#stranger things ficlet

[kissingpractise]

chubby will byers save me... save me chubby will byers...

idk how to explain how many times i've reread your chubby will byers fics, you just write them so decadently. it's also partial comfort for my own shit, the way you handle it where its still hot and the focus but its not fetishized is so perfect

also you've fucking cursed me cause it is subtly changing how i write byler, like yes mike would cook for will and become encouraged when he sees will enjoying it. for no other reason than wanting to provide for his boyfriend. nothing about how much more comfortable Will looks now he's more solid

the concept of mike wanting to learn to cook for Will and initially only trying to make dishes he knows Will likes... ugh. plus mike just being awful at cooking before that. and he makes Will's portions too big and keeps offering him seconds- mike packing will a lunchbox and he just loads it with snacks and sandwiches alongside cute sappy notes

if you have any thoughts or feelings about this you want to rant about i beg of you have at thee

I cannot believe I missed this message I'm so sorry it's been in my ask box for months!!!

Thank you so much ahhh! "Decadent" is such a gorgeous word, someone using it to describe my writing has made me blush 🤭

I think a lot of us who write chubby character fics do it partly for our own comfort dealing with our own stuff too, so I'm glad that reading it has the same impact for you.

That last bit you wrote about Mike and Will and their lunch boxes reminded me of this short thing I wrote ages ago so I'm attaching it here. I don't remember if I've shared this before, maybe that's why you mentioned it, but even if I have, I suppose it can't hurt to repost it. Continues under the read more, as this ask is very long now.

🧁🫐🧁🫐🧁

Living with the Wheelers turns out to be good for Will’s health, bad for Will's crush on Mike, and terrible for Will’s waistline.

Karen Wheeler is the type of storybook, cartoon-perfect mom who bakes cookies from scratch every few days, rather than buying them from the store. It's a delightful novelty to Will, whose own mother once burnt boiled eggs and who rarely even buys cookies, let alone makes them. Mike, who is used to this, eats one or two cookies when his mom makes them, and then apparently forgets all about them unless someone places one in his hand.

Will does not understand how this is possible. He can't just have one cookie - he always ends up having at least three. Jonathan is just as bad as he is - worse, if he's been smoking one of his special cigarettes. Karen doesn't seem to care who's eating them or why - she's just thrilled that people are enjoying her baking so much, and so she keeps baking. As a result, Will's cookie consumption levels are reaching a pretty impressive peak.

Everyone's noticed, too. Despite (or perhaps because of) growing up with an apparently endless supply of homemade cookies, the Wheelers never seem to actually eat any of them, so the inability of Jonathan and Will to resist them is both notable and also apparently quite amusing to the Wheelers. Mike keeps teasing Will for it, calling him a defensive eater, which makes him scowl. Will most certainly is not. He just wants to make sure he gets a cookie before they run out. They’re good! With four hungry teenagers, three adults, and one kid in the house, the cookies aren't going to hang around if Will doesn't get in there quick. And yeah, Will might have a sweet tooth. It's no big deal, he can have a treat. It’s whatever.

It’s less whatever when Will tries to pull up his jeans one day and they get stuck over his ass.

They’ve been feeling tight in the thighs for a little while, like there’s not enough room for them to spread out when he sits down, but Will hasn't worried about that. It happens from time to time. He's a growing boy. But this is definitely new.

Will tugs, then hops a little, and the jeans do not move. He turns towards his mirror and tries hopping again. His butt actually jiggles when he jumps, and Will sees his reflection turn pink in the cheeks.

Cautiously, as if it’s going to bite him, he reaches a hand back there. Will tentatively grabs one of his ass cheeks over the fabric of his boxers.

It’s soft. He doesn’t know what he expected.

He gives his ass cheek a little knead, and it doesn’t feel good, exactly - it’s just a butt cheek, after all, and butts aren’t that sensitive - but he likes the way the flesh gives under his fingers. He gets a little distracted by it, actually, and loses a minute or so just testing and squeezing the new softness of his ass and thighs and hips, until he hears Mike thundering towards the basement stairs.

“Will?” he yells. “We’re gonna be late!”

“Coming!” Will calls back, face flushing a furious red. He tries to tug his pants up over his ass but it’s no use - they’re not moving. He quickly yanks the pants off and looks around for literally anything to wear. His eyes land on a pair of Jonathan’s jeans and he has no idea if they’ll fit - Jonathan’s clothes have always been baggy on him, and he doesn’t have a belt - but he tugs them on and prays. Thankfully, they go over his ass. This doesn’t surprise Will. What surprises Will is that not only are the jeans not baggy, they’re actually a good fit.

A thought flits through Will’s head that they’ll be tight in a month if he keeps on at his current rate of cookie consumption.

For some reason, the thought isn’t unappealing.

He tucks it away for later, though - right now, Will is late for school. He grabs his schoolbag and runs up the basement stairs where Mike is waiting for him with two labelled lunch bags. For the first time, he notices that Will's is noticeably fuller than Mike's.

"I got your lunch while you were getting dressed. Mom made muffins, I put one in there," Mike says. Will tilts his head.

“Isn’t there one in yours?” he asks. Mike shrugs.

“I don’t like blueberry," he says. His cheeks are slightly pink, for some reason.

Will looks between him and the lunch bag curiously and Mike's cheeks get even pinker, but before he can even think of a way to investigate it, Mike is hurrying him along.

"Come on, we’ve gotta go,” he says, pulling Will out the door with a hand on Will's softened bicep. The two boys rush out the door after a very impatient Holly.

[7spaceace7]

Day 9: A rare pair, Nancy and Will :)

(obviously this is not romantic lmao)

Will's been in this itchy hospital gown for two days now. It's definitely better than the clothes his mother and Chief Hopper found him in--anything's better than being smothered in that oozy, sticky substance the Upside Down is coated in--but that doesn't magically make his skin react well to the paper-like material. The small boy sighs and tugs the hospital blankets up closer to his chest. He doesn't know how long he's slept for, but it still doesn't feel like enough.

"Hey, you okay?" Jonathan softly asks next to him, concern written on his furrowing brow. Will shrugs. He doesn't want to worry people so much anymore.

"Yeah, it's nothing. Just...wish I was home. In my bed, you know?"

His brother nods and puts a sympathetic hand on Will's arm. "Hopefully it'll be soon. I think mom's asking when you can be released. Want me to go find her?"

"Sure," Will says. Jonathan offers a smile before standing up. He turns to Nancy, who's sitting in the second closest chair.

"Do you mind-"

"I'll keep an eye on him," Nancy finishes. She doesn't look up from the paper she's working on but smiles anyway. Jonathan mutters a small 'thanks' before walking out.

Will doesn't really know why Nancy's here still. Not that he doesn't like her, she's just- Mike's older sister. Someone who's always around, but never directly involved. Jonathan says she's part of why they found him, though, so she must care more than he realized.

That prompts his curiosity.

“How did you guys…beat it?” he asks, his voice betraying a small amount of terror still there. He didn't think anyone could stop that thing.

Nancy looks up, blinks in surprise. And no small amount of confusion. “Beat it?”

“The demogorgon," Will supplies. He messes with the thread of the hospital blanket. "Jonathan said that you helped save me. That you guys hurt it really bad. I just- wondered how.”

“Oh. Well,” Nancy starts, brow furrowing a bit as she contemplates what’s suitable for Jonathan’s baby brother to know, “We..set a big trap for it. Uh, in your house." The older girl bites her lip. "Sorry?"

Will smiles a bit. "I know that part. Mom would have freaked about the carpet if she wasn't worried about me."

Nancy can't help the soft giggle at that. How silly of a worry a ruined carpet seems in comparison to everything else they went through. "Yeah, well...if you find any more singed spots, let's keep it between us."

She throws Will a conspiratorial smile. He nods back with his own.

"Okay." Nancy's about to return to her homework, but Will then adds, "I guess I was right about you being a really good shot, huh?"

Her eyebrows raise nearly up to her hair. "Who told you about that?"

"Jonathan, duh," Will smirks. Nancy scoffs in disbelief. "Which means I was right about your weapons proficiency when you played with us. I mean, most elves are good with a bow, but," he shrugs, "I always thought you'd be the best ever at it."

Of all things, at all times, Nancy can hardly believe that, yet again, her little brother's favorite game comes up in conversation about all this. At the same time, of course D&D gets brought up. That ridiculous, amazing game is partially to thank for the safe return of Will Byers at all. With a shake of her head and a grin sent Will's way, Nancy packs away her school papers in her bag and gives him her full attention.

"Well, if I'm a good archer now, then what would Jonathan's character be like?"

Will beams at her. He begins to think.

[withoutaplease]

Sweet Little Lies

Stancy. Pre-S5 Vol 1. Just a little bit of what if . . .

--

Nancy Wheeler had a secret.

She had many secrets, if truth be told, and most of them were of the life-and-death variety.  Not that this one didn’t have potential to blow up her world, of course. Just in a more mundane way, and not so much in a jail if you’re lucky, dead if you’re not way. Although, now that she thought of it,  either fate might be preferable to what could happen if everyone found out.

She switched off her bedside lamp and slowly, silently, zipped up her jacket.  She glanced at the clock - 3:00am - and held her breath while she listened to the house around her. Snores sounded in stereo from various corners, but not a creature was otherwise stirring.  She carefully unlocked her bedroom window and slid up the sash. Cold night air poured inside, and she escaped out into it.

She stood alone a moment on the roof, just enjoying the breeze and the starry wide open above her.  Her world was so small these days, and so crowded.  Out here, she still felt free.  She heard the low rumble of the car pulling up across the street, and padded lightly over to the drainpipe.  A few quick jumps, and she was safely on the ground. She flashed a grin and hurried over to the passenger side of Steve’s beamer. “Drive,” she commanded, climbing in, and he was moving before she’d even shut the door.  As her house vanished into the rearview, she sighed in relief.

“Long day?” he asked, looking at her with attentive eyes that rightfully belonged on the road.

“Long day, long week, long year . . .” she replied.

“And long odds,” he finished.

“Right,” she agreed ruefully. She let her head flop back onto the headrest and watched the streetlights flash by through the windshield.  Even with nowhere to go, the going felt good.

Steve reached over and turned down the volume on the radio - an endless loop of easy listening at this time of night.  “Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“No,” she said firmly.  Then, a breath or two later, “It’s just that for once it would be great if I could be believed and trusted and not have to call in a team of defense lawyers and give a goddamn dissertation every time I try to make a plan, you know?”

He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“But I don’t wanna talk about it,” she concluded, and he chuckled softly.

“So what do you wanna do?” 

This time she raised her eyebrows, and gave him a sly smile.  He pulled off down a side street, and then into a dark laneway.  He brought the beamer to a cautious stop, tucked in between a backyard garage and an overgrown hedge that would soon be covered in lilacs. When he killed the engine, they were basically invisible.

“Hey, Nance,” Steve said, and leaned in to kiss her.  

Their lips met, and the wave of warmth washed over her, melting away the day’s stresses.  Their tongues slid together and smoothed over all the edges of her frustration.  He buried his hand in the back of her curls, and she reached over to the front of his jeans, and they fell lockstep into their new, familiar rhythm.

After, they laid curled together in the backseat, half-dressed and crumpled, in a sweet, sleepy silence.  “I guess I should get back,” Nancy murmured, eventually, making no move to get up.

“You know you don’t have to, right?” Steve said, squeezing her fingers interlaced in his hand.  “We could just tell the truth.”

She sighed, and roused herself enough to start dressing.  This, too, was part of their new rhythm. “We will,” she promised.  “When the time is right.”

“Right,” he echoed, and unhurriedly reached for his sweater.  “When’s that, again?”

She shot him a look, but there was no impatience on his face.  Only sympathy. “When it’s over,” she told him.  “When we’re free.”  Or when we’re dead, she thought, and then swept it aside.  

“When we’re free, Nance, I’m coming straight over to pick you up, and then I won’t stop driving until we hit ocean.”  He punctuated it with a kiss, and then opened the door to let them climb back into the front.  Before she got out, she drew a little smiley face in the fogged up back window.  When we’re free.

The ride back was quiet, but a different kind of quiet.  An afterglowy quiet.  As they pulled up to the house, she looked around carefully and scanned all the windows.  The place was still asleep.  The mission, nearly accomplished.  “Goodnight, Steve,” she said, planting one last kiss on his cheek before reaching for the door handle.  “Thank you.”

“Any time at all,” he replied, as if that wasn’t self-evident.  Then, “Be careful on that climb.  First step’s a doozy.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said.  “I’m stealthy.”  She winked and opened the door.  “Like a ninja,” she finished, and stepped back out into the night.

She felt his eyes on her as she scaled the side of the house (quite easily, in point of fact), but it was a good feeling.  A safe one.  She was halfway through her window when she heard the car drive away, and then all she heard was snoring.  She undressed for the second time tonight, and crawled into bed.

Steve was right, of course.  She could tell the truth, rip off the bandaid, blow up the tenuous peace of the household.  She could throw one more match into the tinderbox of her life and hope the resulting blaze warms her without burning her up.  She could.  Should, even.  But then, there was a deeper truth: Nancy loved her secret.  It was the only thing she had left that was all hers - all theirs - and she wasn’t willing to part with it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She rolled over and closed her eyes, and if there was any guilt on her conscience, it was a tiny drop in a bucket that overflowed long ago.  She slept soundly the last few fleeting hours until morning.

[icrytearsofsadness]

Part two of this ficlet because it’s Billy’s birthday and he deserves something nice, and also because everyone was begging me to write a part two lmao. here you go :)

There’s a note in his locker the next day.

Quarry after school? – Steve

Billy crumples it up and tosses it.

A tiny part of him twinges at the thought of Steve waiting for him there all night, but the rest of him is pleased by it. He kind of wants Steve to suffer a bit after the hours Billy stayed up crying last night. He also wants Steve to be that desperate to see him.

He avoids Steve all day. Doesn’t look at him in practice. Sticks close to Hagan, because the guy repels Steve like the plague these days.

Steve never did tell him why that is. Guess now he’ll never know.

Steve keeps leaving little notes. Billy wonders, idly, what Steve’s friends think about that. If they’ve ever caught him slipping a piece of paper into Billy’s locker and asked questions. Thinks Steve’s way too good a liar to be worried about it, anyway.

Billy reads all the notes. Then trashes them. Can’t bear to stick them in his pocket. Refuses to carry around a piece of Steve after he hurt him.

The notes get longer. They go from quarry? to talk to me to Billy, please just let me explain, I didn’t realize how it sounded and then one day they stop altogether.

It makes Billy almost wish he’d said something to show he was reading the notes, just to get Steve’s hopes up. To make him keep leaving them in increasing desperation.

Billy doesn’t ever want to be alone with him again, but he wants to hurt him. So it’s a shame when that method disappears.

Billy kind of misses it, also. Proof that maybe Steve still cared. Ever cared at all.

Billy feels pathetic.

He feels angry.

He’s not sure how much anger is towards Steve for hurting him and how much is for himself for not being able to get over it already.

About a week after the notes stop, the worst happens. Steve actually manages to catch Billy unawares and alone.

The moment Billy realizes what’s happening – that they’re in the locker room, and they’re alone, and Billy fucked up and didn’t notice until it’s too late – he gets so angry he can barely breathe.

They’re both dressed by now, thank god, but Steve’s approaching him with his mouth already open a bit and Billy sees red.

He doesn’t want to hear it.

So he lunges and slams Steve back against the locker and tells him exactly that.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Harrington,” he snarls, his forearm pressed hard against Steve’s chest, keeping him shoved back without having to touch him with his hands. “Fuck off.”

“Woah,” Steve says, like he’s actually surprised, like he didn’t expect Billy to get this angry. Fucking idiot. “I just – ”

Billy slams his hand into the locker right by Steve’s head. Steve flinches but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop talking, either.

“Please just let me – ”

Billy’s gonna kill him.

He cocks his fist back. Steve doesn’t even have the decency to look scared. He just stares at Billy, his wide doe eyes never glancing at the raised fist. Like he doesn’t believe Billy will hurt him.

Maybe he’s right, because Billy actually gives him another chance.

“Get out,” he says, slowly. Really emphasizes every sound.

“There is no other guy,” Steve blurts. “I lied.”

Billy’s lip curls back. Steve’s gaze finally flicks over to his raised fist.

Apparently Steve takes that as his cue to keep talking, because he’s an actual idiot. Maybe he figures this is his last chance to get it all out and know Billy heard him, which is kinda fair. Billy still hates it.

“It’s just, every time I go out with a girl you just let me go, so I thought maybe it would be different,” he says, rambling fast. “I wanted to see if you’d get jealous at all because I really like you, Billy, and I needed proof that you actually wanted me?”

Billy stares at him. He’s sort of lowered his fist, awkwardly, though he’s still keeping Steve pinned.

“What?”

Billy must sound as incredulous and confused and pissed as he feels, because Steve cringes and barrels on.

“I thought if you got mad about me maybe going out with a guy, that would prove you wanted to go out with me.” Steve sounds kind of sheepish. His voice is quiet. Embarrassed, maybe. “I didn’t think at all about how it would sound, I… I really like you.”

Billy stares at him for another long moment. Slowly releases him from against the locker.

“You lied,” he scoffs. “Jesus fucking Christ, I knew it.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles up. It’s his turn to be confused. “What?”

“The moment you said it was the last time, I knew you lied.” Billy shakes his head. “I knew it, and I let you talk me into thinking you weren’t full of shit.”

“I was full of shit.”

Billy taps his foot. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot,” Steve agrees.

“And an asshole.”

Steve nods.

“No, I wanna hear that one,” Billy says, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re an asshole.”

Steve makes a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. “I’m an asshole.”

“Glad we’re finally on the same page,” Billy replies. He looks at Steve consideringly. “I still kind of want to punch you.”

“That’s fair,” Steve says. “You probably should be angry.”

“Don’t tell me what I should do,” Billy snaps.

Steve does that breathless huff of a laugh again. “Yeah, okay, Billy.”

Billy licks his teeth. Stares at Steve. “If I punch you, will you still go out with me?”

Steve frowns, but like he’s thinking, not like he’s mad. “Not the face,” he bargains.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s got a little pink on his cheeks, now, which is weird, because Billy’s talking about punching him. “I wanna look nice for our date.”

And, okay.

Billy’s still kind of pissed but he doesn’t really want to punch him anymore. Damn Harrington.

“Alright, fine,” Billy says, like it’s a huge burden not to punch Steve, actually. Like he’s really letting him off easy.

And then Steve’s biting his lip like he’s trying to keep from smiling, and that won’t do at all. So Billy kisses him, coaxing his lip out from between his teeth. He keeps kissing Steve, quick little chaste presses until Steve is huffing a laugh against his mouth like what’re you doing, idiot and yeah. That’s good. That’s really good.

Steve laughs again, and opens his mouth, maybe to say something, but Billy doesn’t give him the chance, pressing into his open mouth.

Steve still manages to giggle, and wraps his arms around Billy’s neck like he missed him.

[icrytearsofsadness]

Billy’s got Steve all pressed up against the Beemer when he says it.

“This is the last time, Hargrove,” he pants, putting his hand on Billy’s chest. “Last time.”

Billy thinks for a moment it sounds serious. Because Steve’s looking at him like it is, and because he hasn’t said that in a while. But he used to say it all the time – every time, in fact. Liar. Billy may be an asshole but Steve’s a huge fucking liar.

So he sort of huffs a laugh and presses back in against Steve’s hand and drawls “whatever you say, Harrington” because Steve’s a liar.

Steve indulges him in another kiss before he tries to speak again. “I’m serious,” he groans when Billy starts working down his throat.

“Sure you are, pretty boy. Just like all the other times,” Billy replies, a bit too focused on working open Steve’s shirt to come up with something meaner.

“I,” Steve starts, then gives a little breathless moan when Billy grinds their hips together. He tries again. “I found someone.”

That makes Billy pause, though only for a moment. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s fingers are working on Billy’s belt. “Someone I think I wanna be serious about.”

Billy’s glad his face is buried in Steve’s neck so Steve can’t see him wince. Because yeah, Billy’s not the type of person Steve wants to be serious with. And he knows that. But it still kind of stings, every time.

Still. He presses Steve back firmer into the Beemer and tugs his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his jeans. Steve’s done this a few times, gone and gotten serious with some girl. He always comes crawling back.

“Well, when you get bored of this chick – ”

Steve gets Billy’s belt open with a little groan. “Not a chick.”

Billy stops.

This is new.

“What?”

“Not a…” Steve huffs. Tugs impatiently at the waist of Billy’s jeans. “It’s a guy.”

And holy shit, Steve’s serious.

He means it.

This is the last time.

Billy takes a whole step back, eyes kind of wide, staring at Steve. Steve whines, because he’s used to getting what he wants, spoiled rich boy that he is. For once, Billy’s not sure he wants to give it to him.

“You’re serious,” Billy says, and his voice sounds kind of hollow.

Steve blinks at him like he’s confused, all soft doe eyes. “So?” he pouts, because Billy’s never reacted like this before.

But Steve’s never done this before. Never tried to get serious with a guy. Which means it’s not about being queer. It’s not that Steve only wants to be serious with a girl, with someone he can marry, someone he can show off.

The problem isn’t with guys.

It’s with Billy.

Shame and embarrassment and anger curl ugly in Billy’s chest. He’s sliding his belt back into place before he really registers what he’s doing.

Steve’s frown deepens, really pouting now. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m going home,” Billy replies gruffly.

“What? Why?”

Billy shakes his head, and turns to leave.

“Billy,” Steve calls, and he sounds genuinely confused. “Billy, stop.”

But Billy doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to look at Steve right now. Because Billy is the problem. And if he’s gonna fucking cry, it’s gonna be far, far away from Steve Harrington.

Steve’s getting frustrated, because he snaps after him, “You’re wasting your last chance!”

“Goodbye, Steve,” Billy replies, a bit mean, a bit flat, and doesn’t look back.

part 2

[starlight299]

I am a firm believer that Steve will never, ever, admit to being sick/injured/whatever, he’d rather die than have to either ask for help or have someone look at him with enough concern to then ask him if he needs help. He did not like people caring for him because it reminded him that his parents didn’t.

He almost gets away with it, when he had shitty friends that would pester him into going to a party with them while he actively had a headache, but that stops working after he met literal monsters. He got away with pushing it all off the first time. He never went to the doctor, and nobody asked him to. The second time he wasn’t so lucky.

He gets through the kids awful setting a tunnel on fire plan and then, once back in safety panics about the kids taking care of him and how absolutely uncool and pathetic he must’ve looked. He argued with Joyce and Hopper about going to the hospital because he’s fine, it’s not his first fight, and he can handle it. He had a serious concussion. Hopper takes him to the hospital and orders him to give his teachers all the doctors not banning him from reading while it heals. Steve tried to argue but Hopper said he’d call the school if he didn’t, so Steve gives the stupid note to the teachers but then does all the reading anyway because Hopper didn’t say he had to listen to the doctor just that he had to hand his teachers the note. His teachers all looked at him weirdly.

He thought that would be the end of it but Hopper started asking him to come around the cabin and cook for El and stuff like that. Hopper knew about the migraines and Steve wanted to bury himself over it. Especially when he told El all the signs to look for and she, bless her, told the rest of the kids because she wanted to be sure Steve was taken care of. Steve did not want to be taken care of. Nobody used to care, it was all too much way too fast.

When his father forced him to get a job at the mall his headaches got even more frequent, the lights there seemed to bother him super efficiently. The first time he got a full on migraine at work Robin he was hung over and made fun of him, he rolled with it. She didn’t need to know. Then of course she got involved in all the upside-down bullshit and of course the kids blabbed to her about Steve’s previous and present head problems while the paramedics looked over them. (At least he didn’t have to go to the hospital since it was literally out of commission due to the mindflair.)

Robin did her own research on migraines plus all the information the kids gave her and she always forced him to take breaks or go home when she got them a new job at family video. At least they were less frequent there than they were at the mall. When Eddie joined the party Steve once again tried to keep him absolutely unaware of the less pretty side of Steve’s life. Robin blabbed about the migraines anyway.

Steve was never going to win. He still hated it when his friends tried to take care of him. He was used to handling himself or ignoring but for whatever reason his new friends were completely against that. The only thing he had left in hiding his pain was pretending he didn’t get nightmares at least three times a week because despite Robin’s pestering he was not allowed to stay overnight at her house. Her dad would shoot him. Unfortunately, he could stay the night at Eddie’s. At first sleeping with someone else seemed to help the nightmares, but eventually, he had to get one. Edie cuddles with him first an hour afterwards, despite Steve insisting that he was fine.

Truly the last thing he had left, was that nobody knew when his birthday was. Not even Nancy, she never bothered to ask, he knew hers though. Unfortunately for all of Steve’s friends a birthday wasn’t something they could figure out by observing or sending him to a doctor. He could keep that secret. If they threw him a birthday party he’d probably cry. He hadn’t had a birthday party since he was eight and they weren’t even for him, they were his parents party’s with family, his parents friends, and some of his dad’s coworkers. Steve wasn’t allowed to invite other children. He could not handle a birthday party. Robin and Eddie pestered him about it every now and then but Steve wasn’t breaking anytime soon.

[starlight299]

The S1-S2 party: “Steve has always taken all this stuff so well.”

The kids (mostly Dustin): “He’s practically invincible.”

Nancy probably: “He’s too dumb to be affected by Trauma.” (The rest of the party hates that but Dustin’s the only one who argues)

Robin not even a week after star court: “Steve is traumatized and hurt, he just tries to hide it, and he’s not even that good at it you guys just don’t care enough to notice (Dustin is offended; he does care he’s just a kid and Steve is actually pretty good at hiding it.)

Eddie a week out of the hospital: “Steve, you're not very good at advocating for yourself." (Steve didn’t get his injuries attended to because he thought he could handle it and ‘the others needed him’)

Steve: “I'm supposed to be advocating for myself??"

The entire party (minus Dustin) after Robin and Eddie scream at them for over an hour about Steve’s condition (they’re a little nicer to the kids it’s not really their fault): “Oh shit, we fucked up.”

Steve after people start being nice to him all of a sudden: “There’s an imbalance in the universe, am I being Vecna’d? Did he not really die? Shit. What is happening?”

Eddie and Robin: *crying*

[mojowitchcraft]

Pretty Star

Steve loves Valentine’s Day, Barb hates it.

A little (late) Valentine's fic, Rated G. Read on Ao3 or below the cut

Steve loves Valentine’s Day. He always has, even when he was awkward and shy in elementary school. He loved writing out the little cards for all his classmates, and he especially loved receiving cards in return. Tangible evidence that he was well-liked. 

With his dad often away on business trips, Steve and his mom were left alone for chunks of time. It took him a while to realize that his dad was usually away for Valentine’s Day. And though his old man never forgets to send flowers and chocolates, Steve can tell his mom’s upset about being left behind. 

At first, Steve assumed that it meant his dad had a super important job, but now that Steve’s older he’s uncomfortably aware that his father’s probably off in a hotel somewhere with his assistant. The very same woman who’s responsible for sending his mom a huge bouquet of roses every year, even though she prefers lilies.

It became a tradition for them to have dinner together and watch a movie, one of the few times his mom would let them sit and eat in front of the TV. When he got older she’d even let him have sips—and eventually his own glass—of her expensive wine. It was a special day just for the two of them.

Now that Steve’s dating Nancy though, Steve’s excited to pour all of his affection into her, to do the right thing and spoil her the way she deserves. 

Barb hates Valentine’s Day. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself when she walks through the halls of Hawkins High and sees everyone else paired up while she’s doomed to be alone. 

And sure, maybe she’s a little peeved about Nancy dating stupid Steve Harrington, meaning they can’t have a girl's night in like they did last year because Steve wants to take Nancy out for a nice dinner at Enzo’s. Barf.

To make matters worse, Heather Holloway is standing right in front of Barb’s locker playing tonsil hockey with her boyfriend. Why they feel the need to do that there instead of ten inches to the left, in front of Heather’s own locker, is beyond Barb. 

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Nancy’s trying to juggle her bag, books, and a bouquet while opening her locker to grab her calculus textbook before their class together, but she’s fighting a losing battle with the flowers. Barb snatches them up, grumbling all the while. 

“Don’t know why he couldn’t just give them to you tonight when he picks you up for your date, then they could be safe at home in a vase instead of making you carry them around the rest of the day.”

An awkward smile pulls at Nancy’s lips. “You know Steve—” Barb certainly does not know Steve, she’s tried to avoid getting to know Steve the whole time Nancy’s been dating him. Hoping it’ll blow over and he’ll leave her best friend alone to bother another girl. “He thought it was romantic.”

Barb is loath to admit that it was pretty sweet the way Steve presented Nancy with the bouquet at lunch, pulled her into his arms, and whispered sweet things to her. It’s quite frustrating that he has the gall to be good at this stuff when Barb finds him so annoying. Especially knowing that he’d already given Nancy a teddy bear that morning, one that was currently taking up most of her locker and staring at them with its stupidly adorable face. 

“Sure,” Barb replies snottily. “Romantic.”

“What’s romantic?” The bane of her existence materializes over her shoulder. 

“You,” Nancy answers sweetly, giggling when Steve practically wags his tail like a puppy and swoops down to kiss her. 

Great, now Barb is standing near another couple kissing up against a locker and looking like the world's biggest loser holding Nancy’s flowers. At least they smell nice, but she’s not about to embarrass herself further by smelling them properly. 

When Steve finally detaches himself from Nancy he takes her books and the flowers from Barb, giving her a knowing look when he catches the tender way she handles the bouquet. She hates it, feels like it’s almost pitying. Like Steve Harrington knows that no guy at Hawkins High is interested in giving her the time of day and he feels sorry for her about it. It’s more than she can take. 

After his spectacularly tragic breakup with Nancy, Steve’s alone for Valentine’s Day once again. Sure, he could get a date, easy. Probably get lucky even if he played his cards right, but it doesn’t feel right going out with some random girl he doesn’t even know and leaving his mom alone for another year. So he tells her he wants to resume their tradition, offers to pick up whatever she wants at the Family Video on his way home. 

Steve got to school early this morning, figured it would be the best time to leave a little surprise without getting caught. Now he’s just loitering near his locker, trying not to look suspicious.

It helps that they both have last names that start with H, so Barb’s locker isn’t too far down the hallway from his. Steve hopes that she’ll like what he left for her. He just wants to do something nice for her this year, maybe see her smile. She’s actually really pretty when she smiles, but he’s used to her scowling at him most of the time. 

Barb stands in shock staring at her locker for a moment. Checks the number on it three times before stepping closer, even though she knows it’s hers. 

Someone must’ve made a mistake. Taped the little sprig of purple daisies to the wrong locker. But no, there’s a card too and it’s got her name on it. Confirmation that someone actually meant to leave Barb flowers. Her hands shake as she opens the envelope, pulling out a card with a cartoon Barbie on it. 

“Your name must be Barbie because you’re a doll!”

Barb snorts, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smile. It’s corny but cute. She opens up the card but doesn’t find the name of her mystery gift-giver, just a note to “Have a great day!”

So maybe it’s not some grand declaration of love or a mystery admirer, but it still makes Barb smile. She looks down the hall both ways, catching Steve’s eyes in the process. He stares at her for a beat too long before abruptly turning to his locker and shoving his face in it like he’s looking for something. 

No. There’s no way. There is absolutely positively no chance that Steve Harrington got her flowers and a card for Valentine’s Day. No chance at all. Nadda. 

But then she watches as he peeks around his locker again, only to see that she’s still gaping at him before he slams his locker shut and turns down the hallway. Huh.

Barb gently peels off the tape that’s holding the flowers on her locker, lifting them to her nose as a smile spreads across her lips. She finds that she doesn’t mind the idea of carrying it around for the rest of the day, and walks down the hallway with a spring in her step. 

Maybe Steve Harrington isn’t so bad after all. 

You'd think that the Valentine I can so clearly picture exists but alas I was unable to find one so enjoy this instead! Happy late Valentines day 💝