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lokisgoodgirl · 11 months

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A Gentlemen's Bond [Female.Reader x Loki/Bucky/Steve]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Set a time after A Gentlemen's Agreement, you and Loki decide to open up your bedroom. And who better to join you? Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Foursome. Smut. FMMM. Includes buttsmut. Cumplay. Consent is sexy. Dirty talk. (w/c 3.7k)

“Make no mistake gentlemen, she is mine,” Loki uttered. The words tripped menacingly from his tongue. He placed a languishing kiss on the curve of your neck to make his point, a soft whimper from your lips making him smirk against the crescent. The men in front of you groaned in unison.

You knelt in front of him on the bed. His bed. The only place your fantasies shall be fulfilled. He had been emphatic about that. “You are but guests here,” he murmured in the loaded, sensual voice usually reserved for when you were alone. The god knelt behind you, upright on his knees. The rippled carving of his firm stomach pressed against your shoulder-blades as he massaged your breasts. Calloused thumb-tips tugged achingly slowly at hard nipples. You whimpered as his hands slid down your waist, steadying one against your hip while the other made lazy circles on your clit. “Rentals, if you will,” he sniffed. At the barb, Rogers and Barnes stiffened. Their tops had been stripped, but the buckles of their belts remained politely fastened. Bucky shuffled, popping his hip with his thumbs tucked inside the waist of his jeans. You saw the flash of deeply muscled lines grooves come into view. Saliva welled in your mouth. Loki chuckled. “I meant no offence,” he purred, dipping his chin to nuzzle your collarbone. “But gentlemen, if our latest bond and its stipulations are to be upheld, then we must be crystal clear on who makes the rules.” Your eyes rose from the bulge of Loki’s flexing forearm as he stroked possessively between your legs, only his thumb visible grazing your mound. They slid from Bucky to Steve, the unmistakeable hunger in their stares making you dizzy. Heavy breaths made their chests rise and fall, broad shoulders shifting as each tried to make themselves bigger. More enticing. Like beasts, you thought with a smile. Ready to mate. “Me,” you said suddenly, biting your lip. Loki growled under his breath in approval. “I make the rules,” you finished.

“Yes, my darling” Loki said, letting his dark gaze wander upwards on the two super-soldiers straining against their trousers, waiting to be unleashed. “You do.” His fingertips cupped against your clit, pushing up. You hissed with pleasure as Steve groaned a long, shaking sigh. “Run through the rules again, I jus’ wanna...jus’ wanna be sure,” he grunted, fingers now drawn irrevocably to the polished sheen of his buckle.

“It is quite simple,” Loki breathed, the warmth of his skin fading as he drew up behind you. His knees sank into the mattress on either side of your hips. Your lover’s fingers massaged your neck, your eyelids fluttering closed on the sight of the soldiers looking sheepish as they fumbled with their heavy buckles. Loki’s voice was hard. Commanding. Fucking hot.

“She and I are bound. She is mine, as I am hers. She is under my protection. This is an invitation. An interlude, do not think it more,” he announced regally, squeezing your shoulders. He might be naked, but from the unwavering strength of his words he may as well have been in full Asgardian battle armour. The men in front of you nodded reverently. You could see the pulse points in their necks thumping. Beneath the tight material of their cotton slacks and dark jeans, snaking muscle stretched thick and tight against their hips. So hard. They were so fucking hard. Loki continued, as their stares smouldered. “If she tells you to stop, and you do not immediately desist?” he said, warning licking at the timbre of his voice like flame. “Before you can finish the next thrust, lick, or wander of an unwelcome hand, you will feel the edge of my dagger slice across your throat. Understood?”

You watched the men cast a glance towards one another, before they gave a nod of solidarity. “Still fair,” Bucky husked, stepping out of his jeans and kicking them to the corner in a crumpled heap. Steve was already folding his, turning to place them neatly on the wing-back chair by the door. “Whatever the lady wants, and nothing more, as agreed in the bond,” the blonde placated as he faced you and Loki with a lowering of his chin. You could feel the god bristle with power behind you. “We just really wanna fuck you babe,” Bucky growled with a smile, his chin tucked to his chest. “Respectfully,” Steve added, throwing his friend a scowl as the winter soldier’s jaw bobbed playfully side to side in mock scepticism. You smirked, feeling Loki lower to your ear. “You’re sure?” he murmured. The long tendrils of his hair wound through your fingers as you tilted your chin to face him. “Yes. But it’s always you. You know that, right?” The words filled the tiny space between your lips before Loki pressed his mouth to yours. His furiously hard cock was swollen snug against your spine. “Always,” he moaned quietly into your mouth. In slow tandem, you swung your gazes to meet the two sets of blue eyes already drunk with lust at the foot of the bed. “May we?” Steve said softly, gesturing to the empty side of mattress on your left with an arch of an eyebrow. You nodded, feeling the tingle of Loki’s breath on your cheek as his hands slid down your biceps. “Positions, gentlemen” he purred formally, “as discussed.” You had left the arrangements of the details of this debauched affair to your lover, a role that he was more than happy to fill. Once again, the idea of the three of them sharing conspiratorial conversations in the locker rooms filled your mind. It was foreplay. You squirmed on the bed, thighs splayed open as the gusset of your panties dragged wet. Or did they book a meeting room, you thought with a thrill.

The mattress sagged on either side, Steve and Bucky descending. Their stares crawled covetously over your curves as Loki loomed above like an archangel; sculpted from marble by Michelangelo himself. The brunette soldier leant forward, his metal palm spread against the sheets as his parted lips met yours. You sighed into his touch, running your fingers over his temple and combing back the long strands while his tongue danced in your mouth. He didn't taste like whisky this time, you noticed. The digits ran down his neck, feeling every tense of the ferocious muscle hiding beneath his skin. Loki’s cupped fingers massaged your clit, waves of pleasure building while his low, ragged breaths ghosted your ear.

Your fingers grazed down Bucky’s back, feeling raised trails and valleys of scar tissue. Bucky shivered, breaking from your lips. A strand of saliva hung between you before you turned, immediately meeting the mouth of the blonde soldier waiting impatiently to your right. The taste of his teammate was still strong on your tongue as you kissed him in a rising waft of ginger from his skin, melting together with your back still pressed to Loki’s chest.

Suddenly Loki pulled you back, letting Barnes slip your calves from beneath you. The brunette pushed your knees apart, thighs falling open. “Fuck, girl” he rasped, running a hand through messy, curtained hair with a sigh, “that’s fuckin’ pretty.” Your head lay against Loki’s lap, his violently hard cock pressed against your ear. You could feel the blood thumping through his veins, every pump throbbing against the angle of your jaw. The god lowered a lingering kiss to your lips, his tongue melting inside your mouth while Bucky’s began to run flat licks against your little cunt. Your pretty cunt. The moans from his throat were different from those you were accustomed to from Loki. Half-formed words lingered on heavy breaths that retained the thick accent slopping against his worship. You moaned like a whore as another set of lips fastened to a nipple, soft fingers toying and pinching the other. Your eyelids fluttered open, the sight of a muss of blonde hair latched to your chest while a chestnut crown rose between your splayed legs. It felt strange. Naughty. And it felt fucking good. Bucky’s thumbs dug into your hips, a shock of metal making you buck into him as cool steel became warmth. Loki’s voice bubbled in the air like liquid silver, the sound making it all feel like a lucid dream. “That’s my girl. Let them service you, pleasure you,” it said slowly. Your fingers wound in the short strands of Steve’s hair, the other grasping a tuft of Bucky’s, urging him deeper. They moaned in unison against your heated skin. The sound was transcendent. “Let them worship you, as I do,” Loki hummed as he watched in rapture, cock twitching against your cheek. “Just for tonight.” The cacophony of sighs dashed against your body like waves on rocks, wearing away any insecurities you ever had with each muted groan of pleasure. The coil winding inside you began to tremble and tighten. Your eyes refocused to Loki’s jaw set above your widening stare. His lips were parted, his whole body smouldering with arousal. Eyes fixed on you, writhing beneath him under the soldiers’ charms. “L-Loki, I’m gonna co-” you panted, seeking his approval in a moment of doubt. His knuckles trailed over the lines of your jaw, over the tight skin as the veins in your neck strained. Your head pressed heavy against his thighs, his fingers steadying beneath your chin as he held you in place. And still, his darkened eyes were fixed on you. “Come for them, sweet. Let them hear how beautiful you sound as you tumble over the edge,” he cooed in sultry tones, loud enough for the men to hear. Bucky suckled your clit with a wet growl, alternating wide licks that started deep in your core to the tip. The captain’s fingers tightened around your nipple, his tongue a soothing balm against the pulling sucks on the other. And with a shudder, you came. Your thighs tightened against Barnes’ head, a hand clawing down Steve’s muscled back as you shook the room with your cries of each of their names. A gush of arousal flooded the winter soldier’s outstretched tongue.

“Lie down, our good girl.” The command made chills run over your skin like the breeze from a fan. You felt Loki shift behind you, his huge frame filling your blurred vision as Steve and Bucky parted like the sea. He was so fucking beautiful, and he was all yours. Completely un-phased. The winter soldier pulled your ankles, sliding your ass to rest on the bed’s edge. Loki gracefully slotted himself crouched between your wet thighs, as you mewled his name. He chuckled, dragging his achingly turgid cock tight in his fist against your slit. “Are you happy?” he murmured solemnly. You nodded with a sex-drunk smile. “Then, gentleman,” Loki purred, casting a knowing glance to each side in turn, “positions.” The head of the god’s cock pressed inside your channel, dipping in and out as you arched up into him. Begging for more. Loki tutted playfully. He was crouching between your spread legs, hovering. “Patience, darling. We must wait for our guest.” On cue, you felt something cool and thick slather between your cheeks. Your hips bucked upwards, caught by Loki’s waiting palms. Relax, his eyes said. And so you did. A solitary ragged moan of anticipation dragged the air behind Loki’s triangular chest. Bucky. You looked up, Steve’s hardened features coming into view. The angles of his cheekbones had sharpened, pupils blown wide. He lowered, kissing you upside down as Barnes fingers played with your ass. Suddenly you felt something wide and hot nudge against your back entrance, testing you. Teasing you. “Yes,” you groaned in between Steve’s ravenous kisses, “fuck-k, yes Buck.” With a guttural moan, he edged inside; stilling as your fingers wrapped around Loki’s forearms. “More,” you gasped, pulling. Bucky obliged. Inch by inch, he filled you until his hips hit the curve of your cheeks with a gentle slap.

For a few moments, there was silence.

Each of the men held their breath, three sets of smouldering eyes drinking in the sight of the woman strewn in ecstasy beneath them. Their woman. If just for one night. “Loki, please,” you whined, thrusting up to catch his cock. All you wanted was to be filled and fucked and filled and fucked again. Loki chuckled, watching as your eyes lowered between your legs at the sight of him sinking slowly inside. The vein that had pulsed against your cheek was hard and thick along his shaft as it disappeared. Inch by goddam inch. The noise that strangled from your throat was inhuman. How appropriate, you mused; before your whole body was set alight with pleasure. Loki rocked in and out your slit, the gentle motion of his ass clenching and unclenching making your eyes roll back. How, you wondered in amazement, as Steve’s tongue massaged your own, his unfettered moans filling your throat; how is this actually happening?

The captain had taken over control of your breasts, his dexterous fingers flipping and pinching your nipples. Each wave was timed, the slow gyration of Loki and Barnes making your legs tremble. Loki slipped his forearms under your knees, hoisting you higher, his cock delving deeper. Bucky gasped gruffly, his girth sinking deeper in your ass. “H-holy shit, man” he stuttered, metal fingers steadying on Loki’s shoulder, “Shit, b-baby...you feel so fuckin’ good I swear to god.” That accent was syrup, dripping from his parted lips as he fucked you slowly. Carefully. As if you might break. And hell, maybe you would. Another climax blossomed like fire on a struck match, taking you surprise as you clenched around the furious lust filling you.

You couldn’t recall whose name you cried. Tonight, it didn’t matter. The men groaned like farmyard beasts, Bucky’s hips beginning to shudder and jolt against soft curves of flesh. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, the slap of his balls against your skin growing louder. Loki slowed the gyration of his hips, the tip of his manhood massaging your g-spot as Barnes roared behind him.

The soldier’s other hand flew to Loki’s shoulder, both squeezing in painful passion. The dark god's head fell back with a hiss as he filled you to the hilt, hair strewn in messy tendrils across his damp forehead while Bucky came behind him with a shuddering litter of curses. Every buck of your hips made sure he sank deeper, rolling with each dying syllable. Loki tilted forward as the brunette’s heavy breaths filled the air. His forehead pressed between your ringmaster's shoulder-blades, hands sliding reluctantly from the thick ropes of muscle on which they rested. “Fuck,” was all James Barnes could muster, as his cock slid gently from your ass. Loki didn’t slow his gyration as there was a changing of the guard behind your head.

Your prince's moans slipped through gritted teeth, half lidded eyes observing every searching twitch of your hands. Every crease in your forehead. Every gasp of his name.

A light sting clapped your ass, immediately massaging deep in the cheeks. You cried out, back leaving the mattress. “Careful!” Loki spat, throwing a dangerous glance over his shoulder. Out the corner of your eye, you lovingly noted the flash of emerald seidr melt from his palm. “Sorry,” Steve murmured, rubbing the surely pinked skin in apology. You squirmed with pleasure, feeling the raw stubble from Bucky’s jaw scratch over your cheek as Loki moved in shallow, pulsing thrusts. The winter soldier pressed your breasts together, beginning to palm them in circles as Steve’s cock nudged against your back entrance, still slippery with cum. A finger ran around the pucker, collecting the neglected white ropes before sucking it clean. The sound he made was filth as he edged inside, a slurping squelch of seed squeezing around his girth making his knees buckle. His fingertips sank into your flesh, pulling you onto him again and again. Carefully. Slowly. “Steve...J-James...Loki,” you mewled, making the men chuckle in unison. You could feel orgasm bubbling in your centre, wound tight and bursting with adrenaline and cum and cock. Bucky lowered his mouth to yours, sweat from his cheeks moistening your own. “You sound real fuckin’ cute when you say our names babe,” Bucky growled, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Y-yeah. Hell-yeah,” Steve gasped through staggered breaths; every pump of his hips into your ass making his eyes roll back. His face was flushed with desire, tongue darting against his bottom lip as he desperately fought to contain what you were sure were the worst curses he would ever utter. Every muscle in your body tightened as you came, the feral roars from Loki and Steve sheathed inside you making you shudder as Bucky held your shoulders fast to the bed. Stars blossomed beneath your eyelids, the erotic music of their adoration making your head spin. Steve came first, pulling your ass flush to his hips as he tumbled into ecstasy with a strangled cry of your name. He was shaking, sweaty palms not knowing where to steady himself before he slumped against Loki’s back. On cue, Loki raised your calves higher, his gentle thrusts turning with a glint in his eye. They narrowed, smouldering down at you with utter devotion as another clench of his ass sent him to the hilt. “My perfect little fox,” he grunted, voice thick with desire, dripping like wax. “End me.” Your fingers gripped the bedsheets as you felt Steve slip from your ass, hearing him stumble against the wall. Clenching around Loki’s cock, you bucked up into him with all the force you could muster. Wrung dry, spent, utterly fucked out – there was always more. For him, there was always more. Loki’s hands gripped your wrists, pushing your hands upwards against Bucky’s chest as his face buried in the sweaty crescent of your neck. He came hard, a violent juddering of his hips accompanying silence before his wet, thunderous exhale of pleasure. His breaths were heavy as he sat up, running a hand through his hair with a grin. As perfect as he ever was, but with a pink tinge in his cheeks. He stood, walking over the bed with a smile as he watched you writhe. Empty and missing them.

“Wait man, didn’t you blow?” Bucky said sceptically. He motioned to the thick cock still proudly bobbing between Loki’s thighs with no sign of abatement. The god chucked, throwing you a knowing smirk. You cleared your throat, still panting. “He’s different-” you mumbled, running your eyes hungrily down your full-time lover’s achingly hot body and back to his face. “Which is a good thing too, since this one is never sated,” Loki purred, as the men switched positions again. “Well goddam,” Bucky muttered, impressed. Your hand grasped out to thin air, searching for someone, anyone, to fill it. On cue, Bucky spread his thighs beside you, your fingers wrapping gratefully around his semi. Steve’s face scrunched, any jealousy washed away with a proceeding squeeze of his fist around his spent manhood. The final milk dripped against your ass. "Ya done big guy?" Bucky teased, a smile tugging his dimples as the captain's resolve settled back on his face. "Nossir," Steve growled, licking his lips as determined eyes roamed up your legs. In a flash, he began working wet kisses up your calves, your thighs, grunts filling the air once again. Bucky's manhood was growing tentatively in your loose fist, wanking him slowly as Loki's thighs settled on either side of your head.

“Jeez man, she tastes so good,” Steve moaned muffled against your slit. Bucky groaned in appreciation while your hand slipped up and down his length. The pace was erratic, squeezing hard and jolting with every circle of Rogers eager tongue around your clit.

“I think that might be me, your tasting,” Loki hummed, knuckles white as he stroked himself slowly above your head. You could see every straining vein on his shaft from below, the wet head tapping tantalisingly on your cheek, on your lips with every squeeze of his hand. Conducting the men like a choir. Just out of reach. “Both of you?" Steve slurred happily to himself, lost in the elixir of arousal between your legs. Fingers worked through Steve’s hair, looping back to clutch more as every messy kiss against your pussy sent you higher. Your back arched, tongue stretching upwards. You managed to lap the smooth, hot tip of Loki’s cock while he watched Rogers busy himself between your open thighs. His hand never ceased pleasuring himself, smouldering with primal need as mischievous glint you hadn’t seen before sparked in his eyes.

“Fuck,” Loki groaned, letting your lips wrap loosely around the leaking head. You sucked against his foreskin, pulling it gently between your lips. “Say his name, darling” Loki teased, voice like sea foam melting into sand, “tell the captain how good he’s making you feel. He’ll like that.” You moaned Steve’s name, filthy praise like a chant as your hips rocked against his mouth. The blonde’s fingers tightened on the soft flesh of your thighs, enthusiastic pants and the crease in his brow betraying his basest desires. Praise kink, you thought smugly; before stars burst again beneath your closed eyelids. Feeling the brush of Loki’s cock against your cheek beneath the flurry of his fist, you came with a rush of garbled curses. Sweetness flooded against the captain’s tongue as he trailed languishing licks, orgasm fading like breath on a mirror. Loki’s stomach muscles clenched, a roar filling the room as he came over your face. Hot splatter coated your lips, rolling in slow, thick trails of ambrosia over your chin, your jaw, down the curve of your neck. Bucky whined. The mattress dipped as Steve’s palms edged forwards, his body rising like goliath between your shaking legs. His mouth glistened with sex and sweat, eyes fierce and dark as hell. That stare traced every decadent rivulet of Loki’s mess before his gaze rose to its owner. “Do it,” Loki commanded slowly, smiling as he continued to stroke himself. A final drop squeezed out, landing with a filthy splat on your chin. Steve shivered, lowering his sweat damp face your shoulder. He licked upwards, growing braver as he followed the trail of Loki’s cum with dirty groans that shook through your chest. Eventually, Steve’s mouth covered yours, alternating between claiming your kiss and licking the remnants of god-seed from your cupids bow. His tongue tasted like Loki. The sensation made you clench around air. “Good boy,” Loki hummed, running his fingers through Steve’s hair as he buried himself in your neck. There was a pause, the scent of animalism thick in the air. “But now, gentlemen, it is time for you to depart.” Steve looked up with wide eyes. You heard Bucky grunt in annoyance. “You know the rules, gentlemen,” Loki continued. You could hear the smirk in his voice. “I think the lady has taken what she needs, don’t you?” The words registered in a haze. You nodded, smiling happily as your head lay nestled between the god’s comforting thighs. “Thanks boys,” you mumbled, slurred while you waved a hand that fell immediately back to the bed. The mattress shifted as bodies rose. You heard the low clunk of metal and shifting of fabric dragging against body hair as deft, familiar fingertips danced up your thigh. A tender kiss was placed on the centre of your mound as the door clicked shut. Alone again. “Happy Anniversary,” Loki breathed, seductive and hot against the tremble. Your let out a spent sigh, lost in the gentle motion of his soft kisses and pretty words. Outside, you could hear the slap of palms on shoulders as the soldiers left in measured silence. “It’s always you, Loki,” you purred again, blissfully winding fingers through his damp curls as he kissed closer to your centre. With a tingle of his magic, you felt yourself cleansed, the sex and sweat of the others dissipated. You craned down with difficulty, seeing feigned confusion etched across his forehead. “Well, yes” he purred, widening your legs with a sultry wink. “Which is why we’ve saved the best for last.”

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buckyalpine · 2 years

Text

Master List

18+ Minors dni

Requests are on pause

🔥 - smut

💔 - angst

🥰 - fluff

One shots

Live Stream - 🔥💔🥰 When the team doesn’t hear from you or Bucky for hours during a mission, they start to worry about their teammates.

Teach Me -🔥🥰 Bucky has the answer to your growing frustrations.

Fur Baby -🥰 Bucky has a furry little secret.

Mine - 🔥💔🥰 You show Bucky exactly who he belongs to.

Home -💔🥰 Comforting Bucky after he has an awful day. (Mob Bucky)

Untouched - 🔥🥰 A conversation with your brothers best friend reveals some interesting information. (College Bucky)

Sunshine - 💔🥰 You’re there for everyone, a ray of sunshine whenever the team needs you but whose there for you? (mini part 2) Pudge - 🥰 You are Bucky’s favorite pillow.

Spicy Plants - 🥰 Bucky finds a special little stash of yours...

Spicy Brownies - 🥰 He finds another special stash

Spicy Snacks - 🥰 Bucky and Steve discover yummy treats

Bangles and Bordeaux - 🥰 No gown? No problem

Redemption - 💔🥰 Bucky finds the peace he was searching for.

Imagine - 🔥🥰 You go down the fanfiction rabbit hole about a certain super soldier. Would be a shame if he caught you...

Cheeky - 🥰 Bucky Barnes does not back down from a dare (Drunk Bucky)

I Don’t Wike It - 🥰 Uncle Steve has been spending too much time with your babies

Salacious - 🔥 Dirty talking and pure filth

Salacious drabble - 🔥 Solo Bucky’s dirty talking and pure filth

Not a Fan - 🥰 Alpine is not a fan

Lemonade - 🔥💔🥰 You’re neighbor's son is irresistible Lemonade drabble

Sour - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky doesn't like your visitor (Lemonade AU)

Deep - 🔥 giving dom CEO Bucky what he needs. Bad.

7 loads - 🔥 You take care of him. Them. Now they need more.

Reflection - 🔥💔🥰 You show Bucky how beautiful he is

Missing - 🥰 Bucky’s baby is missing and he will not stop until he finds her

Missing 2 - 🥰

Let Go - 🔥💔🥰 Touched starved and emotionally repressed Bucky gets his release

Her - 💔 Bucky misses her

Cute - 🥰 How dare you call him that

Work Wife - 💔🥰 Why does Bucky talk about her so much?

Signals - 💔🥰 Your past doesn’t leave that easily

Practice - 🔥 Your boss doesn’t like to share (soft!dark Bucky)

Pretend - 🥰 The perfect solution to a nagging problem

Pull out - 🔥 Bucky doesn’t want to.

Posies - 🥰 The first times you buy each other flowers

Touch - 🔥🥰 His beautiful hands

Count - 🔥Steve can’t help himself

Justin Capshaw - 🔥🥰 Your sweet boyfriend isn’t the only one who wants you

Safe Space - 💔🥰 Bucky protects you

Don’t Touch - 🔥🥰 Bucky has to keep his hands to himself

You had one job - 🔥💔🥰 Bodyguard Bucky has one job

Craving - 🔥 You crave him so badly, would your husband give you a taste?

Just a Taste - 🔥 Your husband doesn’t mind watching

Satisfied - 🔥 Your husband and his bestfriend fill that craving

Drip - 🔥 Bucky just wants to help you clean up

Catch Me If You Can - 💔🥰 Maybe he isn’t so bad

Catch Me If You Can 2 - 💔🥰 Sometimes, he could be sweet

Catch Me If You Can 3 - 💔🥰 🔥 You caught him, or did he catch you

Come back to you - 🥰 Time travel brings back 40′s Bucky

Yours to Claim - 🔥💔🥰 Your first night with the king

Attention - 🔥🥰 Your mafia husband hasn’t given you any attention lately

Spiral - 💔 He doesn’t need you anymore.

Bellini - 🔥🥰 DBF!Bucky shouldn’t be looking at you like that

Destined to be Yours - 🔥💔🥰 Your lives cross paths when you are captured with the Winter Soldier

CEO Bucky - 🔥🥰 He knows what his secretary needs

Barbie - 🥰 Bucky and his little one see Barbie in real life

Cheating Steve - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky comforts you

Cheating Steve - 🔥💔🥰 How you and Bucky got together

Pick Me - 🔥💔🥰 A new recruit has her eyes on your soldier

More cheating Steve - 💔🥰 Repost of something I deleted

One Night - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky can’t forget

CEO Bucky x Secretary - 🔥🥰 You don’t like people touching what's yours

My First and Only - 🔥🥰 Mob Bucky waits for his wedding night

Buttercup - 🥰 Baby Bucky loves his neighbor

Writing challenge - JESSY REACHES 500; FWB to lovers 💔🥰

Sub Bucky AU - One shots & Drabbles with a subby super soldier

Baby boy - 🔥🥰 Bucky discovers a new kink

Release - 🔥 Bucky has to take care of himself when he’s away from you

Messy - 🔥 Your needy boyfriend needs his release right in the middle of the store

Can I? - 🔥🥰 You learn a little more about your boyfriends kink

Play - 🔥 Bucky explores a new territory

Drink - 🔥 Bucky wants to feed you...

Painting - 🔥 Bucky wants to make a mess

Pretty Baby - 🔥 Stucky x reader

Needy - 🔥 You catch your baby doing something

Please - 🔥 He needs you to finish

Untouched au - A series of discovering all your firsts with your brothers hot best friend (continuations of Untouched with College Bucky)

Tongue Twister - 🔥🥰 Bucky goes down on you for the first time

Date Night - 🔥🥰 You show Bucky what your mouth can do

Tipsy - 🔥🥰 A little alcohol and Bucky is insatiable

Call me - 🔥🥰 Bucky is just a phone call away

New - 🔥🥰 Bucky want’s to try something new

Make a movie - 🔥🥰 Bucky wants to record something

Personal Pillow AU - Can be read together or as one shots

Personal Pillow - 💔🥰 You are Bucky’s favorite pillow

Personal Pillow 2 - 🥰 Bucky discovers something very interesting

Personal Pillow 3 - 🔥💔🥰 He doesn’t want his mouth anywhere else (switch!Bucky)

Personal Pillow 4 - 🔥🥰 There’s a little one in your belly and Bucky is more insatiable than ever (pregnant reader)

Personal Pillow 5 - 🔥🥰 Bucky needs a taste

Braxton Hicks - 🥰

Twins - 🔥🥰

Personal Pillow drabble - 🥰

Bad habits - 🔥🥰 Bucky’s developed some bad habits

Personal Pillow antics - 💔🥰 Bucky loves his safe place

Wait, What? AU

Wait, what? - 💔🥰 The secret you’ve been keeping from the team can only be hidden for so long (pregnant reader)

Wait, what? 2 - 🔥💔🥰 A little more back story + baby Barnes! (pregnant reader)

I do (again) Wait, what? 3 - 🥰 Everyone missed the first wedding, obviously you have to have another one

Wait, what? More Babies? - 🔥🥰 The family grows with a little new addition

Series:

Pretty Little Thing (On going) - 🔥💔🥰 Stuck in a forced marriage, you try to accept your life no longer belongs to you however, fate has different plans (Mob Bucky)

Requests

Can you not... - 💔🥰 Your ex is trying to win you back, Bucky is having none of that.

Limitless - 🔥🥰 You let Bucky do anything he wants (Can you not AU)

Supply Closet - 🔥🥰 Can you not AU

Hold me - 💔🥰 Bucky comforts you when you’re having a bad day

Choices - 🔥💔🥰 You walk in on your husband cheating on you (alternative endings)

Choices 2 - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky faces the consequences of his actions

Boundaries - 🔥💔🥰 You catch Bucky with Sharon (alternative fluffy ending)

Boundaries 2 - 💔 Angst only part 2 Bonus for this

Smores and Smooches - 🥰 The fire isn’t enough to keep you warm but Bucky’s arms might help

Fake it till you make it - 💔🥰 Fake dating solves everything, right?

The Party - 🔥🥰 A little three way helps Bucky make a move (part 2)

Safe 1 - 💔🥰 Bucky rescues from Hydra

Safe 2 - 🔥🥰 A smutty part 2

Mornings with Mob Bucky - 🔥💔🥰

Pocket Angel - 🥰 Where does Bucky keep sneaking off to?

Pocket Angel drabble

Pocket Angel 2 - 💔🥰 What happens when someone takes his angel?

Fill me - 🔥🥰 A certain super soldiers birthday plus a someone else… (Bucky x You x Frank)

Capture my Heart - 💔🥰 On the run from your abusive ex, a beefy lumberjack comes to your rescue

Capture my Heart 2 - 🔥🥰 A smutty part 2

Mornings with Lumberjack Bucky - 🔥🥰

Carrying your Love - 🔥🥰 Your super soldier comes with super loads

Pieces - 💔 TW: child loss

Sweet Dreams - 🔥 Super soldier wet dreams

Sweet dreams 2 - 🔥 Free use

My Doll - 💔🥰 TW: Self harm

Always you - 💔🥰 You’ve always been Bucky’s first choice angst only alternative alternative happy ending

Own me - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky likes to make you jealous. Should be fine, right? A little extra here.

Sprinkle - 🥰 It’s Bucky’s birthday

Pinky - 🥰 Just a tiny bit of touch is more than enough

Want you - 🔥🥰 Bucky only has eyes for you

Sensations - 🔥 Bucky’s arm has some new features

Inexperienced Bucky drabble - 🔥🥰

Step away - 🔥🥰 A new recruit gets too close for Buckys liking

His Tags - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky shows you you’re his forever

Secrets - 💔🥰 Nothing will stop you from dating your super soldier

Baby Burrito - 💔🥰 Bucky knows how to make you feel better

I’ll Catch You - 🔥🥰 Bucky never leaves your side after you faint

Witches Brew - 🔥 Bucky and Wanda love to toy with the sweet new avenger

Skin - 💔 Comforting Bucky when he struggles with his body

Bookmark - 🔥🥰 The team discovers your a writer

Rockstar Bucky - 🔥

Protect You - 💔🥰 Bucky is all yours

I’ll hold you - 💔🥰 TW: Pet loss

Please? - 🥰 Bucky just wants one chance

Raw - 🔥 Bucky just wants to feel all of you

Tame - 🔥 Bucky hears you doing...something..

Sparring - 🔥🥰 Two versions, smut and fluff

Stay - 🔥💔🥰 Casual stuff is fun...for a while

Garden Fairy - 🔥🥰 Grumpy Bucky with his little sunshine

TW: mental health - 💔

Any time any place - 🔥🥰 Bucky is ready to take you just about anywhere

Daniel - 🥰 Who the hell is he and why do you like him

Curves - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky shows you how much he loves your body

Tumblr - 🔥🥰 Bucky discovers you have a kink

Sugar - 🔥🥰 You take care of your sweet college baby

Sugar drabble - 🔥 Your baby takes control

One Night - 🔥🥰 Bucky is smitten with his one night stand

Intentions - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky knows what he wants from you...right? (mob AU)

Touch Starved - 🔥💔🥰 You think Bucky doesn’t want to be touched after a nightmare

You came - 💔🥰 The one person he needs

Hot head - 🔥🥰 Bucky wants you

Dad Bucky - 🔥🥰 Dad Bucky from A to Z

Story time - 🥰 Bucky tells your little one about how he fell for you

Like me - 🔥💔🥰 You just can’t let go of his Henley

Soft - 🔥🥰 Sub space reader

Size - 🔥🥰 He doesn’t have to be the biggest

Christmas - 🔥🥰 Christmas with Bucky and your babygirl

Rude - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky is an asshole to you

Games - 🔥🥰 A night of games leads to so much more

Hot and Cold - 🔥🥰 You can’t stand him, he can’t stand you

Just friends - 🔥💔🥰 You’re just friends...

Werewolf Bucky - 🔥🥰

Miscommunications - 💔🥰 Did you hear him right?

Baby making - 🔥🥰 He has to get it on camera

A little Longer - 🥰 It’s just a little lie

Disney Princesses and Dog Tags - 🔥💔🥰 Bucky wonders what you’re hiding from him

Bucky and his CEO - 🔥🥰- He takes care of you when you’re stressed

Drabbles

My lovely anons

🌺, 🐚, gossip girl, 🧸

7K notes · View notes

writerscafehub · 6 months

Text

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑❜𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

/) /)

( • ༝•)

c /づづ 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 all the works made by the very talented members of the writer's café server in the month of OCTOBER. we ask, and highly encourage, that you reblog them in support. ♡

ALL WORKS ARE FOR THOSE 18+ ONLY.

𖥔 indicates smut

✶ indicates dark elements

By ☁︎☽ Cocoa ☁︎☽ @cocoamoonmalfoy @darksideofthecocoamoon

𖥔 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐌 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟕 | god of spring!timothee chalamet

Part seven of the crown him series

✶ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 | the beast

Imagine a twisted beauty and the beast. Reverse kidnapping: I’m in your house and I’m not leaving

𖥔 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 | bard!timothee chalamet

An unlikely trio on an impossible quest pick up a stray along the way

𖥔 ✶ 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐓 | soft!dark!king hal

Hal could sympathize with Hades, for after seeing the light of life, how could he not pin it close to his darkness

𖥔 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄 | king hal

Hal finds that sitting for his portrait isn’t bad at all

𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑 | prince hal

Disowned or not, the son of the king needed to be protected

By ★ Jen ★ @jen-with-a-pen

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 | art student!frat brother!steve rogers

Steve can’t remember what happened last night, but his body sure does. Regret is the worst hangover of all - even more so when you can’t remember what you regret

✶ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐓 | bucky barnes

Being held captive and experimented on definitely wasn’t in your job description. After what seems like months in HYDRA captivity, rescue finally arrives - but what is rescue if not relief from suffering.

By 𖠰 Nat 𖠰 @the-iceni-bitch

𖥔 ✶ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐇𝐄𝐌 | kinktober masterlist

Prepare yourselves for a month filled with wicked and scandalous delights, with vicious and freakish lovers for whatever type of monster you may fancy

By ❈ Beanie ❈ @shadeysprings

𖥔 ✶ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓 | kinktober masterlist

Four stories with captivatingly dark themes

𖥔 ✶ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋 | dark!pete brenner

You work hard to entice the biggest possible client for your company, but he has his own ideas for you to make you say yes

𖥔 ✶ 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐒 | dark!ransom drysdale

Ransom makes it known why breaking up with him is wrong.

𖥔 ✶ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘 | priest!lee boedecker

The new priest of your church asks you to sing for him.

𖥔 ✶ 𝐍𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐔𝐓 | serial killer!lee boedecker

With the serial killer targeting boys, you thought you were safe. Until you weren’t.

By ❥ Courtney ❥ @chasingmidnights

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | thirteen nights of halloween masterlist

13 Nights of Halloween and each night is going to be a different (what I'm calling) "campfire stories". Each story is going to be told by a different character ranging from Chris Evans characters to Sebastian Stan characters to Marvel Characters. Make sure to take a look at the Intro to meet the various characters! So, gather around the fire and try not to get too scared.

By ⚔︎ Suz ⚔︎ @targaryenvampireslayer

𖥔 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 | ghost!bucky barnes

Bucky was taken from you by HYDRA a year ago. You mourn him and miss him, until you start dreaming of him… until he starts coming back to you

By ✵ Selene ✵ @fluffyprettykitty

𖥔 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐊 | sugar daddy!sam wilson

Quick and dirty sugar daddy Sam Drabble.

By 𖤛 Roo 𖤛 @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

✶ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐉𝐀𝐇 | yelena belova

You find a stranger at your door, a visitor you can’t make leave

✶ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 | kraven the hunter

You catch the eye of a mysterious man who shares an unexpected secret with you

By ☆ Stella ☆ @a-lumos-in-the-nox

✶ 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃

A group of friends decide to explore the haunted house on the shortcut back to campus. Ignoring the 'No Trespassing' signs. They ease drop in on a meeting between beings, mortals have never lived to tell tales about. And find out the consequences of ease dropping on the annual Hallows Eve meeting.

𖥔 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 | druig and makkari and female!oc

The kink alphabet for the threesome

𖥔 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖 | druig and female!oc

Reader is horny but won’t do anything about it because she is busy doing other things. But her husband who can read minds can hear her inner struggle and does something about it.

𖥔 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | druig and makkari and female!oc

Makkari has a surprise field trip for Juni and Druig. They don’t know where they are going. It is her turn to pick where they meet up this time.

By ☄︎ Ellie ☄︎ @mrsmischief209

𖥔 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 |

Introduction to Kinktober

𖥔 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 | billy russo

Inspired by the song ‘Slow Hand’ by the Pointer Sisters

✶𖥔 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 | softdark!frank castle

Inspired by the song ‘Breath’ by Breaking Benjamin

By ☪︎ Gina ☪︎ @slvttyfied

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 | chef!ari levinson

Cause baby I can build a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me and every day is like a battle but every night with us is like a dream

By ✯ Vic ✯ @sunflowersteves

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 - 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐉 | carmen berzatto

Carmen knew you were a bit inexperienced, so what better way than to show you how?

By ⚘ Akane ⚘ @haravath0t

𖥔 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 | college au!alhaitham

College AU headcanon

By ⎈ Navy ⎈ @navybrat817

𖥔 ✶𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 | various SS and CE characters

One shots and ficlets for the month of October

𖥔 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 | bucky barnes

You want Bucky in your mouth. Simple as that.

By ✍︎ Em ✍︎ @writing-for-marvel

𖥔 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 | mob!bucky barnes

Newlyweds Mob!Bucky and wife!reader explore Europe and each other during their honeymoon.

By ❀ Ali ❀ @flordeamatista

𖥔 ✶ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | various SS and CE characters

Kinktober inspired by tarot cards and their auras

𖥔 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 | lee boedecker

A tale of your wicked deeds.

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐒𝐄𝐓

By 𐀔 Alex 𐀔 @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy

𖥔 𝐁𝐔𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐍'𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | masterlist

Spooky season stories heavily inspired by Hozier’s album, ‘Eat Your Young’

𖥔 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | rockstar!sam/steve/bucky

When your friends invite you to a rock show and the drummer invites you back to his hotel room, you might get more than you bargained for yet…

By ✬ Astro ✬ @astrorogers

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑 | wanda maximoff

The Scarlet Witch has arrived which means her familiar must finally reunite with her.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 | wanda maxinoff

Wanda teaches kitten about Halloween

𖥔 𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐀𝐒𝐊 | mistress!wanda maximoff

Mistress!Wanda x sub!kitten reader smut

280 notes · View notes

kurokoros · 1 year

Text

into open flames | (s.h.)

Rated: M (future smut)

Words: 16K

Pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary: There’s a storm raging, winds howling and snow beating against the cabin walls. Outside a monster shrieks his name in an awful and warbled voice that sounds like you. And it shouldn’t be awkward, Steve thinks. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked.

You and Steve are almost something. Almost lovers. And it feels almost like hell; almost romantic.

OR: A blackout snowstorm and a monster force you and Steve to take shelter in Hopper’s old cabin. From there, everything starts slotting into place.

AN: Yes, there will be a part two. Yes, it will be smut. It’s in progress and should be ready to post within a week. Reblogs are appreciated--nay, strongly encouraged.

Warnings: horror elements (the monster is modeled after the official illustration of the “bagman” from dnd). minor violence. reader implied to be shorter than steve. reader is a hopper but there’s no mention of blood relation. cop!steve but it’s for monster hunting reasons. S3 and S4 never happened in this universe alteration, but upside down shenanigans have still been happening post-S2

Chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three

The rhythm you’ve set stutters suddenly. A low, breathy version of his name rolls off your tongue, sticky and sweet like honey. Your hands are soft as they roam down his chest, feather-light touches that have his hips lurching off the mattress. It’s all hot and wet. His teeth scrape the side of your throat, a litany of sweet nothings mumbled into your sweat-slicked skin.

“Steve.” Your breath is hot against his ear, his name a sigh that has his fingers squeezing your hips a little too hard.

The stutter becomes a full stop.

“Steve,” you say again. No longer saccharine. There’s a wobble to the way you say his name this time, higher-pitched and sharp with what he immediately recognizes as panic. You’ve said his name like that before. On a rundown bus in the middle of a junkyard, with hellish monsters circling beneath the low-hanging fog, ready to rip you both apart.

You’re sitting up, then. Pulled away from his incessant mouth. And when Steve’s eyes snap open, you’re already staring down at him. Petrified. Your eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them, your pupils constricted into pinpricks.

“Steve,” you repeat, louder as a thick, squirming vine slinks further around your neck.

Neither you nor Steve move. In his chest, his heart ceases to beat as the fleshy tendril winds completely around your throat, wrapping tighter and tighter without constricting. Slime spirts between the coils. Gray-tinged sludge drips down your collarbone and chest. A sticky, wet sound breaks through the stillness. Your hands shake where they’re pressed against his chest, and in the back of his mind he registers the bite of your fingernails digging into his skin.

Like it’s the only thing you know how to say, his name is whispered into the space between you and him, so quiet that he doesn’t hear it so much as recognize the shape of it on your lips. It’s a plea. You’re begging for him to do something. Begging for him to protect you. But the horrified glint in your eyes keeps him pinned and unable to breathe as a gnarled hand reaches out of the black emptiness behind you. Long, boney fingers cover the upper half of your face. Claws scrape against the side of your head. A sick caress. All Steve can see is the tremble of your lips, still mouthing his name. And he can’t move. Can’t do anything at all.

The vine constricts, and you’re ripped away from him. The weight of you leaves his hips as you’re dragged backwards off the bed. Plunged into the darkness. And then you scream. One loud, petrified wail of his name that curdles his blood.

His eyes snap open.

A sharp, gasping breath tears from his throat, like he’s come up for air after being held under water. His ears ring with the shrillness of your screams. Steve lurches halfway off the bed, already kicking off the covers before he sees the moonlight filtering in through the window and reality slams into him.

A nightmare. It was a nightmare.

It doesn’t calm the frantic beating of his heart. Doesn’t stop him from twisting towards your side of the bed. Doesn’t stop the breath from being slammed out of his lungs when he sees you aren’t there. The spot where you slept beside him is bare. Empty. Still warm with the remnants of body heat. But the sheets are rumpled. The thick, lilac comforter is bunched lower on the bed, kicked off in a hurry.

The nightmare doesn’t stop.

Another terrified cry of his name splits through the silence.

He lunges for the bedroom door, stumbling as he bashes his knee against the corner of your old dresser. The door is already cracked open part way. It bangs against the wall as Steve shoves through. The screaming doesn’t stop, muffled from outside. There’s a body on the floor. Mike Wheeler. Sprawled out and snoring. And Steve nearly trips over the lanky teen as he races for the backdoor and rips it open.

There’s no one outside. Wildly, his eyes dart around the open space beyond the porch. Twenty odd feet separating the trailer from the bank of Lake Tippecanoe. The cold slams into his lungs. It’s quiet. Unnaturally still. The silence makes his ears ring louder.

“Steve!”

It punches through his chest. Far off across the lake.

His hand clenches around the aging railing in front of him with every intention of throwing himself into the thick layer of snow below.

“Steve?”

The sound of his name, closer this time, makes him flinch. It’s not from the woods though. It’s not a shrill scream that sends his heart lurching into his throat.

His head snaps around, eyes wild.

And there you are, tucked into the open space of the doorway, your arms wrapped around yourself and your lips downturned in a confused little frown. Sock-clad feet shuffle against the porch as you take a step towards him, careful to avoid any remnants of snow still sticking to the floorboards in patchy clumps.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.” You smother a yawn with one hand, squinting at him. You shiver in response to your own words, your bare legs rubbing together in a weak attempt to chase away the chilly air.

The porch creaks under your weight, sharp and real compared to the agonized screams further off in the distance. Silence is all that rings from the trees now. The screams silenced. And Steve wonders if there were any screams at all. Wonders if it was another nightmare bleeding through into waking hours. Those have happened before. On bad nights.

They usually involve you.

It takes a long moment for your words to reach through his scrambled thoughts and pull him back out. “You weren’t in bed,” is what he manages to choke out, throat tight. Like that’s explanation enough for why he’s standing on the back porch of your dad’s old trailer in the middle of the night, chasing echoes and ghosts.

But you don’t question it. Instead, you send him a sad, understanding look that makes his chest ache. “Bathroom,” you tell him.

There’s an apologetic note in the gentle murmur of your voice, and he hates it. Hates that you can’t get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night just because he might panic when he realizes you aren’t there. It’s not fair to you, but you’ve never once complained about how clingy he can be, how sometimes he hovers too closely.

Truthfully, you need that closeness, too. Something to stave off the rampant paranoia threatening to eat you alive. Keeping Steve close helps, makes you feel safe in a way no one else can. And Steve? Steve can’t sleep at night if you’re not there next to him. After the second time Hawkins went to shit, he couldn’t sleep in that big house anymore, not by himself. There were too many dark hallways, too many places for monsters to hide around corners. The silence was the worst. Every bump and creak kept him awake until exhaustion pulled him under. And when he did sleep it was never comfortably.

It wasn’t until after you both graduated that you and Steve started sharing a bed more often than not. Naturally, Hopper wasn’t happy about it, but after seeing the two of you rested for the first time in months, he kept his overprotective father speech to himself.

The far away, panicky look in Steve’s eyes makes your frown deepen. You know him too well not to recognize the jittery way he keeps glancing across the lake. More than just momentary fear at waking up without you curled up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Nothing—I just… I just needed some fresh air. That’s all.”

It’s a lie and you both know it. He waits for you to call him out on it, but you don’t, and he wonders if there’s something in his expression that’s telling you not to press. Either way, you don’t ask. Steve doesn’t tell. And you cross the short amount of space between the two of you with near silent steps.

Only half-awake and still soft with sleep, you cuddle up against his side when he lifts an arm in offering. Both of your arms wind around him, your head tucked into the crook of his shoulder, and you let him pull you flush against his chest. Steve’s arm slides around your shoulders. A large palm smooths down your back all the way to your hip before coming back up. His lips burn where they press to your temple. You sigh, breaths coming out in warm puffs against his collarbone.

The tips of your fingers peek out from the sleeve of the too big sweatshirt you’re wearing, emerald green with Hawkins Basketball printed across the front, and your skin is cold where your fingers brush against his side above the waist of his sleep pants. A content sigh has your hand sneaking out further, thumb absentmindedly stroking a puckered scar. The first faint brush of your skin against the mark makes him flinch, but your touch is gentle, soothing in a way that makes him relax.

Under the guise of keeping you warm, Steve pulls you closer to his chest. If you could crawl between his ribs and lie there, he’d let you. Selfishly, he just wants you pressed against him. Needs to know that you’re okay. That you’re real. And he likes the way you fit against him, he decides, as your fingers curl around his hip with familiar ease, slotting into place where you belong.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Steve is still far away, gazing out over the water like he’s looking for something that simply isn’t there. The gates are still open. Contained, but open. The monsters that do slip through occasionally aren’t the same threats as when he was seventeen. Knowing that doesn’t stop him from being terrified that something could still happen to you, or the kids.

As you let him stew in peace, your bleary gaze follows his to where Lake Tippecanoe is frozen over and dusted with a thick layer of snow. Once the silence has dragged on too long, you shift your head on his chest, eyes on the side of his face.

“Bad dream?”

Idly, you rub your chilly fingers against his side. One of your hands slides around to rest on his stomach. Your pinky ghosts against the hem of his sleep pants, teasing the trail of hairs that disappear there, and his stomach tightens with the memory of what he was dreaming about earlier, before it all bled into something horrific. If he thinks about it long enough, he can still imagine the weight of you on his hips, taste the sweetness of you on his tongue, see the terror in your eyes before clawed fingers wrapped around your head.

Steve clears his throat when your nose bumps against the curve of his jaw. “No.”

“Liar,” you call him this time, but you don’t ask if he wants to talk about it. He never does. Not when they’re about you.

His breath comes out in a puff of fog as he huffs. There’s no point in arguing with you. Not when you’re right. Instead, he squeezes your bicep. It’s not quite a reassurance, but it’s close enough.

In lieu of thinking any harder about the nightmare that dragged him outside into the freezing night, he asks, “Did I wake up the kids?”

He hopes not. They all have nightmares of their own to deal with, they don’t need his keeping them awake as well. At the very least, he’s glad that he didn’t wake up screaming tonight. That’s happened before more times than he’s proud to admit. The worst one was right after graduation. The screaming woke Hopper, who burst into your bedroom with a loaded shotgun. Steve hadn’t stopped thrashing until his voice became hoarse and he dissolved into sobs. It was your fingers running through his hair that calmed him down, his head cradled to your chest as you whispered to him, nonsensical reassurances that might as well have been a lullaby. Selfishly, he doesn’t want any of those kids to see him like that. Like this. Pale and washed-out. Dark circles underneath his eyes. Hair disheveled. A wild and panicked look in his eyes.

It might scare them. Or worse, make them pity him—empathize, you’d always correct him. They’d empathize, because they care. But even five years gone, Steve’s still not used to being cared for—being taken care of.

Like you can hear his thoughts, you squeeze him a little tighter around his middle. “Just Will,” you tell him. And then, because you can picture the guilt in his eyes without needing to look, you add, “But I think he was already awake. I mean, it can’t be easy to fall asleep when Dustin snores like a bear.”

The casual jab startles him into a laugh. “Jesus, I know. You remember that one night at the cabin? The kids wanted that sleepover, and your dad and Joyce were on that date, and you let the kids pick the movies—”

“Me? That was not—”

“—and,” Steve continues loudly, hand dropping to poke your side for cutting him off, “they picked up those horror movies from downtown. Dustin fell asleep halfway through Halloween. Man, I thought we were gonna be, like, Texas chainsaw massacred or something.”

You giggle, and it’s enough to loosen the tightness in his chest. For now, at least.

The pair of you lapse into silence after that. Just for a moment. Just long enough for Steve’s shoulders to relax, for your hands to wander a little more than they should.

“Cold?” he asks when you shiver.

With a confirmatory hum, you step out of his embrace. Quick as you leave his side, the freezing air takes your place. The cold January night hits him all at once. For the first time, Steve notices the goosebumps prickling at his skin. A sharp inhale stings like he’s been kicked in the chest. You take a short, shuffling step backwards, while Steve stays rooted in place, frozen to the floor. The porch is an unforgiving chill against his bare feet.

Idly, he glances down at your own feet, enveloped in your purple socks. They’re the thick kind, wooly and soft, and he’d never understood how you could wear them to bed at night until the one time you didn’t, making him jolt each time your cold toes bumped against his calves beneath the blankets.

When he doesn’t follow, you frown at him again, lips pursed in a little pout. Both of your hands wrap around one of his, your fingers lacing through his seamlessly. Your chest presses against the length of his arm when you sidle up to him. So close, you have to tilt your head back to peer up at him through your lashes. “Come warm me up?”

The low murmur of your voice unsticks his feet from the floorboards. Your pout slips into a sleepy smile that brushes against his shoulder in a sweet kiss.

Steve’s lips twitch upwards at the edges. He lets you pull him back into the trailer wordlessly. With one hand, you fumble with the door, closing and locking it behind you as Steve’s eyes sweep around the cramped, but cozy living room.

The kids—nearly adults themselves now—are all sprawled out along the furniture and floor. Will is curled up on the couch, asleep now. Or pretending to be, at least. Mike is on the floor beside him, undisturbed where Steve nearly tripped over him earlier. Dustin and Lucas have claimed a chair each, Lucas with his limbs folded up awkwardly and Dustin with his head tilted back, snoring obnoxiously just like you said. Steve cranes his head to look down the hallway towards El’s bedroom. The door is open wide enough for him to see the shapes of both El and Max under the covers.

With the door locked and the kids all asleep, Steve lets you tug him down the hallway towards your bedroom. The floor creaks under your steps. The moaning floorboards cause the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, but your thumb rubs soothingly over the bumps of his knuckles, placating his already frayed nerves.

As soon as you step into the bedroom, you turn on your heel. Both of his hands are grasped in your smaller ones. Naturally, your fingers come to slot between his, and the smile you give him is sweet, sleepy and just a little bit sad. He follows as you walk backwards towards the bed, trusting him to catch you if you trip. You lead him to his side of the bed—his side, because he does have a side, and the domesticity of it makes his pulse jump—and settle onto the mattress, shifting across to the side furthest from the window.

Steve follows you down.

As he drags up the covers, you shrug out of your sweatshirt, dropping it to the floor beside the bed so you can slip into it again in the morning. By now, you know well just how clingy Steve can be in his sleep. Some nights, he likes to press right up against your back, radiating heat like a damn furnace until you’re itching to shrug off a layer or two of clothes, even in the middle of winter. Tonight, you’re wearing something dark and silky that leaves your arms and shoulders bare, and he can see the soft swell of your chest from the faint moonlight streaking in through the curtains.

The mattress is old. There’s a spring that digs into his hip when he sleeps on his side. And it’s too small for the two of you to be anything but pressed against each other. You wait for him to settle onto his stomach before rolling onto your side and curling up against him. You don’t hold him, but your sock-clad toes rub against his calves through his pants and your fingers draw shapes along the curve of his ribcage, fleeting and barely there.

The door is left cracked open.

There’s light filtering in through the curtains when Steve wakes up again. You’re gone, again, but the covers are folded up neatly, and that’s enough to quell the panic that instantly wells in his chest.

He isn’t used to waking up without you. Most mornings, you’re still curled up beside him, sleeping in until he nudges you awake before he leaves. Forever a night owl. Guiltily, he knows that it’s partly because he keeps you awake most nights. You’ve never mentioned it, and Steve would be hard-pressed to say anything himself, but he knows that his nightmares take as much a toll on you as they do on him. You’re the one thing that can quell the overwhelming fear that threatens to suffocate him, able to pull his head back above water when he’s sure he’s going to drown in it.

Through the cracked open door, he can hear you humming. Something low and indistinct, but vaguely familiar, though he can’t place why.

For several minutes, he just lies there, lightly dozing to the sound of you humming and the closing of cabinet doors as you busy yourself with something in the cramped kitchen. It won’t be long until the kids start waking up and grumbling about breakfast.

A glance at his digital clock has Steve realizing it’s a little after eight. The alarm should have gone off at seven.

With a groan, he pushes himself up, joints cracking from being in the same position for too long. He rolls his shoulders, his back popping as he sits up. Unsteadily, he rises to his feet, one hand running through his sleep rumpled hair as he casts a glance around the room.

He lands on the clock again.

Steve doesn’t have to look at a mirror to know he’s a mess this morning. Just from the sticky feeling of his eyelids, he can tell he didn’t manage to sleep much last night, even after he was sure you were secured beside him, your hair tickling his arm and the rhythmic puffs of your breath sweeping over his skin. He has to clean up before work. Usually, it’s the first thing he does after rolling out of bed. Showering. Letting the hiss of the water and the fog of steam drown out everything else for just a little while longer.

Your humming is overtaken by the hiss of something sizzling in a pan.

His feet are moving towards the door without a second thought towards the shower.

You’ve got his sweatshirt on again.

It’s an absentminded realization as Steve wanders out into the main living space. The kids are all starting to wake, grumbling and groaning and already beginning to bicker about something. Down the hall, he can see the girls rolling out of bed, awoken by the boys or the smell of what you’re cooking. You don’t pay them any attention, swaying gently from side to side as you stand in front of the stove, humming quietly to yourself.

With your back to Steve and a pan sizzling in front of you, you don’t notice him lingering in the hallway, leaning sideways against the wall with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. For a moment, he just watches you with that overtly fond look in his eyes that the kids like to tease him about, gaze roving down your figure slowly. Your hair is draped over one of your shoulders, sleep-mused and messy, and your legs are still bare, the dark fabric of your shorts barely peeking out from beneath the sweatshirt you’re being swallowed up in. And Steve tries not to stare at your legs for too long. Tries even harder not to think about why the “Harrington” stretched across your shoulders has something possessive and hot curling in his stomach.

You glance up from the stove when Lucas and Mike break into snorts of laughter. The two of them are taking turns tickling the bottom of Dustin’s foot so that he kicks and snores louder in his sleep. Will is sitting up on the couch, smiling as he watches the others, but there are dark circles under his eyes, like he didn’t sleep much at all. Max and El amble out into the living room, El with too much pep for so early in the morning and Max with frizzy hair and a slight scowl. They plop down on either side of Will, content to watch the show.

Kids distracted, Steve pushes away from the wall.

“Want me to take over?” he asks, coming up behind you, his chin dipped down to speak directly into your ear. One of his hands slides around to rest on your waist. Pure muscle memory.

Immediately, you lean into his touch. There’s a small stack of pancakes on a plate to your left, a mixing bowl still filled with batter to your right.

“Not unless you’re planning on being late for work,” you say, flipping the pancake in the pan. You shoot him a look, barely smothering a smirk as you tack on, “again. Callahan’s gonna be up your ass all week if he has to come drag you out of here himself one more time.”

He squeezes your waist. Snorts. Phil Callahan has been up his ass since Steve started training at the academy after he graduated from high school. Clearly, he still hasn’t forgotten about all of those house parties he had to break up when Steve was still in school. Or maybe he’s just bitter because Hopper actually respects Steve half the time. Either way, he takes pride in giving Steve a hard time about anything and everything. Especially you.

Steve’s pretty sure he hasn’t gone a week without being told that cozying up to the chief’s daughter isn’t going to get him promoted, but he’s gotten damn good at rolling his eyes and firing back.

“Can you blame me? I learned from your old man.” With a roll of your eyes, you bump your hip into Steve’s, and he gives your side another squeeze in response. “You didn’t have to let me sleep in,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

You glance up at him. “You needed it.” Simple as that. If it came down to it, you probably would have let him sleep through the morning, came up with some excuse for when Callahan inevitably came looking for him. You’re too good to him like that.

“Thank you.” He presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head, crowding you against the counter, but you don’t mind. Another pancake is deposited on the pile, and Steve’s breath is hot against your ear as he says, “Let me help?”

His lips brush against the curve of your jaw as you hum, pretending to think about it. “You can start the eggs,” you concede, biting back a smile when you feel him grin.

Steve kisses your cheek. Reluctantly, he disentangles himself from you, grabbing a skillet from the cabinet and the cartoon of eggs sitting off to the side. He joins you back at the stove quickly, cooking the eggs while you keep flipping pancakes, making enough to feed the bottomless pits lounging in the living room.

The kitchen is small. Most days, it’s barely big enough for one person to move comfortably between the stove and fridge. With two people it’s near impossible to move at all. Consequently, the two of you are pressed together from shoulder to hip, the softness of your sweatshirt rubbing against Steve’s bare arm each time you shift. It makes it harder to cook, but neither of you complain about the distinct lack of space.

“Your dad coming back today?” Steve asks as he starts scrambling the eggs.

You shake your head. “He and Joyce called early this morning. They’re stuck in Indianapolis through the weekend because of the weather, so Will’s going to be spending the night again. Joyce doesn’t want him home alone at all, much less during a blizzard.” Your nose wrinkles at the thought. “Can’t say I blame her.”

He can’t blame Joyce either, but it still makes him groan to hear. “And that means the rest of the little shits are going to be staying here, too,” he grumbles, scrambling the eggs a little aggressively.

“Don’t lie to yourself,” you say. “You love it when they’re all here.”

You got him there. He does like having a full house. It keeps him from being lonely and paranoid over every little sound at night. But he’d much rather it be just you and him, instead of six nosy high schoolers butting into his business and giggling and pretending to gag about Steve making googly-eyes at you when you aren’t looking.

“Of course, I like when they’re here. They don’t keep me up with that damn radio all night when they’re in the same room. I just don’t see why they can’t hang out in the Wheeler’s basement anymore. Isn’t that supposed to be their cave, or whatever?

You snort as you flip the last pancake. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He pokes your side and you nearly smack him with the spatula when you jolt. “Steven!” you admonish, but you’re giggling.

“Eww.” Steve looks up to find Mike staring at him from the other side of the counter, his brows pinched and his nose wrinkled in a look of disgust. “Can you two not be gross already? We haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Wheeler,” Steve snaps back, reaching into the cabinet above your head to grab a stack of plates. “You shitheads ready to eat, or what?”

It doesn’t take long for everyone to settle down with their breakfast. Steve’s question had set all of them off, making the too small kitchen an even more cramped flurry of motion as the kids dished up their own plates, muttering thanks before scurrying back to the living room to eat.

They’re all spread out comfortably now. Max and Lucas are sitting at the small dining table, whispering to each other and giggling. Dustin is louder, his hands moving wildly where he’s sitting on the couch explaining something to El, who looks confused, but continues to watch Dustin in apt fascination anyway, so captivated that she’s letting her eggs and pancakes go cold. Mike keeps interjecting from where he’s leaning against the arm of the chair Will is sitting in, just picking at his eggs somewhat disinterestedly, unfocused on the chatter going on around him as the rest of the teens start arguing about if they’re going to the arcade or the video store downtown today.

Steve frowns, brows furrowing in concern, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it when you knock your foot against the side of his leg, drawing his attention back to you immediately. You’re twirling a piece of pancake on your fork, letting it soak up syrup while your legs swing idly back and forth from your place on the counter.

“How’s work been going?” you eventually ask him, lips twitching when he snags some eggs. The plate is on the counter next to you, covered in whatever the kids didn’t take, and you’ve both been picking food off of it leisurely. “You regretting that offer yet?”

He shakes his head, angling away from the kids so he can face you. “Owens says we’re all clear. There haven’t been any flareups since, what? That big, nasty slug thing back in June? None of the gates have been active so far this year.”

Neither of you point out that it’s only January.

Steve pops a piece of egg into his mouth. When he looks at you again, you’re frowning down at the plate, watching the pancakes get soggier.

“Are you going to check on them today?”

“I’m supposed to.”

“I don’t like you being out there alone,” you tell him, finally looking up. “You should wait until dad gets back from Indianapolis.”

You don’t have to explain why; he knows. They’ve made it a rule not to go poking around at the gates by themselves, but with Hopper out of town, he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’d skip it, if you asked him to, but you won’t. It’s not that you think he can’t handle it. That he’s not capable of checking the gates himself. Privately, you’d confessed to him one night that you’d probably lose your mind if anything happened to him. And, fuck, Steve understands.

He wouldn’t be able to handle losing you.

“I’ll be fine, honey.” The endearment slips out without him meaning to say it, but neither of you pay it any notice. “What are you going to do without me and these brats bothering you all day?”

Sock-clad toes bump into his leg again. “I’m going to stop by the cabin, actually,” you tell him casually. “There are some boxes dad and Joyce need for the wedding, and I figured I’d get them ready for when they come back.”

“Which boxes?” A piece of pancake is popped into his mouth, a pair of questioning eyes trained on the side of your face. Predictably, his shoulders are tense, one corner of his mouth quirked downward slightly at the edge. “I can swing by and pick them up on my way back from work and—”

“No,” you cut him off, firm but gentle. You knew he’d be on-edge today. A little over-protective. He always is the day following the nightmares bad enough that he refuses to talk about them. But you understand. After the living hell you’ve both been through, how could you not. “No, you don’t have to. I can do it myself.”

The look he sends you is skeptical, so you reach out and wrap your fingers around his upper arm, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. When he still doesn’t look entirely convinced, you sigh. Your fork clinks against the nearly empty plate by your hip as you set it down, shifting on the countertop to face him.

“It’s not going to take that long,” you promise. “Half-hour. Tops.”

One of Steve’s big hands finds your leg, squeezing just above your knee. And if his fingers dip inward, brushing against the soft skin of your thigh, neither of you mention it.

He turns suddenly. Your knee presses against his side as he shifts to face you, hand leaving your leg to press against the counter next to your hip. He doesn’t try to slip himself into the space between your dangling legs, but he does lean in close.

“At least take the kids with you?” It’s less a suggestion than it is an attempt at bargaining. The timbre of his voice deepens, pitched low and close to your ear. The heat of his breath washes over your neck, that too big sweatshirt starting to slip down towards your shoulder.

“What? And listen to them bitch about it the entire time? I don’t think so.” That gets you a crooked smile. “I’m going to drop them off at the arcade. Then, I’m going to pick up those boxes. And then,” you stress, brushing away the lock of hair falling into his face, “I’m going to go steal you for lunch. How does that sound?”

There’s a part of him that wants to argue. Because weren’t you the one just saying you don’t like him being out there alone? But he bites his tongue instead. He knows how capable you are. And the cabin isn’t close to any of the gates he’s been keeping an eye on for Owens.

“All right. All right. Fine. You win. I’ll leave you to it.” He slumps sideways against the counter, back facing the kids. The pretty, triumphant smile you send him makes him feel just a little bit better about giving in so easily. “The chief and Joyce still planning on fixing the place up?” he asks, changing the subject. “Last I saw it, it wasn't looking too hot.”

An understatement, really. Last he saw the cabin, it looked one bad day from collapsing entirely. And that was before a monster from another dimension came crashing through the ceiling. That ceiling has been patched since, if only to keep out the weather and wild animals, but it certainly wasn’t a pretty job.

“Yeah. I keep telling him he’s just gonna have to tear it all apart because they need more bedrooms and another bathroom and it’s gonna be a pain in the ass, but yeah,” you finish. “They want to renovate. Something about it being remote, but not too far out of town. Joyce seems to like it, too.”

“Yeah? What do you think?”

“I think it’s… quaint,” is what you finally decide on, struggling to find a better word.

Steve’s lips twitch in amusement. “Quaint?” he teases.

You shove him away by the shoulder. “Go get ready for work.”

Everyone in the living room sees the way Steve’s hand lingers against your waist before he pulls away. The fabric of his sweatshirt bunching under his fingers as he tugs you a little too close, his head dipped down to whisper in your ear and make you giggle. The kids see it, but none of them say anything. Instead, they watch with snorts and dramatic rolls of their eyes. They do that often, when you and Steve act domestic like this. Almost something, but not quite.

You’ve seen it in the way Mike will roll his eyes when Steve’s flirting is blatant. How Max and El giggled at the way you slipped your fingers between Steve’s and lead him down the short hallway to your old bedroom last night. How all six of them are shooting you and Steve unsubtle glances, like they’re waiting for one of you to make a move.

Dating isn’t the word you’d use to describe your relationship with Steve. It’s too blasé, too casual for the way his lips wander across your shoulders while you sleep, for the way you run your fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck. As far as anyone else in Hawkins is concerned, you’re Steve’s and he’s yours, but that hasn’t nudged either of you towards putting a label on whatever it is you’re doing. Sleeping together, sure. But there’s still that gap neither of you are quite willing to fill just yet.

Almost lovers, in a way.

What you have now is easy. The sex is good, when you have it.

And Steve is afraid to fuck it all up, just like he’s done with everything else in his life. He’d rather have you like this, halfway, than lose you completely.

Steve could put a ring on your finger tonight and no one would bat an eye except to tell him it took him long enough. And he thinks you’d say yes. If he asked, you’d say yes. But he won’t, and you don’t. And it’s a little bit like limbo, this in-between state you’ve fallen into. Or a waltz, but neither of you can get the rhythm quite right. Always just out of sync. Just off-beat. Pulled in too close, or not pulled in enough. Limbo. It feels a little bit like hell; almost romantic.

Almost lovers.

And Steve still lets his hands linger too long; and you still let him walk away.

Steve keeps his gun in the top drawer of the nightstand.

There’s a part of him that hates it. Keeping a Glock in the bedroom he shares with you most nights. In a house where kids who aren’t quite kids anymore practically live half the time. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so he tries to tell himself it’s for the monsters. Just in case they come back. And he tries even harder to pretend that he doesn’t keep a gun in case the government ever decides they’re all too much of a liability. It’s always there, just in reach in case he needs it. A precaution.

He still keeps that nail bat in the trunk of his car.

You keep a shotgun in the back of the closet. Buried beneath the black dress you wore to Barbara Holland’s funeral in late November, 1984.

He’s just finishing the last button on his uniform shirt when there’s a quiet knock at the door. It’s open. Cracked slightly. Enough for him to hear the muffled chatter from the living room. The sound of your voice, even if he can’t make out the words.

“Steve?” someone that isn’t you calls out, hesitating before they peek around the door. It’s Will, chewing at his bottom lip as he toes the door open wider, just enough to squeeze through into the bedroom before he nudges it back to its previous position. He keeps his head down, eyes on the floor, that pensive and slightly haunted look still plastered across his face. It hasn’t really left him since the fall of 1983.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Steve asks, far nicer than he’d ask any of the other little shits in the other room. By now, he’s used to the kids coming to him for things. Sometimes serious. Mostly not. Will has done this before. Still a little shy about asking Steve for advice, or asking if he could pick something up on his way home from work, even if Will knows Steve will always say yes.

Steve spares Will a glance before turning his attention to the plain, black tie laid out on the bed, considering it. The sight of it makes him grimace. He’s never liked it as a piece of his uniform. He’s never really liked ties at all. They feel too formal. What he does like is the way you always give that tie a little tug when he wears it, a teasing glint in your eyes and a secretive grin on your lips.

He decides he wants to keep that smile to himself and leaves the tie where it is.

Will chews on the inside of his cheek for a minute, watching Steve. “Did you hear it, too?” he finally blurts.

“Hear what?” Steve asks absentmindedly, yanking open the nightstand drawer on his side in search of his gun. He releases the magazine, checking the bullets inside, and nearly spills them onto the floor when Will speaks up again.

“The screaming.”

Steve freezes, staring down at the gun in his hand. White-knuckled grip. His tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth, and it simultaneously takes too long and too fast for the words to process. When they do, it makes him feel sick.

Will shuffles his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he awkwardly stares at Steve’s back. “Last night, I heard it coming from outside,” he continues, quieter than before, wringing his hands a little nervously. “And then you ran out onto the back porch, so…”

The implication is obvious by the way Will trails off, but Steve still croaks out, “So?” Biding his time just a little longer as he struggles to wrap his head around it. He knew Will woke up last night. You told him that. But Steve didn’t think it was from the screaming—didn’t think that was anything but in his own head, because none of the other kids woke up from it, and you would have told him if you heard it. It was just a dream. A nightmare. It was all in his head.

“So… you must have heard it, too,” Will finishes the thought when Steve doesn’t. He stops playing with his fingers and lifts his gaze from the floor to Steve’s tense shoulders.

There’s a part of Steve that wants to play dumb. To tell Will he didn’t hear anything at all. But Steve isn’t stupid, or oblivious, or anything else people have called him in the past. He can hear the hope in Will’s voice. Hesitant, but there. The subtle relief that he isn’t crazy, or hearing things.

Steve doesn’t have the stomach to ruin that.

“Yeah.” Steve snaps the magazine back into the Glock. He tucks the gun into the holster attached to his belt, finally turning around. “It was just a fox, Will,” he says. “I saw it down by the lake.”

Will doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“It was just a fox,” Steve tells Will again, firmer. Trying just as hard to convince himself of the same thing.

The way Will stares at Steve is slightly unnerving. His eyebrows are knitted together, and there’s a look in his eyes like he knows Steve is lying. Steve clenches his teeth so hard that his jaw starts to hurt, forcing himself to keep a neutral expression.

Finally, Will’s shoulders droop, the tension bleeding from his ridged stance. “Yeah. Okay.” He still doesn’t look completely convinced, but any skepticism he still has is outweighed by sheer relief. “It just…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Will waves him off. “It’s nothing. Never mind,” he repeats. He offers Steve a subdued smile before turning around and pulling the door open again.

Steve sighs, suddenly exasperated. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Look, kid, if something’s wrong, you can talk to me.”

That’s enough to make Will pause before leaving the room. He looks over his shoulder, less troubled now, but there’s a puzzled look on his face instead. “I know. I guess… it just sounded like your name,” he explains, then clarifies. “The fox. It sounded like it was screaming your name. That’s what woke me up.”

Ice floods Steve’s veins as he stares at Will, who’s already trudging back down the hallway, satisfied with Steve’s answer or at least content to drop it for now. Steve has half a mind to chase after him, demanding answers that he knows Will doesn’t have, but before Steve can act on that impulse, someone starts pounding on the front door.

The sudden knocking makes him flinch. “Shit,” he hisses, nerves still fried from last night. Steve runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it only slightly.

You’re already at the front door when he rushes out of the bedroom, cursing under his breath and making sure his gun is still secured in its holster. You’re leaning against the wall, smile tight as you humor whoever is at the door. He recognizes the subtle irritation in your expression, but when the floor creaks under Steve’s feet, you glance at him, smile slipping into something genuine. The kids all watch as Steve comes up behind you, exchanging glances and nudging each other like they know something he doesn’t.

It’s Callahan, standing on the porch with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face because he gets to chew Steve out for being late, which Steve should have expected considering it’s a little after nine and he was supposed to be at the station nearly half an hour ago. But the older officer isn’t alone.

Frankie fucking Cooper is leaning against the side of the trailer with one arm bent and braced against the wall over his head. Steve realizes why the kids were snickering when he sees Frankie’s eyes drop to your bare legs none-too-subtly, eyeing you up the way he always does when he thinks Steve isn’t around to see it—and sometimes when Steve is, just to piss him off.

The other man’s eyes snap away from your legs comically fast when Steve presses himself up against your back. His arm slips against the side of the trailer, making him stumble and straighten awkwardly.

Now, Steve never had an issue with Frankie when they were in school. He graduated two years before Steve, so they were never close, but they played baseball together, and basketball, and it was at one of Frankie’s shitty house parties freshman year that Steve first started getting to know you. In a way, Steve has always been a little grateful for that night, even if he ended up sprinting down the street away from the cops at one in the morning and the hangover left him sick for an entire day afterwards.

Working with Frankie has soured Steve’s opinion of the other man just a little bit, and the way he’s staring at you makes it easy for Steve to slip an arm around your waist. Protective, or maybe just jealous, even though he has no reason to be. You’re wearing Steve’s high school sweatshirt. His name is printed across your back. You spent the night curled up against him. Frankie knows it, too, judging by the way he clears his throat and has the decency to look a little sheepish about getting caught.

“Callahan,” Steve greets, leaning into you a little more than he usually would. He reaches up, bracing a hand against the doorframe as you shift, resting your weight against his chest. An old, petty part of himself rises up as he pointedly ignores Frankie.

One of the kids snorts. Steve has half a mind to give them the finger, but manages to restrain himself in the presence of his coworkers, even if the little shits deserve it.

“Harrington,” Callahan greets in return, trying not to look incredibly amused by everything happening. “You’re late.”

“Alarm is broken,” he lies easily. You snort, quiet enough for neither of the officers to hear you, but Steve still squeezes your waist a little tighter. Not that that it matters. Neither Callahan nor Frankie looks like they believe him. In fact, he’s pretty sure he knows what Frankie is thinking when the man briefly glances down at your bare legs. They don’t bother to question him though. “I was just about to head out.”

Callahan rolls his eyes and scratches at his mustache. “Yeah. Sure you were, kid. Hurry up and say goodbye, or we’ll have to report this to the chief when he gets back.”

This time, you do laugh. A quiet giggle that draws three pairs of eyes directly to you. Steve presses his lips against the side of your head to hide his smile. Callahan looks confused for a second, then annoyed when he realizes why that’s funny.

Steve slides out from behind you, keeping his hand on your waist for longer than necessary. He’s only halfway out the door when he turns around to look at you.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” he promises, keeping his voice low for only you to hear. He’s sure the kids are still watching, and Callahan and Frankie are definitely still watching. Honestly, Steve really doesn’t care if they are. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

“You’re one to talk.” You smooth your hand down the front of his uniform, plucking at one of the buttons, and he almost regrets not wearing that damn tie, but the pretty smile you send him makes up for it. “I’ll stop by around lunchtime. Pick something up from the diner after I’m done at the cabin.”

“Be safe,” you tell him, a demand more than anything else.

“Yes, ma’am,” he teases. That hand on his chest shoves him backwards, sending him stumbling out of the trailer, where he nearly crashes into Frankie, laughing. You pretend to look annoyed, unable to hide the twitch of your lips; Steve wants to kiss the smile off your mouth, but he can’t.

The kids all call out goodbyes from inside the trailer, some of them more colorful than appropriate, which he hears Frankie try not to laugh about behind him.

You linger on the porch as Steve follows Callahan down the steps to the cruiser parked in the gravel.

“You’re getting pretty domestic there, Harrington,” Callahan says as Steve pops open the driver’s side door of Hopper’s truck. The older officer leans against his cruiser and gives Steve a look over the top. Steve likes the insinuation even less than he does when it comes from Dustin. “Still gunning for that promotion, huh? What would the chief say if he saw you like that?”

With his daughter, is what Callahan doesn’t tack on, but Steve hears it anyway.

“Probably to mind your own damn business,” Steve tells him.

Callahan makes Steve pick up donuts on the way into town for being late. Or for telling him to fuck off. Either way, Steve doesn’t end up strolling into the station until half-past nine, arms piled with boxes from the bakery a few blocks down from the station. The girl behind the counter smiled at Steve when he walked in, immediately clocking his uniform and asking if he wanted the usual. Hawkins PD breaks less stereotypes than they do, that’s for sure. Though, Steve doesn’t mind too much about the extra stop. There’s an extra box of donuts in the backseat of Hopper’s truck, hidden under an emergency blanket. Something to bring home tonight.

Home.

He tries not to think too long about that, but can’t quite keep the thought from swirling around in his head as he shoves open the doors with an armful of baked goods.

There’s a stupid smile on his face when he finally drops the donuts off in the break door, but no one else manages to heckle him for it before Flo peeks her head in and calls his name.

Despite the routine nature of Flo gesturing for him to follow her, wanting to talk in private, there’s something about the look on her face that makes a foreboding feeling sink into the pit of his stomach. He chalks it up to the lack of sleep and his nightmare. It rattled him last night, and he had to leave you this morning. That’s going to make the day hard to get through.

Steve follows Flo out of the room, ignoring the look that Callahan and Powell share and the way Frankie snickers, like they’re still in school and Steve is being called to the principal’s office and scolded for something. He barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, not wanting Flo to catch him and chew him out for it.

She doesn’t lead him far, just a few steps out of the breakroom, away from any prying ears. Steve shuts the door behind himself, leaning against the wall with narrowed eyes. “Something wrong?”

The look Flo sends him is nothing short of exasperated, her lips pursed in the same way she does whenever Hopper asks too many questions instead of just shutting up and listening. Instead of answering she looks him up and down, scrutinizing him. “You’re late,” she tells him. “Hop is a bad influence on you.”

“Yeah. Probably,” he agrees. He crosses his arms. Flo wouldn’t bring him out here just to berate him for not being on time, so he tries again. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve received some strange calls this morning,” she explains, mouth still pressed into a thin line. “According to chief Hopper’s notes, they fall under your authority when he isn’t available.”

The tone of her voice lets Steve know she doesn’t agree with that. He can’t say he blames her. Steve is barely twenty-two. He’s one of the newest officers working for Hawkins PD and plenty of his colleagues don’t understand why Hopper defers to him so readily over officers that have more experience and a better track record. Flo had been the one to receive all of those noise complaints about the Harrington house when Steve was still in school, and while not unkind, she’s never let him forget it.

But aside from Hopper, Steve is the only one in the force who knows about everything that’s actually happened in this shitty little town over the last several years. And with Hopper away, there are no other options besides Steve when it comes to handling anything out of the ordinary. Nancy and Jonathan are both away for school. The kids are too young to be dealing with any this crap. And Steve tries his damn hardest to keep you out of things, even if he knows you can handle yourself just fine.

It makes him a little sick, thinking about anything happening to that trailer down by the lake and all those people in it that he cares about. Crowded and run down, but home.

Steve realizes he’s been quiet for too long when Flo looks at him expectantly. He clears his throat. “What kind of calls?” he asks, wondering what could be so strange about them that they’d fall under the category of things Steve needs to handle in Hopper’s place.

Briefly, his thoughts flash to missing people and murder dressed up as suicide before he forcibly shoves them down.

“Noises,” she says plainly. “Coming from the woods.”

“Noises?” he repeats. Skepticism all but drips from his tongue, and he’s aware of how much he sounds like Hopper in this moment. “Someone called about noises in the woods?”

Flo sighs. “The Mulligan boys have been calling all morning.”

She says Mulligan boys with a hint of distaste, and Steve can’t really blame her. There are at least five of them living down by Kerley, all with the same angular features and lanky build. They’re troublemakers, ever more than Steve used to be. It wouldn’t be the first time Steve’s dealt with calls involving them. Fireworks at midnight. Brawls. Public Intoxication. What’s unusual is that they’re the ones calling.

There must be a look on his face, because Flo continues, “they told me they heard something screaming out in the woods down by Kerley before the sun was even up this morning. Thought it was a fox. Or a mountain lion.”

“A mountain—there are no mountain lions in Indiana,” Steve blurts, needing to latch onto something other than screaming down by Kerley. The Byers don’t live near that road anymore. Neither does Steve, most of the time. But his nightmare is still fresh, and he’s never quite been able to scrub his mind of everything that was lurking in the woods there when he was still in high school.

“A bobcat, then,” Flo corrects, exasperated. “Or coyotes. I don’t know what those boys thought they were looking for.”

“They called because they think they heard an animal?” Steve asks, more to clarify than anything else. There’s still a tinge of skepticism clinging to the words. Or maybe he’s just being condescending. More likely, it’s false bravado. If he clings to cynicism and a barbed tongue, maybe nothing will happen. Hawkins is practically surrounded by miles of forest. Of course, there are animals wandering around in the woods. If he tells himself that enough times, maybe he'll start to believe it. “Thought that was the DNR’s problem, not ours.”

And Steve thinks about the black bear in his backyard that wasn’t a black bear at all, and it makes that churning feeling in his stomach just a little bit worse.

Flo doesn’t keep him waiting for an explanation. “They called because they said it wasn’t an animal,” she tells him, and Steve’s heart lurches. “Damn fools went looking for whatever it was to shut it up. They said they saw an eight-foot-tall wild man walking through the trees.”

As quickly as his heart leapt into his throat, he makes himself swallow it, forcing it to sinks back down to where it belongs. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face. It’s hits a little too close to home. A monster in the woods. The screaming he woke up to. The screaming that Will heard, too. Not just a nightmare rattling around in Steve’s head. Not a fox.

But he’s not sure how to navigate this without Flo thinking he’s crazy, so he lets his eyes roll, even as Flo sends him a disapproving look. “A wild man.” This time, he definitely sounds condescending. And he lays it on thick. It’s not the first time someone’s seen a “wild man” in Indiana, but none of those sightings have turned out to be much more than stories by drunks and potheads. Right now, he really hopes that’s all it is. “Did they say if they’d been drinking, too? I haven’t seen Tommy Mulligan sober since the tenth-grade.”

“Harrington,” Flo starts, and he already knows she’s going to tell him to just deal with it so they stop calling while she’s trying to read her book, or finish her crosswords, or whatever it is she does to pass the time on slow days.

“I’ll go check it out after I finish something for the chief,” he says. He needs to check around the lab first. Just in case. “If they call back, tell them it’ll be an hour or two. Okay?”

“Thank you.”

Steve starts walking backwards towards the front of the building. “I’ll radio when I’m headed to the Mulligan place. Have Callahan or Cooper meet me there.”

The clock on the wall catches his attention, and he winces when he sees it’s after nine-thirty. “Shit,” he hisses under his breath. Even if he finishes his rounds for Hopper early, there��s no way he’ll be back in time to meet you for lunch.

“Flo,” he starts, but she’s already waving him off.

“If she stops by, I’ll let her know there was an emergency call. I’ll tell her to wait in her dad’s office until you come back. Now get out of here.”

Steve doesn’t bother to tell her thanks.

The car sits idling on the side of the road for almost ten minutes before you finally work up the nerve to kill the engine.

A strange, foreboding feeling settled into the pit of your stomach after you dropped the kids off at the arcade. All six of them piled out of the car—Steve’s BMW, still well-loved, even if the kids have to squish to fit into the back now that they aren’t in middle school anymore, which is technically illegal, but between being one of Hopper’s daughters and Steve’s something every cop in town is willing to look the other way when they recognize the car—bickering about something that you didn’t bother paying attention to as you mentally filed through which boxes you needed to dig through. It wasn’t until you took the right off Denfield, the car creeping down that lone, dead-end road, that you felt ice starting to creep into your veins and churn in your stomach. It’s been a while since you’ve been out this far, this secluded from the rest of Hawkins. The trailer by Lake Tippecanoe is private. So is the Byers’ temporary house. But the cabin is a ten-minute walk through the woods this time of year.

There’s a part of you that almost wishes you had listened to Steve and brought the kids with. If only to fill the silence. The woods make you jumpy these days. Most things do, if you’re being honest. The only time you feel completely safe anymore is at home with Steve, or the kids, or your dad. You used to find comfort in being alone, but now the paranoia threatens to eat you alive when no one else is around. It would make you feel ashamed if you didn’t know Steve felt the same way.

It’s a gray day. The sky overcast; the threat of a storm looming overhead. A genuine blizzard, according to your dad. The worst of it always comes in January, and this year is proving to be no different. It’s only noon, but the lack of sun makes it feel like dusk.

You chalk the strange feeling up to how dark it is and throw open the car door. It takes another second until you can bring yourself to leave the warmth of the car, familiar and safe.

Instantly, the wind makes you wish you hadn’t.

You changed before you left: jeans, a thick sweater and a pair of even thicker socks, boots meant for hiking, and a too-big jacket you think might be Steve’s, but it was shoved to your side of the closet, so you took it anyway. If you try hard enough, you can almost pick up the faintest trace of his cologne clinging to the collar as you bury your nose into the warm fabric, blocking out the chill. The wind still makes you shiver. You curl your fingers into your sleeves, suddenly wishing you hadn’t forgotten your gloves on the counter as you were leaving. You didn’t notice they weren’t crammed into your pocket until you were dropping the kids off at the arcade, and by then you didn’t want to make the extra trip. Luckily, the cabin isn’t too far into the woods.

The snow is thick already. Deep enough that it reaches nearly to your knees. The idea of getting more makes your nose wrinkle, so you try not to think about it for too long. There’s nothing you can do about the snow. Truthfully, you won’t mind the excuse to stay inside, curl up somewhere with a book and something warm to drink. Or stay in bed with Steve for longer than either of you should. For now, though, you keep curses locked behind your teeth as you almost lose your footing.

There’s no path through the snow anymore. It’s been too long since anyone has been to the cabin, so the snow isn’t packed down in places like it was last year. It’ll make the boxes hard to move. Belatedly, you think you should have taken Steve’s advice and brought the kids with, but the whining wouldn’t have been worth it.

The walk from Steve’s car to the cabin is uneventful. There are animals skittering through the trees, small mammals that are moving too fast for you to keep an eye on, and the constant chatter calms you.

You’re careful as you step over the trip wire running along the tree line, still in place after all these years. A precaution, your dad calls it, even though there’s nothing in that cabin aside from storage items that have been forgotten for years. Nothing worth stealing, at the very least.

The cabin looks worse than the last time you saw it, even from the outside. The shingles are starting to fall. Parts of the wall look like they’re finally starting to rot, giving in after years of not being properly taken care of. Paint won’t be able to fix it. You’ll have to tear the walls down when you fix the place up. If you can even convince your dad to tear the place apart. At least the windows are still intact. If snow or animals were getting inside, you’d just have more problems to worry about.

The porch practically groans under you as you reach the steps.

Your fingers are starting to feel numb by the time you fish the key out of your pocket. The lock sticks when you try to turn it, but finally gives as you shove your weight against the door, forcing it open.

The wood floors creak under your boots as you walk deeper into the cabin. Dust coats the room in a fine layer. The floors. The furniture. It tickles you nose and makes your face scrunch with a sneeze that doesn’t quite come. There’s still some debris on the floor. Broken glass and splintered wood from when that monster came crashing through the roof. Hopper patched the ceiling, but didn’t sweep the floor. Instead, he just left the cabin to rot. Frozen in time in the months it’s been left unoccupied. It isn’t nearly as bad as it had been before El lived here back in 1984, but even a brief glance around the room tells you it needs a deep cleaning come spring.

It takes some effort to slide the chair and rug out of the way so you can pry open the hatch in the floor. The dusty, moth-bitten chair makes you grimace as you touch it, so you shove it aside as quickly as you can. The rug is kicked aside and shoved into a sad heap. It’s stained with something dark. Blood, maybe. Or some kind of thick, otherworldly ooze that makes your stomach twist sickly.

The box you’re looking for is buried in the storage space beneath the floor. Tucked between a box labeled “Nam” and a stained one with “43” scrawled across the side. The box you finally drag out is well kept. Plastic instead of cardboard. And when you pop the lid to make sure it’s the right one, you can’t help the gentle smile that curves your lips when you see the photo album tucked neatly on top. You’ll have to look through it later, after the kids have gone to sleep.

There’s a second box that you have to drag out, wincing as porcelain rattles inside. Old silverware clangs noisily as you deposit the box on the floor beside the storage hole. A quick peek inside shows that none of the dishes have broken. They’re fancy. All tucked into a pretty case. Sterling silver and the kind of plates that are too delicate to use in almost any situation, but you heard your dad mention them to Joyce in passing once, and thought you’d surprise them by getting them all cleaned up before the wedding.

Maybe you’ll be able to get El and Will to help you clean them up.

Both boxes are shoved to the side as you close up the storage space again, making sure the cover is sealed tight, just in case.

As you stand, you dust off your hands, lips pursing as you glance at the pair of boxes. You won’t be able to carry both at once without struggling. And the last thing you want is to haul those dishes through the woods only to drop them all halfway to the car. Resigned to taking two trips there and back, you grab the one with the dishes first.

Again, they rattle as you pick it up, huffing at the weight. And, again, you wonder if maybe you should have brought the kids with you for help. Lucas, at least, is sweet enough that he probably would have offered to help even without you asking. Mike and Dustin wouldn’t have been nearly as agreeable, though. And if you brought one with you, you’d have to deal with the other five as well. After everything that’s happened, the party rarely lets one person go off without the others. Lucas going with you wouldn’t have changed that.

You leave the door unlocked behind you after you jiggle it shut, unable to grab the key with the box in your arms and unwilling to put it down. It shouldn’t matter. You’ll have to come back anyway, and the chances of anyone else slipping into the cabin in the ten minutes you’ll be gone is slim, if not impossible. The cabin is well hidden, and there shouldn’t be anyone wandering around this part of the woods anyway.

It's difficult to get a firm grip on the heavy box in your arms, and your pace is slower than you’d like it to be, but you make it back into the woods without tripping the wire. Even in the faint light, your path is simple enough to follow. The matted down snow makes it easier to move, your steps more stable as you walk back to the road. The crunch of snow and the chattering of animals slip into a comfortable background noise.

It happens suddenly.

All at once, the forest goes silent. The chatter of birds and rodents stops abruptly. Every hair on your body seems to stand on end as you freeze mid-step, clutching the box tighter. There’s an unnatural stillness in the air, one you can’t quite explain. It feels wrong.

There was something Benny used to tell you when you worked at the diner—before everything. He was friends with hunters, and they used to come in, tell their stories. And they all said the same thing. The woods are never supposed to be silent. Quiet, yes, but never silent.

Still frozen, you strain to listen for anything, but there’s nothing but the faint howl of the wind and the crunching of snow under your boots when you shift your weight.

A strange sound comes from further into the trees to your left, quiet and muffled, almost like crying. Immediately, you want to run, instinct driving you to move, but your feet won’t unstick from where they’ve sunken into the snow. The noise whispers through the trees again. A whimper. Childlike and frightened. Your first thought is of Will all those years ago. A child lost in the woods. Scared. Freezing in the cold. Alone.

And you don’t think about it as you take a step off the path you’ve made. The porcelain plates clatter together, rattling in the otherwise still air.

Another whimper.

“Hello?” you call out automatically, voice a little bit shaky.

Another step.

The snow crunches under your feet. You don’t call out again, struggling to listen for those quiet cries, and you make it a dozen steps into the covered brush before you freeze up again. The whimpering is just as quiet as when you first heard it, so soft that it’s hard to pick up beneath the wind. Soft enough that you didn’t notice it right away.

The whimpers aren’t changing. Not in pitch. Not in length. Not in the time between them. It’s the same sound over and over, like a tape on loop, or one that’s gotten stuck and keeps repeating the same word, broken.

Again, that whimpering sound filters through the trees, right in front of you.

The wrongness of it is what makes you take a shuffling step back the way you came. Your pulse jumps. Ice fills your stomach, churning sickly. You don’t notice your breath quickening until it clouds the air in front of you, labored and heavy.

Slowly, you turn to the right, back towards the path you came from.

And then you feel it. The heaviness that comes with being watched.

Your head snaps up.

A pair of milky, silver eyes are already staring back at you. Beneath the waning light, they glow, large and set deep behind thick, matted hair, grizzled and stringy. Long, spindly fingers wrap around the trunk of a large oak tree. Claws the size of your fingers dig into the bark, leaving deep lacerations behind.

The air is slammed from your lungs. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. Those eyes lock onto yours, unblinking and so, so large, and it’s like you’ve been doused in freezing water. All at once, the pieces of you begin to shut down and lock up. The seconds bleed together, blurring and seeming to drag on forever.

It—whatever it is—is hunched over, half-hidden behind the tree and trying to make itself look smaller. Limbs are tucked against a grayish, naked torso. Pale and veiny. Built similar to the Demogorgon from years ago. Like you, it doesn’t move, so still you’d think it was some kind of sick hallucination if you believed your mind could ever conjure something so horrific.

Then, the creature cocks its head to the side, slowly. In your own voice, just like you did minutes ago, it calls out, “Hello?”

Time slams back into motion. Your weight shifts suddenly. Gravity rocks your heel back to the ground. Snow crunches beneath your boot. A twig snaps. The creature’s limbs unfurl as it stands, arms and legs unnatural and long, claws dragging against the top of the snow as it rises to a height much taller than you. Still hunched over, its back curved dramatically, with its spine bulging through that mottled, gray skin. Wiry, stiff spines protrude from each vertebra.

“Hello?” it calls out again, taking a step out from behind the tree.

The wind whistles through the trees, blowing your hair forward into your face. The stringy locks covering the creature's face shift with the gust. A maw of needle-like, crooked teeth. Its jaw cracks open. It screams for you, a horrific wail, drawn out unnervingly. “Steeeeve?”

The cardboard box you’re carrying crashes to the ground. Inside, porcelain plates shatter into pieces. The sound of broken glass echoes through the empty trees, splintering the silence. Before the monster can take another step, you whirl around and bolt.

Searching the forest behind the Mulligan property ended up being nothing more than a waste of time. Steve searched the woods with Callahan and Frankie Cooper for hours, trudging through knee-deep snow and trying not to freeze his ass off because Tommy fucking Mulligan thought he saw a monster in the woods. And Steve had believed it, too. Between his already frayed nerves and his own experiences with monsters, Steve would have been a fool not to take the claim seriously.

Fat lot of good that did him.

There wasn’t anything behind the Mulligan house. Not footprints. Not fleshy, rotting portals in trees, or oozing slime. No wild men. Just a half-eaten deer carcass and the smell of coyote piss. Tommy Mulligan hadn’t sobered by the time Steve reached the farm off Kerley. Technically, he hadn’t even stopped drinking. But he still insisted that he’d seen something lurking near the tree line. Too tall to be a man.

Callahan thought it was teenagers fucking around. Steve thought it was just the damn coyotes. Frankie nudged Steve in the ribs and suggested it might be a black bear, and Steve had to swallow down the acrid taste of vomit that welled up in the back of his throat.

When Steve finally gets back to the station, the sun is already starting to set. It’s low in the sky, and the already overcast day is only getting darker as the storm clouds start to roll in from the West. Snow has been falling for over an hour now, wispy flakes dusting the ground and growing thicker by the minute. There’s a solid inch or two of fresh snow in the parking lot, just enough to make the ground slick.

It’ll be a pain in the ass to deal with tomorrow, for sure.

He shoves open the front door with more force than he means to, cold and irritated and hungry—because dammit he missed lunch with you to stumble through the woods with Callahan on a wild goose chase. Of all things, that’s the worst part. Steve has gone out on bogus calls before, ones that waste his time and amount to nothing, but it’s one of the first times he hasn’t been able to meet you for lunch when you’ve promised to stop by. He always makes time for you, when he can.

Steve shakes off the snow clinging to his hair as he steps into the station. Automatically, he’s sweeping the room with his eyes, looking for you in the nearly empty room. You’re not sitting at his desk, like you do sometimes while you wait, leaving him little notes on sticky pads for him to find later. And your coat isn’t hanging from the rack. He can’t see down the hall into Hopper’s office, but somehow, he already knows you aren’t there.

Disappointment sits heavy in his chest, but Steve can’t blame you for going home already. You must have stopped by hours ago and gotten sick of waiting for him to come back from the call out at the Mulligan place. Sometimes, when you have the day off, you’ve lingered longer waiting for him to come back, but over five hours is a lot to ask.

“She’s not here, Casanova.”

The voice makes him flinch. Steve’s head snaps sideways to the desk where Flo is usually sat taking calls. Flo isn’t there though. Instead, it’s the lanky brunette that’s going to be taking Flo’s position as secretary come spring when the older woman is set to retire. She’s lounging back in her seat, feet kicked up on the desk as she chews bubblegum, looking bored out of her mind. Robin, he remembers. A year or two younger than Steve. She graduated from Hawkins High a few years back, went off to Berkeley, if he remembers right. She’s just a temp right now, working for winter and summer break while she’s in town visiting family.

It takes a second longer for her words to register. “What?”

Robin rolls her eyes. Her gum pops loudly. Steve has only been in the building for a matter of minutes and she already seems exasperated with his mere presence. “Your girlfriend,” she clarifies, speaking slowly and enunciating obnoxiously, “isn’t here. She’s not hiding under your desk or whatever it is you’re thinking.” There’s an implication there that she only catches after one of Steve’s eyebrows lifts towards his hairline, and her expression twists from boredom to one of utter disgust. “Oh, gross. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.”

Any other day, he might have laughed at the look on her face, but there’s something about what Robin says that trips him up before he can.

“What do you mean she’s not here?” he asks, a little redundantly. He guessed as much when he walked in. That’s not the problem. It’s the fact that she thought she needed to tell him that doesn’t sit right with him. Robin doesn’t come in until after three, when Flo leaves for the day. Usually, you’re gone by then anyway. Though, you’ve met Robin a few times when you’ve stopped during the afternoons, or dropped something off on those late nights when Steve works the midnight shift.

His question is rewarded with another eyeroll. This time, she even sighs heavily, like answering him is a chore. “What do you think it means, dumbass? She didn’t stop by today.” The disinterest in her expression shifts into an odd mix of amusement and sympathy. “You’re not having some kind of lover’s quarrel, are you?”

But Steve isn’t listening, still caught on, “she didn’t stop by?”

“Nope,” Robin pops the ‘p’. “And she always stops by, according to Florence—unless she can’t stop by, in which case you always make sure to mention it to someone—so whatever it is you did, you might want to hurry up and think of an apology.” Robin leans her chin on her palms, brows furrowing as she starts to ramble. “We’re talking grade-A groveling. Flowers. Dinner. The whole shebang. Because wow, you will not be doing any better than what you have now, Harrington.”

She doesn’t seem to notice that Steve still isn’t listening, or that he hasn’t moved at all since she started talking. Steve is frozen in front of her desk, eyes wide and a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Car trouble. It must have been car trouble. Or the kids whined until you gave in and hung out with them at the arcade all day. They’ve done that before. And you’re always a sucker for it, even worse than he is. You’d do anything for those kids, after all. You probably lost track of time, either with the kids or at the cabin. You’ve done that before, too. Sometimes, you get so wrapped up in what you’re doing that you don’t even realize how much time has passed. It’s one of those little things he loves about you.

It’s not until she changes the subject that his brain catches up with the conversation. “Also, you need to tell your children to stop calling the station.” She’s stopped grinning at him in that smug way. Instead, she just looks irritated. “We don’t need a bunch of teenagers asking for you and whining about needing a ride home on the emergency line, which is, you know, for emergency situations only. Also, aren’t they like seventeen or something? Why do they even need rides anymore? Why are you friends with so many children?” The rapid-fire questions only make him more confused. And Robin still doesn’t stop talking. “I had to tell them we’d send an officer to their houses to tell their parents to get them to knock it off. Seriously, Harrington, that shit cannot—hello! I’m talking to you!”

Steve isn’t listening anymore. He’s already halfway to his desk across the room before he even realizes he was moving. And then the radio the kids gifted him one year for Christmas is being yanked out of where he stashed it in one of the drawers this morning. It crackles to life as he turns it on.

“Hey! Dumbasses!” he snaps into the receiver, holding down the button so they can hear him. “What did I tell you about calling the station for stupid things when I’m at work, huh? You little shits are gonna get me fired one day.”

He takes his thumb off of the speaker button and waits for all of them to start chiming in with their excuses, and then frowns when they don’t.

Eventually, the radio does crackle, the signal somewhat weak with the distance. “Steve?” one of the kids asks. Only one of them. They aren’t all talking over each other, for once, and that only makes him feel sicker. And they sound scared, quiet and timid. More than Steve’s heard in a long time.

“Will?” he asks after a second, concern thick in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

The radio crackles with silence again. “Is…” Will starts, then stops. “Is she with you?” He doesn’t bother clarifying who, but Steve knows. “She dropped us off at the arcade before lunch and told us she’d pick us up in a few hours, but she hasn’t come back yet. We thought maybe she just stayed late with you after you guys got lunch, but…”

“She didn’t pick you up?” Steve repeats, strained, voice tight.

More silence. “No. Did… is she not with you?” Will’s voice is slightly higher than usual with the beginning note of panic.

Steve wets his lips. “She didn’t stop by earlier.”

“Oh.”

Steve’s hands are starting to shake. Will doesn’t say anything else, and Steve doesn’t want the kids to panic, so he forces himself to say something even mildly reassuring. “Shit. Look, she—she probably just lost track of time at the cabin? Right? You’ve been there. Place is a damn mess and Hopper can’t organize anything for shit. I’ll just go pick her up and we’ll be back before it gets dark. Okay? There’s some cash in the top drawer of the nightstand. Order a couple of pizzas or something for when we get back. I’ll stop and grab some movies on the way home, or something.”

“It’s supposed to storm soon,” Will reminds him.

“Yeah,” Steve manages to croak out. “Yeah, I know. Look, we’ll, we’ll be back in an hour tops. Okay? Just—just stay out of trouble until we get back.”

When Steve takes the right off Denfield, he immediately spots a lone car pulled to the side of the road. It’s his car. The red BMW is stopped close to the dead end, pulled partway into the ditch even though there’s never any traffic on this road. Steve pulls the truck up behind the car, cutting the engine and throwing open the door without a second thought.

There’s snow starting to pile up on the car. The windshield and roof are blanketed in a thick layer, evidence of just how long you’ve been here.

It’s starting to get even darker now. The last of the sunset is bleeding out, and the snow is getting thicker and harder to see through as it comes down faster. The world begins to white out, and he has to squint to see through the flurry. Steve fumbles for the flashlight attached to his belt, clicking it on and shining it through the windows of the BMW, though he already knows you aren’t there. If you ended up stranded out here, you probably would have gone back to the cabin.

When he confirms you aren’t huddled in the backseat, he steps away from the car and shifts his focus to the forest on his right. Slowly, he scans the ground for footprints in the snow. They’re there. Faint. Half-filled with fresh snow that just keeps coming down. But there. He knows the way to the cabin even if they weren’t there, but there’s something about seeing the tracks that make the knot in his chest loosen ever so slightly.

You were here, at least. And it seems like he was right. You made it to the cabin and just lost track of time, like you always do. Probably found some old photo album and got lost flipping through the pages. You’re sentimental like that sometimes. He just wishes you would have called, but you must have left the radio in his car, and you wouldn’t have been able to reach anyone with the phone inside anyway. Last he saw, it was smashed to pieces on the floor.

Following the tracks you’ve left behind isn’t hard. They’re the only ones in this part of the woods. He isn’t sure if the land is private property or if it’s owned by the state, but he’s never seen anyone else out here. There aren’t even deer tracks, which Steve might consider odd any other day, but tonight he barely notices, just keeps following your footprints like they’re a lifeline leading him right back to you.

The beam of his flashlight illuminates the darkness, reflecting off the snow and casting dark shadows against the trees as he walks. They flicker and shift with each step he takes, shadow puppets stalking him. He blames the ice in his veins on the dropping temperature, and keeps his head down so he doesn’t start looking for figures in the dark that aren’t really there.

Steve hasn’t been walking for long when he finds a strange spot in the snow. Where your footprints before were consistent and moving in one direction, each step you took clearly visible in the snow, there’s a spot midway between the road and the cabin, maybe five minutes in, where the footsteps start to overlap. He shines his flashlight further down the nearly invisible path between the trees, his brows furrowing.

There’s a second set of tracks coming back from the cabin.

They’re overlapping the original tracks, deeper and fresher than the ones that he’s been following. And they’re human.

The panic that bursts through his chest is wild and raw. It tries to climb up and out of his mouth, but sticks halfway as his throat closes up. He can’t breathe. That second set of tracks—your footprints—suffocates him. Because you came back. You were coming back. Maybe hours ago, now, because the tracks are filling in with snow just like the rest. And then they just stop.

It’s instinct that keeps him from shutting down completely as his nightmare from last night slams back into him. You were dragged away from him. Swallowed up in a vast nothingness. And there was nothing he could but watch. He’s been dealing with the strange, supernatural occurrences in Hawkins since he was a teenager, and he’s been working with the PD for nearly as long. Steve knows he needs to keep a level-head, for your sake, and the whisper of your voice telling him to be safe rings loudly in his ears.

Desperately, Steve sweeps his flashlight across the snow-covered ground. His hand is shaking again. He freezes when he sees more footprints, the tracks veering off the path to the left. They don’t go far. Only a dozen feet before Steve sees something in the snow, partly obscured by the snow. At first, he thinks it might be you.

It’s not, but it doesn’t loosen the tightness around his throat.

There’s a box on the ground. The cardboard is damp and broken open on one corner. Ceramic shards spill from the hole. Smashed plates, he realizes after a moment. Nausea hits as he immediately realizes where they came from. Out here, there’s only one place they could come from.

“Fuck,” he hisses between his teeth, passing his flashlight to the other hand and reaching for the gun attached to his belt. If you dropped the box like that, it means something grabbed you, or you ran before it could. Neither option is reassuring.

There’s no blood in the snow. A quick scan of the immediate area tells him that much. And he can see where your tracks veer off again, deeper into the woods, away from the road and the cabin. They’re spaced further apart than the others, and his teeth clench so hard that his jaw starts to hurt, because he knows that means you started running.

He doesn’t realize how quiet the forest is until someone starts screaming.

High-pitched shrieks echo between the trees, long and loud, and it’s in horror that he makes out the mangled sound of his own name. Like last night, the sound of your terrified cries smashes through his ribcage and rips at the soft tissue of his insides. Eviscerate him. Hollow out his chest until he can’t breathe.

And then he’s running.

The screams don’t stop. Choked sobs. Wordless cries. His name, mostly. Loud and unceasing. Absolutely gut-wrenching. Like you’re being eaten alive. Each wail rips through the woods, muffled and carried away by the wind, but Steve doesn’t stop chasing your voice as he stumbles through the snow, narrowly avoiding trees and thick brush.

The flashlight beam cuts between the trees wildly as he follows the sound of your screams, but something isn’t right. He can’t make out what direction they’re coming from. They keep swirling around, echoing through his head as if they’re coming from all sides at once. It’s disorienting. Steve spins in a circle, starting to feel sick as he calls out your name and prays that you’ll answer him—tell him where you are so he can find you.

Instead, the screams cut off abruptly.

In an instant, Steve feels the crushing weight of reality begin to collapse around him. Dread rolls down his spine. Silence rings loudly in his ears. So much louder than your screams. So much worse. In an instant, Steve prays to whatever deity is out there that you’ll start screaming again, prays that the sound of it will haunt him for the rest of his life.

In the stillness of the forest, the only sound is the wind howling between the trees. Even that seems far off, growing faint.

“Hello?”

All of his limbs lock up. Steve’s flashlight flickers.

The greeting is hesitant. Shaky, with a distinct crack midway through the lone word. And it’s so, so close. Breathed from the space right behind him, into open air. The shock of it makes his stomach flip and sends a shiver running along his spine, and it takes an agonizing second for the sound to slot into place.

It’s your voice.

“Steve?” you whisper again. Quieter. Closer.

Steve whips around to face the other direction. Milky eyes glint under the beam from his flashlight, like a cat in the darkness, surrounded by dark, scraggly locks of matted hair.

A gray, hulking shape lunges from between a pair of trees, and Steve shouts as it hurtles towards him, closing the distance before he can click off the safety and get a shot off. Instead, he throws himself to the side, tumbling down into the snow, but not before something sharp catches his arm. Claws slice through his jacket and uniform shirt. It hurts, he registers, somewhere in the very back of his mind, but it’s shoved to the side before he can latch onto the pain.

Despite the thick layer of snow on the ground, the breath is still slammed from his lungs as he hits the ground. The thing starts screaming at him. His name. Your voice. Just like a moment ago. Just like this morning. His nightmare and whatever was in the woods. Whatever Will could hear, too.

The screeches rise and rise in pitch until they make his ears ring, losing form until it’s not even his name anymore. Just noise.

He scrambles backwards through the snow, but can’t find his flashlight as he fumbles for it blindly, unable to see the creature. The flashlight is still on, lighting up the immediate area between flickers. Something moves at the edge of the beam, where light melts into the darkness.

Those pale eyes are glowing in the darkness. Steve gets a look at long, inhuman arms and legs and gray flesh pulled too taut over a spindly, skinny frame. It doesn’t have a face. Not one that he can see behind that matted hair or fur.

It shies away from the light, shrinking back between the trees, but it’s too tall to hide between them properly. Those empty, unblinking eyes watch Steve roll to his feet and raise his gun. His hands shake. It takes a second for him to unlock the safety.

The thing cocks its head to one side, one distorted hand curling around a thin tree trunk. Claws scrape the bark. Steve’s right arm throbs. Beneath his coat, his skin feels wet. His fingers are stiff as they shift to the trigger.

“Steve!”

The shriek comes from his left. His eyes flick in that direction for a split second.

A mistake.

The monster screams at him, low and garbled. It lurches out from between the trees, lunging. Steve stumbles backwards in the snow. Not fast enough. A burning feeling laces up his arm. Milky eyes bore into his. The stink of rot chokes his nose and throat. His foot catches, sending him hurtling towards the ground. The gun in his hand goes off. The shot echoing through the air. It’s the last thing he hears before his head slams into something hard.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #steve harrington #st fic #stranger things fic #fic: into open flames

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puppy-steve · 2 months

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february fic rec

a monthly fic rec series where i try to read every fic on my tbr

▸ january fic rec ▸ more fic recs

steve has nightmares - M, 2.3k, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: established relationship, panic attacks, 54321 grounding method

It’s not like the nightmares are, y’know: something new. What’s new is the way he wakes up from them. It’s still a gasping thing, with his heart shot up past the base of his throat more near his tonsils or some shit, somewhere he can almost taste it like metal and the sour tang of fear as it rattles and shakes and pounds, like his chest’s caving in on itself and that’s all normal, that’s all stuff he knows and— “-ve you,” but now there’s a sound on the periphery of his awareness, sneaking in the almost-nonexistent space between his hammering pulse but he grabs for it, because something in him knows it’s important: the most important. He follows it in between the beating, risks getting crushed if he fails here, too, and— “Love you,” Steve hears more clearly, all of a sudden, and he feels hands on him, running smooth and swift courses up and down his arms; then he also feels lips, he can feel the words as motion against his body almost more than he can pick out the sound: “love you, love you, love you,” and now he knows it, now that his vision clears as it adjusts to the darkness and he sees him: Eddie. - Or: Steve has nightmares. Eddie talks him through.

Stolen - T, 2.7k, complete @penny00dreadful

tags: secret relationship, hospital heist, protective steve harrington

When Steve arrives back at Eddie's hospital room, only to be met by a doctor telling him that Eddie had suddenly died within the last ten minutes, Steve finds that very hard to believe. OR Steve steals Eddie back.

eternity - T, 2k, complete @oh-stars

tags: love confessions, fluff

“I need to come over tonight,” he whispers to Robin. “Eddie wants to talk.” “Oh,” Robin says, cupping the back of Steve’s head briefly. “I’ll have all your favorites ready for you when you get to my house.” Steve doesn’t have to say anything or force a smile. She gets it.

Love Is What Makes You Brave - G, 3.1k, complete @penny00dreadful

tags: break-up/make-up, getting back together, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort

Should he be here? No. Was he going to continue to be here for as long as he could take it? Hell yeah. OR Eddie found out Steve is getting married. And now he's idling in the church car park.

Safe Haven - M, 2/2, complete @sidekick-hero

tags: werewolf steve, hurt/comfort, getting together

Eddie finds a hurt wolf in the woods and takes him home. He has no idea that there is more to this particular wolf than it seems.

In Sickness and Health - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: established relationship, older steddie, hurt/comfort, discussions of seizures

Eddie has learned to revel in quiet afternoons, even when he’s alone. The way the sunshine bathes the apartment’s living room carpet—his and Steve’s apartment. Their cat, Poncho, settled heavy and warm in his lap. A chilled glass of southern iced tea and a plate of crackers and sliced cheese. The television volume on low. Book open and set on the arm of the couch. It’s good, the quiet. Yet, it breaks the moment the front door opens. He didn’t hear Steve stick his key in the lock. But he definitely hears his annoyed groans and huffs. The slam of the door, most likely shut with his hip. A muffled, “Damnit”, when he drops his keyring on the floor.

City of Stars (Are You Shining Just For Me?) - T, complete @steviewashere

tags: coming out, love confessions, hurt/comfort

Steve and Eddie’s hang outs tend to land them on their asses at one another’s houses. But tonight, the sky is clear and the moon is out and everything seems to be painted by the soft glow of stars. Because Steve’s parents are home. And Wayne’s got the day off, so he’s asleep early in the living room at the Munson’s. Neither of that will stop them, though. Steve picks Eddie up thirty minutes before the sun has to set, a little Melvald’s bag in the backseat filled with food and a soft throw blanket.

Perfect Timing - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, future fic

It’s funny, Steve thinks, that he knows the way in which Eddie’s emotions express when he comes through the front door of their shared space. They began renting an apartment in Chicago just a year or so after getting together. Tail end of 1986 meant sharing a bed and house by August of 1987. And it’s theirs. Filled with miscellaneous clutter—a bookshelf brimmed with books, coffee table layered with Sports Illustrated and Heavy Metal magazines, dice and keys and Topps baseball cards, and picture frames they dust and drawings from Eddie’s sketchbooks and ‘failed’ art projects of Steve’s that Eddie thought were masterpieces. Point is, they’ve made it their home. And they started their lives with a breath of fresh air. And now it’s 1995, depending on one another’s reactions, this all may just crumble at their feet.

feel the bigger thing - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: established relationship, married steddie, domestic fluff, rockstar eddie

“We don’t need a second house,” Steve points out, smooshed against Eddie’s sternum. “We can get the pool,” Eddie added with the audible equivalent of his brow-wiggle and okay, fine, that’s a good point, because Steve may not have really used the one at his parents’ after, well, everything, but he…does kinda miss having one. Now that the memories are distant enough in both time and miles that he doesn’t see standing water deeper than four feet and start fucking hyperventilating anymore. So…yeah. Compelling argument regarding a pool.

fever - E, 3.8k, complete @maxinemaxmayfield

tags: transmasc eddie, first time, virgin eddie, strap-ons, top eddie, bottom steve

“Shit,” Eddie groans, teeth pressing into his bottom lip. His hips buck up, and his imagination runs away with that, thinking about Steve, balancing over Eddie’s hips, riding him as hard and fast as he can manage, delicious thighs shaking while Eddie thrusts up into him. God, he wants it more than anything. There’s just one problem. Eddie currently lacks the, uh… Equipment.

so glad i found you - T, 1.4k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: established relationship, steddie dads, modern au

Eddie blinked at Steve, lips parted as he tried to remember how to breathe. He’d been with Steve for just over a year, and while he didn’t technically live with them, he spent more time at their apartment than his own. He was on Sarah’s emergency pick-up list, took her with him to run errands when Steve had to work late, bought her things when the budget allowed just because he wanted to, and would read to her most nights that he stayed over. In many ways, he was her dad.

An Extra Hand - E, 5.2k, complete proprioception

tags: blow jobs, dick piercings, smoke buddies, steve being a slut for eddie's dick

"You have a dick piercing?" Steve finally sputters. "Oh," Eddie says. "Yeah." Steve thinks he recovers pretty quickly from that. (That's the only thing he has going for him in Hawkins: he gets back up.)

take the call - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: established relationship, married steddie, rockstar eddie, future fic

“Eddie?” He rolls his eyes kinda automatically, kinda thoughtlessly at the cut of the audio track to let the mic system override from outside the booth. “Okay, so, like, don’t freak out.” “This lady called, and she said she found Lainie’s card inside the case of a phone she picked up,” and okay, okay, that’s…that’s random but maybe it’s about their assistance manger, who just got her contract confirmed and got fancy new business cards for it and has been handing them out to everybody she sees, even gave Eddie extras to pass on to Steve, maybe he can share them at the school as if anyone at even a hoity-toity private 6-through-12 school would have a reason for a card from a record label but she’s excited, and Eddie’s excited for her, and Steve loves the people Eddie works with, and not just because they’re attached to Eddie and he loves the things that come with Eddie as a given—but that’s also true, and always has been, but— “She found the phone at a car crash?” So: the more-to-it. The thing his body already knew. Eddie…Eddie doesn’t even need to know what comes next to know he cannot fucking breathe.

Angel - E, complete @steviewashere

tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, insecurities, handjobs

His eyes track different spots in the room. The lines on the wall. Bowling pin. Car picture. Dresser with the drawers haphazardly still open. Eddie saunters over and gently closes them, even stops by Steve’s hamper and picks up the other thrown down clothes. And then he notices it out of the corner of his eye, Steve’s full length mirror. It breaks his heart. The sheet covering what would be his reflection. And on the top right corner? A little sticky note, reading: You’ll hate what you see. Everybody does. Don’t remove.

Dream Come True - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: married steddie, future fic, steddie dads

He may have got the quiet life. And Eddie may have lived out his simple dream. He’d been a rockstar for a little bit in the late nineties and early two-thousands, retiring before they got married. But…Steve hasn’t lived his dream. Eddie hates that he thinks it’s being held back from him. Eddie’s determined to heal that hurt inside him.

Have You Done Your Homework? - E, 7/7, complete SameShipDifferentFont

tags: first time bottoming, daddy kink, bottom steve, virgin steve, sex toys

“I…I want to.” Steve admitted. “You want to?” “I-Yeah, I do, I just…I don’t know how.” he flushed furiously, snatching his hand away to rest at Eddie’s open inner thigh. Eddie caught his ducking head before he could hide against his shoulder, smiling softly as Steve met his eyes in embarrassment, but Eddie looked mischievous. “Just treat it like a pussy, baby, can’t go far wrong.” Or...Famous ladies man, Steve Harrington, is reduced to a blushing virgin when it comes to sex with Eddie. He struggles with the anxiety of trying something new, but Eddie is patient, and gives him...assignments. Steve explores his own body, learns what he likes, ways he can please Eddie, until he can attempt his main goal...giving his virginity to Eddie Munson. If he has the nerve to go through with it.

Honey and Tea. - E, 5.7k, complete daggerandrosie

tags: omegaverse, accidental voyeurism, masturbation, omega steve, alpha eddie

It was all just a innocent silly joke, nothing much, Steve just wanted a good easy laugh. It was late, dark and silent at the trailer park, no one in sight and Eddie's nightstand light was on. Steve would just pop he's head up the window and, hopefully, scare the shit out of his friend. But he's the one that ended up being spooked. Maybe you shouldn't be peeping through people's privacy after dark.

fallen king - T, complete @sp0o0kylights

tags: post s2, pre steddie, eddie munson's tabletop sermons, valentines day

With a startling amount of clarity, Steve realized he was done. With his so called friends, with the girls who’d tried corning him all morning, with Hargrove and just--everything. He was over it. If Billy wanted the crown so bad he could fucking have it. (If Tommy wanted to pretend he was tougher than he was by mimicking the dick, then he could have that too.) “This is stupid.” Steve announced, dropping the masks he so carefully wore. The ones he kept having to fix, because the Upside Down and its related demons (human and non) kept taking chunks out of it.

soothed - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: injury, hurt/comfort, pre steddie, protective steve

Steve moves to drag Eddie inside, but drops his hands when Eddie flinches away, nearly stumbling down to the concrete. He lets go of his elbows, which are now decorated with fine small crescents, and shields himself. There’s a couple smaller, red bruises decorating his wrists. As if somebody grabbed him. Steve fumes at the sight. “Eddie,” Steve breathes, “why don’t you come inside?” He steps away from the door, letting it sit open and waiting. On shuffled, hesitant feet, Eddie comes in. His eyes dart around the room before they land back on Steve. Immediately, some of the tension and fear in his big brown eyes falls away. Instead, a layer of relief and gratitude seems to fill him. Enough that his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, Eds,” Steve can only coo.

pretty pets once were wild - E, 5k, complete kravioli

tags: werewolf steve, vampire eddie, monsterfucking, sub top steve, dom bottom eddie, puppy play, breeding kink

The annual Munson ball has been a celebration of all monsterkind living in Hawkins for nearly 600 years. When Steve is dragged along to this year’s celebration during the full moon, he gets a lot more than he signed up for. or werewolf!steve and vampire!eddie’s mating

i'm keeping you in sight - T, 2.2k, complete teiresias

tags: fluff, pining, taller eddie, getting together

When there’s no immediate reply, he pauses for a moment, seemingly taking in the situation. “D’you want help with that, Stevie?” -- Eddie has the gall to get taller.

The Boy Who Swallowed a Star - M, 9.9k, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: howl's moving castle au, getting together, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, platonic stobin, robin as calcifer (bc that deserves its own tag)

The Wizard Munson is supposed to inspire fear and awe. A trickster, a devil, a power unmatched. Blah blah blah; Steve only sees the gangly boy who almost fell off the roof of the Harrington’s tailoring shop, trying and failing to be stealthy and mysterious when Steve was not yet ten—so where whispers follow down alleyways about the dreaded terrors of the Wizard? Steve really just sees the goofball. His Eddie. “Come with me, Stevie,” Eddie doesn’t even pause for pleading, dives right in and begs him as if Steve needs convincing; "if nothing else, come with me so I know you’re safe, so I can do what needs doing without splitting half of me always just worrying. Save me from scrying out endlessly, to make sure you’re okay.” Steve’s heart thumps painful, pathetic: pure and unvarnished in a way he thinks is only possible when Eddie’s nearby. Only possible for Eddie, at all. Which means the answer’s wholly obvious—the war’s getting worse, this is his Eddie—only one response was ever really on the table: “Alright.”

crawl home to you - E, 5.2k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: temporary character death, kas eddie, vampire eddie, soulmates, getting together, blood drinking

Steve should never have kissed him. He knew that now. While Eddie was dying, bleeding out on the ground of their version of Hell, the only thing Steve felt he could do to help him was kiss him. It was quick, just a peck on the lips, lingering only for a moment. Their eyes never even closed. Steve wanted to take in every remaining moment that Eddie had. There was nothing else he could do, just hold him, try to whisper comfort that may not have even been heard.

it's not ever what it looks like - M, 3.2k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: modern au, rockstar eddie, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, implied/suspected cheating (nobody is actually cheating on anybody don't worry)

There was a picture of Eddie standing with his arm around some guy who was taller than him, both of them laughing, looking at each other like…well. Steve knew that look because it’d only ever been pointed at him, but now he was seeing it pointed at just some guy. The headline read EDDIE MUNSON GIVING UP HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART FOR SUPERMODEL SUPERSTAR?

Feels Good (Oh To Be Alone With You) - E, 1.3k, complete @theheadlessphilosopher | th3d3adboy

tags: transmasc eddie, cock warming, light dom/sub, cunnilingus, handjobs

Steve had never felt the way he did when he and Eddie were together. He'd always considered himself a pretty experienced guy, sexually speaking, but with Eddie things were different.

if devotion is a river, then i'm floating away - E, 6.4k, complete @starryeyedjanai

tags: post-s4, getting together, drummer steve, corroded coffin, semi-public sex

“So when you said someone was paying you to get lessons for the past six months, you weren't talking about some middle schooler interested in doing marching band?” Eddie asks, slamming the fridge door harder than necessary. Sorry, Gareth’s mom. “Nope,” Gareth says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “You’re pure evil,” he says. “Why is Gareth evil and why is Steve Harrington in the garage?” Jeff asks, coming into the kitchen. or, Eddie has feelings about Steve filling in as their drummer

i'm a man (without conviction) - T, 2.1k, complete lateralparallel

tags: hopper pov, established steddie, protective hopper, character study, eddie antagonizes hopper on purpose

Steve Harrington is not his kid. Hopper already has three, and he’s not looking to add any more. He’s sure of this fact about ninety nine percent of the time, the remaining one percent being when he’s faced by Harrington’s big, clear eyes and his perpetually quivering laugh. Hopper is not a great dad. He knows this, and he knows he should remember this, but Steve Harrington has a way of making him think highly of himself in the paternal department.

Drunk Dialing - E, series, WIP FinalMoondragon

tags: drunk bootycall, phone sex, light dom/sub, bratty steve, semi-public masturbation

Steve was drunk. Very drunk. He knew it. Robin definitely knew it. That’s why she was sitting on his back, pinning him to the floor, trying to pry his hands out from under his body. Her pajama pants were bunched up around her knees, her sock clad foot near his face. “Steve! Give-It-To-Me!” she said through gritted teeth. Or: Steve Harrington has a brilliant idea and Robin fails at stopping him.

cassette tapes and ticket stubs. - M, 5.2k, complete @thefreakandthehair | througheden

tags: modern au, mutual pining, fluff, coffee shops, record stores, baseball fan steve, getting together, accidental dates

“Well, you said you’re 90% sure you’re getting stood up. And I’m 100% sure that I’ve already been stood up. I know baseball isn’t really your thing but,” Steve wiggles the tickets between his fingers. “Road-rip?” “One condition,” Eddie says, pursing his lips. “I’m giving you a free ticket and day in Chicago but sure, let’s negotiate,” Steve teases. Grabbing his empty cup, Steve follows his lead as he tosses it in the trash. Eddie spins back around, heart clattering in his chest as he comes almost literally face to face with Steve who’s close enough that Eddie can smell the cologne he’d dabbed on for his date. Warm, spicy, Steve’s signature scent. Eddie hates that he knows that. When he finds his tongue again, he shakes his head and smiles, signing his own fucking death warrant for the day. “If we’re doing your date, we’ve gotta do mine, too.” Or, Eddie and Steve are set up on blind dates by Robin and Chrissy. They both get stood up. Or, do they?

wednesdays - G, complete @steddiealltheway

tags: rockstar eddie, pining, fluff, getting together

Steve stops in his tracks, all thoughts gone from his head as he does a double take at the magazine rack near the checkout. And yeah, he knows that Corroded Coffin is popular. Hell, he’s seen Eddie’s face on the same rack at least five times before. But never like this. The picture on the front page is taken at a lower angle, with Eddie clad in leather pants and a tight mesh black shirt that might be a crop top, but Steve can’t tell with the way Eddie’s guitar is covering his midriff, hands flying over the frets, showing off silver rings glimmering under the stage lights including the one that Steve helped Dustin pick out for him as a celebratory gift. But as Steve’s eyes trace over Eddie’s bare arms and the stark black tattoos, he’s led to wild curls perfectly framing Eddie’s face which stares down at the cords, mouth parted in an ‘o’ shape and eyebrows knitted together in concentration in a way that makes Steve feel weak in the knees. And Steve’s suddenly hit with the question: Why didn’t anyone tell him that Eddie was hot???

to die by your side (is such a heavenly way to die) - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: limbo/near death experiences, light angst, they're in el's mind palace, getting together, fluff, happy ending

“Oh fuck, not you, too.” Steve looks up—when did he sit down, he doesn’t remember sitting down, he doesn’t remember how even got here, and hey, actually, where is here— “What?” Steve looks toward the voice; familiar. See the wreath of curls around a pale face. “This is death, right?” Eddie’s crossing over to him, crouching just beside; “I’m dead, like, I am very sure I’m dead, but you’re here, so—“ “I don’t,” Steve breathes in sharp—tries to get his bearings, tries to see but it’s just black in every direction, his lungs feel like they’re halved in size all of sudden, everything feels tight and painful and hard like inhaling isn’t something guaranteed, and his heartbeat feels like it’s dragging the carcass of something with it when it pumps, laborious and— He’s is breathing, though, even if it’s kinda half-assed; he’s got a heartbeat, even if it feels like it’s about to fucking give out. That doesn’t…that doesn’t sound like death.

if devotion is a river, then i'm floating away - E, 6.4k, complete @starryeyedjanai

tags: drummer steve, post-s4, corroded coffin, getting together, handjobs, blowjobs

Tearing the Buttons Right off Your Dress - E, 5k, complete @solarmorrigan

tags: babygirl steve, roleplay, steve in panties and lingerie, established relationship

After spending the day celebrating with friends, Steve has one final birthday gift for Eddie Eddie's pretty sure this just became his favorite birthday ever

#cj talks #steddie #fic rec #steddie fic rec #steddie fic

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piratefishmama · 11 months

Text

Beware the Thorns | Part 5

(a NSFW multi-part ficlet)

Steve felt… nothing.

Numb, like everything inside of him just… wasn’t there anymore, he… he wanted to end it? But… why? It made no sense… okay no… it made every bit of sense, Eddie was just… acting. Even the cut off, it was practically rehearsed, cold… only that last little bit to make it sound like this was something a normal person would be doing.

He had no say in this, even if Eddie asked him his thoughts, it was over… maybe he was a fool for falling so hard, for allowing himself to think if only for a moment that maybe they could be more… he fell in love with a prostitute.

How could he have been so goddamn foolish?

“…Steve?” Eddie tried, his voice unnaturally quiet, hesitant. How long had he been silent for, staring down at his lap, brows furrowed, troubled. He didn’t… feel anything, empty, a dark, empty void, a black hole sucking every bit of life out of his soul, “Stevie, c’mon, look at me” Eddie moved in a graceful sweep downward, he knelt in front of him, lightly calloused fingertips smoothed over the stubble he’d neglected to shave.

Was this his punishment?

He figured he deserved it, after all he wasn’t the best person on the planet, yes he did good things, he cared about the environment, he supported and built charities from the ground up, those were his own endeavours, the things he sought out after taking over after his father had passed, that was the direction he’d taken the business after he’d taken control, but he also hurt people to keep his business alive.

He’d killed to ensure its survival.

Several good things do not erase the bad, perhaps this was his inevitable punishment. Eddie was never his, not really… he knew deep down that that was a good thing, Eddie didn’t deserve to be put through what would inevitably be his life if they were really together, he was good… he was normal.

He no doubt had a normal family who had normal family dinners and talked about normal family things, he didn’t belong in that world, he could take random jaunts into it, dance through like the sweetest summer breeze, but he couldn’t stay there.

“Stevie… hey, sweetheart, look at me, c’mon now, come back to me” but why did it hurt so much? Why was the single feeling slowly seeping back into his empty shell just… pain, he knew Eddie wasn’t his, he knew he didn’t belong with him, that it was for the best, but all he could feel was pain.

“Why?” He shouldn’t ask, but that was the first word that came to him, whispered, breathed into the space between them, unable to look at those big, beautiful eyes, he kept his down, staring at his lap, trying so hard to ignore the soft circling of Eddie’s thumb on his cheek, why was he ending it if he cared enough to do this? Why was it so cold, cut, and dry if he was now trying to soothe him?

He didn’t need to soothe him, their ties were being cut, he could just… tell him it was over and that be that, walk out block his number and never see him again, Steve knew NOTHING of his life outside of those walls, didn’t know where he lived, who his family were, Eddie had revealed nothing about his personal life.

Why was he trying to bring him back now?

“Why?” Eddie parroted back at him, a question in his voice that Steve didn’t know whether was him confirming what he’d said, or simply the start of a long list of reasons why, like a jilted lover parroting your question back in irritation before going on a long, painful rant about all the times you’d let them down, irritated them and wronged them.

He waited for it… but when it didn’t come, he simply… accepted that maybe it was the first, Eddie’s hearing wasn’t the best in the world… “Why… what are the circumstances? Can… can I ask? Am I allowed to know?”

Technically, Eddie didn’t have to explain a damn thing, it was in the terms of their contract, he HAD the physical document locked away in a safe back home, the contracts were the only physical proof he kept. Steve had read it thoroughly for HIS OWN protection and signed it.

So no, Eddie didn’t have to explain anything, and Steve couldn’t demand he do so, he’d signed that right away long before either of them realised that feelings could very easily begin to develop.

Should he…?

Should he tell him? What would it do? Eddie had no doubts that this man was just… in shock, they’d been seeing each other for two years and suddenly he was calling quits without any warning or lead up. They’d had sex the night before AND spent the majority of the night after kissing… cuddling, not sleeping, his skin still felt that pleasant tingle from warm kisses and caresses from rough, calloused fingers.

Maybe explaining it would help… surely Steve didn’t want an employee with feelings right?

That was the reason he was hired to begin with! A boyfriend without the feelings usually associated with having a boyfriend, he wanted to be taken care of, wanted someone pretty on his arm to whisper sweet nothings to, someone to treat him well while he was home from work, but not expect everything from him in return.

Maybe explaining it would help them create a clean break, Steve didn’t want this, he didn’t want feelings, he didn’t want real.

“Yeah… yeah, you can ask” Eddie had never confessed to anyone before, honestly feelings weren’t commonplace for him, sex was easy, faking romance was easy, feeling real things, developing real feelings? Honestly there was a time he’d thought that damn near impossible for him.

It’d be… wrong… to keep them to himself now, right? For the first time in a LONG time… feelings, real feelings had him trying to soothe the man he was trying to break things off with, when normally he’d be out the door and down the hall by now, already halfway through dialling the number of his next big fish.

“Then why… did… did I do something?” That was safe right? Asking if he’d done something rather than if someone had come to him, told him something, surely that had to be the reason right? Someone had talked, told Eddie what Steve really was, who he was… what he did behind the scenes where very few eyes were around to watch.

“No Stevie, you didn’t do anything, it’s… fuck, as cliché as it is, an holy shit it’s cliché as fuck, it’s me… it’s not you, you’re… shit, m’not sappy okay, I’m not perfect, I’m fucking—I’m flawed as all hell an I know that. I’ve lost count of how many therapists I’ve had” okay no, that was an exaggeration, he’d had five, four as a child as he’d kept biting them, and one now because he was a male escort for rich men.

Of course, he’d never told her that for legal reasons allowing her plausible deniability if ever questioned, but he was pretty sure she was like, 60% onto him. Wheeler was good at her job.

“So… you’re cutting things off because you’re flawed?” Steve finally looked at him, but it wasn’t the expression of acceptance, it was… confusion, bafflement, okay he hadn’t explained it very well, he got that, he was never very good at explaining himself “Eddie, I don’t give a flying fuck whether you’re perfect or not, you’re perfect for ME!” Not the point, and he was already opening his mouth to object when Steve cut him off, continuing “you know, you’re the highlight of my day? That all I want, is for you to be here with me? I was happy coming home last night because I knew you’d be here, everytime you’re gone in the morning I die a little inside cause I know it was ME who told you I wanted you gone before I wake up, fuck, I regret that instruction SO much, I want to wake up with you here… I want to go to sleep with you here, I just… I want you to be here, all the time” he’d said too much, he’d said way too much.

Steve pulled back again, back into his own space, out of Eddie’s, Eddie wanted to cut things off for something as simple as insecurities, two years together, sort of, and he was happy to just, cut it off for something as miniscule as that.

He’d said too much, sure enough he’d leave, he’d realise feelings ran way deeper than they should do for what they really were to each other, and he’d go.

“…You don’t even know me, Steve…” Eddie’s voice was so quiet as he sat back on his own legs, hands slipping away from Steve’s jaw to his own lap “the man you want so much doesn’t even exist” he was a fabrication, a lie… a fantasy crafted to seem alluring to wealthy men who wanted nothing more than to have a pretty little thing on their arm.

He wasn’t a pretty little thing on ANYONES arm, he just… played that part from time to time.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t WANT to know you…” his voice sounded stronger now, not at all the soft whisper of pain from before… he wasn’t giving up on this, he couldn’t… “is that really all it is, you’re insecure about yourself so you’re cutting things off? Rather than just… talking to me about it?”

“Steve, you’re NOT my boyfriend, don’t get all this twisted, you’re my job, why the fuck would I talk to you about this shit?” Ouch, but fair, they weren’t pretending here, they’d stopped pretending the second Eddie had declared he was ending their contract. This wasn’t part of the fantasy anymore, this… this was Eddie, Eddie behind the mask of an escort. “But no, that isn’t it, you cut me off before I finished explaining.”

“Oh…” fuck. Okay… he hadn’t run off yet, hadn’t finalised cutting things off, maybe this was fine? “Sorry… go on…?” Eddie rolled his eyes, he rolled them hard, so hard Steve felt it in his very soul, which was no longer being sucked into a black hole, now in orbit around the singularity, it could easily slip in any moment, but for now he was safe from the black abyss.

Eddie took a deep breath, his heart thudding so loud in his ears he was sure Steve could probably hear it too. “Look, I have—I’m—fuck, okay, listen, it’s impossible for me to do my job and have feelings for a client—” Steve frowned, but Eddie didn’t give him a moment to speak “so… it would be in both our best interests, that the contract be terminated. You never wanted someone with feelings for you, which I totally get, you’re busy, you have a lot to deal with, it’s fine, I’m fine, you’ll find a sparkly new stringless escort easy, we’re a dime a dozen for great guys like you, so… I’m going” maybe he could hit up Hagan, Tommy was pretty simple, easy money and Eddie knew he definitely wouldn’t get feelings for him.

He could get over Steve in his own time and have a decent wage. Tabloids liked them together, Tommy talked a good game to them, made them think he was something special, they’d be thrilled for the freckled little fucker, it’d be easy.

Steve’s hand wrapped around his wrist as he stood to get the hell out of there, if he looked back, which he didn’t, he kept his eyes firmly on the door, he knew Steve would sway him easily, he knew one look into those big, beautiful hazel eyes, he’d cave, he’d fold like a house of cards verses a light breeze.

Steve was the weak link in his chainmail, the love he never thought he’d have. The love he couldn’t have.

“… Please… please don’t leave me, Eddie, you don’t—”

“I have to, Steve. I’m sorry. This is goodbye.” He pulled his hand away, cutting whatever Steve would have said short. Steve didn’t try to grab him again, the hidden thorns of that beautiful rose already dug so impossibly deep.

It didn't matter. Eddie was already gone.

Part 7

#PirateWrites #BewareTheThornsFiclet #No Upside Down AU #Steddie #Escort!Eddie #Shady!Steve

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withlovewriting · 1 month

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 13: Benchwarmers

Chapter Thirteen.

Say what you want, but say it like you mean it, With your fists for once, A long cold war, with your kids at the front, Just give it one more day, then you're done, I do what I want, crying in the bleachers, And I said it was fun, I don't need anything from anyone, It's just not my year, But I'm all good out here

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,098

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, physical violence, Steve gets his ass beat but good God did he try, forced drug use (kinda. If you've seen the episode then I'm sure you understand)

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, no use of y/n, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Chapter Thirteen: Benchwarmers

“Are you okay? When you weren’t at the cabin I… I thought you’d gone to find Mike, and then he was with Will and… I thought you left. I thought you were in danger-”

“I’m okay,” the girl tried to reassure you as you held her face between your palms, eyes watery as she tried her best not to cry.

Once you had double-checked her for injuries and wiped her nose with the sleeve of your jacket, you pulled her tight against you once more, “Don’t ever run off like that again, okay? Promise me, El.”

The girl nodded, a quiet ‘I promise’ falling from her mouth as you finally pulled away. Her eyes wandered around the group, falling on the boy she’d been desperate to see for almost a year.

“Eleven?”

“Mike,” This time, the tears fell from the young girl as she tightly gripped the boy. This was all she had wanted for three hundred and fifty-three days.

Hopper placed an arm across your shoulders, pulling you close once you’d moved back next to him, a relieved expression on his features, despite feeling dubious about the sight in front of him. The whole reason he had kept Eleven’s survival shrouded in secrecy was to protect her. To protect all of you, really. And now, the cat was out of the bag. Yet without her, you’d all most likely be Demo-dog food right now.

“That’s her? The girl with the…” Steve wiggled his fingers around slightly, “magic?”

Unable to pull your eyes away from El, thankful that she was here and safe, you simply nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were there? That you were okay?”

“Because I wouldn’t let her.” Hopper intervened, causing Mike to turn, a glare settling on his dark brows as the man walked between the two and turned his attention to the girl, “The hell is this? Where have you been?”

“Hop-” you sighed, head already pounding, you refused to witness another fight.

“Where have you been?” El answered back, big brown eyes still brimming with tears. Hopper didn’t reply, and instead pulled her toward him, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

As if the clogs in Mike’s brain finally began to turn, connecting pieces of a puzzle previously hidden from him, he realized that Eleven had been here all along. And both yourself and Hopper knew about it.

“You’ve been hiding her. You’ve been hiding her this whole time!”

Mike shoved Hopper’s back, and despite the man barely moving, you still stepped in, placing a hand on Mike’s arm, only for the boy to shrug it off as he turned back to you, “You too! You were both hiding her, letting us think she was dead… or trapped in the Upside Down. But you knew. This whole time, you knew.”

“Hey,” Hopper grabbed a hold of Mike’s shirt, tugging him down the corridor, “Let’s talk. Alone.”

Your leg bounced as you leaned against the arm of the couch, the sounds of Mike’s pained and frustrated shouts heard from the living room, and despite the boys surrounding El and pulling her into a group hug, you felt several pairs of eyes fall on you.

Your eyes caught with Joyce’s just as she pulled the girl into her own hug, a gentle kiss placed against El’s gelled hair — a personal choice of hers that you'd decided you wouldn’t comment on — before you turned your gaze elsewhere, the older woman leading El through the house to see Will.

“You knew where she was this whole time?” Max asked, a little perplexed by El’s apparent coldness toward her, despite this being their first time meeting.

“Look, Hopper was protecting her. I wasn’t gonna go against that. It was in everyone’s best interest.”

Inhaling deeply, Max shrugged before standing with you, looking around at the drawings that covered the walls, “So this is all real? Not some stupid joke to pull on the new girl?”

A small laugh fell from your lips as you shook your head, “I wish it was joke, but no. All this shit… It’s happened before. Kind of, anyway. I just… I thought it was over with. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged along in this. I shouldn’t have ever told you to-”

“I’d rather know about the Demo-dogs that wanna eat me,” Max’s mouth pulled up in a half-smirk, despite her eyes still holding fear.

Sure, Eleven was here now, which significantly raised your chances of helping Will. But as you learned from last year, someone always gets hurt. Bob was dead and those… things were roaming around in the tunnels under the city, growing by the minute.

“Do you think if we got you back there, you could close it?”

Joyce’s question pulled your attention away from the small redhead, who followed you as you made your way toward where the older woman and Eleven now stood.

“Yes,” El all but whispered, dark eyes full of certainty, “I can close it.”

Standing next to El, her hand clinging to your own, you sighed as the group discussed their choices.

“The place is crawling with those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin interrupted, much to Hopper’s dismay, “Like Demogorgon and dogs… You put them together, it sounds pretty badass-”

“How is this important right now?"

“It’s not. I’m sorry.” The boy sighed, returning his attention to the table you were all standing around, a map of the tunnels spread out.

“I can do it,” El said, no hesitation in her voice at all.

“You’re not hearing me,” Hopper sighed with exasperation, arms folded over his chest.

But El pressed, “I’m hearing you. I can do it.”

“Even if El can, there’s still another problem.” Mike interrupted before the two could begin another argument, “If the brain dies, the body dies.”

“I thought that was the whole point,” Max questioned, confusion lining her brow.

Your head snapped round toward Mike, eyes slightly wider as you sharply inhaled. The boy — who had barely sent you a second look since coming back from his talk with Hopper — watched you across the table, dark eyes peering into yours as you caught on, asking quietly,

“If El closes the gate and kills the mind flayer’s army… What happens to Will?”

“Will’s a part of that army…” Lucas sighed, connecting the dots.

“Closing the gate will kill him,” Mike confirmed, causing everyone’s eyes to fall on Joyce as she pushed her dining chair backward and rushed into Will's room.

The group followed Joyce, eyes peering over Will as he led, still unconscious in bed. Joyce looked around the room, brows pulled together as she racked her brain for answers. Anything that could save Will, whilst still closing the gate.

Your eyes fell from the boy, to the walls where even more papers were taped to the wall. Clogs in your brain turning, you blinked a few times before speaking up.

“You said it’s like a virus, right?”

“That’s what Dr. Owens said, why?” Joyce questioned, her doe eyes turning toward you, almost begging for a solution.

“When you told me he was sick, you said… You said that he liked it cold, right? Will didn't mean himself, did he?”

Joyce’s eyes widened as she darted further into the room, shutting the open window, “We keep giving it what it wants.”

“If this is a virus, and Will’s the host then…” Nancy began, glancing toward you,

“Then we need to make the host inhabitable.” Jonathan finished for her.

“So if he likes it cold…”

“What are you talking about?” Hopper questioned, brow furrowed as he looked around the room.

Sighing, you turned your attention back toward Joyce, the poor woman tearing at her bottom lip with her teeth, “Then we need to burn that motherfucker out of him.”

Hopper had carried Will out toward his car, giving Jonathan directions toward his cabin as Joyce followed behind whilst Steve and Nancy made their way toward the garden to collect anything that would emit heat. You’d told them you’d thrown a decent heater out there whilst clearing the shed, so the two decided to start there.

“You should go with him,” Steve spoke quietly, sifting through the pile of junk.

“What?”

“With Jonathan.”

Nancy scoffed, digging around the other side of the pile, “No, I’m… I’m not just gonna leave Mike.”

Steve’s eyes turned toward the kitchen window as he placed down a ball of tangled Christmas lights, attempting to swallow down the mild dread that still settled in his stomach a year later.

He caught sight of you, standing with your hip against the sink as you spoke to Mike and the others. He could tell by how you struggled to swallow that you were most likely explaining your reasoning for keeping El’s whereabouts hidden. When Mike finally returned your glance, saying something Steve couldn’t make out before nodding, his face softening when you placed an apprehensive hand on his shoulder and pulled the begrudging boy into a half hug. Regardless of the fact he was sure it felt as awkward as it looked, he couldn’t help the small, upward tug of his lips.

“No one’s leaving anyone,” Steve continued, eyes darting toward the large fan that Nancy had lifted when he realized the girl was watching him, “I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but… turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter.”

Steve pulled out the small heater, handing it to Nancy who remained silent for a moment, a look of guilt and understanding written across her soft features when she finally looked toward him, “Steve…”

“It’s okay, Nance… It’s okay.

“If I thought for a second it wouldn’t keep you safe… wouldn’t keep El safe too, then I would’ve fought harder to tell you all, I promise.”

Mike sighed, eyebrows still furrowed together as he kept his eyes on his sneakers, “I thought I’d never see her again.”

“I just… I wanted to protect you. All of you.” You sighed as your fingers pulled at the skin around your nails.

“She’s done more than enough to prove that,” Lucas sent you a small smile across the kitchen, perched at the dining table, and you sent him a tight-lipped smile back, forcing down the bile that threatened to crawl its way up your throat whenever you thought of last year. Of what you did.

“We forgive her, right?” Dustin shrugged.

Lucas nodded in agreement, “Yeah. We get it.”

“I really am sorry, Mike.” You sighed, somehow feeling like a weight had lifted from your shoulders, only to be placed on your chest as you awaited the boy’s response.

“It’s okay,” Mike sighed, before sending you a small nod, “I forgive you, too.”

Placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, you pulled him reluctantly toward you, and despite the scoff that fell from his lips and the eye roll he had most likely sent to the rest of the group, you could feel the smile pull at his cheek.

Looking out the kitchen window, you observed Steve and Nancy awkwardly sifting through the pile of junk you and Hopper had haphazardly thrown outside. Nancy was holding up a large fan that would be useful in the summer months, and you watched as Steve approached her slowly, the former glancing up at him with her large blue eyes.

Frowning, you could only be grateful you had remained inside with the kids and not stuck in the middle of whatever that was. Pushing yourself from the sink, you made your way outside to where El stood.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked quietly, watching as Hopper loaded Will into Jonathan’s car.

“I can do this,” she began, sighing slightly.

Turning toward her, you grabbed one of her hands, “That’s not what I asked. You have a choice in this, no matter what the outcome might be without you. So, are you sure?”

Eleven’s gaze mapped out your face, eyes softening almost instantly, “I’m sure.”

Nodding, you blinked in an attempt to clear your vision from the tears that threatened to fall, “Then you better stay safe, alright? Don’t do anything that you don’t absolutely need to.”

The girl sent you her own nod before her eyes caught something behind you, causing her to inhale deeply. Turning, you watched over your shoulder as Mike slowly approached and decided to head over toward Hopper to give the two some semblance of privacy.

“That goes for you, too.” You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. You knew that Hopper had most likely been listening to your conversation, just as he now had to pretend that he wasn’t eavesdropping on the one El was having with Mike.

“I think you need to be looking in a mirror, Kid.”

“I’m not joking, Hop. Just… Make sure you both come back.”

Hopper’s full attention was now on you as his brow furrowed. Instead of reassuring words, the man simply stepped forward, pulling you into a strong embrace, and if the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed, you would’ve complained about his bear-like strength and knocked his hat from where it perched on his head.

Instead, you felt your tense shoulders relax slightly as the man pressed his lips against the top of your head, mumbling as he promised you a safe return, quietly pleading with you to remain in the house and stay safe, to keep the kids safe.

Once you’d separated, the man pulled a cigarette from his pack, a sharp glare sent in your direction as you swiftly grabbed one too, but his attention was quickly stolen by the two young teenagers standing suspiciously close together.

“El… Come on, let’s go. It’s time.”

His large hand gripped your shoulder reassuringly one last time before you made your way toward the porch, watching as Hopper and El clambered into the former’s car, Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce behind in the eldest Byers siblings vehicle, Will’s head resting against Joyce’s lap.

As they drove down the long, winding dirt drive, you stood next to Steve, the gang of teens surrounding you as you watched them all leave, the feeling of helplessness weighing heavily on you all.

Everyone had returned inside, leaving you alone on the porch to stew in your feelings. You’d barely been in the house a minute after everyone left, lighting your stolen cigarette on Joyce’s stove before strolling back out and settling down on the hardwood.

As you ran a hand over your face you felt the exhaustion finally settle deep in your bones. Despite feeling useless, you couldn’t help but be glad you were left here to look after the kids. God knows you wouldn’t be of any help in this state.

Head bent backward, you blew up a cloud of smoke, watching as it danced around in the cold November air and clouded the stars above you for just a moment before you inhaled another deep breath, eyes falling closed as you held your breath, the smoke gradually burning your lungs.

“Heard that’s bad for your health.”

The sudden interruption of silence caused your body to jerk, the smoke finally escaping you as you spluttered, feeling like you were hacking up a lung.

Steve settled beside you on the porch step, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder as he waited for you to either stop coughing or keel over and die. He hadn’t meant to scare you half to death, but a smirk pulled at his mouth regardless when you finally turned to him with a glare,

“You are bad for my health, Harrington.”

Taking a second to consider what you’d said, his smirk only grew, “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” you huffed before offering him the cigarette.

He contemplated it for a moment before declining with a shake of his head, “After surviving Demo-dogs, you think I’m gonna let these things take me out?”

“I’m going to take you out in a minute if you don’t shut up,” you grumbled, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette.

“Didn’t realize I was your type,” the boy quipped, “I’m a fan of Enzo’s, they have unlimited breadsticks. Not too sure it’s in your budget, though.”

Your glare was much more intense as you stared him down, “You’re not, and God… Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

Steve nudged your shoulder with his own before leaning his arms onto his long, slender legs that were bent awkwardly in front of him, “If you think I’m an ass, you should see what Henderson’s done.”

“What do you mean?” You questioned suspiciously.

“Let's just say,” Steve rubbed a hand through his hair, causing it to look wilder than normal “If Mrs. Byers invites you round for dinner, I'd pass.”

“In the fridge?” You all but screeched, pushing the front door open, eyes darting around for the curly-haired kid, “You put that goddamn dog in Mrs. Byers's fridge?”

“Demo-dog,” you heard Dustin call from the kitchen, making his appearance, “And yes, obviously. As a woman of science, I thought you'd-”

Your nose scrunched up as you shook your head, “No. No, don’t call me that ever again.”

“But I thought-”

“Look, whatever little science fair project you plan on doing with it, fine. Whatever. That’s your business. But you’re cleaning that mess up, and you can explain to Mrs. Byers why there’s a monster in her fridge-”

“Demo-dog,” Dustin stressed again, exasperated.

Rolling your eyes, you turned away from the boy who quickly made his way back to the kitchen and began picking up the abandoned refrigerated food, throwing it straight into the bin.

“Mike, would you stop already?” Lucas sighed, hands holding the dustpan as Max swept up the remaining glass that littered the floor from the Demo-dog's grand entrance.

“You weren’t in there, okay, Lucas?” Mike glared, finally stopping his pacing, “That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs!” Dustin hollered, clearly annoyed with everyone’s lack of detail.

“The Chief will take care of her,” Lucas tried to reassure the boy, but Mike only rolled his eyes, Max scoffing that the girl clearly didn’t need protection.

Steve made his way toward Mike, trying his best to keep the peace, “Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?”

“Okay, first of all, this isn’t some stupid sports game. And second, we’re not even in the game. We’re on the bench.”

“Right, so, my point is…” Steve stammered, glancing toward you as five pairs of eyes settled on him, “A little help here?”

You merely shrugged, picking at your cuticle, “Oh, I don’t do sports analogies.”

His mouth opened and closed several times as he sent you an exasperated glare, “…Right. Yeah, we’re on the bench, so, uh… there’s nothing we can do.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Dustin spoke up, causing Steve to peer at him over his shoulder, “I mean, these Demo-dogs… They have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away.”

“So if we get their attention…”

“Maybe we can draw them from the lab.” Max finished Lucas’s thought aloud.

“And clear a path to the gate.”

You could almost smell the gears in their head begin to spin.

“Yeah, and then we all die,” Steve chided, his hands falling to his narrow hips and you noticed the dish towel still slung over his shoulder, like an irritated mother.

“That’s one point of view,” Dustin shrugged.

“No, that’s not a point of view, man. That’s a fact.”

“I got it,” Mike pushed through the two, leading you all toward one of the drawings that hung on the wall, “This is where the Chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel. So…”

Moving back toward the living room, he stood on top of where some drawings were taped together on the floor, all tunnels seemingly leading to that point, “So, you got all the tunnels feeding in here. Maybe if we set this on fire…”

“Oh, yeah? That’s a no.” Steve interrupted, unamused and unwilling to hear the boy out, but the gang was already considering it.

“The Mind Flayer would call away his army.”

“They’d all come to stop us.”

“Hey… Guys.” Steve tried to interrupt once again, his patience well and truly leaving the building as they continued to talk over him, “Hey, hey, hey!”

Everyone turned their attention toward the boy as he lowered his voice, “This is not happening.”

“But-”

“No, no, no, no, no. No buts. We promised that we’d keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing, right?”

Realizing Steve was now looking to you for backup, your mouth opened and closed a few times, much like a goldfish aimlessly swimming around a too-small bowl. Your eyes darted between the kids almost pleading looks, and Steve’s stern stare. Sighing, you closed your mouth and shrugged, silently agreeing with the older teen, even if the plan seemed… workable.

“We’re staying here, on the bench, and we’re waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand?”

“This isn’t a stupid sports game, ”Mike tried to argue one last time, but it fell on deaf ears.

Pulling the towel from his shoulder and using it to point at the group, Steve repeated himself, “I said does everybody understand that? I need a yes.”

Before any of the kids could agree, the sound of an engine revving outside pulled everyone’s attention away. It was way too early for anyone to be back, plus, the only one of you who could afford a car that made that kind of noise was standing opposite you.

Max, clearly recognizing the sound, dashed toward the window, Lucas next to her as they watched the familiar blue Camero drive up the path, headlights blinding as he drove a little too fast.

“It’s my brother,” Max sighed, “He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

The sound of screeching tires caused your feet to move toward the door before your brain could calculate a plan. Steve, however, caught hold of your elbow, brows almost pinching together as he shook his head,

“Where are you going?”

“He’s not gonna just go away. He knows someone is home, it wouldn’t be weird for me to be here.”

“And what exactly are you gonna say to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought maybe I’d ask him on a coffee date. What the hell do you think I’m gonna say.”

Steve scoffed, his hand falling from your elbow as he crossed his arms over his chest, “I’m not… I’m not gonna let you go out there after what happened. He said-”

“I don’t care what he said, Harrington. He isn’t going to just leave.”

“I’ll go-”

“Oh, please. He’s been gunning for you all week.”

Grabbing the towel from his shoulder, Steve pushed it into your hands, a serious expression falling over his features, “Stay here with them. I got this, alright?”

Leaning against the closed door, you could barely hear the boy’s conversation but you knew damn well that Steve, in fact, did not have this. Your eyes were closed as you concentrated on the mumbled words spoken between the two outside.

The younger teens suddenly fell onto the sofa underneath them, eyes wide with panic.

“Shit, did he see us?” Dustin questioned, causing you to straighten up.

Sending them an incredulous glare, you pushed away from the door slightly, “Oh my God, get away from the window!”

The sound of a body hitting the ground, quickly followed by a second grunt caused you to try and peer through the frosted glass of the door, unsure as to whether it was Harrington, or Hargrove who was now making their way up the porch.

You barely had enough time to dodge out of the way as the door swung open and bumped harshly against your shoulder, the momentum causing you to stumble to the floor as Billy stepped foot in the Byers home.

His cruel eyes darted between where you were sprawled out on the floor, and Max as she stood surrounded by the boys, face remaining stoic as he slammed the door shut behind him, blocking your view of Steve, who was taking a moment to recover out on the driveway, “Well, well, well…”

Stepping over you, Billy’s eyes now focused on his primary target, “Lucas Sinclair. What a surprise.”

Your brows furrowed together as you pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the ache in your arm as your eyes bore into the back of Billy’s head as he approached his step-sister, “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max.”

“Billy, go away.” Max’s voice shook, but she stood her ground.

“Hargrove, c’mon…” You stepped forward, heart thumping against your rib cage in what seemed like a great escape.

“You disobeyed me,” the older teen said, low and gruff, using his height to leer over the girl, “And you know what happens when you disobey me… I break things.”

Billy moved quickly, and before you had a chance to stop him, he grabbed Lucas by the collar of his jacket, dragging him across the kitchen and slamming him into the small shelving unit.

The kids yelled for him to stop as you launched yourself across the room, “Hargrove! Get off of him!”

Your hand made contact with Billy’s burgundy shirt, attempting to tug him off the younger boy, but he was much stronger than you. His right arm shot out, knocking you away from him and causing your head to hit the corner of the cabinet behind you on your way to the floor, unable to catch yourself.

Billy leaned in close, threatening Lucas once more, but you could barely hear him, the whooshing sound that reverberated between your ears taking front and center of your attention as your hand reluctantly touched the crown of your head, causing you to flinch and pull your now blood-stained fingers away quickly.

Before you knew what had happened, Billy was forced away from him, Lucas’s foot connecting with a much more sensitive body part of the older boys.

Billy merely took seconds to recover, his eyes now full of fire, “You’re so dead, Sinclair! You’re dead.”

“No,” a strained voice came from behind, forcing the older boy away and allowing you to see Steve who had finally made his way off the floor outside, “No. You are.”

Steve’s fist flew, connecting with Billy’s nose and causing the boy to spin, but not quite fall, his sneakers barely missing your fingers that were staining the linoleum.

Steve’s eyes glanced over at your huddled frame as he shook out his fist before they found Lucas — who was now the center of a group hug before Billy’s loud, mocking laughter caught his attention,

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh?” Billy practically shouted, blood slowly trickling from his nose, “I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about.”

Steve remained stoic as Billy approached him, a firm hand against his chest as he pushed the boy away slightly, “Get out.”

But Billy wasn’t leaving without a fight.

Steve managed to duck, avoiding Billy’s initial attack, and land his own punch against the boy’s cheek causing him to bump into the table. Pulling himself back up quickly, Billy continued to taunt Steve as he laughed out loud, even when Steve hit him again and again, pushing the boy past you, and into the kitchen sink.

The kids yelled for Steve, cheering him on, and you were genuinely impressed. Either Steve had been practicing since last year, or Billy was a much better fighter with his words and not his fists.

That thought, however, quickly changed when Billy lifted a clean plate from the draining board next to the sink, smashing it over Steve’s head and causing the boy to lose his bearing. Which made the next punch all too easy.

“Hargrove, stop!” You tried to yell, attempting to push yourself upright, but your sneaker slipped on a small piece of china, causing you to crash back down, your vision dotted.

With a swift headbutt, Billy continued his relentless attack, even once Steve was on the floor and unable to fight back. A dirty fighter, that made much more sense.

Billy crowded over Steve, his fists flying as he took out a wave of anger that seemed far too exorbitant to be over a step-sister he claimed he really didn’t like.

Finally managing to steady your footing, you used the cabinet to pull yourself up, smearing bits of blood over the counter as you stumbled over toward the sink, looking for something, anything to stop Billy’s attack.

Your fingers found the glass you’d been drinking out of earlier — the one you’d originally poured for Steve — and cursed slightly as it fumbled from your grasp. Once you were sure your grip was tight enough, you raised your arm, throwing the glass directly at Billy. Whether it hit his head or his back, you couldn’t quite make out, but when he halted his vicious attack on Steve and slowly peered over his shoulder at you, your hands grasped onto another plate that had been draining on the side.

Billy’s mouth pulled up into a sardonic smirk, goading you as if you hadn't already thrown a glass at him. His smile dropped quickly, however, when he found himself having to raise an arm to block the plate as you threw it like a frisbee, this time purposely aiming for his head.

You couldn’t tell whether it was through your fear or your potential concussion, but it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Billy pushed himself up, chest heaving with hostility as he approached you, and it felt like you were underwater, unable to move quick enough to escape his wrath.

“People like you never learn, do you? What did I tell you last time?” Billy didn’t give you a chance to answer as he — almost tauntingly — made his way toward you with slow, steady steps as he licked his lips, “I said, I wouldn’t be so nice about you hitting me again.”

Thankfully, Max had already darted into action. Grabbing the spare needle from the side, Max dashed toward Billy, injecting him in the neck from behind before he could reach you.

You saw the confusion fall over Billy’s face as he turned slightly, eyes meeting the enraged stare of his step-sister. The room remained quiet, everyone watching with bated breath as Billy tried to step forward but his wobbling legs were unable to hold him up properly, the sedative already working its way through his body.

“What the hell is this?” Billy’s bloodied hands fumbled with the syringe, finally managing to pull it out of his neck before he fell to his knees, “You little shit, what did you do?”

Max sidestepped him easily, the boy’s body seemingly turning boneless as he fell from his knees, flat out onto his back. Still, he continued to jeeringly laugh.

Grabbing the nailed bat and raising it high, Max made her way toward Billy, “From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?”

“Screw you,” Billy practically babbled, his eyes trying to focus on the redhead.

The bat swung down harshly, right between the boy's legs, causing him to peer down, shock evident on his face.

Ripping the bat from where it stuck into the floor, Max raised it again, “Say you understand! Say it!”

“I understand,” Billy mumbled, his vision tunneling as his fight to remain conscious became a losing battle.

Once it was clear Billy was not waking up any time soon, you all began to move. Dustin and Mike made their way over to Steve, both fussing before Mike rushed off to get a wet cloth in an attempt to wipe off some of the blood, whilst Lucas wrapped an arm around your waist, helping you toward where Steve lay, sprawled across the floor.

“Holy shit,” you grumbled as you took in the boy's battered and bruised face as you rested on your knees next to him. Mike returned with the cloth, handing it to you as you tried your best to stop the blood from gushing out of Steve’s nose. You wouldn’t be shocked if it was broken, especially as one of his eyes was already beginning to blacken and swell.

“I found these,” Dustin huffed, pulling out a few decorated plasters from Mrs. Byers's first aid kit.

“I don’t think they’re gonna do much-”

“We need to get out of here. If we’re gonna do this, we need to leave now.”

“We can’t just leave him,” Dustin huffed. Steve had just almost kicked Billy’s ass for them, he wasn’t about to leave him here.

“Especially not with Billy. If he wakes up first, there’s no knowing what he’ll do.”

Mike’s head whipped around in your direction, “Then what do you suggest?”

Blinking a few times in an attempt to focus your slightly blurred vision, you released a sigh, “You can’t just go down into the tunnels.”

Lucas shook his head, “We can’t just stay here and do nothing, either.”

“I’m not… That’s not what I’m saying,” the group turned toward you, faces shrouded in confusion, “I’m just saying we can’t just go into the tunnels. We need to be able to get out of them, too. And we don’t know what’s down there, or how it affects us. We need supplies.”

Mike stepped forward, eyes watching you warily, “We’re gonna do this? You're in?”

“I thought it was a pretty decent plan, so yeah, I'm in… I'm all in.”

You had argued for a solid five minutes that you should be the one to drive Billy’s car, considering you were the only conscious person in the room old enough for a license. But as you stood to make your way toward Max, hand held out of the keys, your vision tunneled, causing you to stumble, swallowing down the wave of nausea that felt unrelenting.

So, somehow you ended up sitting next to Dustin in the back seat of the Camero, Steve’s head resting on your lap as you held an ice pack to his face, the other hand grasping the passenger seat’s headrest, cursing Max under your breath whenever she took a turn a little too sharply.

Too occupied with keeping yourself firmly in the car, you didn’t notice Steve wake up until he began to grumble, his eyes meeting yours as he gazed up at you. You caught his hand as he tried to rub at his bruised face when Max hit a pothole a little zealously, and placed it back over his chest, “It’s best if you don’t touch it.”

“Hey, buddy,” Dustin cooed, smiling down at Steve as the boy began to look around, unsure of where he was, or how he got there, “It’s okay, you put up a good fight. He kicked your ass, but you put up a fight.”

“Henderson, that’s not really helping.” You scolded the boy as you rearranged the ice pack when Steve tried to bat it away.

“Okay, you’re gonna keep straight for a half mile, then make a left on Mount Sinai.”

“What’s going on?” Steve grumbled, his words slurred slightly as he looked up at Max peering over the steering wheel. Then at you.

Then at Max again, because why the hell was a thirteen-year-old driving?

Adrenaline flooded Steve’s system, causing him to begin to panic, “Oh my god…”

The boy tried to sit up, despite laying across the entire back seat, and essentially over yourself, Dustin, and Mike. Pushing his shoulder, you tried soothing him, “Steve, it’s fine, alright? You just need to calm down-”

“What’s going on?!” He asked, his voice much higher than before as Max floored it. If Steve had panicked before, he was now well on his way to having a coronary, “Stop the car! Slow down!”

“I told you he’d freak out,” Mike glared toward Dustin as Steve continued to do just that, leading to Max screaming at them all to shut up and let her concentrate.

After a — once again — too-sharp left turn, you passed Mount Sinai, taking an all too innocent mailbox with you, your knuckles aching from how hard you clutched at the passenger seat, uncaring if you tore the leather.

That would be the least of Billy’s worries.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut

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bigfan-fanfic · 7 months

Note

Anyways just fluff with some warmth cuz Steve hates the cold-

Steve waking up early in the morning in his dom bf's bed (it's still a little dark) wearing one of his bf's bigger shirts. His bf gently but protectively holds him from behind, quiet and sleeping peacefully, his face snuggling in the crook of Steve's neck.

He feels his bf stir a bit, and his bf reaches over to his side and places his hand on top of Steve's and intertwined their fingers together. "Morning, baby..." Bf has one of those cute, sleepy voices, and he's still so sleepy

(Love the idea of Steve with a bf that's bigger than himmmmm)

Steve leans back against his bf, giving a soft hum. He moves their intertwined hands under the oversized shirt, against the skin of his taut stomach.

He waits until his bf has drowsed back to sleep.

"I don't know why you're with me."

Steve sighs a little and presses his lips to his lover's cheek.

"I mean, sure, I'm pretty to look at, but all I bring people is trouble. And now I get to wake up with you, but... I'm not sure it's a fair trade, you know?

"Maybe I deserve to be a little selfish for once. I mean, finally finding a place in a time not my own... a place where I feel like I could stay? I can't let go of that. Of you. But there's still that part of me... doubting. Saying I shouldn't put all my baggage down. That I'm Captain America and I can carry my own burdens.

"I forget sometimes that I'm Steve. Stevie. Bucky used to call me that when he wasn't calling me 'punk.' I hated it then cause it felt like it was demeaning me. But now... I like it. I hated feeling small cause there was nothing else I could be, but... I guess it's not so bad. With you, it's less of a small and more of a... secured.

"I don't have to be anything. With you, I don't even have to figure out what's me and what's not, just... being.

"So I guess... I guess what I'm saying is... thanks. Thanks for letting me be selfish. Thanks for being my protector, my keeper. Even if I don't think I deserve it... I appreciate it. So much.

"You'll wake up for real in a little bit and we'll eat together and... do whatever we want. And someday I'll build up the courage to ask you... to marry me. To be mine and let me belong to you. To anchor each other in time to each moment with each other. But for now... I'll just keep on enjoying every single second I get with you. Like always.

"I love you."

#steve rogers x male reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america x male reader #marvel x male reader #marvel headcanons #headcanons

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wannab-urs · 4 months

Text

The Spreadsheet Digest | Vol 30

Howdy folks :)

Welcome to the THIRTIETH Spreadsheet Digest!!

I started reading a few series this week, and I'm not putting them on the spreadsheet til I've finished them; so, if I told you I'm reading your fic but it's not here, that's why. Eleven fics this week (Dieter, Joel, Din, Ezra, Javi P, and a Marcus P/Din/Reader)!

Fic Rec Masterlist | My Masterlist | My Kofi

Recs Below The Pedge

In Fiction - Dieter one shot by @sin-djarin

Summary: Dieter comes to bed. Tags: Established relationship, mentions of self doubt, no physical description of reader, no dialogue, no use of y/n. Thoughts: This was so sweet. I just want to hold him and pet his hair, fr.

In Reality - Dieter one shot by @sin-djarin

Summary: Dieter comes home for Christmas. Tags: Established relationship, masturbation (M), Dieter's self deprecation, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n. Thoughts: I'm just extremely obsessed with the nailing of Dieter's characterization here. He's a little gross and sad, but it's endearing. Poor baby can't keep his phone charged to save his life. And I love how reader just like... knows he's a mess and is okay with it. It's a little bittersweet? In a way that I adore.

O, Christmas Tree - Dieter one shot by @covetyou

Summary: As PA to Dieter Bravo, you were used to the strange, unusual and downright weird. What you weren't used to was taking in a shipment of - what? And how many? Tags: sex toys (so many butt plugs), Dieter being a menace to his PA, no smut, pure silliness. Thoughts: This is so delightfully silly. And they do kind of look like christmas trees.

The hat stays on - Joel one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

Summary: Hooking up with a cowboy in a bar bathroom... kind of. Tags: sub/dom dynamics, Sub!Joel, Switch!Joel, Public sex, Bathroom Sex, Squirting, orgasm denial(mention). Purely Porn with no Plot. Thoughts: I love these lil plot twist fics, I love cowboy hat joel, I love sub/switch!Joel, I love this.

To Know the Light - Din one shot by @burntheedges

Summary: to go in the dark with a light is to know the light. Tags: fluff, a teensy bit of angst, introspection, winter, food mention, reader has no description, gn!reader Thoughts: Din's internal struggle with removing the helmet is such a fascinating aspect of his character, and I think you did a beautiful job of capturing it here. I thought the imagery, the characterization, and the story telling in general here was just gorgeous.

Killshot - Ezra series by @magpiepills

Summary: A lonesome prospector comes face to face with a dangerous stranger. What happens when you can’t resist his charm? Tags: SMUT, PIV, fingering, oral (m&f receiving) pet names, spanking, dub con, angst, anal play, deep throating, cum eating, thigh riding, dirty talk, double penetration, toys, teasing, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader. Thoughts: This shit had me YELLING!!! Dirty Dog Ezra in full force here. I am still shook and I read this like 4 days ago.

Dare to Surrender - Javi P series by @auteurdelabre

Summary: “First to come loses.” You can’t stand Javier Pena but when Steve Murphy makes an off-hand remark that gets both you and Javier’s competitive sides going, there’s no telling how far you’ll go. Tags: Office Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Blow Jobs, Office Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Dare, Co-workers, soft!javi p, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Pet Names, Jealous!Javier Peña, Phone Sex, Jealousy, Steve Murphy cockblock, Desk Sex, No Pregnancy, Banter, Bonding, Bets & Wagers, Vaginal Fingering, Fingerfucking, Finger Sucking, hey we said no kissing, he falls first, no protection, From Sex to Love, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Semi-Public Sex, P in V sex, Sweet!Javi, Nicknames Thoughts: I loved this storyyyyy. Javi was so pathetically in love with her and so bad at saying it. Brad sucks, btw, but I love how jealous he made Javi. P.S if you like the whole bet concept + Javi P check out Go Ahead I Dare Ya. It's a slightly different premise, but so very good.

Handsome, Dirty, Rich - Joel one shot by @pedgito

Summary: the rich father of your best friend, sarah — joel miller, was a mystery to you until one day he isn't and you quickly find that your interest in him isn't one-sided. Tags: no use of y/n, au/no outbreak, bfd!joel, ceo!joel, mentions of reader growing up poor/absent parents (joel is ridiculously loaded, it's fic y'all let me live lol), sneaking around, age gap (not explicitly specified, but reader is in final year of college and joel is probs late 40s/50s), vacations, gift-giving, unprotected piv, come swallowing, daddy issues if you squint, one (1) pussy slap, oral (f receiving), semi-public fucking Thoughts: The buildup was immaculate AGH. And I am obsessed with the kind of not quite happy ending? Part 2 maybe?

Comfort, Despite the Storm - Joel one shot by @marisferasiop

Summary: Joel's neighbor (you) is the town archivist and brings him a present on his birthday (with a side of teasing). Later, after waking from his own nightmares, he finds you sleepless on your porch during a storm and you take comfort in one another. Tags: fluff, smut, nightmares, alcohol, p in v sex, oral m receiving Thoughts: Love a lil continuous hookup situation. I adore how they get together in this and how reader takes the lead in the situation. And like the fic overall is sweet and flirty, but that smut is hot.

Misfire - Dieter one shot by @qveerthe0ry

Summary: Dieter gets waxed for a role and gets a little too excited. Tags: dubious consent, body hair waxing, pain kink, humiliation kink (kinda), subby!Dieter, ruined orgasm, coming untouched, hands-free orgasm, reader does not engage in sex acts, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drug use, accidental exhibitionism, accidental voyeurism Thoughts: Pathetic, whiny, whimpering, humiliation kink Dieter? Yeah. Yes. Thank you. Perfection. And if you want a version where reader plays along instead of ignoring him read that here.

Closure - Marcus P/Din one shot by @javier-pena

Summary: Marcus, Din and you used to be best friends. Now you're on opposite sides of the law with a decade worth of grudges between you. But hate can quickly become something else ... Tags: angst | canon-typical violence | mentions of food and alcohol and smoking | they’re all mean to each other and they have a difficult relationship | (a lot of) dirty talk (by my standards) | slight power imbalance | reader has hair that can be grabbed | threesome m/f/(m) (kinda) | ecouteurism | voyeurism | exhibitionism | a bit of edging | fingering | competitiveness | (unprotected) piv sex | creampie | a tiny, tiny bit of degradation Thoughts: Marcus and Din is a pairing I truly never thought I would see, but I am obsessed with this pairing. The way their personalities mesh is just stunning. I love the characterization of all three of them. I'm not usually one to read Din AUs where he's not some sort of Mandalorian, but I truly could not resist reading this. Everything about this fic was amazing. Reader's story, Marcus and Din's relationship, the setting, everything was just so good AHGHGGH.

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This week I posted:

Scotty Doesn't Know - a Dieter one shot

Summary: Scotty doesn't know you're hooking up with Dieter Tags: songfic, smut, infidelity, dieter is a loser, scotty doesn't really deserve this he's just annoying, crack taken seriously, porn with the barest of plots, barely edited. WC: 2.8k

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Happy Reading!

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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ramayah · 2 years

Text

"𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐬" — stranger things males x gn!reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 — fluff (jealousy, kissing) + degrading name-calling (slut + stupid slut) !

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) — none !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — steve harrington, eddie munson & billy hargrove

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — when i say " chest" in billy's part, i mean any kind of chest. even males, tysm 4 coming to my ted talk<3

STEVE HARRINGTON's jealousy meter doesn't ring quite high when his lover, you, aren't mentioned. Discounting all the times when Dustin has bailed on him during their Saturday movie nights.

Disregarding that, he didn't like the thought of you with _____. You were ... too close to the male, entirely too close. Even though he was not knowing of how you and your friends acted around each other, mainly because he kept paying too much attention to you instead of your words. However, the way _____'s glances started lingering a lot longer than normal, his small touches soon turned into waist hugs, and his compliments soon turned into flirty-ments.

" You do see what he's doing, right? All those .. disgusting glances." Steve mumbled the last part as he protectively wrapped his hands around your waist and snuggled into your neck, pressing soft kisses on your neck whilst doing so. " He isn't doing anything, Steve. And it's too early in the morning for this.." You slurred, running your hands through Steve's hair as he moved down to your chest, a soft hum leaving your lips whilst he did so. " But he's quite the toucher, actually. And his flirty comments are so ... bleugh." He mumbled against your chest before being eye-level with you once again.

" Stevie, baby, listen ... Wait— Is the Steve Harrington jealous?" You inquired, a smile on your face as his sleepy gaze met yours. " Jealous? Me? Those words have never been put together; you know." He pressed soft kisses on your face, before pressing a kiss on your lips, making your eyes flutter shut from the heart-felt impact.

" Mm.. I'd love you to be jealous more often if I'd get this many kisses from you." You smiled softly, your arms were wrapped around his neck, chest's pressed up against each other, your limbs entangled with each other's. It was the perfect way to start a Saturday morning, exactly the perfect way.

EDDIE MUNSON's love life is quite disastrous, in a sense that he isn't one to have lovers or has had many lovers in his time of being a cute, chaotic metalhead. Therefore, the only times he has been jealous is when people have touched his dark red and glittery electric guitar. However, when the Hellfire club meeting is over, and he sees you next to a random person. Their arms were hooked around your waist, their head on your shoulder and your bodies pressed together. Your hands rubbed up and down their back, he couldn't read your lips, but bloody hell did it make him mad.

" Yeah, I'll call you! Love you!'' You waved goodbye whilst walking towards your car, Eddie's gaze didn't meet yours as you climbed into the car with him. He threw his jean jacket into the backseat with anger clouding his face.

Were you cheating on him? He didn't want to go to such conclusions; however, it was the first thing that popped into his mind.

" I missed you." You cooed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before going back to start up the car. " Who was that uhm, person?" He questioned, still faced forward whilst twisting and turning the rings on his fingers as tears started to prick at his eyes as he pondered about your answer. " What do you mea- Oh, _____? They're just an old friend that came to visit Hawkins, wanted to meet up at the moment so, it happened. They got so emotional when they saw me, it was a nice reunion." You explained, taking his head in yours as you backed out of the parking lot. " Hmm," You hummed in thought as the car was at a red-light, turning your head to face Eddie's, " Were you .. jealous?" You asked out of pure curiosity, you could see the tip of his ears turn bright red at your question.

" No, I wasn't. I'm just saying what the universes feels what needs to be spoken out loud so both of us know how to deal with it. Like a couple should do, you know."

" You're pretty when you blush.." You cooed whilst pressing your lips together with his in a soft, sweet and passionate way. " I love you, so much, but we should probably go home to finish this." He mumbled as he pulled apart from yours, your lips still ghosting over each other. " Mm.. You're right, one more kiss?"

Eddie's face erupted into a smile, " Yeah, just one."

BILLY HARGROVE's love life, unlike Eddie's, is all over the place. One-night stands on his left and on his right. Of course, anyone would jump up and down to have the chance to have sex with him at least once in their life from how good they say he is. And since he's had so many partners from that simple fact, he's never been jealous seeing one of his partners with someone else. He obviously satisfied them so much to the point where they couldn't get his attention anymore.

Disregarding that fact, he had now become the type to get jealous, and so easily at that.

" Billy, ah, we're on duty-" Your hushed words soon turned into muffled moans as his hands traveled up and down your body, mainly fondling with your chest, his tongue slid over yours so effortlessly. When you two pulled apart, his mouth went to travel up and down your neck, placing hickeys here and there whilst doing so, his hands going down to untie your shorts.

" What's got you so riled up, hm?" You questioned as he sat you on a nearby counter, hands fondling your thighs as your arms were wrapped around his neck. " Who were you talking to today?" He questioned, pressing soft kisses on your shoulders, leading up to your neck, and then he pressed kisses on your jawline.

" Mm.. What do you mean?" You answered, confused to what he was asking, he smiled as your breath hitched when he left hickies on your neck. " You know what I mean, don't be so stupid." Billy hissed as he gripped your chin, eyes glaring into yours. " Or are you a stupid slut? Jus' for me?" His harsh words sent a shiver down your spine, he knew just how to toy with your feelings and make you feel like a personal toy all for him. God, it made him so sexy. " Is the Billy Hargrove jealous? All over a few friends of mine?" You questioned, a smirk evidently present on your face as he leaned in closer to you.

" Who are they?" He spat, obviously jealous but he had too much pride to admit to such a thing.

" Fuck buddy's, Billy. You're not my only one. You don't give me as much pleasure as you think. You're just a side piece, honestly." You hissed, and after saying all those things, you were rewarded with a night being taught a lesson.

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stuckysbike · 1 year

Text

Howl 2

A/n: please forgive me it’s been a long long time since I’ve written anything, much less posted. All mistakes are my own.

Werewolf AU

Werewolf!Bucky x Werewolf!Reader

Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader (for now).

Warnings: werewolf Bucky, werewolf Steve, werewolf Nat, dark themes. Mature, 18+. Exes to lovers (hopefully).

Your back slammed into the rough brick of the storeroom as Bucky loomed over you, his beautiful face twisted into an ugly snarl.

“What the fuck?” His breath smelled of whiskey and caramel and his grip was bruising on your shoulder.

“Bucky, please I-“ you tried to get out of his grip but it only made him hold on tighter.

“More excuses. More lies?” He snarled. His eyes were hard, but there was something deeper lurking there, hurt? Betrayal?

The door opened letting the music and chatter blast into the room for a moment and Steve slid in, graceful for a man of his size. He looked as angry as Bucky and a big part of you wanted to bare your throat, submit. Steve had been one of your best friends growing up, he was always there for you when your family let you down and submitting to him and Bucky would make it so much easier.

You couldn’t though, your boy needed you and you had to be brave, ignore and fight your nature yet again. The submission process would take more time than you had available, and besides you had a plan and having an Alpha wouldn’t allow the plan to work correctly. Nothing would please you more than curling up in a ball and crying. You couldn’t do that either as much as you wanted to.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself huh?” Steve leaned against the door and folded his muscular arms across his broad chest. His voice was cold. Harsh. He’d never spoken to you that way before.

“You really want to hear a bunch of excuses, or do you want to save our son?” You turned to Bucky, and you saw his eyes flash and another snarl deep in his chest rumbled out. Steve growled in warning behind him, and you bit your lip and ducked your chin to your chest.

“My son,” Bucky leaned closer, and you felt his warm breath fanning over your face. His body was completely covering yours as he loomed over you. “The boy you kept away from me.”

“If we don’t get him back then we’ll have no son will we!” You snapped suddenly furious. They were wasting time standing here threatening and bullying you. Old hurts that had never healed suddenly burned bright.

Bucky wasn’t the only one left broken and betrayed. For months after you left you waited hoping he’d come looking for you, but he never did. You had left clues and spent time at your favourite haunts and hangouts outside of town and in the safety of darkness, but he never turned up.

Bucky growled but Steve’s hand slid around his shoulders holding him back. You sent Steve a small smile but the look he gave you in return was filthy. “You listen here, you broke his heart, you don’t dare come back here acting like you’re the victim!”

You pull back shocked and hurt at Steve’s harsh words. You thought everyone knew what happened, why you left. You thought you’d get a cold reception, but you didn’t expect open hostility.

“How do I even know he’s mine?” Bucky lifted his chin.

You tug your phone from the back pocket of your faded jeans and showed him the lock screen. Dark hair, blue eyes, he even had the dimple in his chin starting to form, and a big toothy smile.

“He’s yours,” you said softly. Steve glanced over Bucky’s shoulder, a soft gasp leaving his lips.

“He’s a carbon copy of you at that age Buck,” Steve looked between the screen and Bucky, his eyes softening at the sight.

“What I want to know now is why you couldn’t protect my boy!” Bucky was in your face, and you swallowed the fear down. He shook you against the wall in frustration.

“I was trying, but I’m an unmated Omega with a six-year-old son. I tend to stick out,” you snapped.

In all honesty you had no idea where this obsession came from. You worked two jobs to make ends meet living hand to mouth, going without so Jamie could have what he needed.

Then one day a few years ago Brock noticed you, a beta with family money behind him. A beta who figured your child would give him more power, elevate him to alpha status. A power-hungry whelp.

He just took to you, took to following you. You hated it. Hated him. He made your skin crawl. You tried not to give him the time of day, tried to relocate but he had resources, so he found you easily.

You didn’t want to tell them this, a sob story would do nothing more than make them resent you more than they already did. You held back, suspecting that that they would just mock you when you explained your situation.

“Please. Help us,” you begged.

“We have conditions. You’re withholding a member of our pack. We want him back,” Bucky was still seething, and your gut clenched in fear. You were starting to suspect that one way or another you were about to lose your boy. Either you mated with Brock and had Jamie in your life, or you let Bucky raise him and stood down as his main carer. You would rather he was safe with Bucky; you couldn’t keep him safe on your own any longer.

“And we want answers for your actions and your behaviour,” Steve added.

“Anything just please help me,” you were close to sobbing now, your heart breaking.

Bucky stepped away and you crumped to the ground, the tears finally working their way out. You wiped at your eyes angrily as you got on to unsteady feet.

“Heel,” Bucky sneered cruelly at you, but you held yourself back, grasping to the tiny bit of dignity you had left.

“No,” you snarled back, and Steve huffed, catching you by the elbow and dragging you through the bar for all to see. Your face burned in shame as everyone turned to look your way.

As you passed by your stepfather stared mouth agape and you hang your head in shame.

“In,” Steve said shoving you into the backseat of a black truck.

“My backpack,” you said pointing to your car and Bucky rolled his eyes but went to your battered car, the same one you’d ran in all those years ago and brought the battered grey bag back to you.

Steve got into the driver’s side and the redhead Alpha climbed in beside you, giving you a challenging look, you ducked your head and looked away, you didn’t have the energy to fight with anyone else.

It was wet and cold and the wipers worked furiously as the truck pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“He was snatched from school,” you said eventually.

“Why him?” Steve asked. “You claim to have nothing.”

“He’s powerful, he’s showing signs of being an Alpha already,” your voice wavered, and you felt a swell of pride at your amazing boy. “He’s gentle and kind and this Beta wolf, Brock, thinks that if he makes Jamie and I submit he’ll become an Alpha.”

There was silence for a long time, just the hum of the engine and the sounds of rain beating the windows.

“You called him Jamie?” Bucky’s voice was soft for the first time, and you swallowed, nodded.

“Yeah, of course, how could I not name him after his father?” You whispered, and you were tempted to remind Bucky how much you loved him back then, how much you still loved him now, but instead you tried to make an offer. “I have more pictures of him.”

You unlocked your phone and reached it across to Bucky, your fingers brushing and for just a moment there was a spark.

Everyone was silent as Bucky flicked through the pictures of his son, a small smile on his lips.

#bucky barns x reader #bucky angst #bucky x reader #werewolf!bucky barnes #werewolf reader #abo au #alpha!bucky x omega!reader

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thebookbutterfly · 1 year

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°•. Steve Harrington .•°

Fan fiction recommendations from BB’s Bookshelf. All my favourite Steve Harrington works in one place.

⭐️ = One of my Favourites

ONESHOTS:

🦋 loser lover [Hurt/Comfort, Fluff] Steve is an accident prone boyfriend, luckily you love to help patch him up. << Gender Neutral Reader, Mild mentions of injury and blood>>

🦋 Four Eyes [Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff] After years of getting black eyes, Steve finds himself needing glasses. He’s insecure about them but you find them super cute. Just insecure Steve getting the love he deserves. << Female Reader, Mild mentions of violence and injury >>

🦋 do you have the soup? [Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Fluff] Steve is sick and your more than happy to take care of him. Tooth rotting fluff. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Hugs [Mild Angst, Fluff] Growing up in a loveless household, hugs were something Steve Harrington was not good at. All of that changed when you came along. << Female Reader, Implied homophobia against Robin >>

🦋 I Can’t Believe You Remembered [Mild Angst, Fluff] Steve was used to people overlooking him. However, you truly see him and make an effort to show him you care. Steve getting the love and attention he deserves. << Female Reader >>

🦋 I Still Got Love For You [Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] A love filled summer with Steve and it’s aftermath. Steves dad is terrible. A breakup with a happy ending. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Are You Okay? [Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] Steve is attacked by a demodog. You save him. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Golden Hour [Fluff] Steve can’t stop looking at his best friend and the feeling is mutual. Both of you are too scared to tell each other about your feelings until Steve makes the leap. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Five New Freckles [Fluff] A summer with Steve Harrington. Steve who loves you so much he want to know every little thing about you. Even if that means counting your freckles. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Goddamn, What’s A Boy To Do? [Fluff] [16+] Steve hates going to work in the mornings. And he hates leaving you curled up in his bed even more. Morning fluff. << Female Reader, Reference to sex, Things get a little heated >>

🦋 Lovesick [Fluff, Sick Fic] Steve is sick and very much in love with you. Taking care of your favourite pretty boy and bringing him soup. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Cherry [Fluff] Steve is as gentle as he is protective and he doesn’t take well to men making his girlfriend uncomfortable. Someone hits on you and Steve is not pleased. << Female Reader, Harrasment, Confrontation >>

🦋 Lazy On You [Fluff] You we’re supposed to be paying attention to the movie Steve had rented, but you were sleepy, and falling asleep on your boyfriend seemed way more interesting. << Female Reader >> ⭐️

🦋 Summer Skin [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst] Steve is insecure about his scars. You’re more than happy to show him that he has nothing to be embarrassed about. << Female Reader >>

🦋 I’ll Crawl Home To Her [Hurt/Comfort, Angst] After being attacked by demobats in the upsidedown Steve has no choice but to come to you for help. You take care of his injuries. << Female Reader, Blood, Injury >> ⭐️

🦋 The First Day of Christmas [Fluff] Picking out a tree with your favourite boy, Stevie. << Female Reader >> ⭐️

SERIES:

🦋 dark honey: part 1, part 2 [Fluff] Friends to lovers with a bit of mutual pining. You are Dustin’s sister working at the café next to Family Video. After becoming best friends with Steve your friendship begins to develop into something more. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Sleep Soft: part 1, part 2 [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] When you showed up to Steve’s house in the middle of the night for comfort you were not expecting his parents to be home. You decide that wasn’t going to stop you. In which you and Steve both have nightmare after the upside down and find comfort in each other. << Female Reader, Trauma >> ⭐️

DRABBLES:

🦋 Lonely [Fluff] Your side of the couch was lonely, so you climbed into his lap. << Female Reader >> ⭐️

🦋 Forehead Kisses [Fluff] Steve loves your forehead kisses. You are more than happy to provide them. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

#steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington x reader #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #comfort #stranger things #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x gender neutral reader

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melwilson · 2 years

Text

so this is love | steve rogers

steve rogers x reader

warnings! mentions of death and a weapon. angst, a lil bit of heartbreak w/ a happy ending

a/n! i didn’t know how to end this, but the rest of it is too good to let sit in my drafts any longer. enjoy :)

he had been your everything- your first cup of coffee in the morning, sunshine after rain, guiding star in the dark, water in a drought, warmth when it was cold, air in your lungs. he was your love. everything love meant and was supposed to be- that was him. that was steve.

and god, you hoped his heart was the same. wherever he was, you weren’t sure. he had dropped off the grid after the accords. you both had cried. he wanted you to come with him and you would have, but you weren’t an avenger and the governments of the world weren’t exactly placing very much value on steve’s life. dead or alive. they didn’t exactly care.

so he left you.

he left you on the front doorstep of an avenger’s safe house, your sobs aching at his chest making each step away from you harder to take. he didn’t spare you a glance. he knew that if he saw your tear-filled eyes he wouldn’t be able to leave. but he had too. both of your lives depended on it.

“i need you to know that i love you. i love you. god, i love you so much. i’ll check up on you as often as i can, darling.”

those check-ups only lasted for the first year. after that, steve went completely off the grid. you use to reread the checkup letters constantly in hopes that maybe a new one would end up in the mail box.

nat decided it was best if we split up. she’s off the coast of norway, i think. it’s just me and sam now. i miss you. i miss your hugs, i miss your smile, i miss your love. just know i think about you all the time. i love you.

your hope, however, faded quickly. the letters ended as quickly as they came. over a year later and you’ve come to terms with the fact that steve may be dead. it still hurts to picture your lover, your one and only, not getting to live the life he deserved- a life with you.

“i think i found one, stevie,” you say excitedly. “it’s close to the compound, but far enough away that we have our privacy and it’s big but not too big. just big enough to accommodate all your super hero friends.”

“and a family one day?” steve asks with a honeyed smile. it still makes your heart flutter and cheeks flush.

“yeah, that too.”

a few months before the accords, you closed on the house. your memories were short-lived and are now only echos of what should have been.

a silent tear rolls down your cheek like a lonely raindrop before a storm. you wipe it away with the back of your hand and focus on mixing your tea with the other.

steve had gotten you into tea. surprisingly, steve preferred the lightly caffeinated drink rather than the harshness of a cup of black coffee.

“that goes against like everything i thought about you,” you mutter while on your second date.

steve shrugs. “it’s soothing.”

you sigh and look around the empty living room. you hate how comfortable you’ve gotten with the stillness of living alone. a city girl dating an avenger is now a forced country girl who could be arrested for relationship to a fugitive.

how fast life changes. how cruel it can be.

as you take a sip of your tea, you can hear a change in the wind. it sends a shiver up your spine and has you inching towards the “silverware.”

then comes a sound you haven’t heard in ages. a knock. it’s a soft rap-tap-tap-tap. a sound that should be harmless has your heart beating at an alarming rate. the need for silverware becomes more apparent now as you pad to the door, nine millimeter in hand.

“steve,” you mutter unsure.

his blue eyes are weighted and sorrowful. “i can’t be here to protect you. i need to know that you can protect yourself, but God, i hope you never have to use it.”

you hesitate as your hand comes in contact with one of three cold, brass locks.

“it’s me, sweetheart.”

you freeze in disbelief.

“do you like it?” steve asks timidly.

you’re nearly speechless at the painting in front of you. it’s one you’ve wanted for awhile and steve painted it…for you. “s-“

“steve?”

“yeah, baby, it’s me.” his voice is just as smooth as you remember as you unlock the door.

he stands on the same porch he left you broken on. his eyes are still as blue as the mediterranean, yet they appear almost cold. not exactly towards you, but they hold the weight of a man betrayed by his country. he doesn’t move, unsure of how you’ll respond, especially with a gun in your hand. his eyes linger on the weapon and his heart breaks. he hates that he’s the reason you need it. it doesn’t look right being held between the fingers that used to intertwine with his own.

you take a moment to look him over. he’s clad in a worn suit, the colors faded yet it fits him perfectly in all the right places. you can see the rigidity in his shoulders and jaw. he’s tense, nervous. his hair is darker, longer and his full beard is a deep contrast to his usual ‘captain america’ clean shaven look. yet underneath it all, he’s still your steve.

he sighs in relief when you let him in. you’re here. and you’re safe. your presence feels like home. it restores the emptiness of his heart. it was like seeing colors for the first time. steve feels whole- like a puzzle piece complete.

he wants to engulf you in his arms and never let you go, but he respects your space and follows you into the kitchen. his steps are heavy behind you and as much as you love having steve with you, it’s weird having him home again.

“tea huh?”

“how and why are you here?” you ask turning around. steve notices your jaw tick. your tone is harsh, but steve is just glad to hear your voice.

his response is simple and it angers you. “i missed you.”

“you missed me? steve, you’ve been gone for almost two years. no call. no text. no letter. no- no nothing in months,” by now the tears are flowing, “i- i thought you were dead.”

you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. you were beyond happy that steve was home and you understood that saving the world came first. you accepted that your relationship would be put on the back burner, but it didn’t seem fair.

he takes a hesitant step forward. at this distance you can see a faded scar on his cheek bone- one that wasn’t there when he left. “i made you a promise, didn’t i.”

“how are you, darling?” steve mutters, somewhere halfway around the world.

“i’m okay. the weather isn’t great. i’m kinda missing our rainy day cuddles…and you. i really really miss you, steve.”

he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth to hold back a shaky sigh. he wants nothing else but to hold you. “i’ll be home. i don’t know when, but i promise i’m gonna make it home to you.”

he did make a promise and you were mad at him for keeping it. not that he blamed you. you had a right to be angry at him and your situation.

steve stays put as you approach him. your tears start to slow as you reach up to cradle his bearded jaw in your hands. he sighs in relief. your touch makes him feel at peace and your skin between his fingertips spreads a warmth through him that had been absent since the day he left. he savors this moment because he knows it won’t last for long. in two days, sam is going to show up at your door and whisk him away back into hiding.

“thank you for keeping your promise,” you whisper.

tentatively, steve’s lips brush against your own. “i’m sorry i couldn’t have come back sooner.” before you respond, he kisses you fully. it’s gentle and slow and full of all the love you could muster from the last two years. it reminds you of your first kiss.

“i really like you, rogers, but i’m not sure i can commit to this relationship.”

the blonde tugs you in between his legs, fingers latched onto your hips. he’s got that lazy smirk dancing across his lips as he hums. “oh yeah? and why is that?”

“you haven’t kissed me yet.”

that moment seemed ages ago. since then, you’ve experienced firsthand what it was like to love and be loved. you’ve also experienced the anxiety and the pain and the heartache. those moments are in your rearview, however, as you hold your heart in your hands.

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #nomad steve #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans x reader

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eddie-sweetheart · 2 years

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🏕 Camp Lovers Lake - Chapter Eight 🏕

An Eddie Munson x Female Reader summer camp story. Set just before the beginning of season 3 of Stranger Things, with a few diversions from the original plot of the series.

🏕 Chapters List

Pairing and tropes • Eddie Munson x Henderson Female Reader - fluff, forced proximity, slightly slow burn, summer camp clichés ♥︎

Summary • June, 1985. Close to the city of Hawkins, Indiana, the placid waters of Lovers Lake stand as the perfect background for the homonymous summer camp, where you’re about to be a counselor for the last time before senior year and then, hopefully, college. Your brother Dustin Henderson won’t be with you this year, as he’s chosen to attend Camp Know Where until July - but with your best friend Robin Buckley at your side and the unexpected addition of Steve Harrington to your duo, the upcoming months seem to promise endless fun and exciting adventures nonetheless. However, as you get closer to Eddie Munson, resident metalhead and drug dealer who’s been forced by his uncle to work at Camp Lovers Lake after another missed graduation, your plans for the summer might have to go in an unexpected direction.

Chapter warnings • Swearing, attempted SA, (underage) drinking.

Chapter notes • I just wanted to say a big thank you to all of you who read, share, like, and comment this story: it wouldn't really happen without you and all your kind words lately have really given me the right motivation to keep going with this fic! I'm sorry if the updates are slow, and I hope you'll like this chapter as much as I loved writing it. Thank you for sticking around 🤍 I see you, and I'm grateful!

Chapter word count: 7.1 k

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

Finally, sleep.

It’s incredible how wearing warm clothes after spending time in the cold can work wonders for sleepless people - especially if mixed with an unexpected dose of adrenaline and excitement that is suddenly wearing down.

Too caught up in your own (for once, positive) thoughts about the almost-kiss with Eddie and his invite to see him and his band at the Hideout this weekend, you don’t really register getting back to the cabin, changing into your spare dry pajama and sneaking into bed, among sheets that unexpectedly feel as soft as a cloud and as comfortable as a hug.

That’s Eddie’s power, you guess, as you finally drift off into a calm, shapeless dream: being able to make you unwind, forget the bad things, and look forward to something good. It’s the way his hands feel so right when they wander on your skin, the inner beauty you were able to catch beyond his starry gaze; how he held you close, to protect you without imposing himself. Always the unexpected, snarky gentleman, always with a laugh to share and ironic jokes that mean everything but resignation.

You can’t wait to see him again, tomorrow - which is probably today already, you realize with sleepy glee as you roll around in your bed, the sheets up to your neck like a cozy cocoon. You also realize that you'll have to ask Steve and Robin about sneaking out, but you’re so happy and free of worries that you’re sure they’ll say yes. The hoot of an owl seems to confirm that thought. Then, it’s all dark, and you’re fast asleep.

— 🏕 —

Knock knock.

You turn around, pushing your face against the warm pillow and grunting lightly. You pretend you didn't hear the sound - you really want to ignore it, the comfortable safety of sleep still within your reach, the empty, calming dream still at the tip of your fingers…

Knock knock.

It’s louder this time, but you’re more determined than that. The bedsheets instantly rush to cover your head, their white cotton held tightly in place by your hands as you try once again to drift off. But now the light has reached you behind your eyelids, and it’s annoyingly luminous. So very hard to ignore.

“Hellooooo, anyone home?” The creak of the wooden door and then Robin’s voice fills the room. You’re doomed once and for all, and if it wasn’t for your friendship she would be, too.

“Jesus” you groan, staying under the covers with your eyes shut. “I was sleeping, Robin. What time is it?”

Robin takes a few steps closer to your bed, and you can smell something tempting and delicious: maple syrup?

“Good morning, sleepyhead” she says, lifting up the corner of the bedsheet and peeking underneath. “You really shouldn’t be this mad, because it’s almost midday. I covered for you, saying something about 'that time of the month' and God, it’s embarrassing how that works every single time, like clockwork. And, I brought you pancakes. So stop being a grumpy kid, get out of there and tell me what you and Munson were up to last night - and pleeeease let it be all kinds of naughty things”.

You blush violently, and wonder if you should try to hide your embarrassment by rolling to the other side of the bed and pretending you’re still half asleep; however, you quickly decide that sooner or later you’d really want to tell Robin everything about last night. So, no time like the present - especially since your friend has already acknowledged the redness spreading on your face with a cheeky smirk.

“Before I explain” you say, climbing down the bed and heading towards the full plate Robin has left on the small desk, “how did you know?”

Robin knowingly scoffs. “You should thank your friend Steve” she says, “he’s way more observant than I thought, even if I bet it’s mostly unintentional. He kept rambling about how his clothes were soaking wet this morning because Eddie put his own dripping pajama on top of them and Eddie blushed - I mean, can you believe it? Hardcore, rebel, trademark metalhead Eddie Munson actually blushed - groaning something like ‘come on man, I said I’m sorry, can you leave it?’ and at that point I put two and two together just like that” she concludes, snapping her fingers in your face with a proud smile. “Because, of course, this morning my foot was welcomed by a pool of lake water right as I got up, since you left your own equally wet pajama on the floor”.

You give her an apologetic smile, your mouth full of food. “Sorry, Robs” you mumble, “I didn’t want to wake you up”.

Robin smiles, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Please, at least tell me it was worth it”.

“Well”, you carefully reply after gulping down a piece of pancake, “I think we almost kissed”.

Robin’s eyes grow wider and wider, her eyebrows shooting up and her mouth opening into a flabbergasted “O”.

“WHAT?” She exclaims, grabbing your arm and shaking you excitedly, her contagious smile making you giggle. “What do you mean you think? And what the hell is an almost kiss? Oh my god, I knew I was right, I knew it!”

You tell her all the details from last night’s occurrences, from the mysterious creature lurking on the banks of Lovers Lake to the trip on the canoe, your heartfelt speeches and the closeness between the two of you, and then the unexpected bath in the cold waters of the lake. As you tell her everything, you find yourself re-examining all the little gestures and moments you shared with Eddie, trying once again to understand if that kiss was actually going to happen. And even if a part of you almost doesn’t want to believe it, as it would be definitely too good to be true, by the time your story has reached the goodnight greetings outside Eddie’s cabin, you realize that yes - that kiss was 99% going to actually happen. And that realization takes your breath away - in the best possible meaning, of course.

“Okay” Robin says, watching you finish your breakfast with a big smile, “so what now? I mean, we need to find a way to make you guys get to the bottom of it”.

As you move away from the desk and start getting dressed for the day, or whatever’s left of it, you smile at her use of “we”. And you remember the second most important detail from last night.

“There’s a concert this weekend” you say, throwing your white and green camp t-shirt on, “Eddie and his band are playing. It’ll be at the Hideout, which apparently is not far from here, at 10 pm. Eddie invited me… us, really. You and Steve, too. Oh, and we’ll need to take Steve’s car because the others are going with their friend Grant, who’s their bassist, and it’s going to be so cool and maybe, I don’t know, me and Eddie could…”

“Y/N” Robin interrupts you, “are you telling me that you want us to sneak out of camp, go to a biker bar and listen to a metal concert?”

You stop in your tracks, your poor rambling diversion completely ignored by Robin - as you should have expected, since that’s usually her own tactic. So, in order to convince her, you opt for your best attempt at puppy eyes.

“Please, Robin, it would mean so so so much to me, pleaseee“ you try, going as far as to clasp your hands together in prayer.

“Begging, really? Are we at this point already?” Robin wonders with a shake of her head, but the smile on her face is everything but mocking. “But, I guess, if it makes you happy, I’ll do this illegal and frankly crazy thing for you. But just this once” she finally concedes, earning a hug and an excited grin.

“God, if he does anything to wipe that smile off of your face, I’ll break his neck” Robin mutters as you link your arm to hers and make your way outside.

— 🏕 —

“But why do we need to use my car?”

Somehow, in all your grand plans to make Corroded Coffin’s concert the highlight of the summer, both you and Robin kind of took Steve's agreement for granted. However, after telling him the plan while accurately avoiding any reference to the romantic side of the endeavor, his blank reply makes you realize that maybe you shouldn’t have.

“Because you’re the only one of us who has a driving license” Robin bluntly replies, popping up from behind a tree with a handful of dry, fallen branches in her hands. You’re collecting wood to burn at the Great Bonfire, the official camp version of your very own clandestine experience.

“And, because you’re our dearest, favorite friend” you echo her, grabbing a few sticks from the ground and placing them in the basket hanging from your arm. “Come on, we really want you to come with us. It’ll be cool, and we’ll have fun”.

Steve looks at you with curiosity. “I’ve heard about the Hideout” he says, and the fact that he still hasn’t agreed is starting to make your stomach drop. “I mean, it’s surely a place, but I don’t know about the fun. Unless you like bars that are packed with old bikers with long beards and where they only play rock or metal music”.

“Come on, Harrington” Robin affectionately jokes, throwing one arm around his shoulders and squeezing, “let’s try something different for once. And don’t try to play the good boy card: you might have never sneaked out of camp before, but I know it's not the first time you’ve done something like this - and yes, this time it won’t be for a girl, but see it this way: you’ll do it for two girls. What do you think?”

Steve loudly groans, almost dropping his own basket in an attempt to shrug Robin off of him, but when he speaks again he says exactly what you’ve hoped for. “Alright, alright. But we’re coming back at midnight”.

You and Robin (not so) silently cheer behind his back.

“What day is it going to be?” Steve asks, going back to inspect the ground for more wood.

“Uhm” you hesitate, realizing that you actually don’t know. “I’ll have to ask Eddie. He didn’t really specify it”.

Steve pops one eyebrow up at you, but as he’s about to say something Robin shoves him with a wide grin. “Lovely” she says, making her way back to the cabins and dragging you both with her, “let’s ask him tonight then”.

And tonight it is, indeed - as you’ll all be together at the Great Bonfire.

As soon as the sun lowers on the farther edge of the lake, its rays glittering red and warm on the flat surface of the water, campers and counselors alike start grouping up around the huge pile of wood and branches you’ve collected during the day. The Great Bonfire is one of the most beloved traditions at Camp Lovers Lake, turning dinner time into an unofficial roasting contest that ranges from classic sausages and marshmallows to melted cheese and burnt corn.

Once you get there with Robin, the fire has just been started and Eddie, Steve, Gareth and Jeff are already sitting beside it, right in the middle of the crowd of chattering teenagers and excited little kids.

“Good evening ladies” Jeff greets you, scooting along the tree trunk he’s sitting on to make some space for you to join them, “we saved you a seat and some food. You won’t believe how feral these little ones are - we’ve almost run out of corn already”.

Both you and Robin sit down and thank him as you grab the handful of sticks he’s offering you, with all sorts of vegetables and sausages stuck on them. Right behind you, on the outer sitting circle around the fire, you can hear Eddie, Steve and Gareth arguing about something that sounds like the best meat-to-cheese ratio on skewers.

“Hey, Eddie” you call out as you turn around, careful not to be too loud.

Immediately stopping his argument in support of Gareth’s “infallible 2/3 solution”, Eddie turns to you with a big smile that reaches deep into his dark, beautiful eyes.

“Hello, princess” he says, placing his elbows on his knees as he leans forward and closer to you, his ringed hands dangling between his legs. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all day”.

You blush, and this time you’re not so ready to blame it on the heat of the fire - even though it’s due to something that highly resembles it.

“That’s because I turned into a lumberjack today. See all that?” you joke, nodding towards the roaring flames, “we went out into the woods to make this beauty happen”.

Eddie nods, amazed. “I see” he says, the fire glittering in the dark of his eyes, “that’s hot. Like, literally”.

You look at him stunned for a second, before bursting out into a laugh that he joins immediately, making the others turn their heads with a curios frown - and a satisfied, knowing smirk from Robin.

“So, what day is the concert this weekend?” You ask Eddie as you try to take a breath between one fit of giggling and the other.

“Oh, Jesus Christ” Eddie sighs, drying one tear with the heel of his hand, “I didn’t say it, did I? It’s Saturday”

Your heart starts beating a little faster with anticipation. “So in two days. Cool, thanks” you say, turning back around towards the fire to stick your dinner among the flames.

A small movement of the air behind you and the sudden increase in your body temperature, completely unrelated to the heat of the bonfire, let you know that Eddie’s leaning forward, closing the space between the two of you.

“I can’t wait” he whispers in your ear, his breath (or his hair?) tickling the back of your neck.

— 🏕 —

Friday somehow goes by, your impatience for the weekend to come and the tedious tasks of kitchen duty making it an endless day of prepping and serving meals and scrubbing pans until they’re squeaky clean under the hawk-like gaze of Mrs. Janet. By the end of dinner, your hands are swollen and dry, but you really don’t care - because, once you wake up the next morning just as the sun rises above the farthest shore of Lovers Lake, Saturday is finally here.

You don’t see Eddie for the whole morning, and for the whole day really. You only manage to catch a glimpse of him at lunch, as he comes with Gareth and Jeff to the Headquarters to grab a sandwich and a coke, say hi and disappear back into his cabin with the other two at his heels.

“They don’t have their guitars and stuff here, so they couldn’t practice for tonight” Steve explains to you and Robin as you go back to your meal, trying to hide a tiny little pang of disappointment at not being able to spend some time with Eddie before the concert. “So, he’s stressing them out by going over and over the tracklist and examining each song into detail that it’s way heavier than the metal music they’re going to play. Oh, and of course I’m banned from my own cabin for the rest of the day. Go figure if that’s fair” Steve complains, shaking his head as he pokes at his food.

“You can stay at ours if you want” Robin says, kicking him lightly under the wooden table with the tip of her shoe, “enjoy some girl time, paint your nails for the show, maybe. I bet you’d love that”.

Steve grunts, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Thanks, Buckley” he annoyedly replies, “but I really don’t think that’ll be necessary. He’ll have to let me in after dinner, if he wants me to get changed, get my keys and drive your lot to the Hideout. I mean, it’s my cabin, too”.

Robin lifts her palms up in surrender. “As you wish. Good luck with that”.

As always, of course, Robin was right. Not even the luckiest planet alignment in the universe could have helped Steve in his mighty task: Corroded Coffin’s dedication to their music and to the upcoming show is way stronger than Steve’s right to get back in his cabin, as it clearly turns out once he comes knocking at your door straight after lights out.

“Hello, big boy” Robin welcomes him, moving away from the entrance as she holds the door open to let him in. “Ready for your makeover?”

Steve doesn’t even reply, his mood darker than the night sky outside. He steps in silently, greeting you with an acknowledging nod and puffing with exasperation as he sits down on the desk’s chair, a bundle of clothes in his lap.

“So they gave you your stuff, then” you observe before going back to impatiently rummaging into your travel bag, desperately looking for something that doesn’t scream off-duty camp counselor.

“They threw them at me” Steve specifies with a piqued tone, “from the window. I think it was Gareth, but they closed it so fast I couldn’t even see. At least they remembered the keys”.

“Come on, dingus, relax” Robin states, offering him a beer can still dewy with condensation. “Drink this. We stole a few from the stash”.

“Robin, he has to drive” you observe, causing Robin’s eyes to widen and snatch the can away from Steve’s grasp just as he’s reaching out for it.

“Seriously?” Steve protests, dropping his hands in his lap on top of the clothes.

Robin lifts her eyebrows, handing the can to you instead. “I’m sorry, Steve, but I’m not risking my life in a car accident, dying in the middle of the night in these creepy woods with wild beasts ready to feast on our corpses just because you decided to drink and drive”.

“But you just offered it to me!” Steve hisses.

“Yeah, well, on second thought I think she needs it more than us” Robin replies, making Steve’s head turn towards you as she does the same.

“Yeah” he says, suddenly calmer and more collected, “I think you might be right”.

You haven’t even realized it, but you’ve scattered all of your clothes on Robin’s bed, which now looks like the aftermath of an explosion. Your foot is nervously tapping on the cabin’s floor, and you’re gnawing at your nails while sipping beer and staring with wide eyes at the mess of t-shirts and jeans, without a clue of what you’ll wear. Sure, from the outside you might actually look a little crazy.

With a sigh, Robin comes to you and moves a few items of clothing away until she finds what she’s looking for. As you look at her with hope and surrender, she picks up a denim miniskirt and an oversized white shirt and throws them at you. You grab them with your free hand, holding on for dear life to the beer can in the other.

“With the black boots” she says, then she moves to her own suitcase and after a few seconds of poking around she takes out a slightly big black leather blazer and hands it over to you. “Add this and you’ll be okay. And take care of it, it’s my favorite”.

You look at her in surprise and, somehow, the outfit starts to make sense in your head. Then, Robin grabs a pair of dark green shorts for herself and pairs them with a cream-colored button-down with black leaves printed on it.

“Come on, Harrington” she exclaims, clapping her hands at him and receiving a confused look in return. “Ugh, turn around, close your eyes, do something for god’s sake”.

Steve groans as he gets up and turns towards the door, leaning his forehead against it as he closes his eyes, probably regretting his decision to agree to this mayhem while you and Robin get changed.

“Are you done?” He asks after a few seconds, and once you give him the go-ahead he turns back around again. His eyes widen as he looks at you both.

“Oh” he says, “you look good without the camp t-shirt. I mean, with something else than that”.

“Perv” Robin scoffs, rolling her eyes, but her smirk reveals that she actually appreciates the comment. As you do, really, even if it’s someone else’s opinion you’re really caring about tonight.

Steve makes you both exit the cabin as it’s his turn to get changed. While you wait in the dark, Robin pokes at you with her elbow.

“He’s going to faint when he sees you” she states, making you blush a little. “You look hot, y/n. And it’s all because of my jacket”.

You smile at her. You don’t know if she’s right, but for now it’s all you need to hear. “Thanks, Robin. I don’t know what I’d do without you”.

“You probably wouldn’t get laid” she says, and you both giggle in the night.

In the distance, you hear the rumble of an engine and as you turn around towards the camp’s entrance you notice two tiny luminous dots among the trees. They stop for a minute or two, then you hear a door shutting closed and then the dots disappear.

“That must’ve been their ride” Robin observes. You look at your watch and realize that it’s half past nine.

“Come on Steve, hurry up” you whisper while knocking softly on the cabin door. You’d yell at him, if only you didn’t have to avoid getting caught.

Thankfully, the door opens almost immediately, letting out a panting Steve - who looks exactly the same except for a blue polo.

“What?” He asks you and Robin, who are throwing confused and annoyed looks at him just as you start hurrying towards the parking lot.

“What the hell took you so long?” You ask, scanning the area to look for his car. “You’re basically wearing the same clothes”.

Steve stops in his tracks, looking at you with an offended glare. “I had to fix my hair” he replies, patting the pockets of his jeans. “And now that you’ve rushed me out, I can’t find my keys”.

“Maybe you’ve left them in the cabin” Robin groans, “go check”.

Steve rushes back, muttering something under his breath. Five minutes pass, and he still hasn’t come back. You look at your watch: it’s 9:45 pm.

“You know, it won’t be that bad if we get a little late” Robin tentatively tells you, easily guessing your thoughts. “Guys love to be kept waiting. Or so I’ve heard”.

You sigh, getting closer to Steve’s car and checking yourself in the dark reflection of its windows. Of course, your make-up had to come out decently on the day you’re going to miss Eddie’s concert.

“Got them” Steve whispers loudly as he finally appears back from the woods, his car keys jingling in his hands. “They were under the bed. Let’s go”.

Your heart beats faster as you get in the passenger’s seat, while Steve starts the engine and Robin almost literally throws herself on the backseat. Steve keeps the headlights off and drives as slow as possible until he’s out of the parking lot; then, once you finally hit the road and the Camp Lovers Lake sign gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, Robin leans forward between the two of you in the front to turn the radio on and the volume up to a Scorpions song. Adrenaline and excitement, as well as the realization of what you’re doing, finally hit you all and make you sing along to “Rock You Like A Hurricane” at the top of your lungs.

— 🏕 —

As fast as Steves dares to drive, however, you finally reach the Hideout at 10:20 pm.

Turns out that looking for a place you’ve never been to in the dark of the night isn’t that easy, even if it should be right at the side of the road. Thankfully, after a few wrong turns and a lot of bickering, Steve’s BMW slows down into the large parking lot of a battered pub, whose neon sign confirms indeed that, finally, it’s the Hideout you’ve been looking for.

Steve manages to park the car between a truck and two motorcycles, not without some difficulty as the place is packed with all kinds of vehicles and people walking around, making it way different from the “crowd of five drunks” Eddie told you about.

The bar itself seems quite spacious - sure, it’s not huge, but judging from the number of bikers and customers going in and out, it looks like it could hold quite a decent crowd.

You make your way past some bearded men with distressed denim vests and giant beers in their hands, and for a moment you feel like a fool. They must be wondering what three late teens who are clearly underage are doing in a place like this, one wearing a polo and the others looking like lost sheep; they’re probably mocking you, and maybe they’ll try to pick a fight or something, and you’re not really sure that Steve would be able to face them all… but as you brush past them, they don’t even seem to notice you. Well, one of them actually does, at some point, but his reaction is nothing but a small smile and a silent cheer as he lifts his beer at you.

It feels surreal to you, but you smile back - and then, Steve pushes the door open and suddenly it’s all loud music, and smoke, and lights. And people, lots of people.

“I thought he said it was small” Robin yells in your ear, trying to overcome her shock and the loud rock’n’roll jamming that’s happening on a small stage at your left, far back into the room.

A waitress that looks 40 but with the body and the outfit of a teenager walks fast beside you, pushing a few bikers away as the six drinks on her tray dangerously shake and tilt, but never fall.

“I thought so, too” you yell back, looking around and trying to make sense of your surroundings - and hopefully, find Eddie and the rest of your friends.

To your right, a long wooden counter separates three busy bartenders from a crowd of people standing against it - both men and women, mostly wearing denim, leather and boots while laughing and chatting loudly. Not far from them, towards the center of the room, there are many small, round tables scattered all over, with customers drinking and smoking and occasionally eating large hamburgers and platters of brownish fries. Some of them are nibbling handfuls of peanuts, whose shells are littering the floor and being reduced to dust as boots crash and walk on them.

Just beyond that set of tables, there’s another group of people standing - but these ones are dancing to the music, half-empty glasses spilling all kinds of drinks as they move and shake their heads to the fast rhythm of some rock song, which you don’t know.

Thankfully, in spite of your lateness, as soon as your eyes land back on the stage to identify the source of the music, you notice that the band playing is definitely not Corroded Coffin. You start wondering how long a set lasts, thinking that maybe you’ve completely missed Eddie’s performance, but your attention is grabbed by a tap on your shoulder before you can give yourself an answer.

“Look” Steve mouths, pointing to a poster stuck on a wall beside the entrance and displaying some colorful words on a black and white picture of a man playing the guitar. On top of the poster, you read the words Live Music Night and below the guitarist there’s a timetable with a list of bands and what seems to be the time they’re going to play; someone, however, must have corrected the setlist, as a double-headed arrow pointing both at the 10 pm and 11 pm slots seems to suggest that Corroded Coffin and The Red Strings have switched places.

You take a deep breath in relief, knowing you still have some time before Eddie’s going to play.

“Let’s go find them” you shout at Steve and Robin, but she’s already done that.

“They’re right there” she exclaims, nodding towards a table at the opposite side of the room. You follow her gaze and your heart skips a beat as soon as you catch a glimpse of him.

If you thought that seeing Eddie at the secret bonfire meant seeing him at his best and in his element, you now realize that you were completely wrong. The way his slightly crooked smile is shining, putting his dimples on full display, and the way his eyes are glittering even this far away from you, right as he sips his beer and laughs at something Jeff has said, literally takes your breath away. And it’s not just how completely comfortable and confident he seems in this place - he looks incredibly hot, as well. His wild hair and messy fringe are partly covered by a black bandana with skulls printed on it, tied on top of his head and making his curls stick out a little more than usual; he’s wearing his usual black leather jacket, but instead of the denim vest you’ve already seen on him he’s styled it with a black and red checkered shirt left open underneath it. Under that, you spot a black t-shirt with a white, spiky font spelling out “Corroded Coffin”. And, to top it all off, a beautiful dark red electric guitar is hanging across his back, making him look like the star he is.

You see Eddie put down his glass as he nods absentmindedly at the conversation Jeff, Gareth and another guy you’ve never seen before are having; then, he scans the room with his eyebrows slightly furrowed - and his eyes finally land on yours.

His whole face lights up and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen blooms on his lips as he lifts an arm and starts waving a hand to make you see him. You smile back and you could swear you’re floating on cloud nine as you make your way towards his table, gently pushing people away as you move through the crowd, Robin and Steve right behind you.

Eddie’s eyes never leave yours, but as you’re about to make it past a particularly tight-knit group of customers the energy in the room suddenly shifts. All it takes for your heart to break is a few seconds: the perfect slot of time for a young, blonde woman to reach them before you do, drop a couple of beers on the table, sit down right on Eddie’s lap and place a kiss on his blushing cheek as she swings an arm around his shoulders.

The smile freezes on your lips and you almost stop in your tracks, but as Robin unexpectedly trips behind you she pushes you forward, making you cover whatever space is left between you and your friends with a few tumbling steps.

“Hey, guys!” Jeff exclaims, standing up from his seat to welcome you. “You’ve made it! See, Eddie? I told you so”.

Eddie looks up at you, tempting another smile as he says an unusually shy “Hi”. You manage to smile back and utter a “Hi” yourself, your mind going on autopilot as you’re trying to process what’s going on.

“Oh, so these are your friends” the girl says with a grin before tightening her grip on Eddie’s shoulders and shaking him a little bit. “Thank god you guys switched place with The Red Strings, uh? Hi, I’m Barbara”.

You don’t know if the weird note in her voice is irony, but you’re too caught up in realizing how beautiful she looks to understand it. You’re still staring at her incredibly tight and low-cut leather dress and fishnet tights when Robin addresses her, trying to make your silence less awkward.

“I’m Robin, that’s Steve and she’s y/n” she says, holding out her hand and shaking Barbara’s. “Eddie’s surely mentioned her- I mean, us?”

“Oh, well” Barbara says, looking down at Eddie and then back at you. “Actually no, not really, but it’s nice to meet you! Are you ready for the show?”

For the next fifteen minutes, you completely ignore Eddie, even if he tries to speak to you across the table. You pretend you don’t hear his vague questions and his attempts at starting a conversation, and instead you focus on Grant, the fourth member of the band that you’re meeting for the first time, and on drinking shot after shot - leaving Robin to deal with an increasingly confused and worried Eddie.

After a while, the band on stage stops playing and a wave of applause and loud cheers accompanies them as they climb down the wooden platform, their songs now replaced by a rock playlist echoing from some speakers on the ceiling. The short break before the next live performance doesn’t stop people from dancing and singing, though.

After you gulp down another glass of whatever’s liquor the waitress is bringing to the table (“bottomless drinks are one of the few perks of unpaid shows” Grant jokes), you feel Robin’s hand squeeze your arm.

“Hey” she says, looking at you with a worried smile, “Come dance with me?”

“Sure” you nod, not really understanding why she’s suddenly so eager to hit the dance floor. Steve looks up at you, not interrupting his conversation with Jeff and Gareth, and keeps staring as you both stand up and head towards the group of people moving to the first notes of another rock song - one that you’ve heard before, but whose title you can’t really recall.

“Y/n” Robin asks you once you’re hidden among the crowd, “are you okay?”

You scoff, and you remember that it’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Leppard. You like the song, and you start moving to its rhythm.

“I mean, maybe she’s just a friend” Robin tries, following your movements as best as she can and unexpectedly making you smile. A smile that soon turns sour as you see Steve talking to her back at the table, and wondering why he’s making friends with the enemy.

“Yeah” you say, “because I sit on your lap and smooch you all the time, right? Is that what friends do?”

Robin shrugs. “I don’t see why he would have asked you to come, then. If he knew she’d be here”.

“Maybe he didn’t” you reply, barely noticing a particularly drunk guy almost crashing into you. “Or maybe he knew, and since he doesn’t really feel what we thought he felt, it wasn’t a problem. After all, who am I to him? He didn’t even tell her we were coming”.

Robin grabs you by your shoulders, keeping you still in place. “Listen, we might not know who she is, but I know for sure that he likes you. Don’t even try to argue with me about that. I also know that right now you’re upset and all, but we came here to have fun: so why don’t we try to actually have some and maybe find out more about her later? We might even ask her, to clear things up once and for all. But let’s dance a bit first, yeah? To take the edge off”.

You don’t know if that makes total sense to you, but for now you agree. You’ll trust Robin to make any decision tonight. You’ll just follow her lead. And it actually feels nice, dancing in the crowd to the guitar riffs of the song, swaying your hips and lifting your arms up as you sing along, the alcohol in your system making everything seem ethereal and not really that big of a problem. Even the table at the edge of the room feels miles away - unlike Eddie’s eyes, though, which are glued on you, making you almost feel his gaze as you move and dance under the neon lights of the Hideout.

You twirl, but the music changes and the crowd moves, and in the blink of an eye you lose sight of Robin. As you turn around to look for her, you end up against something - someone, actually, and as you look up you realize that it’s the drunk guy that almost crashed into you earlier.

“Hey” he exclaims, sneaking a hand around your waist and pulling you closer to him, “What’s a beautiful young lady like you doing here at this hour?”

You try to push him away, looking around for Robin, but he’s strong, and you can smell the alcohol on him as he moves his face closer to yours.

“Come on, don’t be so uptight” he whispers in your ear, and with a cold shiver of dread you realize that while he’s keeping you against him with one hand, the other is slithering down your back and towards the edge of your skirt.

It never reaches it, however, because someone grabs the guy from the collar of his shirt and yanks him away from you.

“Don’t fucking touch her, man” Eddie almost growls, positioning himself between you and the guy, his arm protectively and gently moving you behind him.

“Woah, calm down” the guy replies, staggering. “We were just having some fun. Right, gorgeous?”

You instinctively grab Eddie’s arm, holding on to it as he tenses up.

“I don’t think so” Eddie says, slowly, “Now go and don’t ever come close to her again, you understand?”

“Or what?” The guy says, frowning as he crackles his knuckles, making you shiver.

You see Eddie’s fists tighten, but before things escalate Steve and the others appear almost out of thin air.

“Come on, dude” Steve says, taking a step closer to the guy, followed by the others. “Go have another drink and sleep it off, yeah? It’s not worth it, there’s five of us”.

The guy stares at him and then he starts walking backward. “Keep your fucking girlfriend on a leash next time” he says, spitting at Eddie’s feet before disappearing into the crowd.

Eddie doesn’t give him a second glance, as he’s too busy turning towards you and grabbing your face with his hands.

“You okay, y/n? Did that asshole hurt you?” He asks, his dark brown eyes scanning your face with worry, and for a second you forget all about Barbara.

“I’m fine” you reply, “really”.

Eddie sighs in relief. “Good. That’s good” he says, the tips of his fingers absentmindedly grazing your cheek.

“You saved the day, Prince Charming” Barbara exclaims, bringing you back down to reality. Hard. “Now hurry and go get ready backstage, before they cancel your gig. Hush hush”.

Eddie gives you one last smile before dropping his hands away from you, adjusting the strap of his guitar and walking away with Jeff, Gareth and Grant right behind him.

“Let’s go sit, shall we?” Barbara says, grabbing you under your arm and leading you away from the crowd. You look at Robin, and she shrugs as you all get back to the table.

There isn’t any music now, only the loud chatter of the bikers and bar customers occasionally interrupted by high-pitched feedback sounds as a few staff members are fixing the microphones and adjusting the speakers on stage.

“So, is this the first time you’re seeing them live?” Barbara asks you as she takes a sip of her beer.

“Yeah, it is” you tentatively reply, drumming your fingers on the table.

Barbara smirks. “Oh, you’ll love them. I’m always here when they play, and their shows are always amazing - especially the backstage celebrations, if you know what I mean” she says, winking. “And Eddie… he’s special, that one. If you’ll ever get to know him like I do, you’ll see that music is not his only talent. The boy surely has many, I promise you that”. She concludes with a sigh and a giggle.

If you weren’t sure what to make of her until now, now you do. You know girls code too well not to get what she means, and by the stunned look on Robin’s face you know she gets it, too.

A presenter walks on stage, but you can’t see him that well, since tears blur your sight and threaten to fall down your cheeks. He talks into the microphone, speaking a few words to introduce the next band, a small metal group from Hawkins that’s played at the Hideout before, and whose name makes cheers erupt from the crowd.

“Steve” Robin suddenly says as Corroded Coffin walk on stage, “I don’t think I feel very well - must be something I ate at dinner”.

You all turn towards her to see her grimace and hold her stomach with both hands.

“Jesus, Robin, are you sure?” Steve asks, his eyebrows up in surprise.

Robin nods eagerly, her eyes on yours. You understand and giver her a small, almost unintelligible nod.

“Yeah, it hurts sooooo bad” she complains, closing her eyes and breathing deep.

Barbara rushes to grab her bag, opening it and poking around inside it. “Maybe I have a pill or something, would you…”

“Oh no” Robin shakes her head, interrupting her. “I think it’s better if we go… Steve, can you drive us back?”

Steve looks back and forth between you and Robin, uncertain. You hear a few tuning riffs coming from the stage, but you don’t look.

“Yeah, let’s take her back to camp” you quickly say, sniffing briefly.

“But the show…” Steve observes, softly staring at you.

You shrug, getting up just as Eddie introduces himself and the band to the crowd. “It’s fine, we’ll come to the next one. Can you tell them it was an emergency?” You ask Barbara, who’s worriedly looking at a suffering Robin.

“Yes, sure” she replies, “They’ll be so bummed. I mean, Eddie-“

“Cool, thank you so much” Robin says, jumping to her feet and grabbing you with one hand while holding her belly with the other. “It was nice meeting you. See you next time!”.

With a fairly confused Steve following you, you walk across the room to head outside and go back to the fresh air of the night, the door closing behind you just as the first few notes of Corroded Coffin’s opening song start playing.

— 🏕 —

Hope you enjoyed this chapter :) Feedback is always welcome!

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stevie-petey · 1 month

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m.......my word.......that chapter.......real excellence........literature has entered the arena......

there is so much good stuff packed in here, but i think i will (try to) focus on like, mainly 2 things, one being bug and jon soulmatism and the other being steve and bug lover era.

the two scenes, one right before jon leaves with joyce and nancy is SO heartbreakingly good. Her saying NO to him felt like such a needed thing, both to let go of jon and move on for both of them, but also to establish a real, firm boundary in ways she couldn't do before this. the way you described it was so beautiful, "There’s an ease within the shift, almost akin to a soft exhale in December’s cold. It parts you with a gentle farewell, strokes your cheek as it departs, and you can faintly see its outline as it floats away. " it's so soft and tender and it just feels soooo like saying goodbye to someone tenderly with a kiss it's crazy actually. the stroking her cheek makes it so good, it's so beautiful, it really is like the nicest and most gentle thing ever. i love how tactile you describe love. It's so wonderfully paired with the body aches of unrequited love bug feels, "A thread, one that has tugged within your chest in a painful ache since last year, finally loosens", and the imagery of jon and bug soulmate thread/thread of fate being sown into their chest and loosening as they grow to accept the fate/choices of this world is so interesting, and again, it's so hands on that it makes it quite literally feel more real. The thing that really broke me was this scene though, "He litters kisses up and down your neck, his breath tickling as he does so. “I’m sorry,” he says in between each kiss, as if his words will make the bruises fade faster." Coming out as a neck kisser lover, omgggg, this was sooo romantic and tragic and heartbreaking, it really reminded me of like, when fleabag and hot priest were sitting on that fucking bench going "it'll pass" to each other like okayyyyy. i'm SICK. SICK to my stomach with that.....the imagery of getting the shit beat outta you while trying to protect will and jon and max from monsters and like weirdo brothers after letting jon go and like allow both of you to move on AND THEN just lie with him for the last time......WHILE HE KISSES YOUR NECK REVERENTIALLY........pitching myself off of a dark cliff into croc infested waters hoping i can battle one of them to death nature doc style. ANd then dropping this line on me, "No more words are said, Jonathan presses kisses against your skin as your fingers interlock through his hair and you run your hand up and down his back. Somehow, you know this will be the last time you ever have him like this...Jonathan’s touch will soon become ghosts lingering on your skin, and selfishly you never want this moment to end." All the touching and grasping and innocent kissing because they know it'll be the last time and that they'll never get to experience it again and so they're just lying together not even doing anything......just touching each other and feeling the other's weight........oh my goodness gracious LORD. crazy to do M!!!! ANd omg when they agree they could have been something great......yeah siri play "the one" by taylor swift. no but seriously, that whole sequence was so excellent, and i really loved how tactile and gentle their last touches were, i think you repeated the december line by saying his touches on her were ghostly, and it's so nice how that plays out with both of them gently accepting that it's not going to be them two in this lifetime, and just sort of feeling the ghost of that possibility, that fate, that destiny, leave so gently, and not violently or graspingly or desperate, compared to earlier scenes.

I love how it transfers over to Nancy and Steve too. I thought these lines, when steve is helping her lie down right before jon comes back were so cool, "He’s here, offering you anything you need from him, and you’re exhausted from pretending that you don’t see it...The gentleness of his touch soothes you. You’ve never let anyone take care of you like this before. You let him play with your hair, wrap the blanket around you so that you won’t get cold, and when he finally seems pleased with his work, he flicks your nose and smiles." LIKE he's playing with her hair the way she played with jon's hair, and he's wrapping blankets around her and making her comfortable when SHE used to do that for JON and like everyone else and now she's getting the same treatment FINALLY. and again, the love is so gentle and so slow and tepid and it makes sense with these two too, with how hesitant bug even was to see him as an option/let him into his life at all (freezing him out for like months is so crazy i'm kind of obsessed with how that'll play out later on in their relationship), and how he needs time to feel and fall in love back......real excellence depicted in such a short scene! and i love that holding hands with steve heals "old and new wounds" that's so UGH!!!! i LOVE that steve who sort of wanted to take care of someone, but didn't know how to do it and was also dating someone who needed a different kind of support, is able to give that to bug who does need it! and sidenote, i love that jon helps nancy with her slay journalistic integrity plot and that nancy is able to be with someone who idk takes it seriously and i like that jon is with someone who sort of emotionally works from a similar place as him if that makes sense? idk i got off track there, but i just again, love love love the softness in the steve-bug start and bug-jon end. ALso this part, "It hit you like a warm, soft summer breeze. It swirled around you, kissed your skin the way only the sun can do, and you could almost smell the fresh summer honey that your dad used to buy for your birthday. The feeling was serene, it felt as easy as exhaling." briniging in warmth of summer of letting in steve and accepting nancy compared to the gentle winter of letting jon go.....love that down girl. Need someone to see me in a dress and be like damn she IS the soft summer sun STAT and i do think about leaving the cold winter breeze of my ex bsf frequently.

The ending gagged me bad btw!! I love that he upfront asks her to wait for him, to be patient with him, and outright calls her beautiful and an angel, i love how clear they are with each other instead of the sort of tightlipped tension that they had in the earlier part of the season and that jon and bug had in their we're-in-love-but-we-won't-tell-the-other that stretched YEARS. that's on open communication! I am sooooo excited for season 3 and see where it goes! honestly, i did not expect them to like, be like accepting of love, and understanding the other this quickly, i really thought it was going to be a case of maybe unrequited feelings 2: electric boogaloo where they both maybe idk struggle to find themselves good to fall in love, like steve is like on a self esteem binge and is like no way i can fall in love with her and bug would be on her i legit just got heartbroken don't need that right it's time for some me time grind, but i was pleasantly surprised with how much character development happened for both of them. i am still curious, as i mentioned, if bug's hesitation towards open vulnerability will present itself as a challenge in s3 and 4, and if steve's feelings of what the hell am i if not king will impact his side of feelings.

Also, loved nancy and bug best friendship. WAS NOT EXPECTING HER TO BE LIKE "STOLE UR BF SAWRY ABOUT THAT!" i was SHOCKED and BAMBOOZLED girl what's WRONG with you (affectionate)!!!! i love nancy god and i am also sooo interested in how nancy's "she's a better person than me" narrative will play out in the future, though i do want to say that her care package and bug's immediate boundary drawing was sweet, i'm sooo in love with them (and also briefly was like.........nancy x bug......we have misplaced the jealousy on various boys due to heteronormativity/internalised homophobia but actually this woman is fine as hell and i want to kiss her on the lips in a vision but we move forward).

Overall, just excellent work as per use, my apologies for this monstrosity of an ask, i just wanted to submit my essay on "The Tenderness of Touch: Love in Chapter 8 of Coming Home Season 2" to you and also i wanted to add that i know firsthand that while writing is absolutely a talent that you possess, it's also a skill and craft you work on and study to master, and that your work is appreciated and the hard work and dedication you put into this art is really seen by me at least, to the point where i myself am, at the risk of oversharing for a moment, sort of starting to look back at my own johnathan with some more grace and tenderness, to both of our younger selves, than i would have a couple months ago. We were girls together and I think that matters more than the end and I want you to know that your story helped emotionally with that.

P.S: I did have one quick question for you if u don't mind, what exactly you meant with this line, "He recognizes now that they didn’t stand a chance, though he’s happy they tried anyways. It was always going to end like this between them." Did he mean it in like a, "we have made our separate decisions and this is sort of bound to happen with growing up and we were inevitably going to not be each other's number 1, especially when we (cough I cough) have not treated each other as such for some time now so it's okay to live out that fallout and come up on the other side", or is it more of like a larger, "the stars weren't written for us under our sky, and that's okay because they did for while and that's what counts and maybe in another universe, under a different sky, they do?". i guess another way to phrase it would be if jon and bug believe their separation is through human action and its consequences, or destiny and fate, and i guess i want to ask if you agree/disagree with them.

hi my dear !!! you pointed out SO MUCH that ive been dying to discuss with yall, so for anyone who wants more insight into the final chapter of season 2 and the whole jon/bug/nancy/steve fiasco: keep reading !!

under the cut: jon and bugs separation and why steve and bug fell so hard so fast

writing the shift between jon and bug this chapter was extremely hard yet the easiest thing ive ever done. it felt natural and right, which i think made the whole thing more heartbreaking. it had to happen, the final push before their talk at the very end. when bug tells nancy to go with jon to hoppers cabin, it truly was the final acceptance. bug recognized she was no longer needed per say, how her connection/thread to jon has changed. she no longer is the one he needs, its nancy

which makes their conversation at the end just so much more raw and painful. theyve accepted whats happened now, they can see it, almost tangible, before them. all the threads and strings and lines theyve never crossed or unwoven, its now presented in front of them, and theyre finally ready to unravel from one another. as for jon being so tactile, which he almost never is with bug to such an extreme extent, its because he knew as well. this would be the last time hed ever kiss her, hold her, or have her all to himself, something hes so selfishly come to want only for himself. hes never, ever had to share her.

i wanted the scene to feel messy and melancholy yet answer all the unasked questions. theyve become so intertangled with one another, so engrossed, that its hard to separate who is who. for jon and bug, they will never be able to distinguish where one stops and the other starts; theyve become one, and they recognize that they couldve been so much more had there been time or the circumstances had been different. you cant simply grow up with someone, learn all their fears and vices and needs, and not come to love them as if they arent your entire breath.

as for bug and steve: YES !!! to everything youve said. this has been my one thing ive been trying to really pin down in terms of the difference between jon and steve !! they both love bug equally, but in their own distinct ways. jon loves bug with an obligation that comes from years of trust and mutual understanding. he will always take care of her because shes always taken care of him. now for steve, he takes care of bug because he wants to, because he recognizes that no one else has taken care of her the way shes taken care of everyone else. she hasnt LET anyone do this, and steve has such an excess of love within him that he cant help but let it overflow onto bug, to take care of her the way she deserves, and he does this because he can. because it comes naturally to him.

the love realization scenes for both jon n steve ,,, ive had that planned from the START !!!! ive been WAITING for someone to comment on the contrast between jons love realization being such a cold and cruel thing, whereas steves was sun and warmth and comforting. as bug talked about in chapter 6, love had become exhausting for her, never lovely or easy as she had hoped. now, with steve, loving him is as easy as breathing, and they truly are such a golden summer day together <333

and the ending !! after a year of bug denying her feelings, and a year of steve being scared of his, it felt fitting to for them to come together so easily and quickly once nancy and jon were out of the way. theyve both bitten their tongues too many times now, and bug has honestly been falling out of love with jon for a while, she was more just clinging onto the familiarity of it all. once she finally admitted that she loved steve, she didnt have it in her to deny it anymore. shes become tired of biting her tongue and burying down her feelings, especially because shes someone who feels so openly and yet is terrified of being vulnerable (which we will indeed see later). for steve, he simply trusts bug with everything within him, he knows she would never hurt him, not again, and he recognizes that his feelings for her have been there a while. however, he also recognizes that bug deserves more than mixed feelings, he wants to give her his all, so until hes completely over nancy, all he can do is ask bug to wait -- trusting that she will come back in the end. which is HUGE for someone who fears abandonment.

im incredibly touched that my writing has made you reflect upon your own jon :( i also feel the same way, ive come to view my own jon differently. sometimes people simply grow up, it isnt anyones fault, and we cannot fault someone we love for no longer resembling the person we once loved, not when theyve grown into who they were meant to be.

now for the final part of your lovely ask: the line was in reference for steve and nancy !! what i meant by it was that steve recognizes that him and nancy were incompatible in the end, given everything that happened with barb and the demogorgon. he realizes that they never stood a chance, getting back together, because they had already been finished when the upside down came into their lives. and yet, despite this, hes happy they tried. to me, to try is to be human, and steve believes that at least they tried to love one another afterwards, they tried to move on and be happy together. in the end, this is all that matters to steve: they tried to love one another (this can also apply to bug n jon !!! nothing was ever going to be the same again, but they tried)

#procrastinationprincesses #ask #m speaks #wtlws insight #looooong post but lots to say #and thank you for the lovely tidbit about my writing <333 #and the nancy and bug part will be covered more in the following seasons !!!

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intrepidacious · 2 years

Text

brooklyn, thursday night

summary: It’s the third Thanksgiving after the Blip, and you’ve become a habit Steve’s unable to shake.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: some angst, some fluff (i mean, it's me); one night stand to two night stand to fwb to lovers kind of situationship; implied sexytimes

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

prompt: this was written for layla's love in verse challenge and i loved this idea so much!! i found inspiration in "thanksgiving 2006" by ocean vuong—or rather, the poem found me, as poems tend to do. you can find it in its entirety underneath the fic

a/n: i seem to be making a habit out of posting holiday fics when it’s not, in fact, said holiday, and i can't even feel sorry about it. @heavenlybarnes thank you so much for this beautiful challenge!! i missed writing for steve, and this was the perfect opportunity 💛

masterlist | read on ao3

Brooklyn’s too cold tonight, so Steve keeps walking.

The serum has a way of warming his hands, but not his heart, coursing through his veins with hot vengeance he doesn’t like to stop and examine. He suspects he wouldn’t like what he’d find, because at the core, at the very core of him, there is a numbness where all the world used to be, and he despises himself for it.

He hates that part of himself on nights like this, that soft, aching vulnerability no genius scientist with their experiments could ever cure him from, or even just protect with their chemicals and radiation, all their balancing, imbalanced bullshit. That was never the point.

It’s just that he doesn’t feel particularly good at the moment.

So he keeps walking.

It’s November again, and the winter air is just as ruthless as that gnawing feeling inside that for the third year in a row, Steve doesn’t have anything he feels particularly thankful for. For the third year in a row, he finds himself walking down these streets, but he can’t fool himself enough to pretend to be aimless anymore. His feet find the way easily.

("You like to keep moving, don’t you?"

A tired smile. "I just fear I’m getting my directions mixed up.")

The sound of a lighter seems to echo on the empty streets, buried between snow and lingering unease.

***

The first year, you’re a stranger, and it’s all coincidence.

No one on the planet, hell, in the universe, probably, feels particularly celebratory, and so most windows are dark by the time Steve takes the first step outside. He’s known these streets for the better part of a century, and yet he’s never felt more like a stranger in them.

He buried his parents and went to war, and yet he’s never known grief or guilt like this.

There’s a cut on his cheek that hasn’t quite healed yet, from when his hand slipped while shaving the beard. Or maybe he was just trying to feel something. Red blood spilled like a reminder that he could put on the Cap façade all he wanted; he was still just human, and he failed.

You just got off your shift.

You have your apron wrapped around your hand as you lean against the side wall, hands shaking as you try to light your cigarette. The lighter is broken. He can hear you cursing over the howling of the wind.

("I never used to smoke," you tell him later. "My best friend always said it calms her nerves. I get it now."

So does Steve.)

"Do you need help?" he asks, even though he doesn’t have fire, not the one you could use right now. It’s his instincts that are hardest to shake, even on a day like this.

"It’s fine," you say without even looking at him, throwing the cigarette into your bag. "This is all just great!"

There is a tremor in your voice that he recognizes, that pent up frustration threatening to boil up at a minor inconvenience. You let your head fall back until it hits brick so hard he almost flinches, but you don’t even seem to notice.

You blink at him like you’re only just realizing he’s real.

"You want something?" you ask, and your voice is so sharp he feels the cut on his cheek reopening, but your eyes are soft. It’s disarming, that combination.

Steve’s dumbfounded for a moment, because he doesn’t really know why he stopped, either. Now that he’s aware of it, though, it’s impossible not to keep looking at you. And there’s that instinct, again. That gut feeling that tells him neither of you should be alone right now.

If he were Bucky, he might have told you that, with that half-smile of his that used to bring half the city to its knees. Bucky used to say all kinds of things to the girls he went out with, back in the day, and the rare occasion on which that backfired never seemed to deter him.

But Steve’s just himself, and he’s starting to feel creepy now, so he just says, "I think you’re the first person I talked to today."

You stare at him, and there’s that shift in your eye when you recognize him and hesitate for a second as you evaluate if he’s a threat. He wonders if there’s any getting used to that.

"Wow," you finally say. "Not gonna lie, but that’s kind of sad."

Steve huffs. "Yeah."

It’s the heaviness in your gaze that betrays you, your jawline etched in the cool smoke your breath trails behind. You lost someone, too.

What a strange thing to pick up on, he thinks, when it’s rarer to meet someone who hasn’t, but he still feels sorry in a way that seems oddly personal. The question of who is almost on his lips before he catches himself. Before he remembers that he doesn’t know you, and that he has no right to that sort of information.

You tilt your head, and a small crease appears between your brows. "Aren’t you freezing?" you finally say.

He shrugs. "I’ve been colder."

"Yeah." You nod, but he can see the gears in your head turning. Finally, you seem to swallow something down. "You got a second person lined up for the night?"

His mouth twitches involuntarily and he shakes his head.

"Me either. Great Thanksgiving, huh."

There’s a pause as you shift on your feet and he clears his throat, but neither of you moves. It’s a little uncomfortable, or it should be, but you toss your apron into your bag and cross your arms in a way that poses a challenge. Steve swallows heavily.

"I should—"

"How about we move this someplace warmer?" The question is accompanied by a glance that makes him step a little closer, makes him lower his head ever so slightly as you both consider each other, both of you waiting to see what will happen next.

And, yeah, maybe it’s selfish of him not to make up an excuse and leave you to your unlit cigarette, but damnit, why can’t he be selfish for a change? After a year like this?

So he says, "lead the way," and his voice doesn’t shake a bit.

("You haven’t been casual a day in your life," Bucky would’ve said, and Steve would’ve glowered at him. These are the things he misses; he can’t even be casually mad anymore.)

It’s not a long walk, and the wind does most of the talking. Neither of you is much in the mood for it. You’re shivering by the time you try to get your keys out, and when he holds the door open for you, you just give him a small nod.

"It’s out of order," you murmur as you pass the elevator, already unraveling your scarf. Steve follows, close enough that he could smell the lingering remnants of perfume on your hair if he took a deep breath. He doesn’t.

The building is old, all high ceilings and broken floor tiles, colorless. Every step trails an echo behind. Your neighbor’s striped doormat is barely visible underneath the pile of unread newspapers. The air is so cold he imagines he could still see his own breath.

You force your door open with your shoulder and then halt in the entrance, as if just remembering something. "You’re not allergic to anything, are you?"

"Not since 1943," he answers. It’s odd to admit it like this, even though you know exactly who he is. Somehow, he feels like he’s going about all of this wrong, but the thought of leaving seems even worse.

"Good," you murmur before you let him in and close the door behind him. "That’s good."

The hallway to your apartment is cluttered, but in a homely, charming way. Vibrant art prints and knick-knacks litter the surfaces and jut out of cardboard boxes, all of it covered with a thin layer of dust. You don’t turn the lights on, and so Steve only puts it together when the soft pattering noise stops at his feet and turns into sniffing.

"You have a dog," he says, surprised.

"My roommate does," you say, and then you catch yourself. He can see the short pause in your movements, even though you continue with a lightheartedness that is familiar in how false it sounds. He knows before you say it out loud. "Well, I suppose she’s mine now."

He sinks to his knees, slowly, because he ran out of speed a while ago. The dog wiggles her tail.

"Her name is Leia," you tell him. "You know, like Star Wars?"

It’s another reminder that he still hasn’t quite caught up with this day and age. He is spared an answer, though, because you’ve already moved on to the kitchen, switching on the lights as you go. Steve keeps petting the dog.

"Drink?" you shout, and it’s strange, how casually you’re treating this whole encounter while Steve’s own thoughts are still stuck on a merry-go-round. He doesn’t know if he can ever get off this ride again.

"Sure," he says lightly, because he’s been acting for years.

All of it just play pretend.

("You don’t mean that," you whisper later, much, much later.

"No." He brushes the hair out of his eyes. "Sometimes.")

You drink, and you sit on the living room floor, just chatting, really, because this is a strange situation for both of you. There’s an uncertainty in the air that grows hotter with every passing minute, and when the conversation lulls to a stop, it shifts.

You look at him, then, anticipation of something so thick between you he could cut it with a knife.

Steve has lived through a war and two very different worlds colliding within less than a decade, but this is still so new for him. And yeah, maybe it feels like he’s breaking some sort of rule here, crossing some moral boundary he’s not supposed to even look at, because that’s just how he was brought up.

But times have changed, as he’s all too painfully aware, and you’re still looking at him, eyelids heavy, and Steve decides, fuck it.

His voice barely sounds like his own when he asks, "Can I kiss you?"

The second you take to blink and nod lasts an eternity, but when you do, he finally stops listening to that nagging voice at the back of his head that tells him he shouldn’t. Instead, he carefully pulls the sleepy dog off his knee and scoots over to where you’re sitting, watching, waiting. Steve looks at your face one more time, slowly, deliberate, and then he leans in.

He’s not gonna lie; it’s awkward for a good while.

The angle is weird, and he doesn’t know where to put his hands because this is the first time he’s touched you all night, and it’s just a simple fact that he hasn’t done this in a spell. But then you tilt your head just so, and his hand settles on your thigh, helping you into his lap and yes.

For a moment he remembers what it’s like to stop thinking, to stop running and just be.

And then your fingers thread through his hair, tugging slightly, and Steve’s brain shuts off entirely, consumed by the fire that courses through his veins. By the time your breath turns shorter, he knows your rhythm and he’s all too happy to take his time to match it.

He’s not ready for anything more than a distraction, and you’re not offering.

(You tell him to be gone when you wake up. "I have another early shift and I don’t want to have to kick you out," you mutter, snuggling closer. "Ruin my day."

Steve doesn’t sleep at all. He sneaks out once the early morning sunshine starts tickling your nose, shoes in his hand, his hands growing cold once again.)

***

The snow starts picking up.

There’s a message from Natasha on his phone that he’s stared at and then closed again about a hundred times. It was a response to him canceling their dinner plans, again, and this time she didn’t leave it at the sad little OK she would usually put. Her words have started to bleed into his very consciousness like a song stuck in his head.

I don’t know what’s different lately, but I think it’s good for you.

Steve’s not so sure.

The way he sees it, he’s setting himself up to grow attached to something he has no right to keep, and he’s seen how that story ends too many times in his life. It’s one thing to care for someone and a whole other thing to care about them.

("It’s nothing personal."

Of course it’s not. The marks left on his skin vanish within a few hours.)

There’s a bunch of unused brushes on his desk in the tiny apartment he calls home, more than twelve blocks away. Steve bought them last week, in a spur of almost giddy inspiration, and he’s only realized the ridiculousness of that when he unlocked the front door, receipt long discarded on the way.

Now they’re sitting there, waiting for something to change.

He’s been brought back to the city of the living, and he should be feeling more guilty about it.

***

The second year, you’re an indulgence.

He’s almost walked by your apartment several times now, mostly on early summer mornings or nights far colder than they should be, but he could never bring himself to actually cross the street, turn the corner, climb the stairs. He doesn’t come closer than a two block radius, really. Not until today.

The truth is, he’s thought about running into you so many times he’s forgotten what he wanted to tell you. Why he wants to see you at all.

But Brooklyn is too cold and too empty, and the feeling uncoiling in his chest tells him this was always how this was supposed to go.

You’re sitting on the steps in front of your apartment building, reading a book in the light of the street lantern. Your eyes are watery from the sharp sting of winter air, but you look undeterred. Unhurried.

"I thought you might come," you say, and Steve gets the strange sense that you’re pleased.

(It was a lie, you tell him later. You were waiting for a friend, to take you to some party you didn’t want to go to. "I didn’t think you’d ever come back," you mumble into his hair, fingers tracing invisible patterns on his skin.

As if he’s had a choice in the matter.)

"I aim to please," he says, even though that’s not true, has never been true. Maybe it’s the way you look at him.

You look sharper than you did a year ago, as if all that pain has carved itself into blunt edges and curt glances. But your hands are still soft. He stares at them as if he might be allowed to hold them again.

"Somehow, I doubt that," you say, tilting your head. "New look?"

Steve scratches his beard. "Old look. I’m still deciding which one to keep."

You snort, and it sends a tingle down his spine.

"What?"

"Nothing. That’s just the most serious way I’ve ever heard someone talk about facial hair." You look at him solemnly, like you’re about to break the worst news to him. He already knows. "You do realize it’ll keep growing back either way?"

If he were Sam, he’d have joked with you, in that dry manner of his, maybe winked at you afterwards to reassure you that it was all just teasing, good fun. There was a lightness to Sam’s interactions with people he cared about that had always seemed so precious in hindsight; like it couldn’t be shared enough.

But Steve’s just himself, and his eyes are as tired as his body, so he just says, "I didn’t want to be alone."

You watch his eyes with such intent he feels himself getting uneasy. Then, you take your keys out of your coat pocket and unlock the door. You don’t look back as you tell him, "It’s getting late."

It’s all the invitation Steve needs.

"What were you reading?" he asks, stepping into the damp, cold hallway after you. The elevator is still out of order.

You hand him your book without so much as a glance over your shoulder. He doesn’t really look at it, either, just keeps staring at the little bit of skin peeking out where your scarf has shifted down. He can’t help but wonder if it tastes the same.

("Whenever I’m sad and I feel like killing myself, I read something by Sylvia Plath."

He listens to your heartbeat. "And what if you’re sad and you don’t feel like that?" he asks.

Your smile is melancholy and contagious. "A children’s novel.")

"You know, you never told me your name," Steve says once you get inside, his cheeks burning.

"So I didn’t," you hum with a tilt of your head that’s already starting to feel familiar, even though this is only the second time you’ve met. There’s the same challenge in it, but the spark in your eye is new, mischievous, like you’re also remembering what things kept him from asking something as simple as a name the last time he was here.

You fill in his gaps.

The knowledge feels foreign. Like he’s somehow been allowed to see a whole new side of you, even though it’s just a name, and not much more.

He smiles softly at the sound of it, and then, before he can stop himself, admits, "I’ve been thinking about you."

Steve’s seen your lips twitch before, but he hasn’t seen you smile. Not last year, when everything was still so fresh the very air tasted like sorrow, not even when you lay next to him with hazy eyes and he wiped the sweat off your brow. But you smile at his words now, and it changes your entire face, all the harshness of it disappearing to show something glowing underneath, something more hopeful than he’s seen in quite a while.

You take his face into your hands and kiss him like an answer, carefully, as if he’s something precious, as if you have something to lose. It’s difficult for him to focus, to stop himself from telling you that he’s not, and you don’t.

But then his thoughts cease being so loud again, one by one, and maybe that’s why he’s missed your touch for a whole year. The endless echoes in his mind finally turn silent.

He pours his thanks into each kiss that follows.

("Text me," you offer this time, and even though he’s not sure what kind of invitation you’re extending with those two words, he clings to them like a lifeline.)

***

Each step crunches underneath his boots and Steve is starting to regret not taking the subway. But the air had seemed so nice tonight, and the streets are quiet in a way that should be lonely and yet is the opposite of that.

Three years, and empty spaces have been cautiously, regrettably filled.

("I hate losing things. It drives me up the wall."

How does someone move on from something like this? Little by little, or not at all.

The worst part, he thinks, is that anything new will never quite replace what’s missing. Only repopulate the void.)

The first time you came to his place instead of the other way around, you forgot your scarf, and Steve had to talk himself into returning it for almost a week. Fine. Ten days.

It just smelled so sweet.

"There it is," you said when he finally did knock on your door again, relief so clearly written all over your face as if he’s been returning a long lost child.

And then you carelessly tossed it aside and dragged him towards you by the collar.

Not that he’s complaining.

The snow, however …

Steve blinks up against it, at the familiar streets set against a dark sky. It’s a scene that begs to be painted, long shadows and milky streetlights caught in a whirlwird of ice. He looks at it for a long moment, and then he continues walking.

***

This year, you’re a necessity.

This year, it’s not been twelve months. In fact, it’s not even been two weeks, but he’s still missed you. Brooklyn sheds all of its colors this time of year, and on the dreariest mornings he finds himself craving your presence more than usual.

It’s terrifying, this sort of protectiveness he feels for you. It’s not what this is supposed to be, not what either of you needs right now.

("So what?" Sam would’ve said, and Steve would’ve lowered his head. Probably. He’s running out of scenarios to run through his mind, and so every time he tries, it feels like he’s chipping away at precious memories, distorting them, losing them. "So what?"

Maybe. The future has never felt less clear.)

He’s found out that he craves you like a drug, and he knows it can’t be healthy, he shouldn’t be doing this, but damnit, can’t he have one good thing to keep again for a change?

Like the taste of your hot skin bathed in a strip of moonlight, or that glimmer in your eyes that lets him forget the remaining half of the universe, reduces it only to him and you, and every shared breath between you. He keeps replaying those moments when he’s not with you, can’t stop himself, really. It’s easier now that he knows there will be a next time.

Not forever, of course, but now is enough.

("Enough already?" You nudge your nose against his shoulder. "I thought your ambitions were greater than that, Captain.")

Steve stops in front of the elevator, considers it for a moment, then takes the stairs anyway. Some habits are hard to shake, and perhaps you’re one of them. Though he doubts it; you’re more than just that.

He finds your door unlocked, which should be a reason for concern but somehow isn’t. Maybe it’s the smell. The lights are on in the living room and he can hear an old record playing.

("Leia loves it when I play them," you’ve told him before. "I think maybe they remind her of …" You trailed off, like you always do.

He still hasn’t learned your roommate’s name.)

He leaves his shoes by the door and follows the sound, like he’s done time and again.

Today, it’s Ella Fitzgerald, and you’re dancing in the kitchen.

The sight stops Steve in his tracks, because suddenly there’s an ease to his step he doesn’t like, can’t allow himself, even though it shouldn’t really be a surprise.

("Why not?" Bucky might have said.

"Live a little, man," Sam could have said.

He hopes, thinks, wishes.)

Nat’s message burns a hole into his pocket. Coward, it whispers, and Steve ignores it. He watches you swaying around and moving your arms in a ridiculously elaborate way, unaware that you have an audience.

Light. Pure light shining through all your edges, and softening them to his gaze.

Leia senses his presence first, waggling toward him with flapping ears and a cheerful bark, and so he lets himself be welcomed, sitting down on the floor with a quiet laugh.

You turn, and your hips stop moving, which is truly the biggest crime of all.

"Hey, stranger," you say, your smile so clearly audible in your voice it makes Steve bite his lip hard before he dares to look up.

"Hey," he says when his eyes meet yours, his body relaxing immediately at the sight of you. "What are you cooking at this hour?"

"Wouldn’t you like to know." You continue stirring the pot on the stove. "But you can set the table once you’re done charming my dog."

"That could take a while," Steve chuckles as Leia keeps licking his hand. "I’m very charming."

You roll your eyes, but the smile stays.

"Come on, honey," you say, pulling him to his feet again, and it might have just been a slip of the tongue, but damn if his heart didn’t just skip a beat.

Steve’s been called many names in his life, but he’s pretty sure none of them have ever sounded as right.

On impulse, he leans over to brush his lips over yours, softly, smiling when your mouth chases his as he pulls back.

"What was that for?" you whisper with a light frown.

He blinks. "Food," he finally says. "I’m starving."

("Get up, then."

His tongue traces delicate patterns down your throat. "Why would I need to do that?")

It hurts his brain, this softness of yours that’s close enough to touch and yet feels so off-limits.

He’s kissed you a hundred times before, languidly, feverishly, carefully, but never pointlessly. Well, not without a point he would admit to.

You choose not to dwell on it, thankfully, and go back to your pot with a hum. Steve runs a hand through his hair and pushes himself back into the role you’ve both agreed upon. Friends, for the most part. He can live with that, of course he can. He’s lived through worse things.

(Neither of you has ever wanted to fix the other. It was nice, for a change, being a little broken. It only meant finding new places to fit together.)

He wakes up a little over three hours after to find you wrapped around him, hugging his arm to your chest so tightly he can feel it rise and sink with each and every one of your breaths. He watches you for a long while, still half-asleep, every cell of his body screaming at him not to move an inch. To just keep you right where you are.

For a second, he wonders if he could get away with stealing one last kiss before he sets out on the trek home, like he always does. As if you’d heard him, you start stirring under his gaze.

"Stay," you whisper into the dead of night, and he can feel his eyes close almost immediately. Your voice cuts through the darkness like he’s already dreaming. "Steve. Don’t go, please."

And so he lets himself settle into your side, pulling you closer, breathing you in, his lips touching your forehead, and you sigh.

Maybe next year, he can be thankful for something.

thank you for reading!! if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblog 💛 to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

Brooklyn's too cold tonight & all my friends are three years away. My mother said that I could be anything I wanted -- but I chose to live. On the stoop of an old brownstone a cigarette flares, then fades. I walk to it: a razor sharpened with silence. His jawline etched in smoke. The mouth where I reenter this city. Stranger, palpable echo, here is my hand, filled with blood thin as a widow's tears. I am ready. I am ready to be every animal you leave behind.

Thanksgiving 2006, Ocean Vuong

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