DPLoverness's Library

If you've found this blog, no you haven't. If you want to stay.... ok. It's just a blog to catalogue fanfiction I love. That's it. Posts cataloged by character, author, and length (i.e. whether chaptered/series or one-shots). NSFW tagged. Heavy violence/blood tagged.

[kerink]

grace prepping rocky for what to expect while on the trip to erid.

grace having rocky review his math to ensure he's got his rations measured out right, that he's correctly calculated the rate of taumoeba growth, that the human food to synthetic food ratio is proportional in relationship to both. grace explains the symptoms of starvation and vitamin deficiency so rocky doesn't get scared and think something's gone wrong. lets him know there's nothing he can do, nothing he can fix. that the rations will keep him alive but only keep him alive, and that's the plan. keeps it clinical, textbook, for both their sake.

grace teaching rocky about cabin fever and touch starvation and the effects of human isolation. lets him know what to expect, what behavioral and personality changes might happen, that it won't just be his body that rots from the inside out, and that's the plan too.

grace showing rocky the gun and the lethal injection kits, tells him humans try to kill themselves when they get like this, that grace doesn't want to kill himself now but in the future he may want to, and that rocky has to keep him from doing so. put out airlock question? the lethal injections kits can be reverse engineered by eridian doctors to make human medicine, grace will need it in the future. and the gun can be reverse engineered by eridian scientists to keep erid safe, earth might not want to be friends. passing them through the flexible barrier, telling rocky to hide them and don't reveal them until they get to erid, no matter what he says or does. better take the ropes for good measure, don't give these to him unless he has to do a space walk.

rocky helpless but to watch as grace can do less and less and less, until he spends all his time curled up in the holochamber wearing layers of his dead crewmate's clothes. rocky building walls up around the platform so grace can make a nest of pillows and blankets and clothing, keeping himself warm, watching videos of other humans, crying at random for reasons he either doesn't know or can't explain or refuses to say.

rocky desperately trying to be enough companionship for him. their language barrier makes it difficult, even with their mutual study during the years when grace was sharp. like the taumoeba, it's only just enough to keep grace alive. the xenon barrier allowing only enough touch, enough warmth, to keep grace grounded and no more.

rocky plagued with thoughts of what grace would have done if he'd not come back for him. how would the return trip to earth have been? would he have stayed awake, allowing himself to go crazy and risking suicide, or would he have put himself back under, completely alone with not even a corpse to give the impression of safety, and still risked death from a malfunctioning life support system? grace has the worst of both worlds now. companionship so close but not close enough, a barely satisfied need for conversation, a barely satisfied need for touch, and rocky's needs making it so grace can't go into a coma for the trip. disgust disgust disgust.

rocky building the first version of the form-fitting suit while grace is asleep, which is often. he doesn't want to get his hopes up in case it doesn't work, but rocky will do everything he can to make it work. and when it finally does work and he hugs grace for the first time, grace doesn't let go for a long, long time. rocky isn't used to being so still, so immobilized. he could pick grace up and move him but grace seems better, more like himself, being held and warm and looking at pictures of people.

cloth mother in the form of a basking rock.

grace doesn't want to ask rocky for anymore than he's given, always laughs off his tears and tells him he doesn't have to do this, doesn't have to stay, can do his own thing, do whatever he wants, don't worry about it. but rocky can't. what else is he supposed to want to do but lay there in the nest next to him, limbs draped over him so grace is weighed down but not crushed, reaching up to pet through his hair, wipe his tears, listen to his breathing and his heart beat, and whatever nonsensical meandering conversation his brain tries to drum up. his stomach doesn't growl anymore.

rocky's in hell. this trip has been hell. what did he do to deserve to be tortured in this way? first his crew and now grace - there will be 23 corpses after all if rocky fails this. he can't fail this. and even if he does fail this he can't even kill himself, he has to get the taumoeba back to erid, teach them how to use it, get home to adrian.

why does he have to be the one to shoulder all of reality? thank god he's strong.

[queenbruv]

yeah im just never getting over the fact that ryland grace will never be touched again. it really is the sort of thing you don't realize you need until you stop having it. even if he was never a particularly tactile person, a little physical contact can go a long way in a lot of directions. ground you. direct your attention. reassure you. protect you. there must have been a moment when grace tried to think back to the last time he was touched. when he realized the last person who touched him while he was conscious was holding his body down in the dirt. that the last time anyone held him it was to carry his motionless body onto a spaceship against his will. and he can never get a do-over. he can't paint over that memory. he can't rewrite that fact.

one day ryland grace will wake up and realize he's lived as long away from earth as he lived on it, and he hasn't had any physical contact since they sent him to die. and maybe rocky will make that articulated suit, and maybe it'll be kind of the same, and maybe he'll convince himself it doesn't matter, but he wasn't even awake the last time a human being touched him, and even if they were gentler and kinder towards him while he was knocked out, it doesn't matter. he'll never remember that. his last memory of physical touch and it was violent. and maybe sometimes he thinks that he would take violence over nothing. just to feel something. just to feel anything.

[somepomegranatetea]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Words: 1,390, Chapters: 1/1, Eva Stratt & Ryland Grace

Dr. Herrick is chatting up Grace in the corner. Or at least, he’s trying to. Grace is mostly avoiding eye contact, glancing across the room every few seconds towards particularly lively conversations, or looking down at his pack of sour skittles. Usually, Stratt doesn’t spend much time down here in the bar with the rest of the crew—she’s busy, and she doesn’t particularly wish to soften her reputation. But she has mindless emails to answer tonight, and anyway, she’s been wanting to see how Grace interacts with the others. She’s been curious. ~~~ Stratt witnesses one of her crew corner Grace in a dark hallway. She intervenes.

[loverness-library]

Absolutely beautifully written. I love how you approached this topic with both characters, I feel it's very believable.

I read a post recently I think about a lot now which is about writing angst - in that if you could see an argument for "this character wouldn't do or say that" or "this type of situation never happens canonically", then what would it take for that to align with the characters?

[somepomegranatetea]

Grace tries copying the tones using the keyboard.

Rocky hums. “Close. Skip first note.”

“Why? You always include that.”

“This means… of Rocky, possessive. Of the speaker.”

“My.”

“Correct. But only for names.”

“So you’re calling me…?”

Rocky repeats the word: “My Grace. Yes.” 

“Are there other Graces? Why do you need to specify?”

Rocky considers this, tapping his xenonite-encased claws idly against the floor. 

“No other Grace,” Rocky says. “We just do this.”

“Like an honorific,” Grace guesses. “It goes before everyone’s name? Everyone you know?”

Rocky whirs in surprise. “No, no, no. Not at all.”

“Okay, then who? What makes me qualify?”

Rocky is silent for a moment.

“...Does this offend Grace?” he asks, voice lower. 

Grace blinks. “No! I don’t think so. Is there a reason to be offended?”

“Good,” Rocky says, relieved. Grace is starting to recognize what Eridian relief sounds like. “No, no reason.”

“Who else do you call that?”

“You don’t have this on Earth?”

Grace considers. What for, friends? He couldn’t call Marissa “my Marissa.” That would be weird.

“I still don’t know what it means,” he settles on. “So I couldn’t tell you.”

Rocky groans in frustration. He’s a very impatient tutor. “We just say it.”

“Are you my Rocky?” Grace asks. He hits the two keys to make the my note. 

“I don’t know!” Rocky says. “You decide this.” 

“I decide? Who do you use it for?” 

“You. Adrian. I will use it for my pebbles.” 

Grace blinks. “So few?”

Rocky shifts. “I am… you do not have the word yet. Eridian who works alone often, not close to many other Eridians.”

“What, mechanical engineer?”

Rocky chitters. “Acceptable.”

“Is Adrian your only friend?” 

Rocky draws back, like he’s taken offense. “I have friends. Coworkers. But different.”

So just Adrian. And him. 

“This worries you,” Rocky says.

“Adrian is your mate,” Grace points out. “I’m not your mate.”

“Correct. You are not. You do not like to be a mate.”

Grace isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he ignores it.

“I’m your friend,” Grace says. 

Rocky hesitates, for a second. “...Correct.”

“Like your coworkers.”

“No.”

Grace sighs, rubbing his hand across his face. Okay, maybe that’s fair. It’s not like he felt about any of his coworkers like he feels about Rocky.

“Best friend,” Grace amends. “You’re my best friend, too.”

Rocky hums. “Acceptable.”

“Just acceptable? Now you are offending me. Can you just explain?”

This makes Rocky fall silent for a minute longer than usual. Grace is half-ready to apologize and to say let’s move on and to retype his own name without the superfluous my. 

“The Earth ‘best friend’ is not strong enough,” Rocky says finally. “It does not translate this way.”

Grace runs his fingers through his hair, a little nervous, for some reason. “Okay.”

“It is…” Rocky pauses. He has to pause more often, now that they’re not using the translator, to simplify his language. “It means that I am not Rocky without my Grace. You are part of… of the whole. When I wake up, I think of you. When I work. When I eat. When I think I am going to die.”

Rocky speaks slowly, but it’s still a lot of Eridian for Grace to grasp all at once. Even as he works out the sentences in his head, he can feel hot tears rising in his eyes.

“It means that when you are sick, I am sick,” Rocky continues. “And it means I will take care of you, because taking care of you is taking care of myself.”

Grace bunches up his sleeve, wiping it across his face, blinking furiously.

Rocky’s voice is soft. “So Grace is part of Rocky. Grace is like a cell. You see? My Grace.” 

Grace is quiet, for a moment, trying to get himself together. When he speaks, his voice is shaky.

“...Oh.”

Rocky hums, pressing his carapace gently against Grace’s arm. “You are leaking. Does this make you sad?”

Grace shakes his head, sniffing, crossing his arms across his knees and resting his chin on his sleeves. “Not at all.”

“Good, good.”

“I feel like that,” Grace mumbles. “Just like that. Just exactly—exactly like that.”

“About your old mate?”

“Don’t act stupid. You know I’m talking about you.”

Rocky hums, burrowing closer. Grace curls one arm around his carapace. That’s not enough, so he leans over, dropping his head down so his forehead presses against the xenonite. 

“My Rocky,” Grace whispers in English. 

“My Grace,” Rocky echoes in Eridian. Grace can recognize the note at the start. He will add it when he plays Rocky’s name. 

“How long have you called me that?” Grace asks. “Must’ve been a while. I didn’t notice it change.”

“Long time,” Rocky agrees. “Long, long time.”

[chaosgremlen]

After settling down in the biodome, Grace wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing, reaching out ahead of him for something that isn't there.

He goes over to Simon's room and asks him if he can watch him sleep. Rationally, he knows both of them will be completely fine. They have plenty of food, they have a house, no more life-threatening events are happening, etc. But a small part of Grace tells him that if he lets go of the tight grasp he had on Simon back when they were on the Hail Mary, Simon will vanish.

Simon tells him he's ok. His nightmares are getting better and better, he knows all of this is real deep in his bones, he doesn't doubt things as much, he knows that Grace appreciates him, and all of that. So he tells Grace to go back to bed. They're ok, they'll be ok. They'll both be here in the morning and the beach will be outside of their door waiting for them.

Grace wakes up again. Same nightmare, same fears of letting go.

The next morning, Simon comments on how tired Grace looks. Grace is irritated, but he can't be irritated at Simon, or else Simon will leave.

So he tells him calmly that he is and shrugs.

Simon hesitates for a bit, then finally speaks up a few minutes later. He's not used to being the first to speak, the one to initiate. He likes talking with Grace, but usually Grace is the one who brings him something to think about.

"I don't like it when you pity me."

Grace is startled slightly, having zoned out and also not expecting the conversation. "I don't. Never did."

"Then what was last night? Asking to watch me sleep. Are you that afraid I'm going to fall apart?" Simon looks at Grace incredibly critically. He's looking for any indications of Grace lying, of him hiding anything.

"No! No." Grace trails off, "I'm the one falling apart."

There's a long bout of silence. Simon can't quite believe what he's just heard, and he's also baffled at the lack of reaction on Grace's face.

This is unusual. Grace wears his emotions on his face; he can't usually hide any of it. Simon's never seen... this. It's numbness. It's acceptance.

"What?" Simon finally speaks up again.

"Comfort isn't stable. It doesn't stay. We're happy now, but one day it won't be the same. Maybe the dome will fail. Maybe they'll run out of resources to spend on us. Rocky will ask us to leave, go back to earth."

In the past, it was usually Simon who was scared to have all of this taken away in the blink of an eye. That he'd wake up from a nice dream into the nightmare he'd been living back on that moon.

He didn't know what to say about this.

"I was comfortable before. I always get comfortable, but it never stays." There are tears now running down Grace's face.

"I was getting comfortable in the routine we had in the Mary. But I knew we couldn't stay there forever. We needed a better life than that. And that was fine-

Before that, I was comfortable just being a biologist. Someone that knew a lot about astrophage. But no, I was the only one that could save the stars. So they dragged me in the Mary kicking and screaming.

Before that, I was comfortable teaching my kids back on earth. But I was needed. I needed to help them save the stars, so I did, cuz I had a point to prove. Stupid thesus-

Before that, I was comfortable being a student, I learned well, it was a nice. I liked the routine, the studying, the people. I had a plan and I knew where I was going to go. But then I had to make that stupid thesus. Ruined my life.

Before that, it was cozy. I had a nice big family. But then my parents died, and my siblings couldn't handle it, so they turned to drugs, and violence, and- what ever they ended up doing, leaving me behind.

It never stays. Comfort is always fleeting. And I'm afraid that the first thing to go will be you."

At this point Grace is sobbing. It's honestly surprised how he's able to push through the sobs to speak without tripping over his own tongue.

Simon blinks out of his frozen state when Grace takes a breath and walks up to him to engulf him into a tight hug. Of course, Grace hugs back. When has Grace ever turned down a hug?

"So, it's me. I'm afraid you'll die without me getting there in time to help, or suffer through something alone and hate me for not being there, or I'm afraid that if I get mad at you by accident, you'll never want to see me again."

Simon's head is still rushing with all of this new information. He tries to find ways to comfort Grace like Grace usually did with him when he had bad days, but the words never come.

"I-I'm sorry." Grace stutters for the first time. That's it, he's gone. He won't be able to make a speech like that again. If let alone speak coherently at all.

Grace's knees wobble. Simon shuffles them over to the living room and sits them on the couch. Grace cries till his tears dry out, and even then, he continues to dry sob. It takes him hours to calm down, and by then, he's passed out in Simon's arms.

How long had Grace been holding onto that? During their whole stay on the Mary, Grace had been happy. He'd been Simon's rock. Even when they landed, Grace was excited about the Biodome. He was happy and content when they settled into their house. He'd been happy... Right?

Simon isn't sure how he'll handle this just yet, but if Grace could be strong for him for so long, he could be strong for Grace, too.

They'll figure it out.

[missmissingmisery]

steve uses the non-verbal safeword.

CW: slight NSFW, panic/anxiety attack, harmful stims (scratching self)

“tap three times on me if you ever can’t speak and wanna stop, okay?”

yes, steve had remembered those words. all throughout the times they had sex, he remembered those words. but it didn’t make them any less scary.

the thought of ever needing to stop in the middle of a scene made his palms sweat. of course he and eddie trusted each other; knew that if the other was in trouble and needed to stop, they’d completely understand. no judging whatsoever.

but still… absolutely needing to stop and move on made him so anxious. deep down he didn’t want to be a disappointment. he didn’t want eddie upset.

“baby, what’s your color?” eddie murmured to him, rubbing his shoulders and slowing his rhythm. steve did not reply, shakily breathing into the pillow and tearing up.

“steve, color?” he asked, louder, and more firm. yet he could not bring himself to talk. his mind went to the other times in previous relationships, where he felt like this exactly, and they didn’t even think to check in. and he couldn’t bring himself to stop them.

he could feel eddie shift, basically ready to pull out, before he asked again, “steven.”

oh. his full name. eddie only used it when he was deadly serious. this seemed to snap him out of his haze, and he shakily reached behind him and found somewhere on his body to tap.

one. two. three soft and hesitant taps, just like eddie told him to do months ago.

“red,” eddie mumbled to himself, worried, and pulling out immediately. he flipped steve over, pulling him close and cupping his tear-stained cheeks.

“what’s wrong? what can i do?” he asked softly, searching his eyes.

“i- i don’t know,” he choked out, a heavy sob leaving his lips before gulping down air he felt like was leaving his body too fast.

“that’s okay, just breathe. breathe, steve, okay? c’mere,” he pulled him into his lap, his head in his neck as he continued to cry. eddie ran his fingers through his hair, and steve clutched onto him tight.

“deep and slow breaths,” he told him, and steve was doing the opposite. breathing way too fast and inhaling far too much, to the point his chest and stomach hurt and he began to feel dizzy.

“steven, listen to me,” there it was again, the full name, which brought him somewhat back to his senses, “deep, slow breaths. do it with me.”

and he tried. he breathed with eddie, taking in some air and blowing it out too fast before inhaling sharply again; coughing and sobbing.

“there, that’s it. it’s okay baby, just try again.”

steve only wanted to cry more. of course eddie was congratulating him even after he didn’t even do it.

“again,” he told him, beginning to inhale slowly, holding it, and exhaling slowly. steve followed, better this time, but still failing.

“i- i can’t,” he choked out.

“yes you can, do it with me,” he said, inhaling and exhaling again. steve followed, his hand going to his forearm, clawing to try and ground himself more.

“no,” eddie caught his arm, pulling it away and bringing it up to his chest, “do you remember what your therapist said?”

“he said,” he paused, his breath catching in his throat as he cried, “to find a different way to ground myself.”

“correct. now, just feel my heart. i’m right here, steve. i’m not leaving. try and match your heartbeat to mine,”

steve kept his hand flat against eddie’s chest, then did the same for himself. he could feel how fast his heart was going versus eddie’s, and it made him uncomfortable.

the other rubbed his back, and kept one hand running through his hair, breathing slow and deep and watched as steve tried to do the same.

“good job,” he praised, kissing his cheek. the pair’s breathing pattern was now the same, and steve was no longer crying. steve nodded as thanks, crawling off eddie’s lap and under the blankets, curling up. eddie stood to put his underwear and sweats back on, only to sit back down on the bed and run his fingers through steve’s hair again.

“do you want to talk about it?”

steve sighed shakily and shrugged, wiping his red cheeks.

“just started thinking,” he mumbled.

“about?”

“things in previous relationships. and then i started feeling like i was crawling in my own skin, and i started to panic,”

“what about your previous relationships?” he questioned, only curiously, with no mean intent.

steve let out a quick exhale before sitting up, “how i could never really say no, i guess? i know it doesn’t matter now. i trust you. and i started feeling overwhelmed in the first place, so i started thinking about the safe word, and how you told me to say ‘red’ or tap you three times. but it just made me anxious. i knew i needed to stop but i didn’t want to upset you in the process,”

“you could never upset me over something like that, steve, okay? that’s the point of the taps and the system we have. you know your limits, and in case they’re ever pushed, you do or say so. i’m so proud of you for using it,”

eddie pulled steve in for a hug, rubbing his back softly. steve’s heart kind of broke. here he was, in his boyfriend’s arms starting to cry again because he said he was proud of him. proud of him for something as simple as saying no, and stop. something he never thought he could do; something he was taught was wrong, and his boyfriend was praising him for it.

“i’m proud of you,” he repeated, to which steve only cried harder, nodding in his shoulder as thanks and sniffling.

he pulled back, laying down and wiping his face again.

“i’m gonna go bring you some water and some easy food to eat, okay? just stay there,” he smiled, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

steve smiled softly, getting comfortable under the warm blankets and inhaling the familiar scent of gain and eddie’s cheap cologne.

and he thanked the universe for a boyfriend that was actually a decent human being.

[klausinamarink]

You’re Never Too Much

rating: T | cw: negative self talk | wc: 1.5k | tags: angst with happy ending, hurt Steve, arguing and making up, established relationship, post-canon | prompt: Love is giving them space when they need it

written for @steddielovemonth

Steve knows he can be unbearable with his partners sometimes. 

He can’t help it. He doesn’t have a switch that shuts down the sparkling fountain of love like his parents apparently possess. It just naturally flows his veins without pause and surges anew every day.

His first girlfriend Heidi had broken up with him three days into the relationship, saying that Steve was too much for her. He had been more confused than devastated back then because since when did hugging your girlfriend from behind with a kiss to the cheek become ‘too much’? It only confused Steve more when he saw Heidi’s new boyfriend doing the exact same thing with her and they’d been together for three months by then.

Steve had ignored the tiny pang in his chest, shrugged off Carol’s comments, and moved on. Maybe he and Heidi weren’t meant to be anyways.

But it kept happening with the other girls. Leaving romantic poems in the locker instead of make-out invites? Too much. A bundle of flowers after class? Too much. Wanting to cuddle after sex? Too much. Stay the morning after? Too much.

Then came Nancy and she had adored every one of Steve’s antics that none of his previous girlfriends had liked. He quickly made his own schedule of sneaking into her bedroom late in the evening to help her study because he loved her blush and the bright gleam in her eyes. The day when Nancy told him that he was a dork was the day when Steve felt his heart swell because finally, he wasn’t being too much. 

And then Barb disappeared and monsters turned out to be real.

Nancy stayed with him but it wasn’t the same anymore. She would still laugh at his corny jokes and affirmations but Steve had seen her distant eyes, no longer bright with the same love. Like she had managed to switch it off by herself.

Steve should’ve split up with her. But he didn’t want to be an asshole and leave her miserable with no support who knew nothing about the Upside Down. But she hadn’t pushed him away or told him his efforts were too much. So he stayed.

If he had left sooner, then Steve wouldn't have been told in a stranger’s bathroom that his love wasn’t just too much, they were bullshit instead.

He couldn’t trust himself with another romantic partner after that.

And then about two years later, he and Eddie started dating. 

Everything that Steve had been told was ‘too much’ or ‘bullshit’ became ‘give me more’. More lazy kisses in the morning, more cuddles on the couch, more help with the laundry or dishes, more lovemaking, more, more.

Steve also found out real quick that Eddie loved whenever Steve quoted Shakespeare - especially Romeo and Juliet or Much Ado About Nothing - for no reason except to watch his boyfriend turn and scream delightfully into his own shoulder. Of course, Steve had taken his advantage, dialing it up with the Harrington charm just to make Eddie’s face redder. Whenever he thought that was too much, Eddie turned back around and kissed him with stupid smiles on both of their faces.

For a while, Steve had thought he finally found the perfect partner.

But he forgets that he doesn’t know how to shut his heart down.

—

Steve casually leans against the living room wall, acting totally non-suspicious as hides from view of the front door. He hears it swing open and then Eddie coming inside, the metallic clicking of his crane accompanying his steps. Steve waits just a bit longer until Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. Then he hurries around the corner and giddily wraps his arms around Eddie’s torso, lifting the man up.

“Welcome back-” Steve starts, a petname ready to fall out as he’s ready to bemoan his loneliness. But Eddie’s cold tone makes his jaws instantly clamp shut.

“Put me down.”

Steve obeys, swiftly but carefully as not to agitate Eddie’s leg. He keeps his arms around his boyfriend, squeezing just once in what he hopes comes off as assuring. However, Eddie only stiffens and says in the same cold tone-

“Let me go.”

Steve does. Eddie continues on towards the kitchen, not even glancing over once. Anxiety starts to drill into Steve’s spine, already making its way into the lining of his stomach. Something clearly happened to Eddie that’s putting him in a foul mood.

Tailing after him, Steve finally finds his voice and asks, “Is everything okay?”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He plops down onto a chair, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders are starting to shake. The anxiety shifts into concern as Steve hurries over to his side. “Eds-”

Eddie suddenly slams his hands onto the table, startling Steve back. He whips his head around to glare at Steve, yelling, “Is it too much to leave me alone for one minute?!”

Too much.

Steve swallows the thick lump in his throat, mumbles something he hopes is an apology, and stumbles outside to the backyard. He stares at the pool for a second before he quickly rounds to the side of his house, stopping just along the walls where he always felt the sunlight wouldn’t reach. Steve slowly crouches down to the ground, staring at nothing in particular despite the burning pressure behind his eyes and heart.

He should’ve seen this coming. Actually, he had known the day when Eddie finally had enough of his unbearable actions was approaching soon. They’ve been together for nearly a year. Just as long as Steve had with Nancy before that Halloween party. But Steve’s been living in blissful ignorance, hoping that it wouldn’t happen.

But even that had been too much.

A wet laugh bubbles out of his lips and Steve quickly clamps a hand over it. He feels like a kid, hiding behind his house like he’s avoiding his father instead of Eddie. It’s so stupid but very on-brand.

He lets the tears drop, forcing his hand to remain on his mouth so he can stay quiet. He doesn’t want to upset Eddie anymore.

Crunching stones under shoes approach. Steve doesn’t even look up when he hears a sucking of breath and Eddie’s murmuring voice, “Shit, Stevie.”

Calloused, ringed hands gently cup both sides of his face. Steve barely catches himself from sinking into the grasp. It’s always too easy to enjoy the feeling of Eddie’s hands on his cheeks. Was it too much for Eddie as well?

“Stevie, please look at me.”

Despite his brain screaming at him no, Steve does so. Eddie’s eyes are bloodshot red and tracks of tears practically shine on his face. In another scenario, he would look as beautiful as ever. But instead, he looks like shit.

Eddie’s fingers tap on his hand, the one still clamping over his mouth. Steve shakes his head quickly. He doesn’t want to break down into a sobbing mess and demand Eddie’s comfort.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie rasps out, a line of spittle popping out of his mouth. His voice sounds rough like he had just cried. “I’m so sorry, Steve, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Work was-” He closes his eyes, shudders out another breath, and opens them again. “What happened at work wasn’t an excuse and never should be. Even if I was exhausted and upset, I shouldn’t have lashed out. I wish I could take those words back, baby.”

Steve finally removes his hand, managing to speak coherent words just before the sobbing finally breaks out. “Am I too much though?”

He catches the horrified expression before Eddie suddenly pulls him forward into a tight embrace.

“You’re never too much, sweetheart. You’re just fucking perfect.” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear, clear as day.

Steve doesn’t know how they spend kneeling on the ground as his entire body rattles out from crying while Eddie keeps holding him and occasionally gently shushing Steve. Eventually, Steve’s eyes dry out and he feels so tired that he just wants to tuck himself into bed and sleep.

Eddie helps him up and guides him back inside the house. They linger at the foot of the stairs, both of them realizing the same thing.

“Do you… want me to sleep with you still?” Eddie asks softly. He hasn’t let his hand go from Steve’s where it occasionally squeezes around his fingers. It fixes something in Steve’s heart but it’s barely enough to soothe the ache over.

“I-” Steve cuts himself off. Eddie looks at him earnestly, his brown eyes appearing to grow bigger with the still-there shining tears. Steve sighs and continues, “I think I want.. space. Just for tonight.”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips. “So do I. I think that’ll be good for tonight.”

“You won’t leave?” It hurts Steve to ask even though his gut is certain that Eddie will rather chew his hand off than leave.

“I’ll still be here.” Eddie raises a hand up with a small smile. “Especially in the morning when we’re rested and less pissed-off.”

Steve smiles back, “Okay.”

And when the morning does come, Eddie’s still here. When they talk and apologize, Eddie tells Steve again that he never thought of Steve as an unbearable boyfriend.

It makes Steve feel warm from the overflow of Eddie’s love.

[solarmorrigan]

Nothing Could Be More Important

For the @steddie-spooktober day 27 prompt: Scary Movies Rated: T | Words: 1812 | CW: some internalized ableism | Tags: established relationship, Steve Harrington has chronic pain, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, Eddie Munson takes care of Steve Harrington, hurt/comfort Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

This is shit.

This is utter shit.

Yes, fine, Steve gets that you can’t put your body through as much shit as he’s done without some kind of consequences. You can’t rack up that many injuries without later having to deal with things like migraines or, apparently, chronic pain.

And he gets that the weather tends to negatively affect him. He gets that the temperature oscillating between warm and cold like it often does in the fall is probably going to trigger an episode (something about shifts in atmospheric pressure; Dustin had explained it once, but he’d used a lot of jargon and, to be honest, Steve hadn’t retained most of it).

He gets all of that.

But today? Today of all days, when Eddie has planned something for them, when he needs Steve to be up and about and able-bodied?

Fucking bullshit.

Turning a groan into his pillow, Steve tries to stretch out, tries to work some of the tension out of his aching body, but it’s no use; his muscles pull and his joints creak in protest, and Steve deflates against the mattress with a sigh. His head is swimming, and his limbs are heavy, and the thought of having to get up already makes him want to cry out of sheer exhaustion, and – today just really isn’t going to happen, is it?

It's about the time this realization hits that Eddie chooses appear in the bedroom doorway. He’s already dressed and looking far more awake than he usually does in the mornings, and Steve wonders how late he’s slept in.

“Hey, there you are.” Eddie grins, crossing the room towards the bed. “Thought I was going to have to wake you up so we didn’t get a late start.”

Steve’s stomach sinks even further in the face of Eddie’s excitement, and something of his own dismay must show in his expression, because now Eddie is frowning and settling himself on the edge of the mattress.

“Everything okay?” he asks, reaching out and running a hand down the length of Steve’s back.

And Steve can’t help it – everything hurts, his skin hurts, and he lets out a noise of pure discomfort, flinching under Eddie’s touch.

Eddie snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned. “Steve?”

Guilt creeps up Steve’s throat, doing as much to twist his nerves as the pain itself, and he reaches out to take Eddie’s hand, threading their fingers together. His wrists and knuckles twinge, but it’s manageable.

“I don’t… think I’m going to be able to do today,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Disappointment drops immediately onto Eddie, pulling his face into frown and stooping his shoulders, and fuck if that doesn’t hurt, too.

Eddie’s been planning today since the beginning of October. They’d meant to start out in the early afternoon and make a circuit, hitting all the haunted houses, corn mazes, hayrides, and whatever else they could find in the area, making a whole day of it. This would, unfortunately, involve a ton of driving and even more walking around, two things Steve really doesn’t think he’s up for today.

It’s taken him a long time to get to the point where he can admit that he might not be able to do things, that he just needs to rest, but he hasn’t quite been able to shake the feeling of frustration and guilt that often comes with it.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “Today is a really bad day, I just– I don’t think I can be up that much.”

Eddie bites his lip. “Maybe we could just, like, take a lot of breaks? Or– no,” he backpedals, shaking his head. “Sorry, no, that’s stupid, I’m being stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Steve sighs (though he genuinely doubts the accessibility of most of the haunted attractions they’d been planning to visit, now that he thinks on it). “I’m really sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head again, visibly packing away his disappointment. “No apologies, it’s not your fault.” He squeezes Steve’s hand, so gentle that Steve feels like he might crack. “Do you need anything?”

“Maybe some ibuprofen?” Steve asks.

“Consider it done,” Eddie swears, melodramatic and serious as he places his free hand over his heart.

Steve offers him a wan smile and watches him go.

It takes a little more effort than he’d care to admit to get himself upright against the pillows, slow and achy as he’s feeling, and he drifts for a bit until Eddie comes back, announcing himself with the thunk of a water glass on the bedside table.

Eddie’s not only brought ibuprofen and water, but a plate of toast. When Steve inspects it more closely after taking the pills, he sees that Eddie’s spread the slices over with peanut butter—an easy way to get a little protein in when Steve may not be feeling up to eating much—and he feels a little like crying for reasons entirely unrelated to exhaustion.

He swallows back the desire to apologize again; making Eddie spend the day comforting him isn’t going to make things better. Instead, he asks, “Do you think maybe Dustin and the guys would want to go with you?”

“Nah, they’re spending the day working on their costumes,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Oh.” Steve chews thoughtfully on a piece of toast. “Maybe you could go do that, instead? I know you still have work to do on yours, so–”

“Steve, I’m not going to abandon you when you’re feeling like shit,” Eddie cuts in, apparently a little baffled by Steve’s attempts to find him a new activity for the day.

“I’m probably just going to sleep. Not very exciting.” Steve shakes his head. “I just don’t want to completely wreck your day, you know?”

Eddie frowns. “My day isn’t wrecked. Am I a little disappointed we can’t go out like we planned? Sure.” He shrugs. “But I’m not, like, upset with you over it. Shit happens, baby.” Gently, Eddie brushes Steve’s messy bangs back and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Eat your toast, let the meds kick in, take a nap, and don’t worry about it. Hopefully, you’ll feel a little better after that.”

Steve isn’t sure what to say to that, isn’t sure how to express that he wouldn’t blame Eddie for being upset, even though he’s glad he’s not, and so he decides to just do as he’s told. He eats his toast, insists on taking his own plate to the kitchen so he can at least say he’d gotten up that morning, and then finds himself back in bed shortly after that, already dozing off.

When he wakes a few hours later, he can’t quite say he feels better, but he doesn’t feel worse, and sometimes that’s a win in itself. He can hear Eddie puttering around in the kitchen when he gets up to use the bathroom, and when he pokes his head in on the way back to the bedroom, Eddie seems more animated than he had when Steve had laid down again that morning.

“Hey.” Eddie grins when he looks up from their tiny dining table—which appears be strewn with… snacks?—to see Steve in the doorway. “How’re you feeling?”

“Eh.” Steve tilts his head to the side a bit in a sort of shrug. “What’s all this?”

“While you were napping, I had an idea,” Eddie says. “You feel up to moving to the couch?”

“Sure. You gonna tell me why?” Steve asks, craning his neck to try to see around Eddie.

Eddie shoos him out of the doorway and back down the hall. “You’ll see in a minute. Get your shit and get comfy, I’ll meet you out there.”

Uncertain about what he’s meant to be getting comfy for, Steve settles on changing into a fresh set of pajamas (it’s hardly as good as a shower, but it makes him feel a little cleaner, all the same) and bringing out a blanket and extra pillow.

The smell of popcorn hits him the moment he exits the bedroom, and he finds Eddie in the living room, busying himself with something on the coffee table. There is, in fact, a bowl of popcorn, accompanied by a few bags of candy and a stack of movies.

“Tada!” Eddie turns and throws his arms up like a showman when Steve shuffles into the room.

“Movie night?” Steve asks, then glances at the clock. “Uh– movie day?”

“Yeah! I figured if we weren’t going out, we’d have to get our cheap scares some other way, so I ran out and got a few things. Check it out.” Eddie holds up the movie cases for Steve’s inspection.

There’s a whole slew of selections: Fright Night, Dawn of the Dead, The Evil Dead, Psycho, Nightmare on Elm Street – Eddie had gone all out.

“You pick,” Steve insists, turning the cases back at Eddie. “This was your idea, after all.”

Eddie spends a long few moments humming in indecision before popping Psycho into the player (“We should start with a classic”) and then ushers Steve towards the couch.

“Go ahead and stretch out, if you want,” he says, and Steve shoots him a skeptical look.

“Where are you going to sit?”

Eddie pulls a throw pillow from the stack on the couch and tosses it on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. “Boom.”

Steve maintains his skepticism. He isn’t the only one with chronic pain, after all; maybe Eddie’s never announces itself quite as dramatically, but his scars give him trouble sometimes, and his back, if nothing else, won’t thank him for spending an entire afternoon on the floor.

“I’ll be fine for, like, one movie,” Eddie insists. “Lie down already.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve does as he’s told, arranging himself on the couch until he’s about as comfortable as he’s going to get, and waits for Eddie to do the same.

“Your Raisinets, you weirdo,” Eddie says as he passes the box of Steve’s preferred movie-going candy back over his shoulder.

“I don’t have to defend my life choices to a man currently combining popcorn and candy corn,” Steve retorts.

Eddie doesn’t even pause his snack crimes, shaking the bowl of popcorn a little to get the candy corn to mix in. “As a mutual friend would say: try before you deny,” Eddie replies sagely. “Besides, it’s festive.”

“Uh huh,” Steve hums, watching as the opening scene plays out. When Eddie finally settles, leaning back against the couch, Steve lays a hand over his shoulder, stroking a thumb against his chest. “Hey.” He waits for Eddie to turn, then takes a moment to defy the screaming of his muscles and bends to press a quick kiss to Eddie’s lips. “Thank you.”

Eddie’s answering smile is immediate. “Anytime.”

And Steve doesn’t doubt that he means it.

[solarmorrigan]

Wrote this a while ago for I think an Angsty August prompt but never posted it. Stumbled across it a few days ago and realized I actually liked it, so here it is

Rated: T | Words: 935 | CW: Anxiety attack | Tags: hurt/comfort, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington has chronic pain, Eddie Munson takes care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington loves Eddie Munson, the stress and imperfection of caring for someone with a chronic illness

-

There are bills. There are always fucking bills – a pile of them lying on the kitchen table where Eddie sits now, head hanging, hair clenched in his fists as he tries to breathe.

He’s pulling so hard that he’s giving himself a headache, and it nearly makes him laugh, but he refrains. He gets the feeling that if he starts, he might not stop – he’ll get louder and louder, maybe get a little hysterical, and then he’ll disturb Steve, who’s currently laid up with the mother of all headaches. Eddie’s little tension headache pales in comparison to the might of the migraine.

At least it’s Saturday. Steve hadn’t had to miss another shift, and Eddie is free to stay home and keep him company. Not that there’s much Eddie can do; he takes another shaking breath, trying to burst the band of anxiety wrapped tight around his chest, but his thoughts keep racing.

The envelopes piled on the table stare back at him as he blinks watery eyes down at his placemat, rent and utilities and medical bills all crying out for payment. Eddie’s job is barely enough to keep them afloat, and Steve – he helps as much as he can. His new job doesn’t pay as much as his last had, but fewer and more flexible hours reduce the chances he’ll get fired after calling out one too many times (like his last job).

(And Eddie can admit, if only in the privacy of his own head, to some frustrated, bitter thoughts in his weaker moments, wondering why Steve can’t just push through his pain like Eddie does. There are days when Eddie’s scars act up, when his body aches and he wants nothing more than to stay in bed, but he doesn’t.

But then he sees the results of Steve “pushing through it” – ignoring the way his whole body hurts, moving until he physically can’t anymore, until even breathing feels painful. Shoving off the impending signs of a migraine until they get mornings like this one: vomiting and stuttering and auras, sitting on the bathroom floor until Eddie can coax him back to bed.

He sees it, sees how much it kills Steve that he can’t do more, and feels ashamed.)

It isn’t just the bills weighing on Eddie’s mind, though. More even than money trouble—something with which Eddie at least has experience—it’s Steve that’s scaring him the most. The days when he’s overwhelmed by pain or by exhaustion, by fogginess and migraines, seem to be increasing, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

Scrape together enough money to go see another specialist who will tell them shit they already know and recommend treatments they can’t afford?

(Eddie would. If Steve’s doctor gave him yet another referral, Eddie would find a way to make it work. He’s just not sure anymore that it would help.)

He hates feeling useless. Hates sitting by, unable to do a damn thing, unable to solve the problem, stuck in place just like he had been in high school, dead weight, no good to anybody–

A rustling of sheets followed by a quiet groan reaches Eddie’s ears from the bedroom, snapping him from his spiral.

He sits up, then, releasing his hair and rubbing his hands over his cheeks, catching any stray moisture from beneath his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths, shaking less now, and stands from the table. There is one thing he can do, and even if it doesn’t feel like enough, Eddie is going to do it.

The bedroom is dim, curtains drawn over east-facing windows that blessedly get less light in the afternoon. The bed is a wreck of pillows and sheets, moved around or cast aside in an effort to alleviate the pain, to warm up or stay cool through a fluctuating body temperature. Steve lies in the middle of it all, turned now to face the door, one arm stretched over the empty space where Eddie had been.

His eyes are closed, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’s awake – sure enough, he pulls his arm back as soon as the bed dips under Eddie’s weight. Eddie slides back beneath the sheets and takes Steve’s hand with a gentle squeeze.

“Hey.”

Steve hums, eyes still closed, squeezing Eddie’s hand back. “Where’d you go?”

“Just got up to stretch my legs,” Eddie answers (it’s an easy lie, one Eddie feels no guilt over, because it’s better than explaining that he’d gotten up to avoid waking Steve with the anxiety attack that had built in his chest the longer he’d lain in the silence of their bedroom, watching the furrow between Steve’s brows that made him look pained even in his sleep).

After a moment, Steve’s eyes flutter open, searching Eddie’s face. Whatever he finds there makes his frown deepen.

“Kinda ruined our weekend, huh?” he says quietly. “’m sorry you’re stuck with me like this.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says lowly. “Never apologize. I’m not stuck with you, I love you.” He leans up, presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead, and Steve sighs.

He takes their joined hands and brings them to his lips, kissing the back of Eddie’s. “I love you, too,” he murmurs against Eddie’s skin.

“You need anything?” Eddie asks, before he really settles in.

Steve makes a noise in the negative. “Just you,” he says, lips still brushing Eddie’s hand. “That’s enough.”

Eddie can’t help the overwhelmed tears that well up in his eyes again. This is enough – they’re enough. As long as Eddie has Steve, they can figure the rest out together.

And that will always be enough.

[solarmorrigan]

For the prompts! Drunk - and if we wanna get specific I love the idea of someone wanting to make a move while they’re drunk but the other person is like very consent informed obvi and is like no but the drunk person takes it as rejection so the sober person comforts them / clarifies they’re into it just not then. But you can do any type of drunk scenario! Or maybe anxious? honestly anywhere inspiration strikes with this message, even if it seems left field 🙏🏼🫡

Hello! It occurred to me as I was reading this just now that nowhere in your ask did you specify a ship, and that I just... kinda filled in Steddie. I hope that's okay??

3. Drunk - Eddie/Steve

cw: alcohol use, dubcon (Steve is drunk; he also tries to continue kissing Eddie even after Eddie says no, but it does not progress past that point)

-

It feels like some kind of daydream when Steve pushes Eddie down onto the couch and straddles his lap. Eddie’s definitely imagined it enough times – how Steve would feel over him, or under him, how warm and pliant he would be, how soft his mouth would be, yielding under Eddie’s. He’d never imagined the sharp taste of liquor on Steve’s tongue, though, and that’s enough to wake him up.

His role as designated driver is to get Steve home safe, to get him into bed where he can sleep the night off; it definitely doesn’t include this.

He puts a hand to Steve’s chest, gently pushing him back.

“Hey, Steve, you’ve gotta stop,” Eddie says, regretful as Steve’s lips leave his.

“Why?” Steve asks, leaning in to kiss across Eddie’s cheek and down to the curve of his jaw. “You want this.”

What Eddie wants doesn’t matter, he reminds himself. Not right now. “You’re drunk, Steve,” he says, again pushing back against Steve’s chest.

“’m not that drunk,” Steve insists, as if Eddie hadn’t been the one to chivy his wobbly ass out of the car and into his house just minutes ago. He cranes his neck until his lips are brushing Eddie’s ear. “You want this. You want me.”

And Eddie does want Steve. It feels like all he does is want Steve. It feels like his heart vacates his chest and runs to wait at Steve’s feet like a loyal dog anytime he’s nearby. Eddie wants.

But not like this. Not when this isn’t something Steve would do sober.

Steve rolls his hips down against Eddie’s, and Eddie can’t help the noise that escapes him – he’s only human, and Steve feels so fucking good. But then he gets a firm grip on Steve’s hips, stilling him in his lap.

“Steve,” Eddie says, low and warning.

“S’okay,” Steve insists, brushing a few kisses up Eddie’s neck. He continues his mumbling in Eddie’s ear, “promise. You want me, you can have me. You don’t have to love me back. S’okay.”

Eddie’s heart skips a beat. Skips several, maybe. “What?”

“You can have me,” Steve says again, pressing an off-center kiss to Eddie’s temple for emphasis.

“No, what did you– Steve, look at me,” Eddie says, reaching up to take Steve by the shoulders, pushing at him gently. Steve whines and tries to burrow further into Eddie’s neck. “Fuck, sweetheart, just look at me.”

Maybe it’s the pet name, maybe it’s the firmness of Eddie’s voice, but Steve slowly leans back until he can meet Eddie’s eyes. His gaze is glassy, a little hazy, but he’s about as focused as Eddie’s going to get him.

“You think I wouldn’t love you?” Eddie asks.

Steve blinks, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You– you don’t have to. I can be okay with just this. With whatever you want, just– You want me,” he says quietly. “…don’t you?”

The question is soft, heart-breakingly uncertain, small and pleading in a way Steve should never have to be.

“Steve,” Eddie reaches up to cup Steve’s face in his hands, “how could I not love you back?”

Steve gives a little shrug, glancing away, even as he leans into Eddie’s touch.

“No, baby, listen: it’s fucking crazy how much I love you, okay? It’s – I want to write songs about you. I want to be wherever you are all the time. I want to see you every day and I want to stay awake all night because I don’t want to waste a single minute sleeping when it could be spent with you,” Eddie says, brushing his thumbs across Steve’s flushed cheeks. “I love you so much that I’m going to get you a glass of water and put you to bed so I can tell you all of this all over again when you’re sober, okay?”

For a moment, Steve just stares at him, lips parted like he’s in awe. “You love me,” he whispers.

Eddie can’t help but laugh, just a little thing, fond and quiet. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

“And you’re– you’re gonna stay?” Steve asks, still a little small.

“I’m gonna stay,” Eddie promises.

Slowly, Steve nods. “Okay.”

He’s cooperative after that, if a little floppy. Eddie gets him into pajamas and into bed, and even gets most of a glass of water into him before he looks ready to pass out.

“Hey,” Steve says, hand shooting out to grab Eddie by the wrist just as Eddie is making to leave the bedroom. “I love you, too.”

Eddie smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I know,” he says. “You can tell me that in the morning, too.”

[solarmorrigan]

Well twist my arm to ask for steddie lol

1. Injured for steddie please!

I know it's kind of a niche thing to ask for, but I thought I'd branch out

Injured - Steddie

cw: minor injury, a lot of discussion of blood, panic attack

-

“Fuck,” Steve swears, immediately dropping the shard of glass as he feels it bite into the fleshy pad of his palm.

That was stupid. Why hadn’t he just grabbed the dustpan? It isn’t even that far from where he’d dropped and broken the glass, it’s not like he’d had to kneel down and immediately try to pick the pieces up with his bare hands.

Hissing, he clutches his opposite hand over the cut, like if he squeezes hard enough, his skin might just obligingly knit itself back together, but it’s no good; he can already feel the slick sensation of blood welling up against his skin.

Suddenly, he feels cold.

He forces himself to pull his hand away, to look at the damage done. It isn’t terrible – long, curving along the soft pad beneath his thumb, but it doesn’t seem to be deep. It’s bleeding, though. He watches, caught, as it seeps out and trails into the palm of his hand.

“Steve?” Eddie calls out from somewhere; distantly, Steve remembers that he’s out in the living room, just beyond the kitchen, but it sounds like his voice is coming from a long way off. “You okay?”

Steve can’t answer. He can’t seem to pull his attention away from the blood dripping from his cut; a little trickle has escaped his palm and slipped between his fingers, landing on the kitchen tile. Blood is smeared on his other hand, too, he realizes, from where he’d been clutching at the wound. It’s just a little, but it’s enough to make him feel clammy.

“I heard something break,” Eddie is saying, and his voice sounds closer now, yet still somehow distant. Distorted, like he’s at the other end of a tunnel. “Are you okay?”

He very much isn’t, Steve realizes, once he’s processed the question. Physically, he’s sitting on his kitchen floor, staring at his own blood welling in his palm, but mentally–

The last time he’d had blood on his hands, he’d been surrounded by ash and dust, shivering in the cold, still air of the Upside Down. Eddie’s blood had been everywhere; slick in Steve’s palms as they’d tried to staunch the worst of it, sticking his shirt to his skin as he’d cradled Eddie’s body against his own to get him out, tacky on the front of his jeans where he’d wiped the worst of the mess so he could grip the wheel and drive – he’s there right now, can see it so clearly, can feel it on his skin.

He can’t breathe.

His vision is tunneling out, static filling the edges even as his eyes are still glued to that fucking cut. He sways where he’s kneeling and–

“Hey.”

Two hands cup his cheeks and firmly turn his face forward. The blood is gone, and Eddie fills Steve’s swimming vision.

“There you are, sweetheart,” Eddie says, just audible over the pounding in Steve’s ears. “Look at me. Don’t think about anything else, just look at me.”

Steve looks. He blinks slowly, still stuck in the strange twilight between consciousness and unconsciousness, but he looks. Eddie is there in front of him, whole and healthy, his brown eyes wide and bright, his mouth moving again as he speaks.

“You’re okay, Steve,” he says, and Steve shakes his head minutely in the cradle of Eddie’s palms.

“You’re okay,” he manages, and Eddie’s face does something complicated – goes soft and a little sad.

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m right here,” he says, and Steve lets the words wash over him, pushing away his buzzing panic.

Without moving away from Steve, Eddie reaches behind himself with one hand, groping wildly until he finds the kitchen towel hanging off the edge of the counter and pulls it down.

“Eyes on me,” he orders as he wraps the towel carefully around Steve’s hand, and, suddenly exhausted, Steve is grateful for the simple directions to follow. He keeps his eyes on Eddie’s face and tries to breathe beneath the constricting cage of his ribs.

The cut burns under the makeshift terrycloth bandage, but Steve doesn’t mind. He flexes his hand and lets the pain ground him.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Eddie says, bringing his hands back up to cup Steve’s face. “Just take a minute, and then we’ll go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Steve swallows and nods, trying to steady himself. “The glass,” he says, glancing down at the mess that he and Eddie are very nearly kneeling in.

“I’ll get it in a bit, don’t worry about it,” Eddie says.

“Okay.” Steve gives Eddie another tiny nod. “Use the dustpan.”

Eddie bursts out with a short laugh, leaning forward to bump his forehead gently against Steve’s. “Yeah, baby, I’ll do that.”

[solarmorrigan]

oooh. fic requests! how about 6 - fight or 19 - allergies for steddie?

Hello! I'm sorry it took so long to get to this one, but I hope it's alright! I went with:

6. Fight - Steddie

cw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced domestic violence, unhealthy relationship dynamics (not between Eddie and Steve)

-

The most frustrating thing about fighting with Steve is that he doesn’t fight. Not really.

Sure, he’ll poke and he’ll prod and he’ll snip and he’ll snap; he’ll dole out bitchy, passive aggressive comments and roll his eyes and sigh pointedly, but the moment things get heated, the moment an argument gets real, it’s just–

“Fine. Fine,” Steve snaps, tossing his hands up with an exasperated huff. “You’re right, okay? I’m– I’m sorry.”

And at first, Eddie had always felt so vindicated, so flush with the triumph of winning an argument, that it had taken him a while to realize that it felt– wrong. That Steve—so confident, so sure in his opinions, so willing to stand up to people when he has something to defend—would just give in without a fight– it feels wrong.

So Eddie had tried to pay attention – really pay attention. They don’t fight often, but when an argument inevitably does crop up, Eddie always wins. Rather, Steve always lets him. He never raises his voice, never gets in Eddie’s face, never really even makes counterarguments. He cedes to Eddie’s points and then subsides and it’s– it’s infuriating, because Eddie doesn’t understand.

“Don’t do that,” Eddie growls, tugging a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Don’t– what? Don’t apologize?” Steve asks incredulously.

“No!” Eddie bursts out. “Not if you don’t mean it!”

“Excuse me?” Steve draws back, offended. “What the hell do you want me to do to prove I’m sincere? Get on my knees and fucking grovel?”

“That’s not–” Eddie leaves off with a frustrated noise, trying hard to keep his tone level. “I don’t want to win an argument just because you let me. I don’t want you to apologize just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“I’m not letting you win,” Steve says quickly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You are, though. You do. Every time. You won’t actually engage, you just say I’m right and then clam up and that’s it,” Eddie says.

Steve levels him with a look of disbelief. “So– what, you want me to yell at you? You want me to tell you that you’re wrong?”

“I want–” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a second to gather his thoughts. “I want you to feel like you’re allowed to argue with me. I don’t want you to just give in and then resent me or something.”

“I don’t resent you, Eddie,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes.

“No?” Eddie pushes. “How many times have we gone to bed after an argument with me perfectly satisfied, thinking I’ve won, while you’re actually still mad at me?”

“That’s– I don’t…” Steve shifts uncomfortably. “If I’m still mad, that’s my problem. I can just get over it.”

“But that’s exactly what I mean!” Eddie insists. “That shit builds up! And besides, what if you’re the one who’s really right? I might actually be wrong, and you should tell me. Or maybe there’s some kind of, like, compromise we can reach, I don’t know! I don’t want you to be afraid to push back – I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Steve says, jaw jutting out stubbornly when Eddie fixes him with a considering look. “I’m not. I’m just– how long before yelling turns into a screaming match? How long before it turns into throwing shit around, or– or shoving each other, or worse?”

“Steve…” Eddie murmurs, the last of his heated frustration draining away, leaving a clammy kind of dismay in its place. “Steve, I would never do any of those things to you.”

“I know,” Steve says, and it sounds like he means it. “I know that. But what if I–”

“No,” Eddie says firmly, because he thinks he understands now – Steve isn’t afraid of him, he’s afraid of himself. Afraid of turning into everything he’d been raised around: the blowout arguments between his parents, his mom’s petty destruction of his dad’s things, his dad’s frustration turned back on Steve, a cycle of violent familial bullshit that Steve is determined to break free from, even if it means saying that he’s wrong every time. Eddie comes forward, grabbing Steve’s hands; he can’t even remember what they’d been arguing about moments before, but he knows he doesn’t care anymore. “You would never do that. I know you, Steve, you are nothing like that.”

Steve looks down at their joined hands, blinking rapidly. “This– you… You’re more important than winning. Than any stupid argument,” he says.

“That’s exactly why we should have stupid arguments,” Eddie says, grinning a little when that gets a choked laugh out of Steve. “I’m serious. Let’s have stupid, petty arguments so they don’t turn into big ones. I swear I’m not going to stay mad if you get on my ass about not doing the dishes.”

Slowly, Steve nods. He doesn’t entirely look like he believes Eddie, but that’s fine. It’s always been like this – Steve unwilling (or unable) to believe that someone will love him if he doesn’t make it easy for them. Eddie’s been breaking that down, bit by bit, and this is no different. This is no chore.

“I’ll still love you even when I’m angry. Even when you’re angry,” Eddie promises. “I just love you, full stop.”

Steve nods again, more certain this time as he looks up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “I love you, too,” he says, because he always, always says it back, which suits Eddie just fine.

He figures if they can agree on that much, every other disagreement will be a breeze.

[solarmorrigan]

Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

-

The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

[steddiealltheway]

Eddie chronically leaves his rings at Steve’s place to the point that Steve checks the bathroom and kitchen sink every time after he leaves, only to find one of them there every time.

Not that Steve is entirely complaining since this means he gets to call him and Eddie gets to stop by on his own to pick them up.

But when they’re at the Wheeler’s place, and Eddie says he’s going to the bathroom, Steve says, “Be careful not to leave one of your rings behind,” with a wink that has the kids exchanging confused looks. But Steve doesn’t notice because he’s too distracted by the light blush coloring Eddie’s cheeks.

“Why would Eddie leave one of his rings behind?” Dustin asks Steve when Eddie’s out of earshot.

Steve laughs. “He leaves one behind every time he washes his hands I swear. I don’t know how he hasn’t lost one at this point.” But his amusement is quick to die down when he realizes the kids are staring at him as if he’s absolutely insane. “What?”

They all glance at each other, and Steve is surprised when Mike is the first to pipe in, “He never leaves them anywhere. They’re like his prized possession. I’ve never even seen him take them off.”

Steve frowns and glances around at everyone, sensing that there’s definitely something he’s missing, so he’s quick to lie, “Well, I guess it was only once or twice that it happened. Maybe it was my fancy soap. Made things too… slippery.”

He gets a few eye rolls at the comment, but the group is quick to move on especially when Eddie comes back a few moments later with all his rings on his hands.

Steve gives him a quick smile, and Eddie is quick to return it, eyes lingering on him for a few seconds longer than necessary and the same blush from earlier returning.

It hits Steve very suddenly.

The rings are an excuse to come back.

And with this knowledge, Steve’s let’s his own gaze linger on Eddie longer than he usually allows, moving into his space more often than not, and carefully keeping track of time, waiting for the hang out to end.

When it finally comes to a halt, Steve is quick to say his goodbyes, hoping that Eddie will join and let the kids have their unnecessarily prolonged goodbyes in private. And luckily, Eddie is quick to move out of the basement, following after Steve in a way that’s supposed to look causal but is anything but casual now that Steve knows to look for the signs.

When he and Eddie silently go out the front door, Steve is quick to turn to him and hold out his hand. Eddie gives him a confused look but offers his hand which Steve takes and slides one of the rings off of.

Eddie stares at it for a moment, looking slightly frightened, as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

Steve is quick to soothe the fear as he pockets the ring and says, “Just so you’ll have an excuse to stop by later tonight.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush bright red and he runs a hand over his face. “Shit.”

Steve laughs, “So it has been on purpose?”

“No,” Eddie clearly lies, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face.

“And what if I told you I wanted it to be on purpose?” Steve asks.

Eddie freezes for a moment as if he’s waiting for Steve to tell him that he’s joking, but Steve sits in the silence, letting the question settle between them.

“Then,” Eddie starts, taking a small step forward into Steve’s space, “I would-”

The door behind them bursts open and Dustin yells, “Hurry up I have a curfew!” as he races off to Steve’s car.

Steve rolls his eyes at the kid and takes a step back as everyone else makes their way out the door to the cars or their bikes.

Steve and Eddie linger behind for a moment, which Steve uses to quietly ask, “I’ll see you tonight?”

Eddie gives him a bashful smile in return and nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”

Steve resists the urge to celebrate in any way in front of the kids and instead puts his hand in his pocket, fingers curling around Eddie’s ring.

As he gets into his car, ignoring Dustin bitching and complaining, he slips the ring over his finger and smiles at it.

He notices the car go quiet and he nearly groans at his mistake.

“Is that Eddie’s ring?” Dustin screeches.

It’s going to be a long drive home, but Steve doesn’t mind when he has Eddie to look forward to.

[littlemissvenom0]

Part 2 — “Stay With Me”

(Reader's POV)

The days blurred after the kitchen. I didn't remember much, only bits and pieces: Robin rocking me back and forth until her arms shook. Eddie sobbing harder than I ever thought he could. Dustin clutching onto Eddie’s jacket, wailing broken apologies even though none of this was his fault. Steve standing frozen at the door, his face crumbling when he saw me flinch away from him.

After that, everything faded to grey.

Robin stayed with me after. She offered — more like insisted. Said it wasn’t safe to leave me alone, not after what happened. I didn’t argue.

The first night, she curled up behind me in bed, arms wrapped around my middle so gently it barely felt like a touch. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The silence between us was enough. The kind of silence you only share with someone who's seen your ghosts and still refuses to run.

The second night, she helped me bathe. Not because I asked, but because I couldn't do it myself. Every time I looked at the water, I saw hands that weren't mine dragging me under. I was afraid I'd drown in six inches of bathwater, and honestly, it didn’t sound so bad.

Robin gave me privacy to undress. I stepped into the tub, my body aching, my mind screaming. By the time she came back in, I was already shaking — from cold or fear, I didn’t know anymore.

She tried so hard to act normal, talking about random things — her favorite movies, her newest obsession with Weird Al — but I could feel the way her voice cracked.

When she caught sight of my back, I knew. I heard her tiny intake of breath. Saw her reflection in the mirror — the way her hand flew to her mouth, the way her face drained of color like she might be sick.

“—I’ll be right back,” she choked, fleeing the room so fast it made the air shiver.

I sat there, dripping and broken, feeling like a monster no one could bear to look at.

Then I heard footsteps. Another shadow at the door.

I didn't have to turn around to know it was him. I felt him like a weight against my skin.

Steve.

He must’ve caught a glimpse of me in the mirror too, because I heard it: The shaky gasp he couldn’t hold back. The ragged whisper of my name like it burned his throat.

I curled in tighter, my arms crossing over my chest, trying to hide what he already saw.

I felt him sit down — the stall creaked under his weight — but I didn’t lift my head. Couldn’t.

He sat there for a long time. Long enough that the water started to go cold. Long enough that I started to shiver.

Finally, he spoke, voice hoarse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. It cracked open something inside me, something I didn’t even realize was still whole enough to break. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t— I didn’t know. I should’ve known. I should’ve listened.”

The words fell into the space between us like tiny stones, one after another, building a wall I didn’t have the strength to climb.

“I love you,” he said. A tiny, broken thing. Almost a question.

Still, I didn’t look up.

Instead, I said, so quietly I barely heard myself:

“I saw you.”

Steve shifted beside me. I heard the scrape of his jeans against the tile.

“I saw you... and Nancy. In the car.” The words stuck like knives in my throat, but I forced them out. “Vecna showed me. I was... I was floating, and I saw it. I saw her kiss you. You kissed back.”

The silence that followed was so thick it suffocated me.

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t say anything at all.

“I think he thought it would break me,” I mumbled, my fingers tracing aimless shapes in the water. “Make me let go. Make me go to him. And for a second...” I swallowed hard. “For a second, I almost did.”

Tears blurred my vision again, not that it mattered. I barely felt them now.

“But then I heard them,” I whispered. “Robin. Eddie. Dustin. They were screaming for me. Crying for me. And I—I stayed. I stayed for them.”

I finally turned my head just enough to see him. He looked destroyed. Eyes glassy, mouth trembling, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

Still, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell me I was wrong. Didn’t tell me it wasn’t what it looked like.

He just stood up. Like the sight of me was too much.

And he left. He walked out without a single word.

I heard Robin’s voice outside the bathroom, sharp and angry. She must have heard everything.

“You should leave,” she said coldly. Her voice didn’t sound like Robin anymore. It sounded like steel.

I didn’t hear Steve’s reply. If he even had one.

But I heard the door slam a minute later. The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot.

I sat there until the water was ice cold. Until my skin went numb. Until I couldn’t tell if the tears on my face were real or just another hallucination.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew Robin came back. I felt her gentle hands lift me from the tub, wrap me in a towel, guide me back to bed. She tucked me in like I was made of glass.

She didn’t say anything. She just crawled into bed beside me again, wrapping her arms around me like before, grounding me with the steady beat of her heart against my back.

And for once, I didn’t feel like I was drowning alone.

But even in her arms, I kept my eyes open.

Because every time I closed them, I saw him.

Vecna.

Still waiting.

Still reaching.

Still there.

[littlemissvenom0]

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒚 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑴𝒆

(Steve Harrington x Reader | Reader’s POV) ➤ [TW: PTSD, panic attacks, flashbacks, trauma responses,, very emotional themes]

I don't even remember the knife falling from my hand.

One second, I was cutting fruit at the kitchen counter, laughing gently at something Dustin said. The next second, the walls twisted — the ceiling warped — and that familiar, suffocating blackness crawled in.

I gripped the countertop to steady myself, my whole body going stiff.

“Dustin,” I rasped out, panic already gripping my voice, “you need to leave. Now.”

“What?” His eyes widened behind his hat. “No — no way. I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll call Steve—”

“Dustin.” My voice cracked — broke into something desperate and terrifying even to my own ears. “I’m not in control when it happens. Please. Just go outside. Please.”

He hesitated — too long — but one look at my trembling hands, and the color drained from his face. Without another word, he stumbled toward the front door and bolted outside.

I made it three steps before my knees gave out.

The world around me melted, and suddenly it wasn’t my house anymore — it was the Upside Down, or Vecna’s lair, or some nightmare realm stitched together from all the worst things I'd ever seen.

The dark walls oozed.

The ground breathed under me.

And I was alone.

I didn’t even realize I was screaming until the noise tore my throat raw.

By the time Steve got there, the house was silent.

He found me curled in the kitchen corner, crumpled into a ball, dry tear tracks down my cheeks, face hollow. Dustin was standing outside, pacing, red-eyed, cell phone clutched so tightly it looked ready to crack.

“She told me to leave," Dustin blurted when Steve ran up. "She said she’s not in control when it happens. She tried to tell you before — but you didn’t listen, Steve.”

Steve’s stomach dropped.

Slowly, he approached where I sat — unmoving, vacant, barely breathing.

He knelt a few feet away, hands open and trembling.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly. “Hey, it’s me. It’s just me.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

When I finally did speak, my voice was empty.

“I still feel him, Steve.”

He shook his head fiercely. “No, no, sweetheart, listen to me. He’s gone. It’s just the trauma, that’s all. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But all I could do was nod weakly, my head lolling forward with exhaustion.

Steve gathered me into his arms that night and didn’t let go. He promised he’d never leave again.

I almost believed him.

The next few days blurred into a haze.

Robin visited first — bringing my favorite snacks, movies, a blanket she said was "magic." Eddie and Dustin pulled up just as she did, eager to hover around me like protective older siblings.

I hated that they saw me like this.

Small. Broken.

But secretly, somewhere deep inside, I clung to the warmth they brought.

I was slicing apples when the next blackout came.

It started with a twitch in my vision. A cold burst up my spine.

Robin knocked. I heard her. I swear I heard her.

But my body wouldn’t move.

The air thickened — buzzed — and before I could scream, I was ripped from reality again.

Robin’s POV:

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Robin called through the door, grinning as she balanced two pizzas and a movie under one arm. “We brought reinforcements!”

No answer.

Robin frowned.

Eddie glanced at her, brow furrowed. Dustin’s face paled immediately.

“Maybe she’s sleeping?” Eddie offered half-heartedly.

Robin’s heart pounded faster.

Something wasn’t right.

She dropped the pizzas — ran to the window — pressed her face to the glass.

Her scream ripped through the quiet street.

“SHE’S FLOATING!”

Inside, against the kitchen wall, (Y/N)’s body hung midair — twisted — hands clawing at her own throat, her face a shade too close to blue.

“EDDIE, BREAK IT DOWN!”

Eddie slammed into the door with his shoulder — once, twice — but it barely budged.

“MOVE!” Robin shouted, shouldering him aside. With a raw scream, she launched herself at the door.

It burst open with a crack.

They rushed in — Eddie, Robin, Dustin tripping over each other — reaching up, grabbing at (Y/N)’s legs, trying to pull her down — but she was stuck, trapped in invisible chains none of them could see.

Robin wrapped her arms around (Y/N)'s waist, sobbing. “Come back, come back, please—"

Then, without warning, (Y/N) collapsed, hitting the ground hard.

Eddie caught her before she cracked her head on the tiles.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even blink.

Dustin’s lip trembled violently. “She… she tried to tell Steve. She told him she still felt Vecna…”

Robin cradled (Y/N) against her chest, rocking her gently, whispering nonsense words through her own choked sobs.

Eddie whipped out his phone, frantically calling Steve — no answer. Called Nancy — no answer. Called Jonathan.

He answered on the second ring.

"Jonathan! We can't find Steve! Nancy either! (Y/N)'s— she’s—"

Jonathan cursed under his breath. “I’ll be there in five.”

Steve’s POV:

Steve sat awkwardly in the parked car, drumming his fingers against the wheel.

Nancy was talking. He wasn’t listening.

Then — god — she leaned over and kissed him.

For a second, out of old reflex, he kissed back.

But guilt punched him in the gut — hard — and he pulled away.

“No — I can’t — I’m with (Y/N),” he muttered, voice hoarse.

Nancy frowned.

Steve didn’t care. He fumbled for his phone — six missed calls, three voicemails — Eddie’s voice frantic, Robin crying, Dustin screaming.

(Y/N)'s hurt.

(Y/N)'s hurt.

(YOU DIDN’T LISTEN!)

Steve jammed the keys in the ignition so hard they bent.

He floored it all the way to (Y/N)’s house.

When he pulled up, Jonathan was already there. So was Dustin, Eddie, Robin.

Steve slammed the door and ran to the porch.

His heart stopped.

There — on the couch — was (Y/N). Barely there.

Her body slumped against Robin’s chest, her face blank, her skin covered in bruises — angry purple handprints wrapping her neck, splatters along her arms and legs like she’d been grabbed — like something invisible had dragged her across hell and back.

She looked up — dazed — and for one awful second when Steve reached out, she flinched away from him.

Steve froze, horror gutting him.

“What happened?” His voice cracked.

Dustin stepped forward, voice shaking with rage.

“She told you. She told you she still felt him. But you — you brushed it off.”

Steve couldn’t breathe.

He sank to his knees in front of her, reaching out again — slower this time.

“Baby,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Tears welled in her wide, disoriented eyes — but she didn’t respond.

Didn’t say a word.

Robin rocked her gently, murmuring into her hair.

Eddie wrapped Dustin in his arms as the boy sobbed helplessly.

Steve pressed his forehead to (Y/N)'s scraped knuckles, silent tears sliding down his face.

He had failed her.

The girl who had trusted him — the girl who needed him to listen — and he hadn’t.

Now he wasn’t sure if he would ever get her back.

Part 2

[oof-ouch-yikes]

"Can I see?" 

Grace doesn't know why he asks. His mouth is always moving faster than his brain, always, always, always, always getting him into trouble, always asking questions better left alone. 

Grace knows this is a question better left alone, knows that Simon tends to conceal these parts of himself for reasons Grace can't quite pick apart— he can guess, sure, but he doesn't know. 

And oh, how Grace yearns to know. 

Simon swallows, dropping his gaze to the bathroom floor. He knew that Grace was there, of course— it seemed like he always knew where Grace was in the house. Simon could tilt his head and chitter just barely low enough for Grace to hear, sending soundwaves through the walls and waiting for them to come back. 

Slowly, so slowly, Simon picks his head back up. He exhales in a rush, pressing his lips into a thin line before nodding. His eyes finally lock back onto Grace's, rich brown irises utterly unblinking. 

Unblinking by human standards, that is. But Simon wasn't quite human, was he? 

Grace takes a tentative step forward, telegraphing his movements in an effort to make sure Simon didn't feel backed into a corner. That was probably the best course of action when you had a predator in your bathroom. 

Grace steps in front of Simon, cautious of the way the other man seemed to back further against the bathroom counter. He didn't seem panicked, though— just nervous. 

"Hey," Grace murmurs. He holds a hand up in the small gap between them, palm upturned. An offering. "You don't have to, y'know." 

Simon shakes his head. "No, I, I want to. It's just-" 

Simon growls under his breath. It's a raspy, tonal noise tempered with frustration. It reminds Grace of whale song. 

"I want to. I'm just…" Simon carefully lifts his own hand. It hovers in the air between them, movements hesitant before eventually dropping onto Grace's own. Grace is interlocking their fingers the second he gets the permission. 

"I don't want you to be scared of me." 

"I won't be." Grace says on instinct, the words threaded with conviction. 

"Fucking liar-" Simon's lips draw back in a half-snarl, exposing rows of too-sharp teeth that he always kept tucked away. A hiss begins to writhe out of Simon's throat before he freezes, guilt flashing across his expression. "Fuck. Fuck. I'm sorry, Grace, fuck, I'm sorry-" 

"Hey." Grace squeezes their hands. "Look at me." 

Simon ignores him but Grace persists. "Simon, look at me. Do I look scared?" 

Simon's hand tightens in Grace's own— like he's scared to look. Grace waits. 

Slowly, always so slowly, Simon picks his head back up. There's jewel-red blood beading on his bottom lip, flesh giving way beneath viscous incisors. 

Simon stares at Grace, eyes wide and expression blank in… disbelief, maybe. 

"No," He breathes. Simon's nails dig into the back of Grace's hand hard enough to hurt. Grace doesn't say a word. 

Grace smiles, eyes crinkled gently. "I'm not scared of you, Simon. Whatever… whatever you think you are. I'm not scared of it." Grace swallows around the ball in his throat. "Or you." 

"You should be." 

"But I'm not." 

The bathroom fan whirs above them. The almost sickly light in the small space casts sharp, unnatural shadows and angles on Simon's face, highlighting scars and places where the skin is a little closer to scale. 

He's the most beautiful thing Grace has ever seen. 

"You gonna let me see?" 

Simon stares up at Grace. He blinks slowly.

"Yeah."