness. Will’s trauma is not lessened simply because Mike has emotions and trauma too. Max’s trauma is not lessened simply because Mike has emotions and trauma too.

And also the “mike has no trauma” takes are insane to me because even if the wheelers WERE the most supportive and emotionally healthy family ever (which they’re not), the events of season 1 ALONE were traumatizing as hell. let alone all of the other seasons. like. Some of you are so neck deep in trying to maintain your fave as being The Only Traumatized One or The Only Depressed One that you expect a literal child to be able to cope perfectly with watching people die in front of him and all of the other 517384844 horrifying things that happen in ST.

#stranger things

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bylrlvr · 2 years

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no but imagine someone new to this fandom entering the byler tag during this era

the first post you see is something like “milktruck mitochondria monalisa minnesota minneapolis moisty mozzarella microwave ovens are pissing me tf off”

then you see someone else yelling “BRETT GELMAN U WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS” for three days straight

up-next you see a serious, breathtakingly beautiful, show-stopping, wholesome, detailed 37k analysis essay on mike wheeler’s queercoding made by someone who studies film professionally and has actual experience within the field

followed up by a braindead mitosis anon saying “mike is not gay, there’s no proof!!!”

next we have the daily good old “mike wheeler i know what you are” posts

and then someone is shouting with no context “OHMYYYGOD I JUST SAW THAT THING WHAT THE FUCK BYLER IS ENDGAME EVERYONE PACK IT UP”

and next you see a bunch of people rolling over the floor, ripping their hair out, shitting themselves, banging their heads against the door, because will byers deserves a gun next season

then there is always that one depressed person in the tag being like “there’s no hope anymore. cant believe we were baited”

next post after that is someone saying that they will be under the bed of the creators of the show and haunt them for life, and a bunch of people enthusiastically agreeing in the comments

#byler #it’s fun here

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abellmunsonmovie · 2 months

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Tears and Pancakes

Wordcount: 988 words

Warning: Reader is depressed, Eddie comforts Reader, no mention of Reader's race/gender, use of Y/N, pet names (Sweets, Baby, Sweetheart)

Eddie hasn’t seen you in two weeks, normally you can’t go an hour without seeing each other. Eddie tried to call you several times every week, he thought he had done something, he finally decides to call Steve and Robin to see if they knew anything.

“Hey this is Family Video, I’m Steve how-”, “Steve” Eddie interrupts, “Oh hey man, whats up?”, “Have you seen Y/N, I haven’t seen them in weeks” Eddie says clearly panicked, “Uh, no um…I’m gonna ask Robin maybe she has”, Eddie can hear Steve and Robin talking through the phone, then Steve goes back to Eddie, “Listen man, neither of us have seen Y/N, but I’m sure they’re okay…Have you called Nance?”, Eddie rubs his face in frustration, “No, I-i’ll try her…thanks”. Eddie hangs up the phone and calls Nancy, “Wheeler-”, “Nancy?”, “Eddie? No it’s Mike,” Mike says in a confused tone, “I need to talk to Nancy…I think Y/N might be mad at me”, “Oh um… okay hold on” Mike still has that confused tone, “NANCY”, “WHAT”, Eddie rolls his eyes hearing them yelling at each other. “Hey Eddie?” Nancy says worriedly, “Nancy…have you seen Y/N”, “I haven’t seen them in 2 weeks”, Eddie scoffs “Do you know anyone else I can call, I called Steve and Robin, I called you…If they’re mad at me I wanna give them space”, Nancy tries to reassure Eddie, “Y/N’s not mad at you, they-…”, “They what?” Eddie asks, “Sometimes they go off the radar for a little bit…it happens every now and then and then they come back fine…”, Eddie's eyebrows pinch together, “And why?”, “They never say…maybe you should go over there”, Eddie nods “Thanks Nancy, bye” he hangs up the phone and hurriedly puts on his shoes.

He gets to your place and unlocks the door with a spare key, the TV is on, the kitchen is messy, dishes towering in the sink, he walks to your bedroom, and through a crack in the door, he can see you curled up under the blankets, crying. He opens the door slowly and crouches down to your level, “Baby” he says softly, your head shoots up and your face goes red in embarrassment, he shouldn’t be seeing you like this, no one should. You haven’t showered in days, “Shit…Eddie why- how did you even get in?”, “You left a spare at my place…now come on…tell me whats going on”, your lip trembles, “Please just go” you squeak out, Eddies heart breaks a little more and his eyes start to sting, “Baby…I can help”, you shake your head, “I’m not a fucking kid Eddie”, Eddie holds your hand “No, your love of my fucking life and you need help…Nancy told me you’ve done this before…whats going on baby?”, you start to cry agin and you wrap your arms around Eddie, pulling him towards you, Eddie pulls you close and shushes you, “I got you baby…it’s okay, you’re alright…”, you snap, “I’m so fucking tired if this shit!”, he rubs your back, “You’ll get through it baby…”, “Why can’t I just be okay?! What did I do to feel like this?!” you say pulling away and looking at Eddie, he shakes his head and holds your hands, “You didn’t do anything…you just…you are you okay? And I know, trust me, I know…how fucking tiring it is…but you are not alone in this…you have me, you’ll always have me”, he holds your face in his hands, wiping your tears off his cheeks, “I don’t wanna burden you” you say, Eddie looks in your eyes, “Y/N…you are the best fucking thing thats ever happened to me in my entire god damn life…you could never be a burden”, you feel your eyes tear up more, “I don’t know why I get like this…”, Eddie kisses your cheeks, “It’s okay…just let me help you feel better…”, you smile weakly and nod.

Eddie goes and starts a bubble bath and calls take out, once you get in the bath he knocks on the door, “Baby…can I come in?”, “Yeah”, he walks in, “Here let me wash your hair,” he says softly, you smile, “You sure?” you ask, he nods and kisses your head before starting to massage your hair with the shampoo, “Y’know, you can come to me when you get like this?”, you sigh and nod looking down, “I just don’t wanna bring people down with my shit…especially you…you make it all less shitty…” you smile weakly, Eddie kisses your lips gently, “Well you aren’t gonna bring my down, I’m your fucking boyfriend…I want to help”, you nod and he finishes cleaning you.

After you get out of the bath and get changed into a big t-shirt and shorts, you walk out to Eddie finishing the dishes, “Eddie, you didn’t have to do that” you say smiling, Eddie laughs softly “I wanted to”, you walk behind Eddie and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back, Eddie finishes the dishes and dries off his hands, he turns around and rubs your back while kissing your head, “How you feeling, sweets?”, you shrug, “Little better…”, he nods and kisses your head, “It’ll get better, baby…”, you hear a knock at the door, it’s the pizza guy.

After you both eat and decide to go to bed, he makes sure you brush your teeth and starts a load of laundry before you both get into bed. Eddie holds your hand while resting the two if your hands on his chest as he rubs your head, “I’m so proud of you…you did really so good today sweetheart” he whispers, you smile softly “Thank you Eddie…for everything”, he smiles and kisses your head, “Get some sleep, sweet baby…what you want me to make in the morning?”, you shake your head, “Eddie…you don’t have to make anything”, “Y/N…what do you want?”, you laugh “Fine…Pancakes”, he kisses your lips, “Pancakes it is”.

Hey guys, sorry I literally haven't wrote an Eddie blurb in like a week, I have been so busy, but I decided to write a blurb where Eddie comforts depressed reader, and as a person who has depression I know how it can be, i'm sure it's different for everyone, so I just wrote from my experience, I hope you guys enjoy. -Bella<3

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie stranger things #eddie munson headcanon #eddie blurb #eddie munson angst #abellmunsonmovie writes

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blue-blue-blooms · 7 days

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When Love Isn't Enough

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Part 1

1.6k words

Summary: Steve can feel you pulling away. You haven't been yourself in a while, becoming more and more withdrawn. It doesn't help that there's an evil wizard on the loose and you meet the checklist for the perfect prey.

Warnings: Some angst. Talks of depression, loneliness, and suicidal ideation.

"Y/N hasn't been herself lately. And, I don't know, she's been pulling away recently. Not physically. More, like, she's there but she isn't. She's in the room with me and she's pretending to listen, but I can tell she's thinking about something else. And it isn't like she's bored or, like, daydreaming, she just seems...distant. She keeps saying she's fine, but I know that she's not. I mean, she thinks I haven't noticed, but she doesn't eat much anymore. She barely sleeps and she claims it's because of school, or work, or whatever excuse she has...Robin, are you listening to me?" Steve rambles, one hand on the steering wheel and the other running through his hair in frustration, as he drives Robin to the pep rally.

"Yes, yes, I'm listening!" Robin exclaims, desperately trying to keep her hand steady as she applies her mascara.

"Really? What'd I just say then?" Steve asks.

"Something about how obsessed you are with Y/N and the smell of her hair," Robin guesses, immediately backtracking as she sees the look on Steve's face, "I'm sorry! But there's always so much going on in your love life. I can't fully grasp the labyrinthine complexity that is your and Y/N's relationship!"

"It's not that complex, I'm worried about her!" Steve says, "Like just today, she calls me and says not to drive her and Dustin to school because they're biking. She doesn't even own a bike!"

Robin stops applying her makeup for a second and looks over. Realizing the severity of Steve's emotions, she lets out a little sigh and gives him a gentle nudge with her hand.

"I'm worried about her, too" She confesses, "I don't think she's mentioned this to anyone so please don't bring it up with her, but her grades have been slipping. A lot."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and I've seen her at the counsellor’s office" Robin admits.

"Ms. Kelley?"

Robin nods.

"Well...Why didn't she say anything to me?" Steve asks, his face falling as he tries to come up with reasons as to why you aren't opening up.

"I...I don't know. She hasn't been speaking to me, either. We sit together during lunch, but she barely talks to me. I just talk at her, and she just sits in silence," Robin replies, "Have you tried bringing this up with her?"

Steve pauses for a bit then says, "No...I didn't wanna push her. It just feels like...like she's teetering on the edge these days, and if I say the wrong thing, she'll run."

♡♡♡

Most days start like this: you wake up gasping for breath, one hand on your chest and the other stifling your sobs. Another nightmare. Sometimes it's about the Russians, sometimes it's about finding a Demogorgon eating your cat, sometimes it's about Billy and the Mind Flayer, sometimes it's about losing Hopper, but every time it hurts just as bad. You wish you hadn't gone to Mike Wheeler's that day to check up on Dustin. You wish you hadn't found out about Eleven or the lab or the Upside Down. But everything in your life is so deeply intertwined that you would have found out one way or another. It's beyond you how everyone else in Hawkins has remained so oblivious.

Even though you wish you could rewind and take back every moment that led you to where you are now, you know in your heart that you wouldn't. If it wasn't for all the shit you had to go through, you wouldn't have the people you have now. You wouldn't have ever befriended Nancy Wheeler. You would've never met Robin Buckley. You and Dustin would never have grown as close as you are now. You wouldn't have the golden-dusted, happy memories that you made last summer with Max and El. You never would've learned how to play DnD with Will. And you never would have fallen in love.

You never saw Steve coming. Well, you did see him coming that day when you and Dustin were at the Wheelers looking for everyone. He had roses in his hands, and he was mumbling to himself. For a second, you thought he'd caved into the insanity of what he'd gone through and lost his mind.

"Are you talking to yourself?" you'd asked loudly, making him quickly turn around, "Do you need help?"

"What? No! I was just-" he'd stuttered, "What're you two doing here? Actually, who are you?" The last question was directed at you.

"Who am I? The bitch that sat behind you in English for two years. I've been lending you pencils for months. Are you serious-" you'd snapped at him, a little offended at him for not recognizing you.

"We don't have time for this!" Dustin yelled, interrupting you, as he took your hand and dragged you to Steve's car.

You always laugh a little when you remember that particular memory. It wasn't the first time you two had met (maybe for Steve) but it was the first time you'd both become aware of each other. And it was like something had clicked into place because now that you both knew each other, you couldn't drift away. Suddenly Steve was everywhere. The summer after El's bitchin new makeover and the whole debacle that was closing the gate to the Upside Down, you and Steve spent every day together. He'd started working at Starcourt and you worked at the Kiosk across from him, which meant you saw each othera lot. Soon, those days of eating free ice cream in the back turned into shy glances, nervous laughter, and stolen kisses. You were his and he was yours. It was almost perfect. Almost.

Because even with all this love, joy, and friendship, you can't forget that you're rotten to your core. That there is something deeply wrong with you, something gory and disgusting that's been eating you alive. You don't know how to tell Steve that he doesn't know. If he knew you, he'd leave you. You're so broken inside that it's almost comical. Every day starts and ends with a nightmare. Then the headaches. Sometimes the nosebleeds. Always the loud voices in your head reaffirming the beliefs you have of yourself. You're not good enough. Never have been. You're a fraud. Always have been. You don't know what's worse, when you can't breathe or when there's too much oxygen.

You call Steve and tell him you don't need a ride. Then you make Dustin bike to school, and you wait for your mother to leave for work before climbing back into bed. These days, it was getting harder and harder to do the mundane, everyday tasks. You couldn't get out of bed. You couldn't take a shower. Everything required willpower that you just didn't have.

God, I'm so pathetic.

You've nearly fallen back asleep when you hear a knock on your door. You ignore it, hoping whoever it is goes away. The knocking continues, growing louder and louder. You let out a curse and hop out of your bed, begrudgingly going to the front door. You open the door and find Steve standing outside.

"I knew it!" He exclaims, "Why aren't you in school?"

You don't have the energy for this. You just want him to leave.

"I'm sick," you lie, adding a half-assed cough, "You should be at work."

"If you were sick then why didn't you just say that when you called this morning?" Steve enquired, folding his arms across his chest, and raising an eyebrow.

"I got sick after" you shrug, "How'd you know I wasn't in school."

"Dustin, he called about some DnD shit and mentioned you weren't in when I asked why you couldn't play," Steve explains, his eyes scanning your face, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you say.

"No, you're not" Steve replies, coming in through the door and making his way into your room. You silently follow and fall back into bed.

"Baby, what's going on?" Steve asks softly, getting into bed behind you and laying down.

"Just a headache," you mumble, "I'm fine."

You feel him padding his fingers through your hair and you find yourself lulling back to sleep. But before you can, you hear him start to speak again.

"Not just today, Y/N. What's going on with you? You haven't been yourself lately."

You don't know how to answer this. How do you articulate the absolute mess that is your mind? How do you tell him that you feel like you're on the verge of going insane? How do you tell him that all you feel is agonizing despair and the only reason you're alive is because you're too much of a coward to die?

"I just...haven't been feeling well," you say, "Just haven't been doing so well."

"How can I help? Can I do anything?" Steve asks, holding you close as he brushes the hair out of your face and lays a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

"I don't think anyone can fix it," you reply, turning to face him.

The sun peeks through your blinds and you can just about make out his face in the dark. You lean over and softly kiss him. He's everything that you're not but you're too selfish to let go.

"I just wish you'd speak to me, tell me what's going on in your head. I just feel locked out, baby." Steve whispers.

The only response you can manage to give is a mumbled sorry. But there's so much more you'd like to say. Sorry that you're stuck with me, you deserve better. Sorry that I'm like this. Sorry that I'm this broken, this wretched. Sorry that I've fooled you into thinking I'm better than I am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

You close your eyes and lay your head on his chest. In the darkness of your room, you pray that this moment lasts forever. But as another nightmare sinks its claws into you, you're not sure if you'll make it out alive.

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