[steebharringt0n]

silvia | 30 | usa | latina | she/her this blog is 18+ masterlist main blog

[freckledjoes]

as if THE FIRST FEW DIDN'T ALREADY KILL ME HELP

photographed by emiliastaugaard on instagram / houseofemilia on twitter!

[ghostlyfleur]

steve harrington x latina!reader

​thinking about taking stevie on a romantic summer getaway *cough cough* to rio or whatever place his girl is originally from *cough* and he’s so happy, he loves the sun and he loves watching you blossom underneath it, and he’s glad it’s summer where you are ‘cause it’s winter back home and he feels like he’s in a movie.

imagine him trying to learn the language, fumbling a little bit while trying to buy you something to surprise you with when you wake up, but he’s trying so hard and it’d be adorable.

he gets it done in the end, and that’s all that matters to him ‘cause he needs to find a way to thank you for this dream vacation where he gets to spend amazing days filled with fun, different things to do with the love of his life— the beach, family barbecues by the pool, introducing him to new food, teaching him customs and words and recipes.

[rosewaterandivy]

HELL TO PAY - PART I: CALLED TO THE DEVIL AND THE DEVIL DID COME

summary: a collection of questionable decisions by one steve harrington, or 'i sold my soul to a demon, and all i got was my shit rocked and this dog.'

pairing: s.h. x demon!reader

warnings: smut, mosterfucking (reader is a demon, like c'mon), making a pact with a demon, sex pact (dubcon elements), inspired by southern gothic/folklore elements and my penchant for the creepy and weird, gothic, minor canon-compliance (post-s4), death, gore, graphic depictions of violence, murder, immortal!reader, heretical notions, blasphemous themes, steve's repressed trauma, insomnia, demonic possession, dark comedy, verbose metaphors, my usual brand of filth

a/n: it's heeeerreeeee! and good golly, is she immense (10.1K!!). so buckle up, buttercup!

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MDNI

series masterlist | playlist | series tag

Who is he that would become my follower?

Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?

- Walt Whitman "Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand"

The tires crunch over rock and gravel as Steve drives down the familiar path. Flanked by decaying grass and leaves littering the ground, birds flap around in low arcs, rapidly fading sunlight illuminates flushes of red, orange, and yellow. He can smell it, even inside the car, ignited in his nose and blazing into his chest.

The smell of spring. The damp, crushed earth beneath muddied boots.

Steve pulls the car into the patch of trodden grass he’s parked in before, steps out, and closes the door quietly. Shoulders the backpack he’s brought and trudges into the woods. He’d read over the rite so many times, he’d memorized it.

Cast the circle. Make on offering. Recite the words. Then wait. 

Seems simple enough, and Steve is just desperate enough to go through with it. By the time he’d made his way to a small clearing in the forest, the sun has set. He stops and drops the bag on a nearby rock, searching for the firepit and making for the matches in his pocket. 

The scent of a lit match lingers, even as the fire roars to life. Logs laid in a lean-to formation with plenty of kindling to catch. Steve stands from the pit and dusts his hands against his jeans, fingers dusting trails of charcoal on the denim. 

It’s a dark moon, no light save for the stars and warm glow from the fire. He rifles through his backpack to find a notebook, some salt, and the offering. He drags the toe of his shoe in a rough approximation of a circle and steps inside. He fills the divot with salt as best he can.

From there, he consults the notebook. The offering needed to be personal but also appealing. Blood was best, if you weren’t squeamish. Steve sets the notebook in one hand and rummages for the antiseptic, gauze, and medical tape with the other. Next to the notebook is a small jar containing white rose petals and the gleaming gold of his signet ring. 

It’s personal, he supposes, though he hadn’t given it much thought since Nancy gave it back to him along with a box of his things. Just sat and collected dust in his closet. He’d polished it up a bit for the ocassion, the engraved gold ‘H’ catches the firelight in brief flashes. 

Steve sits in the circle and pulls a pocket knife from his jeans. Unscrewing the lid of the jar, he places it between his legs, wields the blade in his right hand and quickly slices across the palm of his left. Hissing at the burst of pain, he watches the blood drip into the jar, grits his teeth and recites:

“Blood of my blood, and bone of my bone, I give you my body, that two might be one. I give you my spirit, when my life is done.”

He makes a fist with this hand, wringing the last drops of blood from it before sealing the jar and hastily bandaging his palm. The antiseptic stings like a bitch and he definitely overpours, spilling some on his pants. He ties the gauze tight and secures it with tape before setting the offering just outside the circle.

And then, he waits.

Maybe Robin was right, he thinks. Maybe this was extreme. He should just go to the doctor and get a prescription for those sleeping pills the his mom’s friends went on about. That was the less dire option, all things considered. 

“Shit,” his head falls into his hands, palms grinding against the sockets of his eyes. “Jus’ wanna sleep, for fucks sake.”

Truly.

Steve’s so fucking tired and keyed up all the damn time— jumping at the creaks of the house, or the scrape of branches against the windowpane. Can’t close his eyes because he’ll just see shades of blue and purple, the occasional red flash of light accompanied by screams. 

So much screaming. Disembodied wails of terror. Whines of injury. Rasping breaths before the death rattle. Dustin screaming in horror as Ed—

He shakes the thought loose before it can take hold. 

The stars wink brightly in the autumn night. Lightyears away and without a care in the world, must be nice. Steve’s hand stopped throbbing at some point, enough for him to lean back on both elbows and cast his gaze upward. 

The crackling of the fire and sounds of the nocturnal forest must have lulled him into some kind of trance or, god forbid, sleep, because the next thing he knows it’s early morning and he’s waking up to the dying embers of a fire. 

Blearily he checks that the salt circle remains in tact. Lets out a breath of relief that its held and makes to leave, chalking the whole thing up as a colossal waste of time. That is until his eyes fall to the spot where the offering was. 

His breath catches in his throat at its disappearance. In jar’s place is a fine piece of cream paper, like something his mother would special order from the stationary store in New York for their Christmas cards. On it, in a crisp slanted hand, reads: Mr. Harrington, your offering was accepted. We’ll be in touch. Yours, Her Infrernal Secretary, Francesco Accursio, Esq.

“What the fuck.” His fingers run across the thick paper, eyes widening with the realization of what he’s done. 

Steve’s skin is sticky and his head’s a mess. That’s not the long of it and it’s certainly not the short of it. There’s something lodged in his throat and if he thinks too long about the last two days— making a deal with the devil, sleeping through the following night, and somehow ending up with the dog he’s always wanted. 

It doesn’t make sense, nor does he try to make sense of it. Out of sight and out of mind, or something like that.

Just carries on with his same routine, morning runs now accompanied by a large black dog, name to be determined. His loping strides pair well with Steve’s, and he takes to the leash nicely, allowing for a comfortable amount of slack so that Steve has to loop the excess around his fist a couple of times. 

It’s nice to have another body in the house, he thinks. Scenery slides by, impressions of houses and trees, dark because of the early hour. 

Steve tries to clear his mind as they inch closer home, but it’s playing a losing game. His brain is too busy parsing through soft words and the muddied recollection of a smoky drawl. He has flashes of the night he made the offerning and none of it feels particularly real.

The distinct lack of of nightmares is a welcome change, but he still can’t get used to it. The memories remain to haunt him in the daylight, shades and specters lurking behind the quiet corners of his mind or called forth by a certain trick of the light.

It’s hard to be around certain people after the events of Spring break, he finds. Robin is one thing, he could be joined at the hip with Robin and operate as if nothing had changed. Dustin, however…

Since the day he saw Dustin talking to Wayne Munson in the shelter, handing over Eddie’s guitar pick necklace and assuring the man, through tears, that his nephew died a hero— well. 

The kid hasn’t been able to look at Steve since.

And he knows all too well why that is.

Some things are better left unearthed and other things are better left unsaid. He feels like he’s dying, briefly, and he wonders if it would be so bad.

They eventually loop back to the house as the sun crests over the treetops of Loch Nora. It’s 7 am and Steve Harrington has a broken heart.

The cat, or dog rather, is out of the bag a day later. 

“What?!” Robin all but shrieks as she strides through the door of the Harrington house, only to come face-to-face with Steve’s newest roommate.

“All right, calm down Robs,” he says, petting the dog’s head and scratching behind his ears lightly. “He just showed up at the house the other day, no tags or collar. Couldn’t just leave him out there.”

Robin gapes like a fish. The dog is big and nearly comes up to Steve’s hip just standing there. She’s sure he could dwarf her if he were to stand on his hind legs. His paws are enormous, so much so that she’s not entirely sure he’s grown into them just yet. 

But, he suits Steve. A pelt to rival his own and golden eyes, warm like a roaring fire. He approached Robin hesitantly at Steve’s urging, she holds out her hand, palm open and inviting. The dog nuzzles his head, fur warmed from Steve’s minstrations, into her hand.

“Wow,” she breathes, awestruck. 

“I know,” Steve echoes, beside himself. “Isn’t he great?”

“Yeah.” 

She’s distracted by petting the dog now, but not so much that she doesn’t spy the bandage wrapped around Steve’s left hand. 

“Take up rollerblading again?”

“What?” He quirks a brow in interest and follows her gaze. “Oh, this?” He holds up the hand in question with a scoff, “S’nothing. Just nicked myself a day or so ago.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway,” he moves to change the subject, “How’re things with Vickie?”

Robin grins, eyes lighting up. She gives the dog one last pat to the head before launching into the latest gossip for Steve. They make their way to the kitchen to set up for movie night. Steve nods along as Robin prattles, ordering pizzas for the gang while she dumps chips and candy into various bowls.

Meanwhile, the dog stays behind in the living room, head cocked toward the right as he takes in the evening sun. The moon steadily creeps up from beneath the horizon, glorious and full. He relaxes into a soft pant, pink tongue lolling to the side as he sits patiently at the window for night to fall.

The gang arrives not long thereafter, Nancy schlepping the kids from her place and relaying that Jonathan and Argyle would be over soon. The dog is a hit with pretty much everyone, but steers clear of Dustin. Which isn’t that difficult to do since the teen sulks in silence for the majority of the evening anyway. 

Steve attempts to broach a greeting to which Dustin replies with a silent nod. Given the circumstances, it’s the best he can hope for. He settles with Robin on the couch and watches Evil Dead with the rest, mind flitting to and fro.

Everything Steve’s been trying to ignore for days catches in his chest, making him feel heavy and waterlogged everywhere. He’s overwhelmed under the weight of his feelings. He sways under the heaviness of his regret.

No, not regret.

Under the heaviness of his decision.

That he, against all logic and luck, summoned and bagained with a devil. Like something out of a horror movie. And for what, so he could get some fucking sleep? So he could, for one measely second, push aside the blood and screams and pain and surrender to uninterrupted slumber?

God, he’s never hated himself more.

His hand falls to the dog’s head, giving him a scratch behind the ears. He’d abandoned the window once everyone had arrived, preferring the company of Steve and Robin over being pawed at by strangers. 

Steve can’t really blame him. 

The credits roll, accompanied by Jonathan and Mike’s snores. He stands, stretching his arms above his head and rolling out his neck as he ambles over to turn off the TV. Everyone was staying over anyway, had already raided the guest rooms upstairs for pillows and blankets. 

Robin’s head lolled to the side as she blinked open one eye owlishly, “Y’good Stevie?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” He whispers, trying not to wake the others. “Just going upstairs. You need anything?”

A slow shake of her head before she star-fishes out on the sofa and conks out again. He huffs a laugh and leaves the room with the dog at his side. Steve opens the backdoor as quietly as he can to let him out one last time, the moonlight shining like a beacon in the sky.

He leans against the doorjamb with crossed arms, squinting because it’s near impossible to see a black dog in the dark. 

“What happened to your hand?”

“Jesus Christ!” Steve yelps with a jolt, one Palm bracing against the backdoor as he tries not to jump out of his skin. 

Dusitn sets the bowls on the countertop and doesn’t ask him again.

“Oh, uh,” he flexes his left hand, still wrapped in a bandage. “Nothing, just a cut.”

“Looks bad.”

“It isn’t, buddy.” Steve says, realizing this is the longest conversation he’s had with Dustin in days. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “You always are.”

The dog reappears at the door, sitting and lifting a paw to tap on the glass. Steve opens the door waiting as he trots in and takes a sip of water.

“And what is that supposed to mean Dustin?”

The teen just shrugs, “Nothing. Just an observation.”

“Yeah, well tell that to your tone.” Steve turns to leave, moving his lips to one side and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The dog stops staring down Dustin and trots to his side.

“Sorry,” Dustin blurts out, “It’s just that you’re here and he’s—” He stops, at a loss for words.

Steve steps toward him, slowly. The dog eyes the interaction warily. 

And because he’s had an unbelievable few days, because he’s tired, because he’s hurt and unsure and misses Eddie, and, most of all, because it’s Steve, Dustin finally talks.

At precisely midnight, Steve rises mechanically from his bed, shoving his legs into a pair of sweats and shrugging into an old t-shirt before heading downstairs. 

The witching hour has arrived and the moon has ripened to her peak in the inky sky. 

He opens the front door and the jingle of his keys rouses Dustin from sleep. 

“Steve?” He rasps, scrubbing a hand against his eyes, “What’re you—”

The dog turns with a snarl that shuts him right the fuck up. 

Steve and the dog leave the house, the engine of the beemer roaring to life outside and peeling out of the driveway. 

Dustin scrambles across the couch and shakes Robin awake. 

“What?”

“Robs, Steve just left.” Dustin whispers, “I think he’s sleepwalking or something, but he drove off in the beemer.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, uh,” Dustin wonders how best to phrase it, “He looked dazed and confused?”

“Are you fucking with me Henderson?” Robin is pissed to wake up on a good day, but this is something else. Something she’ll take personal offense to, especially if Dustin is full of shit. “Why didn’t you try to stop him?!”

“I did!” He hisses, “But the dog snarled at me and he was out the door before I could do anything.”

“Really?” Robin volleys back, incredulous. “The dog that literally ate out of my hand earlier?”

“Okay, fine.” Dustin grits out, “Don’t believe me.” He gets off of the couch and begins searching for his shoes, “But I’m going after him.”

“On what, on foot?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes!”

Robin grumbles to herself and follows him, swiping Nancy’s keys to the station wagon. She’ll fill her in on the details later, better to beg forgiveness and all that.

Besides, how difficult could it be to trail a sleepwalker? Or, sleep-driver, as it were.

Steve cuts the engine and gets out of the car, dog bounding out after him and breaking into a loping run. He walks as if he were awake, bare feet falling sure on the forest floor, body loose and seemingly alert.

He isn’t, obviously. 

But the dog is.

Steve, in reality, went to sleep back at the house after the heart-to-heart with Dustin a little before eleven. The dog settled at the foot of his bed, as usual.

Knowing that this night would be anything but.

Sometime around midnight, in the very same forest clearing where Steve made his initial offering, you appear. 

You are dressed in a robe, crimson as blood and pooling on the floor around your ankles. Hair pulled back and braided in an intricate weave and adorned with two curved horns, like those of a ram. Your nails are dark and filed to a delicate point, lustrous embers catching in the light. 

A vast stone altar is in place of the circle Steve cast, lit by moonlight and covered in a heavy, dark pelt. 

The supplicant is being led by your trusty hellhound, Damon. Even now you can hear his paws crushing against the damp earth, turning it with the sheer force of his stride. A smile curls at your lips as you breathe in the crisp night air.

Steve wakes gradually. Startled to realize that he is, in fact, walking in the forest that’s at least 5 miles from his house. 

The dog turns back, pink tongue lolling from this side of his mouth, panting and leading Steve somewhere. He struggles to keep up.

Thankfully, there’s a structure of some kind for him to lean upon. Something his addled mind doesn’t quite register as a new addition to the scenery. He rests on the altar clumsily, hands and feet searching for stability, back pressed to the base of the cool marble plane.

The dog settles just in front of Steve, dropping into a relaxed posture. Tail wagging in anticipation of his mistress’ arrival.

In the distance, there is a figure. 

It looks to be a an animal, in the distant shadows. Somewhere in height between a stag and hind moving slowly towards him. Twisted horns catching the odd moonbeam and glinting in the light.

After successfully depositing his charge per his mistress’ request, Damon turns and trots back to the beemer. Under strict orders to distract any curious mortals who may happen to chance upon the scene.

Steve’s fogged mind struggles to understand what he sees, seeing the shadow of the approaching shape shift and lurch in ways that cannot make sense. His skin pricks and sweat beads from the nape of his neck, a sharp scent accompanying it.

Fear.

When the figure finally steps into the moonlight, the figure is human. Or, close to it.

Steve, understandably, passes out at the sight of it.

Somehow, in between sleepwalking to the forest altar and passing out from shock, he is helped onto the stone slab, re-arranged so he is on his back and staring up at the stars that have emerged in the night sky.

His body is wracking in shivers, full-body tremors as the frozen stone beneath the pelt begins to draw upon the warmth of him. He doesn’t like it, not one bit. Feels like he’s wound up in some horror movie of devil worshippers, everything is too austere and formal.

Blinks open his eyes to see the clear sight of you, sending a shock up his spine. Clearing back the haze in a rush, a sudden clarity consuming him as his heart begins to thunder in his chest. A prickle of danger licking along his veins, a heightened sense of everything that brings his view of you into sharp focus.

Your hair is long and hanging around your face, warm when it reflects the light. A dark pair of eyes follow him, seemingly endless and glowing red. You walk like a woman, but move in your body as if you could just as easily lope on all fours.

You are formidable in power, clearly. It comes off of you in waves, crackling like lightning, oozing like hot magma. Steve wonders dimly how he could ever take you in a fight, if it came down to it. Knows his neck would snap easily between your fingers.

“Not what you expected?” Your speech is low and raspy, the same smoky drawl that beckons him to sleep each night. Though the recognition of it is not a comfort. “Not your type?”

Steve negotiates the collection of spit in his mouth and stammers out, “N-no, not really.”

You’re an approximation of a woman, more woman than not, but wild in some way that he cannot make sense of. Average in size, with a presence that feels larger still. 

You take him in with slow blinks that near on sleepy, head tilting a little as you do. Moonlight catches and reflects on what appear to be horns, rough, spiralled things rooted solidly in the thick plume of your hair. Your eyes, when you blink, are glowing dimly.

A slow smile, a wicked thing, beautiful and terrifying in its own right. "Oh honey," you drawl, tongue wetting your lips in the firelight. "I'm everyone's type."

Approaching him, the bare skin of your legs slithers out from beneath the blood red of your robe. He hates that the sight of them affects him so bodily, cock kicking up of its own volition.

“It’s the altar, right?” Your lips twist in annoyance, “Too stuffy. I get it, hold tight.” 

One hand comes forward, your fingers curling one by one to rest in the palm of your hand— index and middle fingers articulating last of all and pointing directly at Steve.

He’s suddenly weightless and midair. The warm pelt at his back and cool marble slab are gone with a snap of fingers from your opposite hand. The one not puppeting Steve to ensure he doesn’t fall on his ass.

What the fuck.

Your eyes glint in the light, dancing like the flames of a fire. And soon enough, Steve is set back on the ground. Delicately laid in the salt circle of his own making, the earth cool and wet at his back.

“So, you don’t dig the look.” You say without preamble, inspecting your dark nails. “Can’t say that doesn’t hurt my feelings there, Steve.”

He swallows audibly, hands scrabbling on the damp leaves beneath him. He can't inch much further away from you and still remain in the protection of the circle.

"But for you," you drag a toe against the white salt on the forest floor, testing the circle. "For you, loverboy, I can be whatever your little heart desires."

“No, this is… fine.” He frowns.

“Oh, babe,” You say with a hearty laugh. “We have to do this more often.”

“No thanks,” Steve says, expression dead.

Your teeth are so sharp he’s surprised blood isn’t blooming from the full of your lips. “Wanna run?” You ask with a low growl. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

He knows you can hear his heartbeat, can probably hear the blood thrumming in his veins, too. The sweat of his palms and the damp of the leaves beneath him meet in an ungainly show of clumsiness; in an instant, one hand slides straight out from under him, taking the arm that was propping him up along with it, fingers scattering granules of salt and effectively breaking the circle.

Before Steve’s head can wallop on a nearby rock, you’re on him. With all the grace and terror of a wild cat— calculating and quick. He registers your weight, straddling his hips while one hand cradles the back of his skull. The scent of fire assaults his nostrils as his breathing evens out. It’s harsh and invasive, almost too much for him to bear, but then there’s a note of something else. 

Something sweet.

His hands fall to your waist without thought, shifting your weight ever so slightly, inadvertently tilting your pelvis forward resulting in a slow drag against his groin. 

The sound he lets out is somewhere between an yelp and a moan. Either way, it’s certainly not the most dignified noise he’s ever made. But that’s probably par for the course now— making a deal with the devil and all.

Steve feels feverish, like there’s a fire licking up his skin and under his skin; the flames of his bad decisions, maybe.

You sigh softly, dark eyes searching his face briefly, almost in concern. “You okay?”

He nods, at which point you remove your hand from the nape of his neck, fingers twining briefly in the loose waves there. Sitting back on your haunches, you sigh once more and roll your neck allowing the bones to pop and crack. 

His fingers fall from your waist, leaving damp imprints against the soft velvet. His head swirls on another wave of delirium, the crisp air catching on where he’s smeared precome against the gray sweats, overcome with a fever brought by his stupid, stupid dick.

“Well,” you say, hands coming to sit at your hips. “Better get down to brass tacks, Harrington.”

“Huh?”

You make no move to get off of him, even when he lets his head hit the ground with a thunk mouthing ‘what the fuck’ to himself no less than three times. 

“You wanna make a deal?”

“I thought I already did.”

“Nuh-uh.” You tut with a rougish smile. “You made an offering and said the magic words. But you left one thing out.”

“Yeah?” He cranes his head up, head cocked to one side. “What’s that?”

“You,” A cool drag of your nail against the stretched collar of his shirt, “Didn’t tell what me what it was you desire.”

“To sleep.”

An unladylike snort. “Really?”

He nods.

“They have like, pills for that. You can’t be serious.”

“Well, if you’re gonna make fun of me for it…”

“No, no,” you coo. He hates how cute it is. “I’m just surprised is all.” 

Your finger continues its downward trajectory, swirling circles and curly cues against the threadbare cotton. “Most people ask for riches or power, which, thanks to capitalism, is essentially the same thing.”

He rolls his eyes at that.

“A few ask for immortality, which,” you blow a raspberry, “What a fucking joke. No, thank you.”

Steve’s head buzzes as he tries to gather his next thought.

“But usually,” You continue, softer now, eyes falling to his. “They want protection. Regardless,” You clear your throat, eyes flitting away from his, too quickly for him to read any emotion in them. “If it’s in my power, and most things are, then I’m happy to give it.”

“Uh huh.” Steve tries to hid his skepticism, and fails. “What’s in it for you?”

A slow sacchrine smile creeps its way across your face. Your eyes meet for one long second, and Steve doesn't want to think anything too hard about the fleeting kindness that he thinks he sees there.

“Why, your immortal soul, of course!” You boop his nose at that. Like it’s a playful joke. “I help you out, you agree to my terms, and bing, bang, boom, we’re in business.”

“Wait, what?”

He takes in a shaky breath, the realization of the transaction dawning on him. His soul. His immortal soul.

A snap of your fingers and a scroll unfurls, the same slanted writing from the card that appeared after his offering. “Had my lawyer draw this up, so everything’s official and all.”

His head swims trying to make sense of the utterly ludicrous handwriting, which— is that even English? He squints.

You furrow your brow, cocking your head to skim the first few lines. “Oh! My bad,” You drag a finger down the scroll and the text shimmers, reconfiguring itself into a more modern translation. 

“He’s Italian.” You say by way of explanation. “And he’s been there since like, medieval times. So, it’s pretty traditional.”

Steve reads the contract carefully, his soul is on the line, afterall. 

‘THE AGREEMENT (The INFERNAL CONTRACT) is entered into effective as of Friday, April 4th, 1986, by and between Steven Harrington (Party 1), being of sound mind and body, and—’

There’s a black scorch mark where your name should be.

“Um, your name is missing.”

“Don’t worry about it, pretty boy.” You brush off with a smirk.

‘(Party 2) being of sound mind and body. In respect of the mutual covenants set forth herein and other deplorable and ruinous consideration, the parties agree to as follows:

The signee and Her Infernal Majesty are subject to the terms and conditions of this agreement.

Steven Harrington (Party 1) agrees to pay Her Infernal Majesty (Party 2) his immortal soul as he shuffles off this mortal coil.

Her Infernal Majesty (Party 2) agrees to assist Steven Harrington (Party 1) in the following: sleep, protection, and other desires as requested and at Her Infernal Majesty’s (Party 2) discretion.

The signee agrees to meet with Her Infernal Majesty on each full moon for the purposes of sex and other consensual frivolity.

Term and Termination: The initial term of this Agreement will be for the remainder of Steven Harrington’s (Party 2) earthly life from the effective date of This Agreement. This Agreement will automatically renew until the signee’s demise or for eternity in perpetuity. Either party may terminate this Agreement in accordance with the Devices Infernal and at the behest of The Tempter, The Accuser, The Serpent and Father of Lies, His Unholiness Lucifer Morningstar, for any reason or for no reason at all, provided at least 6 day’s advance written notice of termination is given to the non-terminating party by the terminating party. Upon termination, the signee Steven Harrington (Party 1) will surrender his immortal soul to Her Infernal Majesty (Party 2).

Applicable Law: Construction. This Agreement will be governed and construed in accordance with the laws and Dominion of Hell, without regard to any conflict of laws rule or principle that might refer to the governance or construction of his Agreement to the laws of another jurisdiction. This Agreement will at all times and in all events be construed as a whole, according to its fair meaning, and not strictly for or against any party.’

You draw his attention to the bottom line with a tap of your nail. “You just sign your name on the dotted line, loverboy, and it’s all said and done.”

Steve meets your gaze steadily, “I don’t have a pen.”

“No worries!” You procure a knife from somewhere beneath your robes, because of course you do. “Just a prick the finger, no sweat.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve pleads, everything whirling towards its inevitable and irrevocable conclusion. His mind seemingly caught on one crucial detail. “There’s— We,” He takes a breath. “It’s a sex pact?”

“Well, duh.” You supply with a simple shrug. “I’m a demon in the streets, certified freak in the sheets.” Accompanied with a lecherous wink.

Steve exhales, but he inhales too. Somehow, he lets out a breath and keeps one, deep inside. He’ll surely need it.

“I know how to do it all the different ways, Kama Sutra and beyond. You’ll be so fucked out, Harrington, you won’t know how to act.”

A demon on your side for the rest of your days and all you have to do is fuck on the full moon? Could be worse.

“Fine,” he sighs beleaguered. As if he couldn’t possibly wrest any effort.

“Well, don’t get your panties in a twist about it, sweetheart.”

You take his hand in yours, knifepoint pricking at the skin of his index finger. He bites his lip as the blood drags against the scoll in an approximation of his signature.

“They’re not in twist,” Steve grouses.

You’re quick to smile. “That’s because you’re not wearing any.”

He squaks indignantly. Color rising in his cheeks, a lovely shade of pink. 

“S’okay babe,” You soothe. “I’m not one to judge.”

And, as quickly as it appears, the contract vanishes as Steve’s finger leaves it. 

“Give it here,” You order, grabbing his wrist when Steve doesn’t understand or comply. “Demon saliva does wonders, trust me.” You say with a barely there bite to his flesh, tongue laving against the tiny wound, lips wrapping around his finger with a harsh suck.

Which, what the fuck— is that, is your tongue forked?! His brain is liable to melt right from his ears. Two muscles gliding around the afflicted digit, laving against his skin.

“Hhng,” Steve says intelligently.

It must have been the right thing to say anyway, because you rub slow circles into his skin with one thumb and ruck up his shirt so your hands can meander along Steve's stomach and chest, mindful of the tender flesh and healing wounds.

His finger drops from your lips with a pop and, sure enough, the prick from the knife is gone.

Another smile, sweeter than the last, as you draw your finger beneath his chin. “And we seal the deal with a kiss.”

Steve expects it to be cruel, the salacious curve that your lips can’t help but relax into, the infernal words that fall from your mouth, breath smoky and sweet. 

But it isn’t that at all. 

Instead, you’re gentle. 

A scarce press of your closed lips against his mouth, which has fallen open in a desperate pant. 

If he didn’t know any better, Steve would think you’re possibly some kind of witch. 

Or maybe you’re psychic, because after rucking up Steve's shirt you slide warm hands up over his torso, fingers digging in exactly where Steve had wanted to be touched, as though you can read Steve’s mind through a haze of lust.

“You call it, pretty boy.”

And Steve knows you mean it. 

He could bow out right this second and you wouldn’t bat an eye. Despite what the contract may stipulate. Steve hmms. 

It’s written all over his spellbound face. It’s not a question when you say, “Want me to make you feel good?”

More of a tease. A dangling prophecy into his very immediate future.

“Gotta hear it first, lover.” You look again. A blink here, a study there. So clever and bright, your eyes.

“Oh,” he gasps, hardly audible. “Yes, please.”

“Awww,” you coo, “So polite.”

"Yeah, okay," Steve says with a roll of his eyes, and leans in so he can chase your mouth again. 

Lips pressed soft and fragile to yours with the taste of salt and sleep. Something new. Carnal. Felt the groan pass through his lips as tongues touched. Mouths bitten and you felt a whimper from his throat cloud the space between. The sound entered you with a shiver. The sensation pierced the dam in his veins and suddenly, Steve kissed you freely. Drinking you like a man parched in the arid desert that no longer gnawed in his mind.

“What did you say your name was?” Steve asks, mouth full of—your, forked, tongue. 

You pull back and kind of take Steve's lower lip with you, pulling off with an audible pop that Steve's not entirely sure why he finds as hot as he does.

“I didn't. But you’ll find out soon enough.”

He's just on the right side of turned on; his skin is tingling and whatever inhibitions he had about making out with a demon whose name he won’t find out until after they fucked got left back at his house with the remnants of popcorn and candy.

You don’t get much talking done after that. There’s a time and place to feel bad about these things, but pushed up against decaying leaves on the forest floor is not one of them. You reach in and pull out velvet moans, breathy whimpers, the slightest trembling cry from the lonely cavern of his chest.

And look, you are hot as hell, even if you aren’t the type Steve typically goes for (they are human, after all), and it's been more than a while. But even more than that, you use your mouth like you mean it, and you’re pressed up against Steve like you need this just as bad as he does, and that's more than enough to get his blood boiling.

You leave Steve's lips to press a trail of kisses from the edge of his mouth to the corner of his jaw, and your lips are soft and your nails are sharp, scraping across the soft of Steve’s skin in a way that sparks up his spine. Steve is apparently useless to resist whatever’s been done, because he lets out a moan and you suck on the tender skin of his throat.

"Fuck, that feels good," he tells you and feels your lips curve into a smile against his neck.

You are a welcome fever. Blessed, scorching heat is radiating from your core and he finds himself straining against the cold ground to reach for you, his body arching up off the damp leaves to seek your warmth on pure, base instinct.

You kneel above him like a predator, covering his torso with yours, and when he moans, a soft, broken sound, your glowing eyes find his.

He’s trembling as you lean down slowly and nudge your nose along his cheek, exhaling hotly against the flushed skin there as you drag your nose along the bone and into the line of his hair.

He feels more than hears a deep rumble from your chest as you nose at his temple, and the sudden, wet feel of your mouth tasting at his ear makes his back break on an arch against you. A hot whine falling from Steve’s lips as he tilts his head to expose his neck to you instinctually.

The low lilt of your voice creeps into his mind, Imagine being loved by me.

Steve’s dick (no longer as stupid as it once was) kicks up at the thought. He rumbles this time, a low, pleased sound, and turns your head with his nose and goes to nuzzle quietly against your hairline. 

“What big horns you have…” His eyes are locked with yours, a new, mischievous glint in them that you’re sure is present in yours as well.

All you can do in reply is roll your eyes, going back to meticulous visual cataloging of one Steven Harrington. 

Steve is big – everything about him is big – and you can feel the ache in your center spread as he stares up at you. The feeling is new, exciting, and you want it more than if it was a delicacy, manna from Heaven even.

“Do you want me to eat you up?” You bend down, pressing your cool nose against his face. “Huh, loverboy? You want me to take you–”

You run a hand over Steve's dick, sensation muffled through his sweats, and he makes a frankly embarrassing noise.

“And keep you all to myself?”

“Yes.”

Your sex is aching for him between your legs, and a fresh wave of slick wetting the gray fabric beneath you. Steve seems to sense it, raising his head and lifting his nose on the air before grunting softly, hands lighting on your hips once more.

At the scent of you, your musk and slick, his dick jumps. A broken moan and a ragged exhale followed by a quiet sound, as if he’s in pain.

“S’okay, baby,” You coo, sickly sweet. “Not goin’ anywhere, just movin’ up to your pretty face, okay?”

His only reply is a sharp slap to your ass that makes you yelp—a signal for try me. Great. If he wants you to break his neck, fine. You can heal him anyway, so what’s the harm?

Thighs settled on either side of his head, and Steve’s already trying to pass out or something. At the very least develop a bruised jaw and a mean cramp for a couple of days.

You turn around, arch for the right leverage, the right angle, robe falling open at the center and cascading down your arms, his big, warm hands scrambling for purchase along your newly revealed skin. A snap of your fingers at the crimson fabric is gone.

This position gives you an incredible, uninterrupted view of his chest as it expands on a gasp—his toned abdomen and enticing smattering of hair, his strong thighs rippling with power. And beneath you, his face, that glorious and prodigious man appearing to you more like a masterpiece, is currently being used as an object—a plaything— and he loves it, you can tell.

You bear down, make him grunt.

Steve’s muscles constrict, cock flexing with new arousal. You do it again and the sound he makes vibrates all the way up to your scalp.

He strains against your hold, pelvis thrusting into empty air as he makes a quick and keening noise. Excited, you tilt back and forth, ride his tongue, getting the suction of his mouth right, and he settles in there, in the space between your legs.

Right on cue, his hand snakes down to the waistband of his sweats and rucks them down just enough for his cock to spring free. That makes you moan brokenly, a ragged exhale, and another helpless wave of slick flushes from your core. 

Steve’s fist returns to his groin, stroking himself— chasing the thrill of being restrained. His forearm and bicep are bulging, knuckles pale, thumb repeatedly and expertly slipping over his swollen purple cockhead. His other hand cups around his sac, tugging and rolling the sensitive skin.

It’s fucking hot, seeing him turned on, trusting you, albeit tentatively. You watch him edge closer each time his shaft drives out of his fist. His mouth is causing a racket with how he sucks and slurps. His breath is hot, puffing out in short, frantic pants. He’s nearly there, toes curling, thighs enormous and stiff—and then— with both his hands on his cock—two more twists and a full-body shudder that you’ll commit to memory for a long time.

His head turns back towards your slick like it called to him, and he lowers his hand from his hard, aching cock to join the other in bearing down on your thighs to drink.

You nearly fly off of him, held down by firm hands as your back arches painfully on a shout that echoes through the empty forest.

He opens his mouth against the trembling heat of your cunt and feasts. Running his tongue through the mess of it and sucking gently at the crest, grunting softly in pleasure as you spill over his tongue and mouth, soaking his chin as your hips rock against his face. Rolling his face against it, panting hotly though parted lips as he takes his fill.

Steve drinks and drinks, his mouth on you seemingly not for your pleasure but for his own as he consumes you with gentle strokes of his tongue and a heated caress of his lips.

There’s the glorious feeling that you’re on the precipice of something - something - coiling up tight in your belly that feels like dying and flying.

He senses it, the warming feeling, the canting of your hips, he groans, low and rough sounding, like he’s chasing something, and it locks up your spine with a thrill. Staring down at him beneath you with hazy eyes as he opens his mouth over the crest of your sex and laps with wet, insistent strokes of his tongue. Like he’s after something, something—

It rips through you like a current, a hot, blinding mess of pleasure and feeling that locks your body up up up and then you’re throwing back your head with a sharp shout. Making a sound like a wounded animal as your spine quivers and ridges as pleasure rips from you at the firm press of his mouth.

Strong hands wrapped firm to steady your body, you blink through a syrupy haze coming back to yourself. Shuffling down to settle on his chest, keeping him near breathless. 

“That was…” Steve mutters, dazed, and loses his train of thought. His wet hair is splattered on his forehead and he’s gulping air like he’s trying to make up for what you smothered from him. “We gotta do that again.”

“Oh,” you rasp, a satisfying curl to your lips. “We will.”

Leaning down over him to press his cheek to yours, smearing the wetness over his jaw as he breathes in the scent of you. Grunting out a hot little sound as you shift your weight and the head of his cock nudges against the wet mess of your sex.

His hips bunch and jerk against yours, seeking, and the new angle brings you together, the hard hot line of him, and at the first snag of the head of his cock against your cunt, you bear down on a rough sound. Rutting hard with hips and rooting him deep into your core.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

He groans at that and grips your hips between his hands, rolling his hips against you and filling you up tight. Testing, feeling.

It’s not rough or hurried, just a rush of immense pressure and power. The feeling of a storm swirling as he reaches for you and lets his hips work against yours in a steady, deep rut, knocking hard against your delectable heat as Steve begins to let himself go.

His head thumps back against the cool earth as he gives himself over. Eyelids fluttering at the rhythmic fuck of his cock, the hard pound pound pound of his flesh against yours as you open to him. As your bodies coax one another, urging him to take what you are so willing to give him.

Steve is happily experiencing an utter lack of any thought whatsoever and is certainly making all manner of sounds himself. It envelopes you both, this feeling of complete, whole synchronicity. Distantly, Steve registers a thought that he could keep doing this—you riding him for all he’s worth, bodies lined up, synced—just drag it on until he’s reduced to nothing but this hot, lazy sensation, but his body is already hurtling towards orgasm like a precipice he wants to throw you both over.

He’s close. You’re closer.

A few more, just a few. Your fingers scratch and scramble against his chest, nails digging and dragging through the soft hair to leave reminders for tomorrow, your mouth hovers over his, the soft glow of your eyes blown with lust and ire and the thinnest layer of concern, hidden.

Haphazardly moving, now. Frantic and desperate and with a not-rhythm that toes the line of hysterical, Steve fucks. Hard. And rough. And to his very end, he’d chase it and you right off the edge of the world.

You climax with a shout of his name—head thrown back and shuddering all over and he follows with his fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips. The both of you careening right off. 

Steve doesn't know if it's the physical sensation or the way you say his name, like he’s never truly heard it until now, that throws him over the edge, but his breath catches in his throat and then every muscle in his body tenses in an unending moment of release, a pleasure so intense that it whites out everything for a second—everything but the heat in his chest and you astride him, his skin as hot as a brand.

Bright white. Explosions. The whole Big Bang birthing the universe and leaving stardust in its wake.

And then he stills, dragging you down even closer, body slick with dew and starlight. The two of you lie in perfect symmetry, trembling in each other’s arms. He kisses you on the mouth. Softly, tenderly, and you let him. He holds you tight, if only to know this is real—that you are real and he is real.

A second or two later a thought circles the runway of his brain without quite landing. Steve takes a few breaths, then his eyes pop open and he says, “...so, your name?”

A puff of air from your soft laugh. A singular tap to the soft space between his ribs on the left side. A thrumming warmth there.

You give him one last, lingering look, your expression changing on something he can’t decipher, before you are climbing off of him and turning to leave. “Call me,” tossed over your shoulder with a wink in the breaking light of dawn.

A blink and you’re gone.

And that, Steve thinks distantly, staring at his stained and effectively ruined sweatpants, is what it feels like to make a terrible mistake.

He’s better in the late morning, his head a little clearer after consummating his deal with the devil. Robin has an early day opening the shelter with Vickie, so Steve leaves the house by himself, stopping at the donut shop for some slightly burned coffee and a box of glazed.

Apparently everyone but him got an early start to the day; Nancy and Jonathan helping at the shelter, Argyle tagging along, and the kids visiting Max in shifts.

By the time he gets to the hospital, Lucas and Erica are bent over Max’s bed, paging through a battered copy of Stephen King’s Cujo.

“If you don’t annoy me, you get two donuts each,” Steve says, setting the box down on the table.

Both of their heads snap up.

“What kind?” Erica says, eyes narrowing.

“Glazed,” Steve says, opening the box. The two of them abandon their post and shuffle closer. 

“Deal,” Erica says, grabbing one. “You’re looking great, Harrington. Never looked better. Your eyes? Glowing. Your hair? Luscious.”

“Your skin?” Lucas adds, taking one himself. “Clear. Your mind?—”

“Shut up and eat your donut,” Steve laughs. He picks up his cup of coffee and nods at them.

“How’s she doing?”

“‘Bout the same.” Lucas says through a mouthful of donut. 

Erica rolls her eyes, “He can see that, dumbass.”

And the Sinclair siblings did not tell a lie. While Max was looking marginally better in the days since Vecna and the reappearance of the Upsidedown, she had yet to wake. And there were only so many times El could try to safely reach her in the recesses of her mind.

He settles into an uncomfortable plastic chair, half-listening as Lucas picks up where he left off earlier reading from Cujo. Steve lets his mind wander, thinks back to watching you disappear in the early morning light. 

Call me.

Well, how the hell is he supposed to do that? It’s not as if you left a phone number or anything.

Steve eventually made his way home, only to see the dog waiting patiently in the front seat of the beemer.

He stops short, eyeing the dog (who is quite pleased with himself). 

“D-did you unlock the door?” 

The dog just wags his tail in response.

“How the hell did you do that?" Steve says, more to himself than anything else, and gets into the car. 

The dog shakes his head and shuffles to the passenger seat, a faint metallic clink following him. It’s only then that he notices the collar and nametag around his neck— soft, supple leather and with the dog tag polished to a golden shine.

A familiar ‘H’ winks in the cool morning light, his fingers going to flip the tag for further inspection. The backside reads: Matt ‘Damon’ Harrington.

"Huh, weird.”

Whatever joke this is supposed to be is lost on him, but as he pulls out of the gravel lot, Steve can hear your raspy laugh ringing through his head and smiles in spite of himself.

Give it a few years, your voice lilts through his mind, You’re gonna love Dogma, heh, get it?

Days later, and the problem remains. He doesn't know what he wants and, frankly, he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Steve is sleeping better than he has in an absolute age, which is a relief in of itself. Damon the dog has settled into his charge’s routine too: a morning run, followed by breakfast (mostly dog food, but occasionally he’ll score some deli slices or snacks from the smaller humans), then he’ll accompany Steve to either the shelter or hospital depending on the day. 

He’s obedient, his mistress would be proud. Sits at Steve’s feet diligently, keeping and eye out and ear to the ground for any potential threats. They are few and far between luckily, but the hellhound is confounded by the pervasive sense that something is amiss— vague and infrequent tremors that rock the few buildings left in town, the pungent scent of ozone, and the roiling sky in turbulent shades of blue and red.

It isn’t often that he feels compelled to seek his mistress out, he knows how busy you are. But with more people coming to stay at his charge’s home than he properly can care for, Damon takes a chance. 

Once he’s sure Steve is sleeping soundly as are the other small humans strewn on couches and spare beds, he trots downstairs and sits at the front door. He lets out a low baying noise from the back of his throat— once, twice, three times. 

A soft crackling, like that of a fire, signals your arrival. A scent of hellfire lingers as you step from the portal, it dissipating behind you as quickly as it came. You look different, relaxed even, your hair up in a ponytail. Sweatpants adorn your legs and Adidas on your feet. A large shirt that declares ‘The Man’ with an arrow pointing up toward your face, and another arrow accompanied by ‘The Legend’ pointing the opposite way. 

“What is it, boy?” You ask, crouching to scratch under his chin, voice a low rasp in the otherwise silent house. 

Damon whines, eyes darting to the sleeping bodies in the living room, brows furrowed in concern. His tail thumps rhythmically against the staircase as you stand back up, eyes silently perusing the scene. 

Figures, Steve would be bleeding heart who took in strays. But you knew that already, eyes falling back to the hellhound— case in point.

“Okay buddy,” You soothe, “Stay here for a minute, yeah?”

Taking the stairs two at a time, you turn to the left and gently push open the door to Steve’s room. It’s dark, save for the light from his alarm clock, curtains drawn and clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor. The faint scent of sweat and musk, comforting in an innately boyish way. 

You hate to wake him because you know he needs the rest. This is one of the liminal moments between what you’ve come to learn is the hectic reality of Steve Harrington’s life, one of those beautiful moments where there's not actually anything he needs to be doing. One in which he can simply be. He gets about two of these moments per day lately and each for no longer than four minutes at a time. And it’s nowhere near enough.

Settling at the foot of the bed, you wonder how best to rouse him. A shake to the leg? A touch to his bare shoulder?

“Hey sunshine,” You say instead, fingers carding through his riot of hair, “Look alive.”

To his credit, Steve wakes gradually. Gracefully, even. The haze of sleep clearing slowly as he turns over onto his back, an errant arm flapping onto your thigh. His hand grips your leg, tense. With the opposite arm, he reaches under the bed to brandish a baseball bat outfitted with… nails?

You snort.

Sitting up, he realizes who he’s dealing with and tiredly scrubs a hand down his face. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Hey, batter, batter.” You say, with jazz hands.

Steve sighs, letting the bat lean against his night table. He blinks at the red numbers of the clock, willing them to come into focus because he can’t be bothered to find his glasses right now.

A snap of your fingers and they appear in your hand. You pass them over to Steve who puts them on with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

You look… different. He wonders idly if this is your off-duty outfit, comfy albeit ridiculous clothes. He sputters reading the t-shirt, “You don’t even have a dick— what is that supposed to mean?!”

A bemused smile, “Wake up old man, gender is an illusion.” 

“Did you just come here to wake me up and, what, hang out?” Steve asks.

“Yes.”

It takes Steve a moment with you pressing into his side to realize that you mean it, but in the most roundabout way.

He swallows.

“Really?”

You don’t answer for a moment.

“You’ve had a rough few years,” you say. “I thought you could use a friend.”

Steve doesn’t sag against you exactly—it wouldn’t make any side of physical sense—but he feels like he does it metaphorically.

“Hey,” you say, with a nudge to his splayed leg. “When I said ‘call me,’ I meant it.”

Steve laughs, “Yeah? How am I supposed to do that, you didn’t exactly leave a number.”

Your lips twist in a grimace. “Yeah,” you sigh, “My bad.” Your eyes cut to his, questioning, “Can I…?”

He’s a little sleep-rumpled and dazed, so he’s not exactly sure what you’re getting at. When your warm fingers, nails shorter and trimmed, press to between his ribs, Steve feels his spine lock up and a thrumming begin in his veins.

“It’s here,” your voice is softer now, “Not a brand, looks more like a tattoo than anything.” Your fingers leave his skin, he finds that he misses the contact. “It’s my name, say it three times and I’m yours.”

Steve hums, glancing down to look at your name. Says it once, tasting and feeling the letters in his mouth. Doesn’t notice how you shudder when he does so.

“So,” you say a moment later, back against the headboard. Steve had shuffled over to make room and peeled the covers back in a huff. You’d kicked off your sneakers and snuck one leg under the sheets next to his, the other propped up with your foot resting on the mattress. 

“What’s with all the gremlins downstairs?”

“Oh, just,” he falters, how could he possibly explain the last three years to you? Losing Will, finding him only to be thrown headlong into an interdimensional battle he had no business being in. Dustin and Max needling him until they’d crawled their way into his heart. It was all too much, really. 

Besides, you probably had better things to be doing. Worrying about who to torture next, for example.

“You can talk about it y’know.” You sigh, bent leg settling atop the bedclothes as you turn to him. “I mean, I know this thing between us is new and probably weird for you.” A sad smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, “But I’m here to help you, Steve.”

He nods, he gets that, he does. It’s just—

A crash from downstairs. A frenzied bark from Damon. Quickly followed by footsteps running up the stairs. A frazzled blonde rips the door open, blue eyes wide in disbelief. She looks directly at Steve, and if looks could kill… well, let’s just say Steve wouldn’t be among the living.

“Robin, I can explain!”

“This is her?” She asks, summoning all the bite and bravery a chihuahua could muster. “The one that stole your soul?”

“Hi,” you greet with a wave. “And, technically,” you point out, unhelpfully. “He still has it. Plus, it’s not stealing if he gave it away freely and willingly.”

“But your dick was inside of her. Isn’t that coercion?” This from a curly-haired muppet cowering behind Robin.

“Please don’t mention my dick ever again Dustin.” Steve shudders and drops his head into his hands.

You pat his back in what is supposed to be a soothing gesture. Steve just swats you away with a mumbled curse.

“Trust me,” you smile, hand falling to your lap. “He wanted it there,” you assure them with a waggle your brows.

Robin gags, “Ugh, gross!” She turns her fury on Steve instead, “What is wrong with you? Did you hit your head again or something!”

“Me?” He fires back, incredulous. “She’s the one who—” He points at you, much to your amusement. 

“Nuh uh, Harrington,” Robin tuts. “I told you this was a bad idea. And do you listen to me? No! Of course not, why would you go and do something like that!?”

“Y’know, you ask a lot of questions, Buckley,” you muse. “It’s very irritating.”

Steve bristles.

You grin at him and wink—a mortifying sight.

“I kind of like it.”

“Please leave,” Steve says, emphatically.

“Right kids,” you stand from the bed. “Well, as much as I do love our time together…” Nodding to everyone in Steve’s bedroom, “I gotta bounce, bye losers.” And then you vanish in a plume of smoke, “Don’t be a stanger, loverboy.”

In a word, Steve is fucked.

Damon the dog appears at the foot of his bed, like a nanny when the children are up and out of their beds, and noses Robin and Dustin back downstairs.

“This isn’t over, Harrington!” Robin yells over her shoulder, “We will have words about this tomorrow, dingus!”

[stvharrngton]

kinktober: day seventeen

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

kink: choking

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, rough sex, dom!steve, dirty talk

word count: 0.6k

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @wheel-of-hyperfixation @mooonyweasley @steveshairspray

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

“Oh, fuck,” Steve cried out, “oh, fuckfuckfuck.”

His hips snapped against yours harshly, your thighs being pushed up against your stomach, your knees squeezing your tits together. Steve fucked his cock in and out of you hard and fast, your slick coating his length.

“Oh my God,” you weeped, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hands gripped the sheets, the white cotton fisted between your fingers.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” Steve grunted, the sound of his hips slapping against the backs of your thighs echoing throughout the bedroom, “can’t get enough of this pussy.”

The tip of Steve’s cock was hitting that special spot deep inside you over and over, your walls clenching around him, the stroke of his cock hitting all the right places. His fingers were digging into your thighs, his hands squeezing tightly, his lip nestled tightly between his teeth as his gaze was focused on where his cock disappeared inside of you.

Sweat laced Steve’s brow, his cheeks rosy red at how hard he was thrusting, all his energy centred on fucking you just right, just how you liked it. A particular loud moan caught Steve’s attention, his warm honey eyes snapping up to yours.

Your hair was spread out against the pillows, your eyes were bright and doe like, long lashes fluttering every time Steve hit that special spot. Steve’s gaze softened at you, the boy lifting himself up on his toes so he was towering over you, his body keeping your thighs against your stomach.

He held himself up with an elbow beside your head, his fingers snaking over your cheek, to your lips, until they finally wrapped around your throat. Your eyes went wide as he did so, the feeling of his fingers around your throat going straight to your core, your pussy soaking Steve’s throbbing cock.

Steve squeezed lightly, nothing too hard, as he fucked you. The boy groaned loudly at the look on your face, your mouth hanging open as you rasped out a breath. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your thoughts fuzzy and vision dizzy.

“Fuck, you like that huh?” Steve teased, hips still snapping against your skin, his eyes turning darker by the second, “Dirty girl.”

You hurried to muster a nod, your mouth hanging open as small, quiet whimpers left your lips. “Yes, God,” you managed to rasp out, “choke me while you fuck me, Steve, please.”

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned above you, his hips rutting against you now, his cock bullying your pussy over and over, “you’re such a naughty thing, huh? Taking my cock so well, gonna fuck this pussy real good.”

Crying out his name as best you could, his fingers still wrapped firmly around your throat with no sign of moving any time soon. It felt like Steve was fucking the soul out of your body, his cock pounding into you, his balls slapping against your ass. It was overwhelming to say the least.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head for the last time that night, the coil in your lower stomach wound too tight, finally snapping as you felt yourself hurtle over the edge. Back arching off the bed, Steve got the hint as your walls clenched around him.

“Oh, are you cumming, baby?” he cooed, his thrusts soon turning to lightning as he chased his own high, “So soon?”

The boy chuckled to himself when you simply couldn’t answer, far too busy trying to bring yourself back down to earth. Suddenly, Steve’s fingers squeezed harder around your throat, muscles tensing all over his body.

“That’s it, baby, there you go,” Steve hushed you, “cum all over my cock, cum all over my fat cock while I choke you.”

He wasn’t far behind you himself, his grip loosening, his stamina faltering, his hips slowing. Steve came undone above you, groans and grunts trembling from his lips as he came inside you. His lips coming to place soft, soothing kisses along your neck and throat once he came to his senses again.

[djotime]

Joe Keery in Greece, Aug. 2023

[bangaveragewhitewine]

Hearts are wild creatures

Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader

Halloween, 1999

A simple worn-before couple’s costume and drinks with friends. Kissing like teenagers and hushed voices. You and Steve, a night to make up for lost time before Halloween-morning with your two little girls.

Takes place two years after soft slow, morning glow

Word count: 6.4k

Contents: Parent!Steve & Reader. Explicit (18+) - oral (f!receiving), p-in-v sex (reader is on birth control, but wrap it up, friends!). Breeding kink. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids, mention of a difficult pregnancy, sickeningly sweet domestic fluff.

Author’s note: This started as soft Halloween-flavoured domesticity and then I imagined Steve dressed as Johnny Castle… we couldn’t not go there. 

Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being wonderful. And for watching ST from the start with me! And thank YOU, dear reader, for being here. I hope you enjoy it!

Tucked away in the Chicago suburbs, your little house matches its companions in the cosy cul de sac; the residents of Elm Crescent had transformed their homes and gardens into a Halloween Wonderland as exciting for the adults as it was for the kids. You knew you had made the right choice buying your first home here. 

The garden has been prepared for a night of costumed trick-or-treaters, the path flanked by two homemade sheet-ghosts and leaves raked in vain leaving the green lawn clear for those that fell since yesterday afternoon. Four carved pumpkins guard the house from their spot on the front steps, arranged from largest to littlest - one for each of you.

Inside, tissue-paper ghosties with wobbly marker-drawn smiles made by tiny hands float on lengths of thread, seasonal art projects take pride of place in the kitchen, and paper bats guard the stairs from their hanging place on the spindles. Nothing too scary to frighten a four and nearly-two-year-old, all brightly childish orange and purple and green, smiling instead of scaring. 

Halloween fell perfectly in ‘99 - a Sunday night for tricks and treats meant that you and Steve could make grown-up plans on Saturday. A simple worn-before couple’s costume, a competent and willing babysitter, and drinks with friends in a too-loud bar that you all left early to get pizza and a cab home. It was later than you had stayed up or out in months, maybe years, and you both felt almost giddy with excitement. Far from the late and boozy Halloween nights of your early years as a couple, it was exactly the night you and Steve had wanted. 

Back home, your Johnny and Baby costumes were barely folded before you crawled into bed together and kissed like off-the-leash teenagers, keeping your voices and giggles low while your babies slumbered peacefully down the hall. 

After paying the babysitter from across the street, making sure she got home safe, neither you nor Steve could resist a peek at the two sleeping girls when you got home, both sentimental (and a little broody again) as you held each other gazing at their little dreaming faces. Beth with her bunny-teddy pillowing her cheek (reminding you to wash it soon with lavender detergent and steaming hot water) and Ava, sweet little Ava, starfishing in her crib. Your tiny girl takes up so much space in your hearts, pulls attention in every room she enters with her big brown eyes and honey-blonde hair; she is your little cherub. 

You had missed them on your night out, tried not to count the minutes since you had left or until you got home to them. Steve had felt the same, but you knew they were safe and (hopefully) sleeping. So, you tried and succeeded in letting yourselves be distracted by your brilliant little group of friends, strong drinks and each other - all of which came easily, with warm cheeks and loud laughter, stolen kisses while your friends pretended to take offence that you loved each other more than them. 

Now, at home in your cosy little bedroom, Steve’s hand skates upward, feeling the dips and curves of your body as your lips lock in a needy kiss. Smiling against your mouth, he greedily swallows the soft noise pulled from your throat. His hand finds its home, cupping your breast through soft shell-pink satin, as the other holds your hand pinned to the sunshine-coloured cotton sheet.

Two kids later and he is still utterly obsessed with you, in love with all of you - especially the bumps and marks of motherhood that came with each perfect girl. You had spent most of the night tucked to his side, pretty pink contrasting his tight black shirt and jeans. Robin had tried to sit between you at one point and you had been hauled onto the warm sturdy throne of Steve’s lap, his chin on your shoulder as he argued with his best friend over whether they should do karaoke or shots next. Except for quests to the bar for more drinks and a few trips to the bathroom, you hadn’t been without his warm touch since you left the house. He would have held your hand while you peed if he could, would have accompanied you to the bar except your friends forced you to be apart ‘for five fuckin’ minutes, dude.’

His lips skate lower, abandoning your kiss-swollen lips to nibble your jaw and seek out that spot on your neck while his thumb presses firmly against your nipple. Your brow creases in pleasure when he finds it; the quiet gasp ‘Steve’ is whispered into his hair, edging toward a whimper. 

“Mmhm? M’here, baby.” Tipsy from a lower alcohol tolerance and drunk on you, Steve’s voice is hot against your neck. 

Your fingers wrap over his own as he presses you into the mattress, his black Calvin Klein’s straining with need, with want. Your own underwear have been damp since his hand settled on your thigh in the cab at the start of the night. 

Your fingers slide into Steve’s hair, directing him back to your lips as his thigh slots snugly into the apex of your spread legs. 

“Yeah? There?” he murmurs, smiling cockily.

It had been far too long since you had time alone like this; too tired after work or parenting, one or both of you needed to dry tears and check for monsters after a bad dream just as hands began to wander beneath the covers. 

Your hips roll, electrified, grinding on the firm bulk of his thigh. “Please, Stevie…” 

You both know you could get off like this and if he thought that was what you really wanted - what you needed - Steve would let you. He would gladly watch you come undone, guide your hips and be whatever you need him to be. But neither had forgotten your hot whisper against his ear as Eddie carried a tray of drinks and shots back to your table earlier; the way your lips grazed Steve’s neck as you so quietly asked him to fuck you into the mattress when you got home. 

You had watched his eyes blow wide and pressed a rose-pink kiss to his cheek (warm and blushing) while your friends placed bets on when Baby Harrington the Third would be coming. 

Steve peels himself back, kneeling on the bed as he palms himself at the sight of you. You feel saliva pool under your tongue as you rake your eyes from his thighs, over that substantial bulge, and up his furry chest. He is nothing short of breathtaking, and Steve thinks just the same of you. 

Your fingers slip over the nude lace of your underwear, biting your lip when you brush over the damp spot visible even in the low light from the bedside lamp. You don’t play long, already too worked up, and push your panties down toward your thighs with a lift of your hips. 

Steve takes over, like a baton-pass, and eases your legs up against his chest with your feet against his shoulder. Your underwear is slipped off and thrown carelessly behind him, somewhere on the floor. He presses kisses to your calf, a curving path up over your ankle and the top of your foot before each leg is laid down gently on either side of his spread knees. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows before pushing yourself up to sit and meet Steve for another kiss; it is smiling and sweet and a little dirty. Your fingers hook into his waistband before taking a greedy handful of his unfairly pert behind, making him laugh against your mouth. 

“You going to give me what I want?” you murmur, kissing his chin. Your other hand slips down the front side, fingers wrapping around to squeeze his hard length as you look up through your lashes. 

“Anything. Everything.” Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he cups your cheek in one huge hand, blindly bringing you back in for another kiss. 

Your voices are just loud enough for each other to hear in the golden glow of your bedroom. You miss the days when you could be loud, but wouldn’t change it - take a day trip to the past perhaps, when you didn’t have to restrain your desire to a quick fuck after dark, or during nap time while the washer and dryer run in the background like white noise,

Maybe in a few weeks, before the craziness of the holidays, you can stow away to a hotel for a night or two and cash in on the babysitting offer from Aunties Robin and Nancy. 

But tonight is perfect nonetheless. It’s perfect when you shove Steve’s briefs down his thighs and when his fingers skate over your back to undo your bra (before it joins your underwear and his on the floor). You lay back, taking Steve with you, and hook your leg over his hip and bring him as close as you can all over again. 

All there is right now is you and Steve. You’re well-practised enough to be quiet. 

Covetous hands palm over hips, fingers thread into hair, pulling each other close and closer still. Steve finds his home between your thighs and leans over, dipping to kiss you as his fingers press and tease, push inside you with care. His fingers stretch just right and curl up to seek out the place that makes you drool. 

“Lemme have a little taste?” he asks against your mouth, smiling when a whine catches in your throat. “Yeah? Can I?” 

“So greedy.” Your cheeks are warm and crease when his smile sets you off. 

“I am. I can’t get enough of you.” His straight white teeth nip your lower lip, a bite he soothes with his tongue. “I think you love it…” 

You gasp as his fingers curl again before he withdraws them, and watch as he licks your wetness from them. 

Steve winks as his lips trail lips lower, over your chest and the softness of your tummy, your hips and the places on your thighs that jiggle a little bit. Steve presses a feathery kiss to your swollen bud before licking out his tongue to part your lips

Steve’s prone to getting sidetracked down there - not that you would ever complain about your husband who loves to go down on you - but you have been thinking of being railed by him since last Wednesday. 

The begged-for ‘little taste’ quickly becomes so much more.

There’s nothing ‘little’ about Steve - not his hands or his thighs, his biceps or his manhood, or his heart. His appetite for you certainly is not little or lacking either. With his hand on your thigh, the other on the cheek of your ass, he makes your thighs tremble with a few skilful licks and the soft suck of his mouth. His nose rests and nudges against the pudge of your mound, darkened eyes fixed on you as he flicks his tongue.

He watches how your jaw drops, the crease in between your brows. You feel dizzy, anchored only by the weight of his hand spreading your thigh higher, wider for him. 

The burning want in your belly flames hot and bright as Steve buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses firm and flat, encouraged when your fingers slide into his hair to keep him ‘right there, oh!’ 

Silenced by your own hand, you feel that white-hot tight-winding feeling as his fingers slide home again. The sound of his wet mouth on you sounds so loud, the same volume as the throb of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears. A whimper of Steve’s name is stifled, a high choked-up noise in your throat as his scalp burns from tugging fingers. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, amped up and tightly wound after a night of teasing and wanting, and the long groping make-out and grind in the kitchen after the babysitter left.

Steve’s solid weight keeps your hips low to the bed, even when your back arches sharply.  An expert at your pleasure now, seeking it out and making you see stars every time, he keeps up the pace and pressure, with his fingers and tongue. He knows what you need, how you like it - never stale, never disappointing. 

Your body attempts to curl up on itself, feeling too good. Slowly, carefully, Steve drags his mouth to kiss your shaky thigh before making his way back to lie alongside you. His damp fingers, wrap around his diamond-hard length to give some sort of relief. 

Glowing and giggly, you gaze up at him and drag Steve in for a kiss. “Knew you were a greedy boy.” Your voice is quietly breathy, shaking with that post-orgasm wobble as he laughs against your mouth. 

“Got carried away. Sue me.” His voice is a low murmur. 

Cupping his cheek, you skate your thumb along the bone. He’s so gorgeous, gold-toned in the nighttime light. Your fingertips brush the moles on his cheek as Steve kisses you again; beneath the musk of you on his tongue, you can still taste the lingering whiskey notes from your night out.

Pulled right up against him, you feel the hard and soft of Steve’s body, the fur of his chest and thighs. He found two grey hairs on his chest earlier in the year which almost caused an existential crisis - only solved with your tweezers and a tonne of kisses and promises that you would still adore him when every hair on his body was shiny silver. 

“You wanna be on your back or front?” he asks, squeezing your side.

The question makes that inferno in your tummy begin to burn hotter again. You think of how good it feels when he’s behind you, thighs slapping against the back of your own, the way he stretches you and hits that place deep inside. And yet, you need to see him tonight - you are so dreamily in love with him that not having his lips on yours might just make you expire. 

“Back. Pass me that cushion?” 

As you get comfy, Steve takes himself in hand again and settles himself between your legs. His non-busy hand runs through his hair - still a glorious mane into his thirties, despite a few shorter cuts over the years - and you are reminded of the pretty-boy you fell for almost a decade ago.

Steve catches you smiling and palms your leg as you settle on either side of his hips. He matches the little grin and dips forward to kiss you, nuzzling your noses together. 

“What’s got you smilin’ like that, huh?” he asks, running the head of his cock through your wetness before tapping it at the top. 

He watches your lashes flutter, the way you bite your lip. 

“Just thinkin’ about you, handsome,” you murmur, “You always make me smile.” 

He grins and kisses you again, both feeling like young loves again despite the aches and pains and the mortgage and the two kids sleeping down the hall. “I fuckin’ love you,” Steve whispers. 

“I love you,” you murmur back, running your fingers into your love’s hair as the other hand grabs his wrist. “Please? Been waiting all night, Stevie…”

His lips melt the put-on pout and together you guide him inside. The stretch of him has got easier over the years, well practised at love-making and fucking like rabbits alike. He’s gentle when he needs to be, rougher when you both want it like that. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Sorry for making my girl wait,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in.

Eyes fluttering closed at the stretch-and-fill, Steve starts off with a slow grind that makes your jaw drop. He murmurs quiet swears at how warm-wet you feel around him, squeezing him tight as his hips draw halfway back before going all the way in again. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, and braces one hand by your head with the other splayed wide on your side. Your hips lift with him, legs propped high to open you up wider for him. 

For a scant second, you want to ask if his back hurts - he pulled something at basketball drills last week and you had massaged on Tiger Balm morning and night for a few days until the twinging stopped. The hard flick of his hips makes the question vanish from your mind, his cock dragging and hitting just right. 

“Oh god,” you whisper-gasp, jaw hanging open.

“I know, baby. M’sorry it’s been so long. M’a bad husband, huh? Leaving my poor wife needy and un-fucked.” His voice is hot and rough against your cheek, breath tickling your ear as he finds his rhythm. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?” 

You squeeze the back of his neck, giggling. “Make it up to me all you want.” He palms over your hip, hiking it higher before leaning over you again. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so good.”

Your eyes dip to the gold chain hanging around his neck, watching how it sways in rhythm to how he’s fucking you. You bring your hand to where it rests against his neck, guiding Steve’s mouth to yours again. His breath huffs hot against your lips, tongues sliding in a dirty kiss. 

The wet click of parting lips sounds loud in Steve’s ears when you break away, moaning his name against his chin when his thrusts hit deeper, harder. 

“Shhh, I know you wanna be loud, sweetheart. I know you feel good.” His voice is like lava dripping as he kisses your neck. 

You pinch your lips together, the moan caught in your throat comes out as a high hum. 

Steve is so hard. His pants felt too tight all night; half hard since he saw you in your little pink dress. It only got worse, harder not to ask you to meet him in the bathroom, when you sat on his lap and toyed with the back of his hair, whispered in his ear before slipping into conversation with Nancy about something totally different. 

The slick-tight-hot feeling, the way you pulse around his cock, makes that tense coil of pleasure low in his gut wind tighter. His chest feels like 

You can’t help but fall a little more in love with him, hypnotised by the swinging gold chain, the circles he rubs against your hip and the way his styled hair falls over his forehead.

Squeezing your thighs around him, you bring your legs up and tilt your hips higher. Steve adjusts the stance of his knees and slows his thrusts to a deep grind, the tip of him brushing your cervix. You can feel all of him pressed right up against you, inside and out. 

“Oh fuck.. fuck, Steve.” Your voice is thin and strained, like a thread about to snap. 

“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, biting down on his own lower lip. “God, you’re so pretty. So sexy.” 

The air in your bedroom feels humid and heavy, like a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to crack and split the sky, waiting for a downpour. 

Steve moves his hand from your hip, gliding over your pelvis to feel how he makes you bulge just a bit before his fingers begin circling your sticky-damp clit. Just quick enough, firm enough, mean enough. 

Your back arches, quiet voice babbling with incoherence at how intense it feels. “I’mgonnacomeohgodstevestevefuck…”

“Come on baby, come for me. Let me feel it,” he pants, hitting deep and hard. He’s so close, barely holding on to himself. 

You hold him tight to you as you come, fingers tugging in his hair as the other hand claws and digs into the meat at the top of his ass. 

Overwhelmed, a sweet shock of release hits you like lightning and opens the floodgates. 

Steve holds you just as close, anchored to each other. Whispering hot words of praise against your mouth, he gazes into your watery eyes sparkling with tears - he makes you feel that good. 

“Oh baby, I’ve got you. You okay?” he asks, so tender. He leans over you, wrapping his arm beneath your lower back as the other braces his weight along his forearm. One huge hand cups your face and wipes your tears. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and you look beautiful. 

There’s that smile he loves; wobbly and lovely. A giggle-sob bubbles from those sweet kiss-bitten lips. “Fuck, Steve..” 

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Want me to pull out, is it too much?” 

You shake your head against the duvet, your hair a mess. “No, no. Don’t... Wanna feel you.” Your voice is slurred, love drunk. 

That makes him throb. He kisses you again and runs his nose along yours. “M’close,” he whispers, beginning a slow-dragging thrust inside your soaked and still-fluttering body. 

You can see it, how close he is, and feel it in how his rhythm has faltered. His brows pinch, smearing wet kisses to your shoulder as he tucks his face into your neck. 

“I’ve got you, Stevie. You’re so good,” you whisper, stroking the back of his neck. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.” 

A grunting groan is smothered against your shoulder as Steve stills and shudders on top of you. His hips pump slow and hard as he comes inside with your name on his lips, making you shiver too. 

His weight settles, sinking you into the mattress in the best way. This is exactly what you had missed so much. As much as you fervently adore actually having sex with Steve Harrington, there is something so special about lying with him in the afterglow. 

Sweat-sticky and breathless, you stroke through his hair and press your lips into his hair. The hairspray scent lingers, clinging to the scent of shampoo beneath the smoke from cigarettes bummed from his bad-influence-best-friend Eddie. There was something about the smoke-tinged kisses that made you feel extra feral for him on the way home. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, laughing softly when his sigh tickles your neck. 

“But you’re so comfortable.” 

Lifting his head, Steve smiles all pink-cheeked and dozy. “So beautiful too,” he murmurs, inching forward to kiss you. 

The wet noise from below makes you both laugh like teenagers and you take your turn to hide your face. 

“You take your birth control today?” he asked, easing himself up and out of you slowly, carefully. His eyes can’t look away from where he drips from you. 

“Mhm. Sorry, big boy.” You grab a tissue from the bedside table, wiping yourself gently before you mess up the duvet cover. You had both agreed, after having Ava, to wait a few years before adding to your nest again - it had been Steve’s idea after your less-than-easy second pregnancy. For a man with a bit of a breeding kink and a dream of a family the size of a field hockey team, he was wonderfully considerate. 

He kisses you again before standing to find his pyjama pants; he leaves out one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts for you too - sleeping naked was a dangerous game with two small kids. 

Clean-faced and exhausted and happy, you curl up together in bed after a few sleepy kisses and a playful argument about who would get up with Ava in the morning. As if Steve would ever miss a chance to let you sleep and steal the morning smiles from your youngest all for himself.

“You won’t even hear me sneak. M’a ninja,” he murmurs tiredly against the back of your neck and you can feel his smile. 

“If you say so, ninja boy,” you mumble back, dragging your joined hands up for one more kiss before slipping into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Sunday. Halloween. The best day of the year for your little girls - since the last best day (their Daddy’s birthday in late July). 

Ever a fan of Halloween, and autumn in general, you always wanted to bring your girls up to be excited for Halloween as soon as September began. Still so little, with Play-Dough minds, they had begun to catch on to your excitement and followed soaked it up. Beth especially, four with an expansive imagination, was excited about dressing up and eating candy and watching “Hogus Pogus” with you after dinner. 

Your parental body clocks ring at seven despite the late night. 

You wake to Steve creeping out, blindly bumping into the dresser with a quiet ‘shit’ as Ava calls out for him. This morning his presence was required to brush fat tears from the little one’s pink cheeks and kiss the damp paths they left behind until she was smiling again. 

You hear the youngest babbling as Steve carries her quietly downstairs, hoping she won’t wake you or Beth. The throb of a minor hangover and post-sex ache drags you back under the covers and into a light doze. 

You have another thirty minutes and some change until Beth wakes and realises she misses you, deciding to sneak in before even letting her Dad know she was awake - she wanted to see you hear about your Halloween party with her uncle and aunties and remind you that the best day had finally arrived.

The creaky hinge on the door alerts you - a reminder to ask Steve to show you how to oil it properly this time - you peek an eye open to watch the four-year-old sneak over to stand by the bed on her Dad’s side. She would be content enough with just seeing you, comforted in the knowledge that you were home to spend the day together; her face lights up when she spies you peeking over Steve’s pillow, your hand raised in a little wave. 

“Hi Mommy,” she whispers, dimples showing her delight. 

“Hi Bethie,” you whisper back, beckoning her into Steve’s vacant spot next to you. 

You open the covers to let your big girl in. She folds herself into you for a hug, her head against your chest. 

“I missed you. I missed you sooooo much,” she says, face turned up to look at you like she is a sunflower and you’re the sun. 

“I missed you too, baby.” Her little face cupped in one hand, you press kisses to her forehead and cheeks, her little nose. 

You make a tent big enough for two beneath the covers, lying on your sides facing each other until your giggling makes it too warm and your tummies rumble for the special Halloween breakfast you promise. (You curse yourself a little for that last glass of wine, trying to remember what exactly you had promised until Beth reminds you about the pumpkin-shaped pancakes). 

Wrapped in your soft dressing gown, you follow Beth down the stairs, hearing Ava’s happy-baby babble in the kitchen as she eats her half-banana breakfast appetizer. The decorations look a little silly and rough around the edges in the morning light, but still, your little home feels like a perfect pocket of happiness.

Beth jumps into the kitchen with an excited-but-not-very-spooky ‘BOO!’ for Steve. 

When she sees him, nursing coffee and Advil with a messy bedhead and tired smile, he quickly becomes Beth’s golden light source as her beaming face turns to him. 

“Woah! You scared me!” he says, clutching his heart before dipping to scoop her up. 

You try not to laugh at his Dad-groan and the cracking crunch of his knees as he stands, instead shuffling in your slippers to Ava in her highchair. 

Her hands bash on the tray, smushing banana with fierce excitement as you peck kisses all over her pretty cherubic face. 

Beth leans her head against Steve, playing with the string of his hastily thrown-on hoodie as she tells him about the dream she had and how he has to take lots of pictures of her costume later to send to your extended family. 

Spotting his bare feet on the kitchen tiles, you slip into the laundry room to find a pair of socks for him to wear. Resistant to ‘old man slippers’, you tuck them into his front pocket as you peck his lips and move him and Beth away from the counter so you can start on breakfast. You steal a sip of his coffee, wrinkling your nose at the lack of sweetness before shooing him and Beth to sit with Ava at the table. 

“What was Uncle Teddy dressed as?” Beth asks, head against Steve’s chest so she looks at him upside down. 

“He was a vampire. But he just wore his normal clothes and some silly teeth.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically - he had seen vampire Eddie all the way back in high school when he was dealing instead of drinking, and again when you all used to drink and party the night away in your early twenties. Yeah you had dressed as Baby and Johnny before, but you had all boo’ed at Eddie when he showed up in the ultimate low-effort costume. 

“Oh. Okay. Vampires is sca’wry though, Daddy!” Beth reminds him. “You and Mommy didn’t go as scar'wies. What about Bobin?” 

You laugh quietly at the nickname Robin has had since Beth started speaking, and her simple way of humbling Steve about his own costume (and yours). 

“Robin dressed up as Elton John. You know the song you like, Benny & the Jets? She dressed up as the guy who sings that song. And Can You Feel The Love Tonight. He sings that too.” Steve is a wee bit distracted, nibbling the chunk of crushed banana offered from Ava’s fist.

“Bobin was Simba?” Beth’s eyes are wide, excited. She doesn’t seem bothered about her lack of scary costume, only yours.

“No babe. Elton John, he’s a singer. She had big glasses on and a sparkly jacket. You know he sings... Um. ‘Rocketmaaan, burning up his fuel out there alone..’ you like that one. I’ll find the tape later.”

Ava squeals in delight when he sings, so Steve indulges her a little more.

As you mix up pancake batter (adding a little food colouring to make them orange like pumpkins), and take two Advil for the dull throb in your head, the soundtrack of Beth and Steve’s conversation makes you smile, interspersed with Ava’s chirpy shouts for attention, her little contributions to the conversation. 

You glance back at the little tableau of Beth on Steve’s lap, his hood pulled over his messy hair (a pair of sunglasses and he would look just the same as your hungover mornings in your first apartment together). His spare hand strokes Ava’s hair, twirling the crushed baby-curls at the back of her head and tickling her chin and neck to make her giggle. 

Beth joins you after a little while, standing on a chair to help mix the batter and supervise your pancake-making with little bits of commentary. 

“That one looks a w’ittle bit squished, Mommy. Daddy can have that one.” 

“Thanks, Beth.” Steve’s voice is muffled behind his second cup of coffee. 

“Welcome Daddy! Mommy, can I has that nice stuff on?” 

“On what, sweets?”

“My pancakes.” You can hear her eye roll, the implied ‘duh, mom’ (thanks Auntie Max). 

“The nice stuff? Syrup?” 

“Yeah! Sir-yup.”

“Yeah okay. A little bit.” You flip another pancake, turning the chocolate chip face down onto the heated pan. “Do you want bacon on the same plate or on the side?”

“Um. Can I dip it?” 

“In the syrup?” 

“Yeah, in that nice stuff.”

“Yeah, you can try dipping it. Who taught you that?”

“Teddy.”

You smirk, “Steve, did you hear that? Betty’s taking after her Uncle’s eating habits.” 

“Which one?” 

“Ed. She’s gonna dip her bacon in syrup.” 

“That’s my girl.”

Beth giggles and turns carefully on the chair to look at him. “No Daddy, you does it all over! You got to dip-dip.” 

“Can you show me how?” Steve asks, he smiles over at her, looking so handsome with the baby standing in his lap now. 

“Magic word?” 

You snort-laugh, tucking your chin to your chest as your shoulders shake; you just about slide the pancake onto a plate without incident. Beth has one hand on her hip, a mini-Steve for sure, giving as good as she gets.

“Are you practising your magic for later?”

“Nooo Daddy. You has to say p’weeeeeeze-uhhh.”

“Okay-uhhhh. Please, pretty princess Bethany, can you show me how to dip my bacon in syrup?”

Bethany considers it and looks at you with a cheeky smile. “Yep! I show you, Daddy!”

You wink at her before helping her pour more batter onto the hot buttered pan, praising her careful steady hand. 

“Beth, can you grab a bib for Ava please?” You’re almost done and know you’ll get it served up quicker if your helper has a special task. 

“Yes! What colour?” her hot cocoa eyes shine with delight to help as you help her down. 

“Surprise me. We have a Halloweeny one for later, so any one you like for breakfast time okay? Dealer’s choice.” You dot a kiss to her head before watching her scurry to check what colour her sister's sleep-suit is. 

“There’s a laundry basket in the living room, babe. The bibs are on top. Do you need help?” Steve asks her, lifting Ava back into her chair before going to get forks and plates and glasses of juice for the table. 

“No tank you.”

You lean back against Steve’s warm chest and tilt your head for a kiss. “Hi. I missed you.” 

“Missed you more,” he murmurs, squeezing the tender spots on your hips as he kisses you slowly and sweetly. A proper kiss for the morning, tasting of coffee and shared banana and sneaked chocolate chips. 

Your fingers brush his jaw, feeling stubble beneath soft fingertips. He won’t shave today, you hope he’ll string it out a couple of days into the work week. 

After another hip-squeeze, he picks out cutlery and you notice how he squints into the drawer. 

“Glasses.”

“Getting them next, chef.”

“No, your glasses Stevie. You’ll get a headache.” 

“I have a headache. I’m blaming Rob for it.”

“It’ll get worse if you don’t put your glasses on, babe.”

You watch him mimicking your correctness with a scrunched nose as he picks out forks and knives. He knows you’re right but he doesn’t have to like it.

Steve gathers everything for breakfast, including Beth’s syrup. 

“I’ll get them in a sec,” he murmurs behind you, waiting for Beth to return with a bib first. 

You smile to yourself and start plating up. 

“Beth, how are we doing on the bib?”

When he looks into the living room, Steve sees Beth with every clean bib around her as she decides. 

“I can’t find one to match!” Beth’s face is a scowl.

“Babe, it doesn’t need to match. Just pick. Please.” Steve tries to be patient. Ava is getting impatient without food or distractions in the kitchen and he hears you chatter to her to try and help. He’s usually good at the diffuse and distract technique, a pro after quasi-parenting more than half a dozen teenagers.

“Can we do a-a spooky one?”

“Um. Sure. This one is kinda autumny?” He holds up the orange and yellow floral one, tiny flowers and green leaves. 

“But Ava’s jammies is pink Daddy! It doesn’t go! It has to be spooky and match!” Beth’s voice turns whiney, a pout on her face. 

Steve pops his head back into the kitchen where Ava is entirely unimpressed with being ignored as you bring over the plates. “Beth would really like it if Ava could have a Halloween bib now, and if it matched her pjs too…”

You watch him suppressing an eye-roll, knowing it would just hurt his head. He looks exactly like Beth. 

“Um, check the laundry room? I left a couple out.” You peek around Steve and see Beth with all of the bibs around her. “Sorry, I should’ve just told her to check in there.” 

“No, it’s fine. Beth, pick those up please and come wash your hands.” 

Steve smooches Ava’s cheek as he passes and palms your side with a squeeze. He picks up a purple bib with bats and a white one with ghosts - he is hopeful that one will suit Beth’s specifications and taste.  He has this Dad thing down to a fine art.

The bigger girl has clean and almost dry hands, pyjama sleeves rolled up her arms by your gentle mom-touch. Her face splits into a grin when Steve presents the choices.

“Yes! The pur-pellll!” she squeaks, bouncing on her feet. 

He dips to pick her up, barely suppressing the dad-groan - but it’s quieter than last time. “My little fashionista, huh? Everything’s gotta match?” He pecks her nose, making it scrunch like a bunny’s. 

When Ava’s got her bib on, distracted by cut-up pumpkin-shaped pancakes and berries (with one slice of bacon), Beth sits in her seat at the table in awe of the jack-o-lantern faces you have created. 

“Spooky enough, babe?” You sip maple-sweetened coffee and smile at her little happy face. 

Her hair is spilling over from her messy bedtime ponytail, which comes more loose as she nods furiously. “So cool! Tank you Mommy!”

“Super cool,” Steve agrees, winking at you across the table. “Thanks, baby.”

You’re just as sexy to him now, as you were last night with your messy hair and the well-loved teddy-print dressing gown. He notices his glasses case by his coffee and you wink back at him over the top of your mug.

With his world more in focus, Steve watches you smile at Ava as she shows you her chunk of pancake. You kiss her cheek, nuzzle into her milk-and-honey scented neck telling her you love her. 

You feel like the littlest one hasn’t had your full attention this morning and you have missed her, feeling mom-guilt to the hilt. Steve will take on dish-duty once the plates are empty and bellies are full, giving you time with your girls. 

There are a few last-minute decorations and chores you want to make time for in between kid-friendly movies, dressing the girls in their costumes - Beth as a tiny cute witch and  Ava as a cosy pumpkin. The girls are your number one priority today, making core memories for them and taking one hundred and one photos for the albums. Ava is still too little to really soak it in but she takes enough notice to nourish her little mind. 

You and Steve will fill out the candy for trick-or-treaters, and hold little hands when the girls go door to door in your own cul de sac. When they’re tucked up in bed, you will pick through the candy leftovers and curl up to watch one scary film followed by a non-scary one as a balm before you sleep. 

For now, you sit back and share a loving smile with Steve, your socked feet brushing beneath the breakfast table. 

What a treat. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

[freckledjoes]

Gator Tillman :)

-

bonus:

(he looks back at the snow so offended)

[rosewaterandivy]

petrichor

a continuation of sugar & mint

summary: a summer friday feat. long lie-ins, a doting husband, and something unexpected

pairing: dad!steve x mom!reader

W.C.: 2390 K

warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, smoking, cursing, pregnancy mention, my usual brand of filth (unprotected p-i-v, oral - m & f receiving, come eating)

a/n: disclaimer, i'm not a mom (unless you count my two pets)!! i am but a simple god mom to some feral babies, whom i adore. if pregnancy or mom!reader is not your vibe, i completely get it - i just couldn't get the thought of these two out of my head 🥹

🎵🎵 Oh, woe-oh-woah is me, the first time that you touched me 🎵🎵

pet·ri·chor /ˈpetrīˌkôr/ (noun)

definition: a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

Waking to the sound of rain falling steadily on the roof, you blearily pry an eye open to check the time. The sheets beside you on the bed are cool, Steve having made good on his promise to let you sleep in. The clock informs you of the late hour, 1 PM, as your stomach begs for sustenance.

Scrubbing a hand across your face, you roll over and rummage around for a shirt to cover throw on before trotting downstairs. Bub is off with her aunts for one final summer weekend, and there’s a slight chill in the air. Enough to warrant slipping on your husband’s discarded gray sweatshirt.

Aside from the rain against the eaves and windows, the house is silent. Grabbing your favorite mug from the cabinet, you busy yourself making a cup of coffee before you see the post-it stuck to the fridge.

Hope you got to sleep in, your majesty. Grabbing groceries in town, see you soon. xxx - Steve

Grabbing a cinnamon bagel and your coffee you settle in the window seat of the breakfast nook to watch the rain, free of distractions and responsibilities. It’s rare that you get a moment like this, no pressing deadlines, drop-off or pick-up lanes, hosting dinners for friends, or attending a birthday party.

Eyes following the drag of raindrops on the windowpane, your hand falls to the nearly imperceptible swell of your stomach. Early days yet, but you knew the signs: nausea, exhaustion, all the usual suspects. Finishing your coffee, you trekked upstairs in search of a rogue pregnancy test— would it have expired by now?

After checking the date and deeming it worthy, you took the test and checked the time. Deciding it best to go back downstairs to ease your anxiety, you settled back in the window seat with a second cup of coffee.

_

“Couldn’t find a shirt?”

He laughs, shaking off the water droplets like a dog in the foyer. “It wasn’t raining when I left,” Steve says, as if that’s explanation enough. Not that you’re necessarily complaining, his hair and skin damp, tank top doing fuck all being as soaked as it is. “And I couldn’t find my—”

Catching sight of his sweatshirt grazing the tops of your thighs he smiles. “Nevermind, looks better on you anyway.” He kicks the door closed, shoes squelching against the floor as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Baaaabe,” you whine, catching a whiff of tobacco on him, “Please tell me you didn’t smoke in my car.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, sunglasses resting against the visor of his ball cap as he sets the tote bags on the counter. “Trader Joe’s was insane,” he says setting the keys on the counter, “It was an emergency cigarette, I swear.”

A roll of your eyes as you begin to put away the groceries. “If you bothered to wake me, I could’ve told you Trader Joes on a Friday was a bad idea.”

Steve quirks a brow in interest, grabbing a few items to shove in the freezer.

“Flower delivery is Friday, brings all the Lululemon moms to the yard.”

“Huh,” he grunts, “Explains all the spandex and lycra then.” Damp fingers trail against your thigh before wrapping an arm around your hip to draw you close. “Besides,” he breathes against your neck, “If I remember correctly, you requested to be left to sleep in.”

Failing to stifle a yawn, you eek out, “Because I’m fuckin’ exhausted, Harrington.” Setting your mug in the sink, you turn in his grasp and drape an arm across his shoulders. “Raising your daughter and dealing with your sorry ass.”

“Oh,” he pulls you closer, hips flush against one another, “So she’s my daughter now?”

“When she’s having sleep regression, yes.”

“Poor thing.”

“Yes,” you huff, “Me, I’m the poor thing because she insisted on crawling into our bed and kept kicking me in the ribs all night.”

“Hmm,” he hums, resting his chin against your head, “Explains the post-it stuck to my face this morning. ‘Help me Steve Harrington, you’re my only hope! Can you get Bub off to Aunt Nancy & Robin’s and please (for the love of god) let me sleep in? xxx —the love of your life & bearer of your child.”

“Hey,” you grouse into his chest, “I am clever and cute and you love me.”

Steve pulls back to get a better look at you— sleep mused, hair askew, barley dressed in a sweatshirt that had seen better days, and bare feet. He reaches down to link his fingers through yours. It feels so good, and warm, and you sigh almost contentedly.

“Course I do.” He takes a breath, “How could I not?”

“Steve Harrington,” you whisper against his lips, “You sweet talkin’ me?”

And with that, you crash your lips over his, sliding your tongue—sweet and heavy with promise into the space of his mouth.

He tastes like a stolen cigarette and coffee, cinnamon dancing on his tongue from the Big Red he’d swiped from the car. Kisses you slow and deep, easing you back against the counter. Chest pressed flush to yours, you let out an involuntary hiss.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

A shake of your head as your pepper his cheeks with kisses, bristles of five o’clock shadow catching against your lips.

“My tits just really hurt.”

“Huh,” he tuts, leaning back to look you over. “That’s uh… new.”

Quirking your brow, you level him with a look. “And how would you know?”

Steve’s lips curl in a slow smile, “I notice things.”

Glancing to the green numbers illuminated on the microwave, you grab his hand and make for the staircase. “Sure you do, big guy,” you toss over your shoulder playfully.

Settling him on the bed, you trot back into the en suite and return with the white plastic test in your hand. Handing it to him without fanfare, you watch as his face turns from one of mild curiosity to that of astonishment. Shock.

There was a cautious longing in your eyes and your face was measured. The air was weighted in silence, desire crystallizing as he leaned towards you, a pull he allowed himself to fall toward, closing the space between, choosing not to think, blocking out any hesitation and he was kissing you.

You were trying not to rush this, trying to savor this, slowly, carefully, tormented with the scent of his skin, all warm and washed linen, comfort laced in a simmering heat that he kept tempered somewhere deep within his soul.

Your face was cradled in his hands, pulling you closer, skin hot against palms, lips hotter still against his own when he realised the rain had stopped.

You crawl into his lap, straddle his waist, and his breath is punched out of his lungs in awe of your beauty. You undress him with deft fingers, yanking his clothes, hissing when he pulls away to peel the shirt off— as if not touching him pains you. The sweatshirt comes off— thrown carelessly landing somewhere on the floor— Steve revels in the exposure your chest—soft, heaving with love and agony.

Steve. Stevie. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.

Desperate, again.

You tug his hair, grip his chest and back, kiss him until his head spins. The bed creaks softly, as if it doesn’t want to interrupt the sounds that your bodies create together.

His kisses were deliberate towards one destination as his hands moved toward another, caressing you soft on the skin of your hips, slowly, sweetly up your sides and arching your back where you perched, a way to kiss you harder, reach you further to rediscover all his favorite parts of you.

The moan started low in your throat as he eased himself into you, sinking all the way to the hilt, delicious and easy, because he couldn’t wait and neither could you. You in all your love and splendor, always ready, always open for him, legs widening and gripping him as he began to move, slowly and agonizingly sweet.

Steve was trying to restrain himself, slow it down, revel in the feel of you, warm and wet and wonderful around him. He wanted to make it go slow, try not to lose himself through your soft sounds, the little breaths that told him the how, the when, the yes, please, right there, yes as you dissolved into moans that had him aching.

It was less deliberate now, more messy, a stuttered rhythm that had his legs feeling shaky, chasing his release, the push and pull of desire tightening, closer, hotter, tighter, and then an instant hardness that had him seeing stars, mouth tucked into the curve of your neck, your fingers threaded, gripping his locks, spilling feeling from his cock through your cunt.

He makes love to you, and even though he is bone tired from the hectic morning, he doesn’t feel it until you tremble in his arms and slump against his chest.

Your breath caught in your throat when he drew back to look at you, half-embarrassed, half a smile awash in his flushed face, hazel eyes full and wanting – utterly beautiful. Steve kissed your nose, your mouth, lingering sweetness on your lips, and you groaned as he picked you up, still buried inside you, his hands strong beneath your ass, fingers itching to trail the familiar paths of faded stretch marks. To praise the skin that grew to house you and your daughter, knew instinctively what to do, even if you were less than pleased with their sudden arrival.

Steve can’t help it - he loves your body for that, for keeping you and Bub safe. It’s something he won’t ever experience, but each time he happens to catch sight of you, pregnant or not, he can’t help but feel that he’s witnessing something sacred. Something holy.

The bed now, a comfort beneath your back, sheets scrambled beneath his palms as he balanced himself above you, then a stuttered breath as he slipped out, your muscles already missing the fullness of him. His pretty head moved lower now, your pretty hands still stroking through his pretty hair, sending pretty shivers through his spine.

The gasp was low in your throat when Steve pushed his fingers inside you, slow and agonizing, damp with you and him, all melded together and you almost winced when he dipped his mouth between your thighs, his tongue careful and deliberate, tasting you, tasting him, his mouth warm and licking you from core to clit.

This time, your legs were shaking, skin like fire and you were already too wound up, too high on just the feel on him, his hair brushing skin, beard soft on your thighs. Your fingers were fisted still through his hair, and god, he loved the way he knew how to drive you by the tension in your hands, the scrabbled grip through his locks as you got closer, more breathless, a groan and then an arch of toes before you were wrung out and writhing beneath him.

A clap of thunder sounded out as you collapsed, loose limbs and shivery skin as he came up to kiss you, shared joy and wonder, near awe that he could still bring you over the edge this way.

Steve's hair was something else now, wild and beautiful – definitely overdue for a trim and you were laughing now, face sparkling with glee.

“You look awful,” you told him, bringing your lips up to kiss him, all giggly with delight.

“Thank you,” he replied, nosing you close and drawing new breaths from your tongue as your hands drifted to the velvet skin beneath his thighs, working him slow and sweet.

“Oh, I will,” you answered, tempered smile in that face he adored so well, and shifted your body, drawing Steve onto his back as you dipped lower and he tried to hold the groan as you took him in your mouth.

He had to look away, some way to regather himself, the rushing blood through his skin, shooting straight to his cock, the warmth of your mouth on him, your tongue stroking him, the push and drag of your lips along that sensitive skin.

Steve focused on the feeling of you surrounding him, your warmth, your light, but even so, it was too much after a while and he had to change it, change the way you felt on him before he got too eager, too earnest. He lifted you, a giggle escaping your lips as you pulled off him with one last, deliberate drag of your mouth and this time, he couldn’t help the moan from his lips.

It was heaven, warm and sweet, when he pushed into you for the second time, your knees almost matched high at your chest, grazing your aching nipples as he found that special part of you that drew his most favorite sounds. You were keening, moving slowly together, trying not to lose control, trying to savor this for as long as you possibly could in this delicious bubble of time and space. _

Hours later and the pair of you had yet to leave the house. Rain pouring on and off throughout the afternoon and into the evening.

A tentative look at your belly, still smooth and firm. His hand finds the plane of it, fingers brushing the skin and over newly forming goosebumps. A surprising amount of excitement flutters in his own at the thought. It’d be good.

Steve insisted on throwing something together for dinner and made his way downstairs. He’s excited at the prospect of another baby, especially if they continued to take after you like Bub had. And she’d be adorable big sister, his heart swells at the thought.

He grabs the plates and heads back upstairs, the creak of the trick-step signalling his ascent. Nudging the door open with his hip, he pauses to take in the sight of you, and sets the plates on the nightstand.

Steve doesn’t know how someone can light up a room like you, just sitting there in his sweatshirt, doing nothing but smile. “Honey,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the moment but can’t help himself. He just wants to see you looking at him.

“Yeah?” You turn your head ever so slightly, peek up under flared lashes— sleepy eyes struggling to stay awake— still sparkling. “What is it?”

“Honey, I love you.” Is all he can manage. Everything else seems to fade away.

And then you smile, a slow curling of your soft lips, cupid’s bow catching a moonbeam. You smile so sweetly his heart stops in his chest. The world comes rushing back with your tired sigh and your hand linking itself with his. One beat, two beats, steadily, heavily, his blood pulses again when you kiss his cheek and murmur,

“I love you, too.”

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 14

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of weed and alcohol, mentions of abuse, but this chapter is mostly fluff

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler , slight Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: You spent the morning with your friends and Steve.

Word count: 6k+

series masterlist

-

The sunlight peaks through the curtains in your bedroom, pulling you out of your deep slumber. You squint your eyes when you open them, even the little brightness is too much for you. You pull the blanket higher and you close your eyes again when you feel the pounding in your head. Everything from the previous night comes rushing back to you when you hear the soft snores next to you and remember that Robin slept over. 

The date, Ray and his awful actions and words, Reefer Rick’s party, Eddie, and you running away from him, the gas station, the phone call.

Oh god. Steve.

You internally groan at your actions. Why him out of all people?

But you remember how caring he was, how worried he looked when he saw you. 

You open your eyes and push the blanket off of you to look down at yourself, at the bruises Ray had left on you, the ones on your wrists. It makes you feel sick. How could you have said yes to a date with him? How could you not see the obvious signs that he was a bad person? How could you let his words get to you?

You are not even sure what was worse, his words or his actions?

His actions might have hurt you and left a wound of fear inside of you but his words, god his words, were awful. He voiced all your insecurities, making you feel more unlovable than you have felt already. He made you feel worthless, like a piece of meat, for anyone to take. 

‘You’re a good fuck and that’s all you’ll ever be, that’s why Harrington dumped you, you’re not fucking interesting enough to keep around’

You take a deep breath, forcing the tears away that have welled up in your eyes. You sit up, only briefly glancing at the bruises on your thighs. You need to put some different clothes on, so you don’t have to see these. 

You tiptoe into the bathroom, not wanting to wake up Robin. You turn on the light and close the door, with a sigh, you turn to look at yourself in the mirror and your stomach drops when you notice the hickeys on your neck. Placing your hand over them, you clench your jaw in anger. 

You wish you would have done more than just slap him. You wish his words didn’t get to you the way they did. You wish you didn’t get so drunk last night. You wish you didn’t show them how hurt you were. 

You grip the counter tightly, letting your head hang low as you try to calm your breathing. 

You remember how vulnerable you made yourself look in front of Steve, in front of your ex boyfriend. You remember the look on Eddie’s face when he found you at Rick’s boathouse. 

How will you face them again? How will you look into their eyes after last night? You feel ashamed and weak, you thought that you wouldn’t feel that way anymore. You thought that you were okay now, that you moved on from the bad thoughts in your head, that they had no power over you anymore but they still do, otherwise his words wouldn’t have hurt so much. 

Were you lying to yourself all this time? Have you not moved on, after all?

A knock on the door pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Robin asks. 

“Yeah! I’ll be right out.”

“Okay.”

You quickly brush your teeth and wash your face with cold water, hoping that it will get rid of some of the swelling in your eyes. You use some concealer to cover up the circles under your eyes and the hickeys on your neck, trying to make yourself look a little better by adding some make up. You brush your hair and take one last look in the mirror before you leave the bathroom. 

You smile a little when you see the confused look on Robin’s face when she tries to make your bed the way you always do it. Trying to place the pillows on your bed, correctly. 

“Hey.”

She turns to face you, smiling at you, “good morning!” She says, holding up one of your pillows, “you have way too many pillows!” 

You chuckle, “I love them,” you shrug as you walk towards your closet, you open the door and pick out some clothes – pants and a big sweater. You can feel her eyes on you, you know what she is thinking. 

“How uh, how did you sleep?” She asks and turns away from you when you begin to change into different clothes. 

“Good,” you mumble, “surprisingly.”

“That’s good,” Robin says, scratching the back of her head as she doesn’t know what else to say. She glances at you, noticing that you are putting on jeans. 

“Why are you wearing jeans at home?” She mumbles. 

“Uh, I thought that we could go out for breakfast!” You say with a fake enthusiasm in your voice. 

Robin knows exactly what you are doing, you are pretending to be okay, when you are clearly not. She doesn’t comment on it though, not right now.

“I need coffee a-and maybe some pancakes or something,” you mumble, putting on your sweatshirt, “I’m starving.”

Robin nods, “uh yeah, breakfast sounds good.”  

She looks out the window when she hears a car pulling up to your driveway. 

“Hey, your mom is home.”

“Oh yeah, she’s working the night shifts this week,” you mumble as you turn around to face her. She is already looking at you, still clutching the pillow to her chest as she eyes you with the same worried look in her eyes you saw last night. You are grateful to have her. She took care of you the way Chrissy and Heather did after Steve left you. She wiped your tears, picked out fresh clothes for you when you went to the bathroom to take a shower, she combed your hair and hugged you tightly when you broke down again and cried yourself to sleep.

You look down, pressing your hands together, you fidget with your fingers as you take slow breaths. 

“Thank you, Robin,” you whisper, “for everything.”

Her gaze softens, she throws the pillow on your bed and walks towards you. 

“Hey,” she whispers, trying to look into your eyes, “there’s no need to thank me, okay?”

You lift your head back up, meeting her eyes. 

“That’s what friends are for, we’re there for each other, no matter what, okay?” 

Her eyes are genuine, a sad smile is tugging at her lips. 

You nod at her words, smiling, “yeah.”

She takes your hand, squeezing it tightly. Her eyes shift away for a moment and she sighs, “I’m never letting you go on a date again,” she mumbles, “the only men who are allowed to be in your presence are Eddie and his uncle,” she says, making you chuckle. 

“And maybe douchebag Steve who didn’t seem like a douchebag last night,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

At the mention of Eddie and Steve, you remember that they are both still here, probably sleeping in the living room. The sight of both of them in your house will definitely confuse your mom. 

“Right, Steve,” you mumble as you walk towards your bedroom door. When you open it, you don’t expect Eddie and Steve to fall into your room. 

Startled, you jump back and look down at them with a confused look on your face. They both look just as confused as they take in their surroundings with tired eyes. Eddie rubs the back of his head, groaning. Steve looks at Eddie with a frown on his face before his eyes meet yours and he seems to remember last night's events. 

Robin is chuckling behind you as she eyes the both of them. 

Eddie’s hair is a mess, he looks tired and in pain. Steve’s hair looks good, of course. Nothing can ruin his hair, not even a bad sleep.

Your mom halts in her tracks as she’s just coming up the stairs, she raises her brows as she eyes the four of you. She looks at Eddie, who leans back, giving her a lazy smile and a wave.

“Hi!” Robin says, cheerfully, waving at your mom. 

“Good morning, kids,” your mom says, chuckling in amusement, “I didn’t know you had a sleepover, y/n.” 

“I uh– yeah, it was um spontaneous,” you chuckle nervously, hoping that she doesn’t notice the puffiness in your eyes. You’re glad you didn’t tell her about the date, you don’t want her to know what happened, she was worried about you enough after Steve left you, you don’t want to cause her any more distress.

Eddie is still rubbing the back of his head and Steve is avoiding to look at your mom, one look at him is enough for you to see the flushed cheeks and the shame in his eyes. Your mom is looking at him and it makes him uncomfortable. 

Steve hasn’t seen her in a long time, he doesn’t know what she thinks of him after what he did to you. 

“And you let your friends sleep on the floor instead of the guest room?” She chuckles.

“Uh–”

“Oh they totally forgot about us when they wanted to gossip about Mrs. Click’s crush on Mr. Higgins,” Eddie jokes. 

Steve narrows his eyes at Eddie, “what the hell,” he mumbles under his breath. 

Robin fake gasps, “how do you know?”

Eddie turns around, looking up at Robin, he winks at her, “my eyes and ears are everywhere, Buckley.”

“Right,” she mumbles, “can we go get some breakfast now? I’m starving.”

Your mom eyes you slowly and you instantly feel uncomfortable, you know that she knows that something is wrong. 

“Y/n.”

You meet her eyes, giving her a small smile, “yes?” You ask, hoping that she won’t ask any questions, especially not right now. 

Your friends fall silent as well, looking between the two of you. 

“We should have lunch together later.”

You sigh in relief, nodding at her, “yeah, I’d like that.”

She smiles at you and then she looks down at Steve, who finally finds the courage to look at her. 

“It was nice seeing you again, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes widen, he feels a little shocked, he knows how protective your mom is of you, he figured he wasn’t welcome here any longer after what he did but he still is, he will always have a place in your home. 

But, this just makes him feel even more guilty. He always got along with your mom and your dad when he was still here. 

The smile on her face is genuine and it makes him feel like the biggest asshole in the world, not only did he hurt you, he also must’ve disappointed her. Your mom was like a second mom to him, she took care of him when his parents weren’t around. He didn’t just lose you by pushing you away, he also lost his second family.

He smiles at her, “you too,” he says, nervously. 

When your mom disappears into her bedroom, both Eddie and Steve jump up and turn to face you, the same worried looks from the previous night take over their faces, they scan your face, your whole body, you hate it. 

Before either of them can open their mouths to ask any questions, Robin pushes you out of your bedroom, sensing your discomfort. 

“Let’s go eat pancakes!” She says, cheerfully. 

Eddie and Steve glance at each other with frowns on their faces. You and Robin are already rushing down the stairs. 

“Are you coming?” Robin calls for them. 

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles, looking away from Steve, he reaches for his jacket on the floor and follows you two downstairs. 

“Wait, where are we going?” 

“The diner, where else?” Robin says as she glances up at Eddie. 

Steve hesitates, he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. 

“Come on, dude.”

Steve hesitates, he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. 

“Come on, dude.”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he mumbles, taking a peek into your room before he leaves too.

-

Steve notices the way you are avoiding his eyes, the way you so desperately try to pretend to be okay. You have always done this, since you were little kids. You have always pretended to be okay when you clearly weren’t. Whether it was your parents fighting that upset you, or something happening in school, you never showed how sad or scared you were, never. He only found out about it the night before your birthday, that you were hiding your feelings, your true feelings. 

You also did this after he left you, back then, he was hurt, even though he shouldn’t have been, after all it was his decision to dump you. For some reason, he was blinded and distracted by so many things that he didn’t realize that you didn’t move on so quickly when you stopped acknowledging him, you simply pretended to be okay, so you wouldn’t seem so vulnerable and heartbroken. 

Twelve year old Steve seemed to have known you better than the Steve, last year. 

He feels out of place, even with you here across from him. You sit next to Eddie, sipping on black coffee. You used to hate black coffee. He keeps looking back and forth between you and Eddie, trying to figure something out. Despite the things that Eddie told him last night, he can’t help but doubt his words and feelings. 

Eddie keeps glancing at you, eying you to make sure that you feel okay. 

But he doesn’t push you to talk, he doesn’t ask any questions, neither does Robin. They show you that they are there for you and that they are here to listen, whenever you are ready to talk. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you mumble as you place your mug on the table, “can you order for me?” You ask no one in particular before you leave, abruptly. 

Eddie cranes his neck to watch you and Steve turns around as well, watching you walk past the counter and disappearing in the small hallway. 

“So,” Robin says, loudly as she slams the menu back on the table, startling the two of them, “what’s your order, dingus?” 

Steve furrows his brows, he turns to face the girl next to him, she is looking back at him. Confused, he glances at Eddie who is smirking at him, “don’t look at me, she’s talking to you.”

“Dingus!?”

“Yeah, you’re a dingus,” Robin mumbles, “I could call you something else, I got a list of suggestions, I could go with–”

“Yeah okay, I got it,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. 

Eddie chuckles, “I think he likes pancakes with raisins.” 

Steve scrunches his face up in disgust, “why would you think that?” He asks, dramatically. 

“Cause you’re weird. There’s chocolate chip pancakes on the menu,” Eddie explains, pointing to the menu in his hand, grinning at Steve who looks annoyed already, “but you’d be the type to go for the raisins.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Steve murmurs, shaking his head.

“You could also place both options in front of you and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.” 

Robin chuckles. 

Steve looks confused.

And Eddie looks amused by his confusion. 

Steve has a feeling that this is no longer about pancakes. 

When the waitress comes over to take their order, Robin is the first to speak up. Ordering herself her favorite waffles.

“Alright and you gentlemen?” The waitress asks, looking between Steve and Eddie. 

“I’ll have the chocolate chip pancakes,” Steve says, glaring at Eddie.

Eddie snorts, he crosses his arms over his chest and tears his eyes away from Steve. 

The waitress writes down the order, with a sigh, she turns to Eddie. 

“I’ll also take the chocolate chip pancakes,” he says, looking back at Steve, “make it two, please.” He says, ordering for you. 

“Y/n likes blueberry pancakes,” Steve mumbles, “she never ordered chocolate chip ones.” 

“Yes, she does. She orders them all the time.” 

Robin’s eyes flicker back and forth, looking amused as she watches them.

The waitress rolls her eyes, she places her hand on her hip and sighs again. 

“She always ordered blueberry pancakes,” Steve mumbles, his mouth twisting. 

“Well now she doesn’t,” Eddie shrugs, “she loves chocolate.”

Robin almost feels embarrassed but this is too funny, even with the annoyed waitress watching them and the other guests turning their heads to look at the two. 

Steve sighs, “yeah but she loves blueberries.”

“Dude, I know her better,” Eddie mumbles. 

“What!? I knew her all my life,” Steve exclaims.

“Yeah and then you dumped her for the r–”

Robin coughs loudly, she waves her hand, shushing both of them, “how about chocolate chip pancakes and blueberries on the side?” She asks, holding her hands up. 

The older woman gives her a look that says ‘thank you’, she huffs as she writes down the last order before she walks off. 

“Jesus, what was that? Got along a little too well last night or something?” She mumbles, narrowing her eyes at them both.

They both ignore her question. 

Steve huffs, looking down. 

Eddie looks unbothered, he looks out the window and begins to whistle, like nothing happened. 

When you come back, you instantly notice the look on Steve’s face, he looks annoyed. Robin looks amused and Eddie, he looks content. You sit down next to him again. All three of them turn to look at you – eyes filled with worry. God, you are already sick of the concerned looks. You appreciate them caring so much but it makes you feel weak when they look at you that way. None of them mentioned anything from the previous night yet and you know they won’t, at least not now, they don’t want to trigger you. 

With a sigh, you lean back and reach for your mug again. 

“I’m okay, guys,” you say, being the first to bring it up, “stop looking at me like that, please. Last night was horrible but it could have been worse, I got away, nothing happened. I got drunk and tried some of Rick’s new weed which was probably more than just weed but whatever.”

Nothing happened? Steve thinks to himself as he feels himself getting angry again. The same rage he felt last night, comes back, just worse this time when he looks at your puffy eyes. 

Eddie’s eyes flash with irritation but he doesn’t say anything, he just watches you. Whatever you say, whatever you will ask of them won’t stop him or Steve to go after Ray. Their eyes meet and they hold eye contact for a moment. You don’t notice it, too busy trying to convince them that you are okay. Robin narrows her eyes at them, watching them. 

“I appreciate you guys,” you pause, glancing at Steve’s, who’s eyes soften when they meet yours, “all of you.”

You break eye contact with him quickly, looking down at your hands. 

“But really, I don’t need you guys to worry about me. I’m okay, really.”

You are not and they all know it. 

Eddie feels the urge to pull you into his arms, to comfort you the way he always does but instead, he puts his hand over yours, squeezing it tightly. You turn your head to look at him, giving him a small smile. 

Steve watches your interaction closely, he watches the way you look at him, he watches the way you smile at him, the way you don’t push his hand away. It feels odd to watch you be so comfortable with another guy. He may never get used to this sight. 

“I know you don’t believe me but can we please just pretend that everything is fine?” You ask them, “like we’re all just friends going out for breakfast together?”

Everyone freezes a little, glancing at each other with weird looks in their eyes. It’s almost comical, watching them look so horrified at your request. 

If someone had told you that you would be sitting here with your ex boyfriend and your new friends – ones that Steve would have never even talked to a year back, you would have looked at them in confusion. 

This is certainly an odd circle. Sure, you and Steve aren’t exactly on the top of the popular people anymore, Steve got dethroned by Billy Hargrove and you, you are still the head cheerleader, they still let you have that stupid title that you couldn’t care less about but you see the looks, the glares of the girls from the cheer squad, the giggles and whispers behind your back. To them, you are one of the ‘freaks’ now. You and Steve aren’t the ‘it’ couple anymore, you are just two strangers now, running in two different circles and still, you are here sitting across from each other with your friends beside you. 

You can’t even help but laugh. 

This is so odd. 

Steve furrows his brows, Eddie too as he smiles, “what’s so funny?”

You shake your head, “nothing.”

Robin chuckles at the amused look on your face. 

“This is just weird,” you giggle, “King Steve at a table with the ‘freaks’.”

Eddie snorts at your words and Robin chuckles, nodding. 

Steve though, he stares at you. He doesn’t think that Eddie is a freak, not anymore. He never thought that Robin was a freak, if he is being honest with himself, he never paid much attention to her, not until he saw her with you. Steve certainly never saw you as a freak. He may have been the popular one first, but he always thought that you were way above him. Now you consider yourself to be one of the freaks and it makes him feel very out of place. 

“I’m not King Steve anymore, y/n.” 

You raise your brows and tilt your head, scanning the look on his face. He is serious about this, though he looks flustered when he feels the other two pairs of eyes on him. He looks down, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. 

“I-I know I was a dick–”

“Was,” Eddie snorts, earning a kick to the shin from Robin, who glares at them, mouthing ‘shut up’.

He rolls his eyes at her and turns back to Steve. 

“I just wanna say I’m sorry for the way I treated you guys,” he says, finally looking up to face Robin and Eddie, “and you.” His eyes meet yours and you swallow the lump in your throat, unable to look at him any longer, you look down. 

Eddie and Robin look surprised. 

“Are you okay, Steve?” Eddie smirks, “you didn’t fall on your head or something did ya?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, he huffs, “no, I don’t think so,” he jokes, smiling a little. 

You look at him through your lashes, you watch the smile on his face growing bigger when Eddie continues to joke around. You watch the way his eyes flash with amusement, the way they crinkle when finally, a laugh falls from his lips and you see a kind look in his eyes. You see a glimpse of the guy you once used to have a crush on, the guy he was before you fell in love with him, the guy who used to make you smile, the guy who used to surprise you, the guy who used to treat you like his princess and right here is where you realize that maybe, things would have been better if you never became more than what you had been before you started dating. 

Maybe things wouldn’t had turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t have to deal with a broken heart. Maybe you wouldn’t sit here missing the past. Maybe you would still have each other. 

Robin watches you when you watch him. She is not surprised to see that look in your eyes but it makes her sad. 

You finally tear your eyes away from him when the food arrives and you get a plate of chocolate chip pancakes with blueberries on the side. A confused smile appears on your face and you look around. 

“Who ordered for me?”

“I did,” Robin says, “these two wouldn’t stop fighting about your order, he said you like blueberry pancakes,” she points to Steve, “and this one says you like chocolate chip pancakes,” she nudges her chin towards Eddie. 

“Oh,” you mumble, looking down at the food in front of you, you eye the blueberries. 

“You don’t like blueberry pancakes anymore?” Steve asks. 

“Uh I do, I just don’t eat them anymore,” you shrug, looking at him for a second and that second is enough for you to see the sad look in his eyes. He knows why you don’t eat them anymore, they remind you of him and of all the breakfast dates you used to have here. 

“Hey, we could’ve ordered you a meatloaf instead,” Eddie jokes, trying to kill the tension. 

“Chocolate chip pancakes are just fine, Eddie,” you chuckle and reach for the fork, “but meatloaf is good but only the one Steve’s mom makes though.”

Eddie watches the way Steve’s eyes are still filled with sadness, even more so now at your words. He gets lost in his thoughts as he watches you. 

Steve remembers all the times you stayed over for dinner, even when you were just friends. You loved helping his mom out in the kitchen and you loved the food she always cooked. 

“It was like my favorite food when I was a kid, she’s a great cook.” 

You are reminiscing, and you look content while doing it, like there’s no ounce of sadness inside of you when you think of certain things from the past. 

Are you not sad thinking about the past? Steve wonders. 

“My mom always loved the bake,” Eddie says, smiling at the memory of her, “you would have loved her,” he says, nudging your shoulder. 

“I know I would,” you smile at him and lean your head on his shoulder, “I love you, Eds. Of course I’d love her.”

Steve has to restrain himself to keep his jaw from dropping, his heart falls as he stares at the two of you. You take a bite of your food as you glance up at Eddie who is smiling down at you. 

What? You what?

He feels that hollowness in his chest, the one he always felt after he left you. He feels that sickening feeling of jealousy and it makes him feel so horrible. He tries not to let it show, he tries to pretend to be okay, he tries to pretend that he is not bothered by the two of you but it’s too late, Robin had already noticed it. 

He eats his food even when he isn’t hungry anymore, even when he feels like he has to throw up after what he just heard but his plate stays halfway full, just like yours. 

“Are you not hungry anymore?” Eddie asks when he notices the amount of the food on your plate that you have pushed away from you. 

You shake your head, not meeting his eyes. 

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, worriedly. 

Robin doesn’t look at you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. 

Steve watches you closely, trying to figure both you and Eddie out. 

Why does he seem so worried over this?

A feeling of dread rushes through Steve. He feels like he no longer knows you, he doesn’t know what you’re going through, what feelings you are struggling with, what is going on in your mind besides the things you revealed to him the night before. 

Eddie doesn’t push you, Robin doesn’t push you and he certainly won’t do it either.

When you all leave the diner, you and Eddie step away for a moment, walking over to his van while Steve awkwardly stands besides Robin, unable to look away from you. He wonders what you and Eddie are talking about. 

He watches the metalhead closely, watching the way he takes both of your hands in his, you don’t even flinch away from his touch, you don’t push his hands off, you simply let him hold your hands as he talks to you. 

This could have been him. 

“Jealous?” Robin asks, startling him. 

He scoffs, shaking his head, “why would I be jealous?”

Robin shrugs, looking up at the sky, “right, there’s no reason for you to be jealous, I mean, you have a girlfriend.”

Steve rolls his eyes, he only looks away for one second, one fucking second and when he looks back, Eddie Munson is suddenly kissing your hands and rubbing your wrists after pushing your sleeves up. 

“He told me they’re friends!” He exclaims, unable to keep it in any longer. 

A chuckle falls from Robin’s lips, her blue eyes couldn’t flash with any more amusement when she stares at the red cheeks on him. 

“They are.” 

Steve scoffs again. Anyone, watching the two of you would think that you are a couple. 

You pull your hands back before you wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly. He should have been used to this by now, you and Eddie are always touchy, always. But he still feels annoyed every time he sees you two like this. 

“I don’t think she’d go on a date with someone if they were dating,” Robin says, stepping away from Steve, she grins at him, “I mean, she isn’t you.” 

Steve clenches his jaw, glaring at her. 

Robin waves at him mockingly, “bye dingus.”

“Bye,” he mumbles. 

He is surprised to see you walking away from Eddie, giving him one last wave before you walk back to him. Eddie nods at Steve before he gets in his van. Robin hugs you, whispering something in your ear before she parts ways with you, as well. 

You look around the parking lot, tugging at your sleeves – you have been doing it all morning.

“C-Can you drive me home?” You ask when you stop in front of him, “I mean my house is on the way, I thought–”

“Of course, I’ll drive you home, y/n.” He says, feeling a little shocked that you want him to drive you home. 

You nod, “okay, thanks.”

Steve knows that you probably want to talk to him about what happened last night, to explain your breakdown and come up with some excuse again, but he is surprised when you don’t speak up. You stay silent on the way to his car, when you get into his car, during the drive to your house. You just look out the window, not speaking up and Steve almost feels bad for enjoying your presence, almost. 

Steve tries to be good for her, he tries to be a good boyfriend, he wants to be better but it’s hard to think about her, when you are here with him. And, he once again, realizes just how much he misses your presence. Just you, here with him. 

You have spent so many days and nights just driving around and listening to music. Sometimes you would sing along to the song, sometimes you would just hold his hand and kiss his cheek every few minutes, sometimes you would both just sit silently, enjoying the music and each other’s presence. He misses those days. He misses them so much. 

Dread fills him when he pulls up to your driveway, knowing that this moment is over already. He doesn’t want to watch you go, he doesn’t want you to be alone. 

“What are you doing today?” He asks, curiously.

“Uh, I’m gonna go out with Robin later. I wanted to hang out with Eddie tonight but he’s busy?” You mumble in confusion, “I think he’s gotta help Wayne with something.”

Steve avoids looking into your eyes when you turn to face him, he looks down. 

“What about you?” You ask, surprising him once again. “Going on a date with your girlfriend?”

“Uh, no. I’m probably gonna watch a movie,” he says with furrowed brows. You know he’s lying, just how you know that Eddie was lying when he told you that he is busy and can’t hang out with you tonight. 

“Cool, can I watch with you?” You ask, joking. 

With wide eyes, he looks back up at you, his lips part and his cheeks flush red. 

He wants to say yes, he wants to say yes so bad, but he can’t. Fuck. 

You stare at him for a long minute, watching the way he looks more and more flustered, it tears a giggle out of you, “just kidding, I’m staying at Robin’s today.” 

“O-Oh cool.”

“Yeah..” You trail off, looking down at your rings, you suddenly feel awkward to be here with him. He keeps staring at you, the weight of his eyes is heavy and it makes you feel vulnerable again. 

“I’m gonna go,” you say without looking back up, you turn your back to him when you reach for the door handle but something stops you from leaving. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You think about last night. 

He picked up the phone so quickly. He didn’t even hesitate when you asked him to pick you up, he just came and he took care of you, without question. He comforted you. He was there. He was there when you needed him. 

You could just say ‘thank you’ and leave, you could do that. But, instead you do something you always used to do. You turn back around and you scoot closer to him. You startle him a little when you suddenly throw your arms around his neck and hug him tightly. 

Steve is shocked, confused and happy. Happy to feel your arms around him again. His heart melts, his eyes soften and he can’t help but lean closer to you, wrapping his arms around you slowly. 

This feels like old times, this feels right but this isn’t right, he shouldn’t feel this way, especially not when you are struggling with what happened. This is not about him and his feelings, he pushes them aside and he holds you in a way he used to when you were friends, he holds you protectively, rubbing your back like he used to. 

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper before you pull away from him, mustering up a smile as you look into his hazel eyes. 

“No need to thank me, dolly.” 

You ignore the way your heart skips a beat, the way your stomach flutters and your heart soars for the little girl who used to love when the boy she liked called her that. 

You react to it just the way you did back then. Steve notices the way your lip quirks and your brows pull together, the faintest smile appears on your face. It makes him feel something he hasn’t felt in a while. 

“Bye Steve,” you whisper. 

“Bye,” he says, begrudgingly. He doesn’t want you to leave, he doesn’t want this to end but it does end, way too soon. 

He watches you leave, he watches the way you pull at your sleeves again to keep your bruises hidden, the bruises he gave you. Steve grips the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenches when he thinks of the man who hurt you. 

When you walk into the house, you look back one more time, waving at him before closing the door. 

Steve thinks, he thinks of your scared voice, he thinks of your tears, he thinks of the broken look in your eyes, of the questions you asked him. He thinks of the smile you used to wear on your face, the happiness in your eyes that was always so contagious, the innocence in your eyes that never faded away. 

Steve would do anything for you, anything. 

-

The day passes by in a blur, after eating lunch with your mom and answering all the questions you wanted to avoid, you went back to your room and cleaned up a little before packing your bag for the night, throwing in a set of your favorite pajamas and your toiletries. You take a shower and get dressed before you go downstairs. You try to call Eddie before going to Robin’s but, just as you expected, he doesn’t pick up the phone and when you try to call him later that night, using Robin’s telephone, he doesn’t pick up either. 

A bad feeling, a hunch tells you exactly where he is right now, but Robin is quick to shut those thoughts down, distracting you by asking you questions about Steve. 

You stay restless, even when she puts on your favorite movie and offers you your favorite snacks, you can’t seem to stop thinking about Eddie and Steve. A part of you wants to call him too, just to see if he will pick up but you decide against it. 

Surely, they wouldn’t go after Ray, especially not together, right? They wouldn’t. You know they wouldn’t. And still, you can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That feeling carries on throughout the night, it’s gone in the morning but it keeps you in your thoughts, wondering and questioning that feeling you have felt. 

When you call Eddie in the afternoon, he finally picks up with a cheerful voice, knowing that it’s you on the other line. He asks you to come over later before you can even ask him any questions. Hearing his voice puts you at peace, a little. 

When you go into the kitchen to grab yourself a drink from the fridge, you notice that your mom forgot the dinner she put into her lunchbox. With a sigh, you reach for it and place it on the counter, deciding to stop by the hospital on the way to Eddie’s. 

Though, when you get there, you don’t expect to see him leaving the hospital. 

His face is littered in bruises, his arm is in a blue cast. The guy who made you feel powerless just two nights ago, is now struggling to walk with his limp. A man is by his side, you assume that it’s his father who is offering a hand to his son. 

It’s dark outside and the only lights illuminating the parking lot are the dim street lights, still, it’s enough to see how bad he looks. 

He looks like he is in pain and a part of you feels joy to see him this way, he deserves this. But the longer you look at him, the more you can feel your heart racing when you realize what or better yet, who happened to him. 

You know exactly who did this to him. 

You know exactly who left him with bruises and a broken arm.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize why Eddie didn’t pick up the phone last night. 

You know exactly why Steve seemed so nervous when you asked if you could watch a movie with him. 

You know exactly who left him with bruises and a broken arm.

You know exactly who did this to him.

-

tagging friends & mutuals

@mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @screammunson @hellfire--cult @taintedcigs @sherrylyn628 @nemesis729 @take-everything-you-can @somethingvicked @trashmouth-richie @xxhellfiregirlxx

[steebharringt0n]

Me knowing Ray got what he DESERVED, my boys gave it to him 😜

[emblazons]

I’M CRYING OMG (x)

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 13

Warnings: angst! mentions of sexual assault and talks of rape, alcohol and drug consumption, bad parenting, mentions of domestic abuse.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler , slight Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Steve promised to always be there for you when you were little kids and you find out that he had kept this promise.

Word count: 7k

A/N: The beginning of this chapter is heavily inspired by Seven by Taylor Swift, if you haven’t listened to it, go listen to it now! @mysticmunson thank you for the help as always, ilysm 🤍

series masterlist

-

You have never been one to ask for help, whenever you struggled with something, you simply kept it to yourself and dealt with it alone, not wanting to be a burden to anyone. 

Even when you were scared, you didn’t tell anyone, you didn’t ask for comfort, you didn’t call for help, you simply learned how to deal with the fear alone. 

When your parents started fighting and you heard your dad yell at your mom, you hid in the closet, you put your hands over your ears and cried silently, hoping that they would just stop yelling at each other, hoping that he would stop being so mad all the time. 

You suffered, hearing your parents fight. You were scared – scared that something worse would happen, scared that their fights would turn into something more serious, scared that one of them would leave. 

You didn’t want them to fight, you didn’t want them to hate each other, you didn’t want one of them to leave. 

You just wanted your mom and your dad, you wanted your family. 

One night, when you were twelve years old, Steve had climbed up to your window, he sneaked into your room, excitedly. It was the night before your birthday and he got you an early present. The smile faded from his lips when for the first time, he had heard your dad’s angry voice and your mom’s nervous one, when he heard the quiet sniffles coming from your closet where he had found you rocking back and forth with your hands over your ears and tears rolling down your cheeks. His heart broke at the sight of you. 

He startled you when he reached his hand out to touch your shoulder, you flinched and looked up at him, your face scrunched up in confusion and your eyes widened, you stared at him with a quivering lip and glassy eyes that flashed with relief when you realized that it was really him in front of you. 

“Steve?” You whispered, shakily as you removed your hands from your ears, slowly. 

He stepped inside the closet and closed the door again, he sat down beside you and wrapped an arm around you. 

“I’m here, Dolly,” he had whispered, using the nickname that he jokingly gave you when you were both five years old and you went through an obsession with dolls. 

Steve didn’t know that your parents were fighting, no one knew. 

You cried into his shoulder and he held your hand. Even he flinched at the sound of your dad’s angry shouts. He felt so awful that night, he was so worried about you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked when you started to calm down. 

You only shrugged in response. 

“You should come live with me, you won’t have to be scared. I’ll protect you.”

When you smiled at his words and looked at him through your glassy eyes, Steve had promised himself that he would always be there for you, that he would protect you and keep you safe. 

He thinks about that night a lot. 

He thinks about how much he failed you. 

He thinks about how he broke his own promise. 

He thinks about how he abandoned you. 

And he hates himself for it, especially when he hears your broken voice and your quiet sniffles on the phone. 

“Steve?”

He straightens his back, furrowing his brows. Chills run through him and an instant rush of worry floods through him when he hears you crying. 

“Y/n?” 

“I-I’m sorry, Steve. I d-didn’t know who else to call.” 

You could have called Eddie or Heather or Chrissy or even Robin, Steve thinks to himself. You are outside, he can hear the passing cars. He wonders if your voice is shaky because of the cold or because you are crying. 

“Where are you, y/n?” Steve asks as he already gets up to put on the sweater he had thrown over his chair earlier.

You sniffle again, it reminds him of the night he found you crying in the closet. 

“G-Gas station,” you mumble, “c-can you please pick me up?”

There is only one gas station in Hawkins, he knows exactly where you are.

“Yeah, of course,” he speaks into the receiver. Steve can feel his heart pounding in his chest, a glance into the mirror shows him that his face is etched with worry. 

“H-Hurry up.”

The sound of your scared and small voice almost sends him into a state of panic. 

What happened? 

How scared do you have to be to call him out of all people? 

“I’ll be right there, y/n. Just stay where you are, okay?” 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

Begrudgingly, he hangs up the phone, he then hurries out of his room, rushing down the stairs. He turns on the lights in the hallway, he quickly puts his Nike's on, he grabs his jacket and his bundle of keys before he leaves the house. 

Steve doesn’t know what to expect but the awful feeling in his chest tells him that you are in a bad state. 

You have never asked for help, not even when you were still together and he already knew about your fears and struggles, he had done his best to be there for you but you have never asked him to be there for you, you didn’t want to be a burden, you never could be. 

Steve keeps running his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he can’t seem to get rid of. 

He goes over the speed limit, not caring about the risk of getting another ticket. The streets are empty anyways, no cops seem to be in sight. He feels anxious and on edge but he feels relieved, when he pulls up to the empty gas station and he sees you.

You are sitting on the concrete floor, your elbows are on your knees, your hands are over your ears, just like back then. He parks the car and turns it off, he opens the door and gets out, not wasting a single second to get to you. 

You keep your head down, rocking back and forth, you haven’t noticed him yet. Your body is shaking, you aren’t even wearing a jacket. Steve’s heart is still pounding, despite the relief he had felt in his body when he saw you, he still feels very anxious. He takes his jacket off and walks towards you, he crouches down in front of you.

“Y/n,” he whispers as he carefully lifts his hand, placing it on your shoulder as he whispers your name again. 

Your first instinct is to flinch at his touch and push his hand off as you scoot back quickly. 

Steve raises his hands in surrender, “hey! It’s me, it’s just me, y/n!” He rushes, staring at you with a startled look on his face, “it’s just Steve,” he whispers. 

Your eyes are wide and you instantly calm at the sound of his voice. For the first time that night, he sees your face. Your eyes are red rimmed and glassy but you aren’t crying. You got glitter on your cheeks and your forehead, your hair is a mess like you’ve spent tugging at it, all night. 

The look in your eyes can only be described as terrified. 

“Steve?” You whisper in relief. 

He nods with a confused and scared look on his face. 

What happened to you? 

The street light is shining down on you but he has yet to see the rest of your body. 

“You came,” you whisper with a quivering lip, staring at him as though you can’t believe that he is in front of you. 

His gaze softens and his heart hurts to see you like this. 

What happened?

You were doing so good, you looked so happy. 

“Of course I came,” he whispers and slowly inches closer to you, you don’t flinch this time, only staring at him with your wide eyes as though you can’t believe that he is actually here. He wraps his jacket around you, leaning closer to you. He smells your sweet perfume, your shampoo, your vanilla body wash but above the pleasant scents is a heavy smell of  whiskey, cigarettes, weed and the strong scent of cologne, it’s not the same one he smelled on you before, it’s not Eddie’s cologne. 

He swallows nervously. 

You weren’t with Eddie tonight, you wouldn’t be here if you were. Steve might not know him well but if there is something he learned about Eddie is the protectiveness he feels over you. You wouldn’t be alone at a gas station at 1 am if you had been with him tonight. 

He just knows it. 

When Steve lifts your hair up to pull them out from beneath the jacket, a cold shiver runs down his spine when he sees the bruises on the side of your neck, bite marks and hickeys litter your skin. He pulls away slowly, his breathing quickens, he blinks, staring at your face for a long second. You seem to be on the verge of tears but something inside of you keeps you from crying, you look frozen, your body is tense.

Steve pulls back, he looks down at you and his heart drops completely. His lips part, his eyes widen and all color drains from his face when he sees the bruises around your wrists and on your thighs. 

No, no, no, no…. God no… Please no.. 

He keeps staring at the bruises, frozen in place, heart racing and breaking each passing second. 

He whispers your name in shock. 

You raise your head to look at him and when you notice the look on his face, you start shaking your head and pulling at your dress to hide your thighs as though it will get rid of the marks he had left on you, you didn’t even realize how hard he grabbed you, how rough his hands were when he forced your legs apart or when he pinned your wrists against his car, you were too consumed with fear to feel anything. You are surprised that you even managed to fight back, that you got out of the situation before something much worse could happen. 

“D-Do you need a doctor? Should I drive you to the hospital?” Steve asks, shakily. 

You shake your head as the panic begins to settle back in, your throat feels tight and tears well up in your eyes, “n-no, I wanna go home,” you whisper as you look at him with pleading eyes, “please just drive me home, Steve. Please.” 

Steve doesn’t know how to handle the situation, he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to help you. 

Who did this to you? 

His stomach churns, he feels sick, so sick. 

You flinch a little when he touches your shoulder again and Steve pulls his hand away immediately. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Your eyes shift away from him, you look down and pull the jacket tighter around your body. 

Steve eyes you, watching the way you push yourself up to stand, he follows suit, standing up as well. 

Your knees buckle and you almost fall back to the ground but Steve catches you, carefully holding you by your waist. This time, you don’t flinch away from his touch, he keeps holding you, pulling you closer to him. 

“It’s okay, I got you,” he whispers softly, “I got you.”

His heart won’t stop hammering in his chest and he doesn’t know which emotion inside of him is stronger right now. 

The worry he feels for you or the anger he feels for the person who did this to you? 

A gust of wind makes you shiver, it blows through your hair and you shudder at the feeling of the coldness touching your exposed skin. The smell of gasoline is beginning to make you feel nauseous. 

“I wanna go home.”

Steve nods with a broken look in his eyes. 

He leads you back to his car and opens the door for you. You let go of him when you sit down in the passenger seat. Despite the whirlwind that is going on in your mind and the amount of alcohol and drugs you have in you, you still remember to put on the seatbelt. Your dress rides up in the process, you don’t notice it.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and he clenches his jaw when he sees more bruises on your thighs, the ones that were hidden beneath your dress. He looks away and clenches his hand into a fist after he closes the door. 

He tries to take deep breaths to calm himself down as he walks around the car, he opens the door and gets inside. 

You are quiet, so very quiet, he can’t even hear you breathing. He glances at you, you pulled the sleeves of his jacket over your hands and you are looking at the window, facing away from him. 

“Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” 

You shake your head, “I’m fine,” you mumble, without looking at him. 

He nods to himself, sighing deeply as he starts the car. 

When the music starts playing and David Bowie’s voice sounds through the car, Steve winces a little. On the drive here, he was so on edge and distracted by his thoughts, he wasn’t really paying attention to the music that was playing. He turns the volume down and he narrows his eyes, glancing at you. You don’t seem to pay attention to anything right now. 

You keep blinking rapidly, staring out the window. 

On the drive to your house, he keeps checking on you to make sure that you are okay. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, he is feeling too much right now. 

You are silent, so silent. 

It’s been a long time since you have sat in the passenger seat next to him. The last time you did, you were still together. He was yours, you were his, you were both okay and you were safe and happy. 

Now you sit here with tears in your eyes and bruises on your skin – you are not okay, you were not safe tonight and he doesn’t know if you will be happy again after whatever happened. 

Lost in his thoughts, Steve stares at the road ahead, swallowing the bitterness on his tongue and fighting the anger and the guilt he feels for himself. This shouldn’t have happened, this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been so stupid all these months ago. 

He was supposed to protect you, he was supposed to keep you safe. 

Steve doesn’t notice the way you look away from the window, the way you look down at yourself, the way your breathing quickens and your eyes widen. 

You stare at the bruises on your thighs, the ones beneath your dress. How rough had he been when he tried to force your legs apart? How strong did he grip your thighs when he tried to touch you where you didn’t want to be touched? 

You push the sleeves of Steve’s jacket up, frowning at the bruises on your wrists. Your heart begins to hammer in your chest, hot tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and you feel the panic rushing through you. The realization of what would have happened if you didn’t find the strength to fight back begins to sink in and the sudden nausea makes you want to throw up but the tightness in your throat makes you feel like you cannot breathe, yet, somehow, the sob that’s been rising up, falls from your lips and you break down in the passenger seat of your ex boyfriend’s car. 

Too many emotions run through you; shock, fear, sadness, pain, disgust and anger. 

Not only did he try to strip you of your powers, he also tore down walls that you have been slowly building up since Steve left you. You hear his voice, all the things he said to you repeat themselves over and over again, you feel his touch, his rough hands on your body. 

A man who has no meaning in your life took away so much from you tonight. 

Steve pulls the car off the road, he hits the brakes and unbuckles his seatbelt. He doesn’t know what to do when he sees you crying that way. The pain in your eyes, the tears streaming down your face and your broken sobs make him want to cry too. 

He whispers your name and he leans closer to you but he doesn’t touch you, knowing that this will only make things worse. 

“I-I didn’t want it,” you whimper as you stare at the bruises on your wrists, “I-I said no, I told him no, I told him t-that I didn’t want it, I said no, Steve.” You ramble as you turn to face him with big, glassy eyes. 

Steve’s eyes are filled with shock, a horrified expression takes over his face. 

“H-He said that I wanted it but I didn’t, I never wanted it, I didn’t– I just wanted someone to like me.” You cry as you pull at your dress and Steve finally notices your bruised knuckles, he hasn’t seen them before.

How often can a heart break in one night? 

Steve feels like his insides are being twisted, the gut wrenching sound of your cries make him feel so helpless and your words make him feel sick. His eyes are burning and his hands itch to hurt the man who hurt you. 

He says your name softly and he places his hand on top of yours, this time, you don’t flinch away from him and his touch. You turn to face him and he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to wipe your tears and take your pain, but he can’t. 

He doesn’t know how to ask you this question, especially when you are looking at him like that. 

“Did… Did he –” Did he rape you? Is what he needs to know but he cannot utter these words, the thought of someone doing such a disgusting and vile thing to you makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Steve doesn’t have to finish the question, you know what he wants to know and you start shaking your head with wide eyes as your tears continue to roll down your cheeks. 

“I fought back a-and he let me go but he was so awful.”

“Who?” He finally asks.

“Ray.”

Steve is not surprised to hear his name, not after he watched you write your number on his hand at the bonfire, last week. He clenches his jaw and nods. 

Raymond Parker. 

Steve knows where he lives.

The haunted look in your eyes tells him that there is more. Things you don’t want to say out loud.

He watches the way your brows furrow, the way your eyes continue to well up with tears. You seem to think about something, something that hurts you, it’s so clear on your face. 

“Why does everyone hurt me?”

Steve’s face falls, his eyes flash with guilt. 

“Why does everyone leave me?” You whisper to yourself. 

Steve knows that you’d never say these things if you were sober and free from the hurt. 

Your dad left, Steve left, your friends are slipping through your fingers and now you are afraid that Eddie will leave too. You saw the anger in his eyes when he found you at Reefer Rick’s house, you didn’t listen to him, you broke a promise and now he is disappointed in you – will your best friend leave you just like they did? 

“And Eddie hates me now, h-he was so angry at me, I-I don’t, I didn’t want to disappoint him,” you mumble, causing him to frown. 

“I ran away from him.”

What could you have done to disappoint Eddie?

Suddenly, you turn around, reaching for the door handle. You want to leave, you need to get out of here but before you can even open the door, Steve locks the car, mumbling something under his breath. 

“You think I’ll let you leave right now?” Steve asks, confused. 

His action seems to wake the anger in you and you turn back around, glaring at him. You stare into his eyes for a long second before you open your mouth to speak.

“Oh so now you don’t want me to leave!?” 

He knows that your question is one out of anger but the sadness is rooted so deep inside of you. The pain in your eyes is so contagious, it makes him sad too. 

“Dolly,” he whispers, using the nickname that he gave you when you were children, that seems to worsen your pain. He sees your quivering lip, the tears that pool in your eyes and roll down your cheeks in an instant. 

Regret and guilt is something that he cannot deal with, to this day. It haunts him and this will haunt him even more. This shouldn’t have happened, none of this should’ve happened. He was supposed to keep you safe from all the horrors in this world but he failed you so strongly and he put you through horror himself. 

You slump back in the seat, sniffling quietly as you turn your face away from him. 

Steve stares at the back of your head for a long moment. 

This is so wrong. All of this is. 

You belong here, with him, but not like this, never like this. 

He takes a deep breath and he closes his eyes for a second before he turns back, gripping the steering wheel again as he restarts the car. 

The rest of the drive home is spent in silence, you continue to cry and it makes his heart ache. He focuses on you, rather than the anger that he feels for the man who hurt you – he will keep that for later.

When he pulls up to your house and he parks his car in your driveway, he notices that the lights are off and your mom’s car isn’t here. The thought of leaving you by yourself tonight, makes him feel uneasy. 

You both get out of the car and he rushes over to you to make sure that you won’t fall again but you hold your hand up, not wanting to be touched. He keeps his distance but watches you closely when you walk up the stairs. 

“Shit,” you mumble, bringing your hand up to your face, you pinch your nose, “I-I forgot my jacket and I don’t have my keys.”

“Oh,” Steve says as he looks at you, he then looks down at the bundle of keys in his hand. He swallows nervously, “I-I uh, I still got your keys.”

With furrowed brows and a confused look on your face, you look up at him. Steve eyes the puffiness in your eyes, the redness in them, the pouty lips that you never notice yourself doing. 

He scratches the back of his neck and his eyes shift away from you, “I forgot to take them off,” he mumbles, unable to look into your eyes. He turns away and walks towards the door to unlock it. 

You don’t say anything about it, you keep quiet and stare at his back before your eyes move down to the keys. 

Is the key to her house on his keychain as well? 

The sound of an approaching car causes the both of you to turn around, the bright headlights and the screeching sound of the tires against the ground makes you both wince. 

You straighten your back when you see him. 

He jumps out of his van. The door on the passenger side opens as well and you see Robin. You watch the way their eyes find you, the way they sigh in relief at the sight of you under your porch light. 

Eddie places his hands on his head and he exhales loudly, happy to see you here. Both he and Robin rush over to you. 

Eddie’s eyes are wide and filled with guilt and worry, his brown eyes take in the sight of you and he almost lets out a gasp when he finally notices what he hasn’t noticed before, the bruises on your thighs, the redness in your eyes, the state you are in. 

What happened?

You are wearing Steve’s jacket and he wonders how or why you are with him. 

Did you call him? Did he find you? Did you walk to his place? 

He whispers your name in shock, frozen in place, he can’t even move towards you. Your eyes lock for a moment and he can tell that you are about to burst into tears, again. He wants to pull you into his arms but he is scared to touch you. 

“Y/n?” Robin whispers as her eyes flash with a knowing look. She doesn’t have to ask to know what happened, if it wasn’t for the state you are in then she’d be able to tell by the haunted look in your eyes. 

You tear your eyes away from Eddie, startling all three of them when you suddenly throw yourself into Robin’s arms and start crying again. Without wasting a second, Robin wraps her arms around you and hugs you tightly, rubbing your back. 

Eddie and Steve watch you with broken looks in their eyes. 

“Shh, it’s okay.” Robin whispers as she lifts her head, glancing at Steve who stares at you, looking helpless. She then looks at Eddie, who looks just as helpless as Steve does but there is also guilt and regret in his eyes, she knows why, he kept beating himself up over appearing so angry to you when he found you at Rick’s house. 

When he called her, he sounded scared and panicked, he asked for you, hoping that you came over to her, you didn’t. He picked her up and they both drove around town, looking for you. Eddie kept chewing on his lip and bouncing his knee, tugging at his hair and mumbling curse words under his breath – Robin had never seen him so nervous and scared before.

Now he stands there like a kicked puppy, he stares at you, not knowing what to do. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Robin says to you. 

You nod and pull away from her, looking down at the ground as you wipe your tears. Robin wraps her arm around your shoulder, glancing at Steve and Eddie as you both walk past them. 

Eddie and Steve share a look before they follow you both inside, watching you walk up the stairs. Robin turns her head, looking down at them, she shakes her head, ‘don’t’ she mouths. 

They listen to your sniffles and watch you until they can no longer see you. They hear your footsteps in the hallway upstairs and when the door to your room closes. Eddie slumps against the door, he presses his palm to his forehead, “shit,” he mumbles, “what the fuck happened, man?” 

Steve narrows his eyes, eyeing Eddie up and down. The worry and the panic on his face and in his eyes, isn’t very hard to miss. 

Looking down at the keys in his hands, Steve sighs before he throws them on the little table in the hallway. He turns on the light and sits down on the stairs.

“She called me from the payphone at the gas station.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, “what?” 

“She asked me to come pick her up,” he says, looking down, “and then uh, then she told me that you were angry at her and that she ran away from you, that's probably why she called me, anyway.” Steve knows that you wouldn't have called him if it wasn't for what happened with Eddie. He is the one you think of first, whenever you need someone, now.

Eddie shakes his head, his eyes flash with even more guilt. He feels ashamed, knowing that Steve knows that he was the reason why you ran. He keeps looking at the ground, continuing to beat himself up for the next several minutes before he hears the door to your room shutting again. He looks up, seeing Robin again. 

“I think you guys should leave,” she says as she walks down the stairs. 

“What?” Eddie asks, “I’m not leaving.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Steve says to the girl he never spoke to before. 

She sighs, rolling her eyes.

She doesn’t know Steve very well but she knows Eddie and she knows how stubborn he can be, he won’t leave. 

“Well, can you at least get her some painkillers and water?” Robin asks Steve with annoyance written all over her face, “you must know where it is, right?” 

She doesn’t like him – obviously. Steve nods, he turns away from her and walks down the hallway. He turns on the lights when he steps into the kitchen, the first thing he sees are the pink flowers on the counter, it’s your favorite ones. 

“C-Can I see her?” Eddie asks, “please?”

Robin’s eyes soften at the pleading look in his eyes. 

“She’s taking a shower right now, but Eddie,” she mumbles, pausing as she looks down with a horrified look on her face, “she has bruises on her thighs, wrists and neck.”

He saw the ones on your thighs, but not the ones on your wrists or your neck. 

“She said that nothing happened, that she got away before he could – you know..” She says, uncomfortably. She can't even finish the sentence but she doesn't have to. Eddie knows.

“Ray did this?” 

She nods and Eddie’s stomach drops.

He shouldn’t have been mad at you, he shouldn’t have scared you that way, he should’ve taken a closer look at you, at least he could’ve taken care of you, instead of scaring you away with his worry and his anger, making your night even worse.

He blinks when he feels hot tears in his eyes. He feels guilty, so guilty.

He encouraged you to go on that date.

“Eddie,” Robin whispers, stepping towards her friends, she knows exactly what he feels like, she feels the same. “It’s not your fault.”

“I-I told her to go on that date,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he looks down at the ground.

"So did I!" Robin says but Eddie ignores her words.

“And then, I got mad at her when I saw her at Rick’s but, I-I was just worried! I specifically told her never to go to his parties alone, Robin!” 

Eddie wanted to protect you but it wasn’t even that place or the people at Rick’s place that put you into danger.

“I know,” she sighs, “she said that Rick found her and the girls she was with were nice, nothing happened, Eddie.”

“Nothing happened,” he scoffs as the anger – an even worse kind of anger, takes over him when he thinks about the guy who did that to you, who would have done worse to you if you didn’t fight back. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Yeah, you and me both, buddy.”

The sound of Steve’s voice is irritating to Robin, every time she hears his voice, every time she looks at him, she gets reminded of how much she dislikes this guy but even through that, she has to admit that he cares about you – even if you don’t see it. 

She looks between Eddie and Steve, eyeing the looks on their faces as they seem to settle on a silent agreement. 

She quirks a brow, sighing in annoyance, she steps towards Steve and grabs the water bottle and the painkillers from his hands. 

“Okay cowboys, why don’t you let the cops handle it?” She asks as she turns around and begins to walk up the stairs, groaning in annoyance when they follow her. 

“Cops?” He scoffs, “they’re not gonna do shit, Robin.” 

Robin is surprised that he even knows her name. 

“Uncle Wayne is friends with Hopper, he won’t let him get away,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, Hopper won’t but Hopper can’t keep him in a cell in Hawkins for the rest of his life.” 

Eddie huffs. He knows he is right. 

Ray has wealthy parents, they will do anything to keep their son out of jail. 

“And what he did was bad enough but he won’t go to jail for that, you know how it is, guys,” Robin sighs, “men get away with worse, what makes you think that he will pay for this? A young college student, an athlete may I add? He has a bright future ahead of him, no judge will ruin that for him!” Robin mutters, angrily. 

“Yeah well, I can ruin his bright athlete future,” Eddie mumbles as he already thinks of the way he could hurt him. 

“Eddie,” Robin sighs, “she doesn’t want you getting into trouble–”

“No, he’s right,” Steve mumbles, “we can easily ruin his future.”

She looks between them, they are serious about this, she can tell that they are. 

“You aren’t doing anything, I don’t want you to.” 

Your voice startles the three of them and they all glance at you. They didn’t notice that you have opened your bedroom door or that you have been watching and listening to them talk. 

Eddie’s eyes widen again, when he finally sees the other bruises, he feels his heart clench in his chest. The bruises on your wrists will stay for a while. How roughly did he grab you? How much pain did he put you through? 

He feels the hot rage inside of him and the urge to hurt the man who did this to you is so very strong. 

But the urge to comfort you and pull you into his arms is so much stronger. 

Your hair is wet and your face looks clean again, the glitter and the mascara streaks are gone. You are wearing a big shirt, his shirt. 

“He didn’t r- assault me in that way. I-I'm not hurt, I was just upset about some shit he said to me, not what he did,” you mumble quietly, looking back down at the ground as you grip the doorknob tightly.

Never in a million years, would they believe your words. You are standing there with bruises on your body, lying about not hurting. This changes everything.

“A-And I’m okay, you guys don’t have to stay here and watch over me.”

All three of them know that you are lying, they can hear the shakiness in your voice and you are not exactly good at hiding the tears in your eyes.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie whispers. 

You lift your head slightly, looking into his eyes, “I’m okay, Eddie,” you whisper, trying to give him a smile. 

He feels helpless, just like Steve does, just like Robin does. 

“I’m not leaving,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Steve says, “w-we can go downstairs if you’re more comfortable with that.” 

You look away from Eddie and meet his eyes, you eye the softness in them, the worry and you wonder, has it always been there since he left you? 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

But neither Steve or Eddie go downstairs when you walk back into your room. Robin follows and closes the door after giving them both a sad look. 

They settle on the ground, both leaning their backs against the wall on each side of your door and for the first ten minutes or so, it’s awkwardly silent between them. Only the sound of the ticking clock on the opposite wall sounds through the hallway. 

Eddie stares into blank space, twisting the rings on his fingers as he blinks rapidly, not noticing that Steve is watching him. 

“Stop beating yourself up, none of this is your fault.” He says, feeling just as guilty as Eddie does. 

“I should’ve protected her, I-I fucked up.”

“No, you didn’t,” Steve mumbles, “you didn’t fuck up. Her running away from you isn’t you fucking up, dude. She got scared that you were mad at her, she thought you were disappointed in her for whatever reason, that’s why she ran – she was too much in her head, on drugs and drunk.”

“I was mad and I wasn’t thinking straight, I just saw red when I saw her at Rick’s place, I shouldn’t have gotten so mad, I should’ve asked why she was there.” 

Steve had heard about Reefer Rick and the ‘wild’ parties he’s throwing. He heard about the drugs and other illegal shit that goes down at the boathouse. 

“You wanted to protect her, there’s a good reason why you didn’t want her there.” 

“Yeah but–”

“Stop it, Eddie.” Steve mumbles, rolling his eyes, “you aren’t the one who fucked up, you were there for her all this time and you were there to pull her out of the house before something else could happen.” 

He is right, Eddie knows he is but the guilt is still rooted deep inside of him. He should’ve told you to cancel the date, he shouldn’t have encouraged you to go. 

“I’m the one who fucked up,” Steve scoffs as he looks down at his hands, a look of hatred crosses his features, hatred for himself. 

Eddie frowns. 

“This isn’t your fault either, Steve.”

“Everything is my fault. This wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t break her heart, she would’ve never gone on that date.” 

Steve wasn’t even sure if it was a date, he figured it was. When he saw the flowers on your counter, he knew for certain. 

“This could have been prevented, I shouldn’t have encouraged her to go on that date,” Eddie admits in shame.

“It still isn’t your fault, Eddie.” 

“Well, it’s not yours either,” Eddie mumbles, “shit like that happens to girls all the time, even if you were still together, it could’ve happened.” 

Steve nods at his words, he is right, he knows he is but that still doesn’t take away the guilt. 

Both of them are trying to convince the other to stop taking the blame but it does little to make them feel any less guilty.

The silence takes over, once again and Steve is the first to break it, again. 

“I thought you were together.”

Eddie’s brows pull together, he looks confused when he turns to face Steve, who is already looking at him.

“Yeah, I uh, I thought you two were dating,” Steve adds as he looks away, nervously. “You seem pretty close, the way her and I were before we uh – before we started dating.” 

Eddie nods, “oh.” 

He looks at him, trying to figure out the look on his face. 

“We’re not, we’re friends.” 

“Are you?” Steve asks, “just friends?” 

Eddie nods, “yeah.”

He looks skeptic, unsure of whether he should believe him or not. He eyes the frown on his face, the sadness and the anger in Eddie’s brown eyes. 

“Do you love her?” Steve asks as his heart starts beating faster.

Eddie chuckles at the question, his eyes flash with something that Steve struggles to read. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, he just stares into nothing.

“Yeah, I do.”

Steve can’t describe the feelings inside of him, right now. Is he surprised to hear him say it? No. How could he not love you? 

Eddie would treat you better than he ever did.

As Eddie looks at him, he notices the sadness in his eyes – Steve wishes that things were different and he knows that you do too.

“But it’s not like that. I love her and I would do just about anything for her, she is my best friend,” he says to him as he continues to fidget with his rings, “she makes me happy and things are amazing the way they are. I never had someone like her in my life.”

Steve feels confused about his words, isn’t that how he felt about you once?

“You love her but you are just friends?” Steve mumbles. 

Eddie snorts, he leans his head against the wall and glances at him, “friends can love each other too, you know that right? It’s a different kind of love than how you would love a partner but it’s still love.” 

“I’m confused.”

“Platonic love, dude.” Eddie sighs, “do you know anything?”

Steve purses his lips, he shrugs, “well our platonic love turned into something else.”

“Then it was never platonic in the first place.”

Yeah, he might be right. Steve loved you, he always did, even when he was a kid and even when he said he didn’t. 

“You love her but you are not in love with her?” Steve asks, whispering the question this time when he remembers that you might be awake and listening in on their conversation. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, he bumps his head against the wall, his bangs fall in front of his eyes but he doesn’t bother to push them away. 

“We can be friends without being in love with each other, right?” 

Steve doesn’t know how to respond to that, he only shrugs. 

Just being friends, never worked out for you and him. 

“I fucking adore that girl, that’s all.” Eddie explains. 

The look on his face is genuine. 

“Things are good the way they are, between us, I mean.”

“Has it always been that way?” Steve asks, curiously. “I mean, from the start?” 

Steve notices the way he hesitates, the way his eyes don’t meet his anymore. Eddie knows exactly why he is asking, he is trying to find something out. He knows that you two have been friends for longer than he initially thought. 

The night at the dance, back in december, Steve remembered seeing you with Eddie at a party he threw back in august and it brought up questions, ones that he never dared to ask you after what he had done. 

He never remembered much from that night, just how drunk he was and how awful your fight had been, so awful that you didn't even spent the night at his place the way you usually did. No matter how bad a fight had been, you had never not stayed with him, except for that night.

“Uh, no..” Eddie mumbles, “we’ve only gotten this close after you two broke up.” 

Steve nods and decides to stop asking questions, it’s better that way. 

But now, Eddie takes his turn, he watches him with a questioning look in his eyes. 

“You love her, don’t you?” He asks, “you always did, right? All this, ‘I’m not in love with you anymore’ bullshit, was just bullshit, right?” He asks, chuckling.

Steve winces at that word, it takes him back to the night in your room, after he had tried to kiss you. 

‘That’s bullshit, Steve! Everything you do, everything you say is bullshit! Y-You’re bullshit!’

You were right about what you said, about what you called him and Eddie is right too. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, “it was just… bullshit. But, I’m with Nance now and things are great.”

Great. Just great.

Eddie raises his brows but he doesn’t say anything. There is more he’d like to say and know but, this isn’t the right time. 

A beat of silence brings back the awkwardness. They glance at each other, not knowing what else to say or do.

But both, get lost in their thoughts so easily. They both think about you, about what happened.

Wondering what Ray had said and done to you. It weren't just his actions that had hurt and upset you, it was something he said to you. Both, Eddie and Steve saw the look in your eyes, the haunted and deeply hurt one.

What words had he thrown at you?

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You know where Parker lives, right?” 

-

tagging friends & mutuals

@mysticmunson @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @wroteclassicaly @screammunson @hellfire--cult @taintedcigs @trashmouth-richie @xxhellfiregirlxx @take-everything-you-can @nemesis729 @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked

[steebharringt0n]

me knowing my boys are going to fuck ray up

[tubesock86]

sunshine boy!!!!

[steebharringt0n]

A strong need

[freckledjoes]

Just a silly guy.

[freckledjoes]

At little peek at Joe Keery as Gator Tillman in Fargo!

[userstonathan]

STONATHAN CRUMBS????? IN 2023???????

[steebharringt0n]

Charlie and Joe are never going to survive this season if they’re paired together omfg lmfaooooo