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raecortes · 3 years ago

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Fear (Dark!Steve x Fem!reader)

Summary: The picturesque facade of Hawkins is shattered by a string of murders. In their wake, you struggle to cope, and Steve is there to coax you through. But Steve is lying to you. About everything.

Uses she her/pronouns and female anatomy.

Masterlist

author note: this fic is long and intense, but I hope it will be worth it! please keep the following warnings in mind.

Warnings: dark!Steve, yandere!Steve, toxic relationship, obsessive behavior, gaslighting, manipulation, honestly maybe brain-washing?, smut, unprotected sex, choking, spitting, blood, gore, murder, major/minor character death.

Hawkins, Indiana — October, 1988

Hawkins was once a quiet town. Made up of a small population and privately owned shops, the tiny town in Indiana was a quaint place, the quintessential American town where children were safe, and families were raised well. Most people peaked in high school and went on to work blue-collar jobs scattered throughout the town —very few strayed far from the confines of the small-town bubble. It was useless —Hawkins had everything they needed.

Then the murders began.

The first came at the end of September. A counselor at the local community college —Deborah Ann Williams. They found her behind Benny's Diner, a burger joint just off the highway at the outskirts of town. Strangled with her cardigan, drenched in her own blood, seeping from the gruesome knife wounds carved into her abdomen and chest.

Her murder rattled Hawkins, which had never seen the likes of such violence. The worst that had happened here was an owl attacking an elder woman's hair, mistaking it for a bird's nest.

It was difficult for people to go on living normally as the police investigated. How were they meant to send their children off to school, push their strollers around town, wheel through grocery store aisles and make meatloaf dinners, when there was a killer on the loose?

"We're making this case our top priority, and are confident that we will find the monster who committed this heinous crime, and apprehend him," Chief Hopper droned on television.

Like many other people in town, you were shaken. Difficulty sleeping, trouble concentrating, paranoia —but, unlike everyone else in this town, you had Steve. And Steve curbed any anxieties, eased all your worries.

"You've gotta stop watching the news, baby, you're stressing yourself out," he admonished as he sauntered into the living room.

You perked up on the sofa, allowing him to take the remote from your hand and click the television off. When the living room fell to silence, he turned and gazed down at you, hands on his hips. You grinned sheepishly, cheeks warm.

"I know, I just...not knowing makes it worse. I wish they would just catch him already," you pouted, eyes sliding over to the black screen behind your boyfriend.

Steve exhaled heavily, sinking into the couch beside you. His cotton-clad arms wound their way around your waist, tugging you flush against his side. You nuzzled into his warmth, burrowing into his pine-scented chest. He was wearing one of your favorite sweatshirts on him —green, Hawkins tiger embroidered on the chest, a few years old from high school. His fingers stroked at your hair comfortingly, lips briefly brushing your forehead.

"They'll catch him, baby. But you know you're safe. You know I'm here," he cooed cooly, and with two gentle fingers under your chin, tipped your gaze to meet his.

His almond eyes creased with a toothy grin, and you mirrored him instantly, head bobbing in agreement. Your fingers crawled their way along his chest, running over the ribbed hem of his collar. Just beneath it, his thick patch of hair sat, flattened, against his golden skin. You leaned forward and pressed your mouth against it, his beautiful skin, just over a circular mole on his neck. Steve chuckled, hand sliding around the back of your head to cradle it.

"It's just weird. When someone you know just...isn't there anymore."

At your mumbled admission, Steve stiffened. His fingers stopped their gentle caress, pausing at the nape of your neck. You felt his head lift from its place atop yours.

"You knew her?"

You pulled your mouth away from his neck and swallowed. A numbing cold seemed to fall over your body, and it stiffened your limbs.

"Y-yeah, she...she worked at the school. Everyone sees her at least once a year, it's...it's sort of a formality."

The lie tumbled from your mouth easily, though it tasted like vinegar coming out. Steve paused, eyes sliding from the window where they were resting, down to the crown of your head. He waited, practically held his breath, pinned you with his gaze —but you weren't giving in.

"Hmm," he hummed, and his fingers resumed their stroking. You relaxed just a tad, until he spoke again. "Had me worried for a second there, sweetheart."

You buried your nose back into the crook of his neck, inhaling his Christmas tree scent, his smokey musk, and sighed contentedly.

"What would you have t' be worried about, Stevie?" you mumbled absently, mind fogging with sleep.

Even the warmth of Steve, the firmness of his arms around you, the scent of him lapping at your senses, was enough to send you floating into relaxation.

"That you'd leave me."

Your eyes popped open against Steve's neck, stiffness returning to your limbs like quick hardening caulk. He said it so cooly, a nonchalance to his tone that chilled you to the bone. A glob of spit slid down your throat when you swallowed.

The rough pads of Steve’s fingers glided over the arch of your ear as he tucked a strand of hair behind it. His head tipped, moving to peer down at you with blinking, doe-eyed brown irises.

“But you wouldn’t do that. Right, baby?”

His finger tickled the cartilage of your ear, flicking up and down impatiently. His head began to tip, and the slow crane of his neck unnerved you. Stomach-churning, heart-thumping, lip-wobbling —he was waiting you out again. And though he kept a cool composure, you knew it was a mask.

Deep inside, he was raging. Just like he did that night. The night where the hallway was splattered with blood and the bathroom mirror was shattered. Steve wore a bandage around his fist for weeks and needed ten stitches.

It was the first time you had ever threatened to leave him —and the last.

"N-no. No, of course not," you cooed, tearing your mouth from his neck to tip your head back and grin at him.

Steve's eyes brightened with delight, the corners creasing once more with the wide-spread grin that found his face. His hand trailed from your ear to your cheek, cradling it in his scarred palm, dipping down to nudge his nose against yours.

"My perfect girl. Gimme a kiss."

You obediently obliged, hurriedly jutting forward to plant your mouth against his. What you believed would be a short, chaste peck, turned into a mess of tongue and teeth. But you remained pliant in his arms, letting your eyes sink closed, focusing on his taste, his scent, his warmth. At moments like this, when you felt the same pulse-quickening unease tug at your muscles that you did that night, you found that you could, interestingly, work through it with Steve.

All you had to do was take a deep breath in, a breath full of Steve —piney, earthy, peppery, tinged with amber —and focus on the things around you. Namely, Steve's strong, muscular arms. His long legs. His callused hands, his firm, broad chest. Steve, Steve, Steve. The one who unnerved you could ground you, too.

A throaty hum rumbled from Steve as he pulled away, and when your eyes finally fluttered open again, you immediately admired the intoxicated pleasure smeared across his face. His thumb rubbed gently against your cheekbone.

"I love you." As he said it, his head gave a little dazed shake.

You smiled —charming and eager.

"I love you, too."

Steve flicked the sleeve of his sweatshirt up and peered at the face of his leather-banded watch. He huffed at the time, turning back to you shortly after.

"We should probably go, you know how Robin is when someone's late. I'll never hear the end of it."

"One double deluxe, one mushroom, a meat lover's, and a bucket of hot wings?" Steve went over the list from where he stood at the head of the booth, counting the items on his fingers.

His gaze flickered between you and the short-haired girl on the opposite side of the leather booth, who nodded in affirmative. Steve turned to you next and you bobbed your head.

"Okay," Steve breathed, hands slapping at his denim thighs. "Any ranch?"

"Ranch? You heathen, eat your pizza like a man," Robin barked, pulling a giggle from your throat.

Steve threw a half-hearted glare her way, eyes rolling momentarily after.

"Shut it, Buckley. Alright, I'll be back. Gimme a kiss," Steve demanded lightly, palms pressing against the table as he leaned to reach your mouth.

You pecked a gentle kiss to his puckered lips and soothed him with a smile. He accepted it, spinning on his sneakered heel to head toward the counter of the pizza parlor. It was one you frequented with Robin and Steve, your usual Friday night hangout spot. Classes were over for the week, Robin got off work early, and Steve was usually off. So, you enjoyed melted, stringy cheese and sweet tomato sauce, with the occasional tongue-burning, sauce-coated chicken —and three cherry Pepsis.

When he was gone, you turned to Robin and smiled, reaching over to grasp her clammy hands, covered in pen ink and clunky, gemstone rings. She'd been frequenting the crystal shop a lot, and always came away with another gaudy ring.

"So, how's Vicky? Any progress?"

The sandy-haired girl scowled, eyes finding your clasped hands atop the table.

"No," she pouted. "I think she might, like, actually like dudes. Which is totally confusing because when her boyfriend isn't around she, like, totally flirts with me."

You mirror her frown, elbows clunking against the table when you adjust your grip on her hands. They were slightly too damp for your liking.

"That's kinda shitty."

Robin shrugged, luckily pulling her hands away first to snatch a salt packet from their container and flip it around.

"Yeah, I guess. I just wish I could get over her already, find someone new. But there's not a lot of lady on lady lovers in this town."

You chuckle at her phrasing, eyes sliding over the top of her head toward Steve. He's still standing in line, hands shoved in his pockets, broad shoulders clothed in a grey windbreaker from high school. He hadn't progressed much past his teenage wardrobe, but you didn't mind. You loved his striped polos and collared sweaters.

"Oh, hey, Buckley."

You turned sharply at the sound of a male voice beside the booth, finding a dark-haired man with a red polo and a "Joe's Pizza" cap standing near the table. His eyes were trained on Robin, but the moment she shouted her delighted reply, his gaze turned to you. You felt your cheeks burn at the smile that came to his face, brighter and wider than it had been with Robin.

"And who's this?"

Robin turned to you, waving a ringed hand.

"Oh, this is Y/N, Steve's girlfriend."

The man held out his hand, and your eyes darted toward Steve fleetingly. With his back still to you, you felt confident enough to reach forward and clasp his hand. You shook it quickly, a rough tug, and snatched your hand back to tuck it into your lap.

"Nice to meet you," he chuckled, amused by your behavior. "I'm Todd."

"Nice to meet you, too."

"Robin and I know each other from the record store."

You turned briefly to Robin, who nodded her agreement.

"Oh, you work there, too?" you inquired.

Todd shrugged.

"On and off. A buddy and I are hoping to start our own band, though."

You raised your brows, though your interest in the conversation was dwindling. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention with every second that passed and Todd remained, standing, at your table. Steve would be back any moment.

"Oh, that sounds cool," you feigned.

Steve would be back at any moment and—

"Excuse me."

Steve's nicety was anything but kind —it came out rough, a sharp bark directed at the back of Todd's head from where Steve stood behind him, balancing trays of pizza, three cherry Pepsis, and a basket of wings in his arms. Todd whirled around, shuffling aside with a murmured apology as Steve squeezed his way through. He placed the food on the table and slid in beside you, immediately pressing your bodies flush against one another. You stiffened as Steve fixed Todd with an empty look, any of the earlier playfulness absent from his pretty features.

"And who's this?" Steve droned dryly.

Robin was already digging into her food, fingers slick with grease and cheese, bottom lip coated in crimson sauce. Her brows jumped with a nonsensical hum, a mumbled reply around her bite of food.

"S' Todd. Work together at...mm...record store."

Steve never once looked Robin's way, issuing Todd with a stare so empty and blank that it bordered the line of haunting. Todd shuffled back, eyes flitting to Robin with a panicked look. His smile was tight as he retreated.

"Nice seein' you, Robin. And...nice...meeting you," he stammered, quickly glancing your way, avoidant of Steve, before he scurried off toward the counter to begin his shift.

When he was gone, Steve huffed, slamming your Pepsi down in front of you. You winced, stiff against the cracked leather of the booth, arms tucked firmly into your lap as Steve smashed the end of the straw into the table and shed it of its paper casing. He stabbed it through your plastic lid with a heavy fist, nearly crushing it, and reached to do the same with his. And only once your mushroom pizza was sitting in front of you, and Steve was silently mowing down on his meat lover's, you began to eat.

But it was his silence that jolted you. The eerie heaviness that fell over you at his mute demeanor. You knew he was upset —you could practically feel the scorching waves of fury radiating from him—but this was a different kind of upset. Different from the times you'd rambled for too long, when you irritated him until he snapped and told you to shut up. Different from the time you came home past the time you told him you would, and he crowded you against the door and roared in your face before you could even get your shoes off.

The silent rage was the worst of them all to you.

And it lasted until your pizzas were gone, the wings diminished to nothing but scraps of bone, the ice in your Pepsis melted down to brown water. Steve stood wordlessly from the table, bumping it with the eagerness of his stance, and stomped off toward the trash bin. When your table was cleared and your trays had been returned, he jerked you by the wrist from the booth and pulled you into his side.

"Y/N isn't feeling well, Rob, we're gonna head home," Steve announced.

You paled at the certainty of his voice, the vacancy to it. You knew what awaited you the moment you were clear of other people, and your heart sank at the thought of it.

Robin frowned at you, brows creasing with concern.

"Aw, I'm sorry, babe. Call me tomorrow when you're feeling better?"

Steve's fingers tightened around your wrist and you inhaled sharply, but soothed it with a grin.

"Yeah, of course." Your voice trembled.

Steve kept ahold of you as he shoved open the door and stomped through the parking lot, and you scampered beside him anxiously. The parking lot was empty, but across the street there were people sprinkled along the leaf-dotted sidewalk.

Steve shoved you against the passenger door of his burgundy BMW and crowded you, hands pinned on either side of your arms, marking the glass. His glare was sturdy —brows furrowed, lips thinned, jaw tight. You swallowed beneath it, cowering back into metal.

"What the fuck was that? Huh? Who was that?"

Your lips parted in dismay at the octave of his voice, a level below a shout, echoing through the brisk wind whipping around you. You curled your arms around your middle to shield yourself from it —and Steve.

"N-nothing, he was just—"

"—did you give him your number?"

You blanched at his accusation, eyes bulging.

"What? No, of course not!"

Steve's eyes narrow to slits, nostrils flaring. His forehead threatened to knock into yours from his close proximity.

"Bullshit. Did you plan this, to meet up with him? Right in front of me? Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Your stomach felt like a ball of rubber band knots, uncomfortable and tight. With every word spat in your face, it wound a little tighter.

"No, Steve, I swear—"

"—like I'd fucking believe you. I saw you batting those eyelashes." His finger tapped your cheek and you flinched. "You wanted to fuck him, didn't you?"

Your shoulders sank, and over his shoulder, you noticed a mop of hair come to a stop. You let your eyes focus across the street, finding Eddie Munson standing in front of the storefront directly across the parking lot. You didn't know Eddie, well —just from high school, and his many years spent in it. He graduated a year after yourself and Steve, even though he was supposed to have graduated the year before you. Now, he worked at the record store with Robin, but you rarely saw him except for when he was heading to his car.

Now, he stood there, watching you, cautious of the sound of Steve's voice traveling across the road.

"Hello? I'm fucking talking to you," Steve growled. You snapped your gaze back to him.

"No, Stevie, I swear. We were just talking —he was just saying hi, I promise." Your voice was a wilted whine.

Steve shook his head.

"You're a damn awful liar, baby."

You huffed defeatedly, deflating with the heavy breath.

"I'm not lying!"

Over his shoulder, Eddie tucked his hands in his pockets and shifted. You worried that if this continued on as it was, he would come over here, and what was, as of now, strictly verbal violence, would turn physical. You weren't sure you could handle any more blood and bruises.

Steve pulled away from you, turning on his heel.

"What are you looking at—hey!" Steve was now calling to Eddie, tearing his hands away from the car to face the man on the opposite side of the street. "The fuck are you lookin' at freak? Keep walkin'!"

You frowned at Steve's harshness, reaching forward to tug at the sleeve of his windbreaker.

"Stevie, please—"

Steve spun back abruptly toward you.

"—get in the car."

He rounded the hood toward the driver's side and you immediately pulled at the handle. As you slid into the leather seat, you glanced at Eddie one last time. Even as Steve's tires screeched across the pavement, and he whipped the car out of the lot, Eddie stood, frozen, in the middle of the street.

When he was long gone and in the rearview, you cast your eyes down on your lap and twisted your fingers together.

"Stevie, I promise I wasn't flirting."

All you got in response was the low hum of the road below you. You sighed, tipping your head back against the headrest to fix Steve with a pleading pout.

"Steve, please, I swear!"

Steve's lip was curled in a menacing sneer, though his eyes were fixed on the road. His knuckles turned white around the leather of the steering wheel.

"Yeah, and what about last time? Huh? That douche at your school that slipped his number in your notebook? Huh? Remember him?"

His eyes briefly snapped your way and you immediately looked down. It felt like a cold slap in the face, those hard, hazel eyes.

"Yes, but...I didn't know he did, Stevie, I told you," you whispered meekly.

"Do you realize how ridiculous that is? I mean, do you hear how stupid you sound? How am I supposed to believe you?"

You grew smaller in that passenger seat with every word that flew from Steve's mouth. You were full of bullet holes, and across his leather, you were bleeding out.

"I'm sorry, Steve—"

"—I don't wanna hear it. God, I give you everything, Y/N! All I ask is that you love me!"

You whipped your head over, eyes welling up.

"I do love you! I love you so much!"

Steve's sneer crumbled into a frown, lips downturned into a deep, sorrowful pout. His eyes mirrored yours, rounding with tears.

"Then why do you keep hurting me?"

Your heart ached, and as the car slowed to a stop before a red light, you reached over and clasped his face between your palms. You brought it close to yours, wedging yourself over the console to press a desperate kiss to his protruding lips.

"M' sorry, Stevie. M' sorry, I didn't mean it. I never wanna hurt you, baby, I'm sorry," you murmured against his mouth.

Steve sighed, forehead sinking into yours. He grew pliant to your kisses, gratefully receiving each and every one.

"I know. I forgive you, baby," he whispered back.

You let the words soak through, and they drenched you in relief. A smile twitched at your lips, which you pressed once more to Steve's before a horn blared behind the car. When you pulled away, the light was green, and Steve was grinning again.

Todd Misney was the second to die. They found him in a dumpster behind the record shop on Tuesday night.

Robin was the first to call you, wailing into the phone. The blaring shrill of the telephone jolted you awake, and you reached blindly to the bedside table to pull the phone from the cradle.

"Hello?"

"Oh my-oh my god, Y/N? Y/N?"

"Robin? What's wrong?"

At the sound of her voice, wobbly and afraid, you sat up in bed. You shuffled back to sit against the headboard, glancing toward a sleeping Steve snoring beside you.

"T-they f-found Todd. He-he's dead! Oh, god, he's dead! Th-they said he-he was m-murdered."

Your blood ran cold, face draining of color as you brought your hand to your mouth to silence a gasp.

"What?"

"I-I wasn't working l-last night, but they-they're talking to e-everyone. I don't know what to d-do," she hiccuped, and a snotty sniffle crackled through the receiver.

You sighed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you tried to process this information. It was only eight o'clock in the morning, the pale sun just barely peeking through, and already your day had been ruined. A second murder, just two weeks after the first. Just when you thought you were getting better at coping with the death of your college guidance counselor, another barely-there person in your life was gone. Someone you had probably passed on the street a dozen times, someone you just met for the first time last week.

Who was killing all of these people? What could Todd have ever done? What could Deborah have ever done?

"Hey, just take a deep breath. Everything will be okay, you're okay. Just...tell the police everything you know, even if it's nothing."

Another sniffle cracked through the line.

"O-okay. Can I come over tonight?"

Your response was immediate.

"Of course."

But then your eyes darted over to Steve and your heart sank —surely he'd be okay with it. Right? It was Robin, he never had an issue with you hanging out with her. But still, you worried. The slightest gnaw at your chest, an anxious heat building in your stomach. You'd just have to make sure to ask him, so you'd have time to come up with an excuse to tell Robin in case he said no.

"Thanks, Y/N. I-I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you later. Stay safe."

"You too."

The ding! of the phone clicking back onto the cradle stirred Steve in his sleep. He hummed as he writhed around, squirming onto his back where he stretched his arms. His jaw unhinged with a yawn, and as you slid back under the covers, he blearily blinked his eyes open.

"Good morning, baby —hey, what's wrong?"

Suddenly, he was wide awake, propping himself up on his elbow to peer down at your tear-filled eyes. You whimpered, closing the gap between your bodies to bury your face in the crook of his neck. His chest was bare, warm and soft from sleep, and you sought comfort in it desperately. Steve eased back against the pillows and ran his hands along your spine.

"Robin just called, they found another body," you cried, tears soaking his skin.

Steve sighed, letting his cheek rest against the crown of your head.

"Oh, baby. Who was it? Is she okay?" His voice was soft, a whiney coo.

You pinched your eyes shut and shuddered, hand sliding over his soft stomach to wrap around his waist.

"I-it was Todd. The guy from the diner on Friday, the one who works with Robin."

Another sigh tickled your hair, tousled and astray from tossing and turning all night. Steve pressed his lips firmly to the top of your head.

"That's awful, honey."

For a while, it was quiet. You allowed yourself to be soothed by his arms again, coaxed into silence by his sweet kisses and delicate caresses.

"You know who my money's on? Eddie Munson," Steve suddenly declared.

Your lips parted, eyes popping open to tip back and blink at him questioningly.

"What? Why do you say that?"

Sure, Eddie was a little odd. He was obsessed with that dragon game and more than once you had heard someone refer to him as 'Master,' but there was nothing so out of the ordinary about him that you'd fear he was murderous. Though he was often shouting at the freshmen at his lunch table in high school, and selling them illicit drugs out of his metal lunchbox, you still didn't think that made him a killer.

Steve's eyes roamed your face, fingers escaping your back to trail along your cheekbone. His lip twitched faintly, a brief touch of amusement glinting in his eye. Though, you're sure you were just imagining them.

"He works at the record store, too, doesn't he? And I mean, I saw him and Todd together the other day in town. They were arguing about something."

You frowned, brows knitting together.

"You did? What were they arguing about?"

Steve sighed, a grimace morphing his features. He slipped his thumb over your cheek and brushed away your hair.

"Baby...maybe we shouldn't talk about it. You're just gonna worry."

You pressed your palm against his chest and pushed back, putting enough distance between your bodies that he could see the curiosity on your face.

"M' not gonna worry, Stevie. I just...," you trailed off, voice falling to just above a whisper. Your eyes flickered away, cheeks swelling with heat as your stomach churned. "I'm scared."

Steve's resolve crumbled, face softening like butter. He urged forward, pressing his lips to your waiting mouth, claiming it in a loving kiss.

"Oh, my pretty girl." So beautiful when you're scared.

A few more gentle kisses, smooth glides of his soft pink lips against yours. With a guiding hand, Steve eased you onto your back against the mattress, propping himself up on his forearms beside your head. He caged you in, twisted the sheets as he maneuvered between your legs and mounted you. Your lips detached with a slick smack, and you blinked dazedly at Steve, whose lips quirked into a sideways smile.

"Can I make you feel better, pretty girl?" He lifted a hand to your cheek and stroked it with the back of his knuckle. A slow, faint glide. "Hmm? Can I fix you?"

Your head bobbed on its own accord, eyes rounding wantingly at your boyfriend's soft features. Those almond eyes, like an innocent doe's, peering down at you adoringly. He just wanted to put you at ease again, assure you that you were safe.

And you were always safest with him, in his arms.

With your eager agreement, a wide smile breezed across Steve's mouth, and he removed his hand from your face to reach between your bodies. He knew you'd be bare beneath your oversized t-shirt, as you always were at night. He liked it better like that, for moments like this when he wanted to escape the confines of his boxers and slide into you without wasting a moment.

Steve did just so, collecting your milky slick on the bulbous tip of his cock before pushing in, stretching your spongey walls with the torturous push of his long, thick cock. When he finally bottomed out, Steve groaned, forehead falling forward to press against yours. He gave a little shake of his hips, stirring around, and a stuttered gasp was punched from your chest. Steve cooed at the sound, pressing his arms closer to your head so he could knit his fingers together atop it. He wanted you as close as humanly possible.

"Such a sweet sound, baby. S' that feel better?"

You released a dreamy sigh, eyes sinking closed as you acclimated to the pressurized feeling of his cock lodged in your walls. A hungry heat built in the pit of your belly, a tingle in your thighs, a shake in your hands. But it felt right, to be molded around him like this.

"Mhm. Thank you, Stevie," you whispered breathily.

Your gratefulness pleased him more than you would ever know. It shot through him like a ricochet, echoing through all parts of his being until all he could hear were your words in his head: thank you, Stevie, thank you, Stevie, thank you, Stevie. You didn't even know what you were thanking him for. But you were putty in his hands, and that was all that mattered.

"You're welcome, honey." Steve pressed a wet kiss to the warmth swelling on your cheek. "Now you just relax and let me do all the work, hmm? Gonna take it like a good girl?"

The hazy fog that washed over you was thick, impenetrable —you could barely make out anything other than Steve's piney musk, the smooth cadence of his voice. You were growing so used to his cock nestled inside of you that it just felt like it belonged there.

"Mhm. So good, I promise."

And you were. You were the picture of perfection —splayed out beneath him, lying there like such a perfect girl, taking all his abuse to your sensitive walls, accepting every assault to your clit, wearing every bruise sucked onto your skin like a war prize. Moaning beautifully with every glide of his cock into your cushioned cunt, rocking with every smack of his hips against yours. Squeezing your eyes shut, writhing in pleasure, crying out, gathering sweat along your hairline, digging your nails into his biceps. When they raked down his arms and drew jagged lines in their wake, Steve felt an animalistic hunger course through him.

You were his, and he was yours. You belonged to no one but each other. Just the two of you, forever. Steve would make sure of it.

It was a few days later that your bubble burst.

Steve had spent every night and each morning fucking you into the mattress, rendering you stupid and useless with his cock, murmuring praise that had you reeling. You spent all day thinking about it, his voice echoing in your head.

"My good girl, you're so good."

"Look so pretty all sweaty, baby."

"Fuck, open that mouth. Open that mouth, lemme see that tongue."

"Come on, swallow me down —there you go. Perfect fit in your tight little throat, isn't it?"

You craved him every time you were away —your stomach rumbled with hunger for his pleasure at all hours of the day. You were restless, uneasy, on the edge of your seat until finally you were tangled in his arms, sucking in his cock like it was made for you.

Like right now, it was all you were thinking about on your walk to class. The community college campus was just next to town, so close, in fact, that you had enough time to stop and get a morning latte. The air was brisk and cool, whipping crisp auburn leaves across the street, skipping along the pavement as you headed toward the cafe, backpack placed securely on your shoulders.

Your cunt still ached from this morning's excursions —Steve had you shaking, splattered like roadkill across the bed as he showered and got ready for work. He made you cum three times just from his tongue alone.

The bell above the cafe door chimed with your arrival, and you bounced toward the counter to take your place in line, oblivious to the short-haired girl following close behind. It wasn't until you skirted to a stop behind a middle-aged man that she made her move.

"Y/N."

You spun around at the sound of your name, jerking in surprise when a hand shot out to grab your arm. You came face to face with the blue eyes of Nancy Wheeler. A former classmate, Steve's ex girlfriend. You flashed a tight smile, a little unnerved by her hand around your arm and the eerie wideness to her eyes. She was like a deer in headlights.

"Oh, Nancy, hi. How have you been?"

She swallowed, thin face more sunken in than usual. She was pale, ghastly, and there was something off about the way her eyes darted around. She was skittish.

"Um, good. I'm...good. Look, can we talk?"

You shuffled forward as the line moved up, keeping that faux smile plastered on your face.

"Sure! It's been so long, what have you been up to? I thought you went to school in Pennsylvania. Or was it New York? I don't—"

"—Y/N. This is serious."

You paused, smile slipping at the intensity of her voice. You glanced toward the line in front of you, hoping it wouldn't take much longer to get your latte and go.

"Oh, okay. What's up?"

The line inched forward as another person walked away with their steaming coffee. The espresso machine whirred and screeched. Liquid poured and the glass pastry case whooshed as it slid open. The sounds of the cafe echoed around you as you stared at Nancy, whose bottom lip quivered. You could visibly see her becoming smaller with every second that passed. She was nervous.

"It's about Steve," she said lowly. At the mention of his name, her head whipped around, like it would conjure him from the abyss.

You blinked, lips downturning.

"O-kay..."

Nancy inhaled deeply, an unsteady breath, and focused her eyes on you again. You were the third person in line now.

"He's not...who you think he is. He's...done things, Y/N."

Your stomach began to tighten, winding back into that knot that Steve had meticulously been undoing for the past few days. Your cheeks swelled with heat as the instinctual desire to defend him gnawed at your heartstrings.

"What are you talking about?" came out possibly too sharp.

Nancy's eyes flitted down toward your feet.

"When we were together, he was...jealous. He had these rules I had to follow, and he would get mad when I didn't. He got into all these fights and...he would go crazy."

Your head tipped, a look of boredom crossing over your face. Nancy and Steve dated in high school, and she was a year younger than the two of you. She was naive and in over her head. She didn't understand Steve the way you did —she couldn't handle Steve like you could. What they had was puppy dog love, simplistic and young —what you had with Steve was real.

"Why are you telling me this?"

You were next up in line. Nancy turned her head over her shoulder to look off toward the storefront windows, and then she turned back to you. She leaned in close, her voice just at a whisper.

"You should get away. Before it's too late."

Though you were trying not to take her words to heart, a chill shuddered down your spine. Something about the tone of her voice rocked you off kilter, had you swaying on your feet with foggy unease. Like the moment before a jump-scare in a movie, when the music swells and all is still —anticipating the moment the boogeyman leaps out for the kill.

Before you could say anything, Nancy spun around and rushed to the door. It swung back into the glass with her rough shove, and you followed her through the window as she skittered across the street.

"Miss? What could I get started for you?"

You craned your neck and perked to your tip-toes to gaze over the heads of the line gathering behind you, desperate to find Nancy on the street.

"Miss?"

And there she was, cowering in the corner of the Melvald's storefront.

"Miss?"

But she wasn't alone.

The familiar mop of raven curls gave him away, even if he had attempted a disguise to avoid being recognized. Eddie Munson was standing beside her, sharing a hushed and urgent conversation.

It was clear to you then that this hadn't been an accident; that Nancy didn't just 'bump into you' by chance. This was a set-up. This had been planned.

You were starting to wonder if Steve was right.

All day, Nancy's words echoed in your mind. "You should get away, before it's too late." Too late. When would it be too late —would you know? Would you realize? What did that even mean? Sure, Steve had a temper, but he wasn't evil. He was still your sweet Stevie, and he loved you more than life itself. He proved that almost every day. Nancy's just upset —jealous. Steve didn't want her, but he wanted you. She was just trying to tear you apart.

You had yourself convinced of this by the time you sat down at the table for dinner. You made Steve's favorite, lasagna, and threw in some garlic knots for good measure. You had set the table just how he liked it, so that by the time he came stomping through the door, tossing his keys on the credenza, all he had to worry about was filling his stomach.

He sighed as he shuffled into the dining room, exhaustion drooping his eyes, and he placed both hands on your shoulders to stoop and kiss your cheek.

"Hi, honey. How was your day?" he inquired as he made his way around the table and sank into his chair.

You watched him over the twitching candlelight in the center of the table. He unfolded his napkin and draped it delicately across his lap, eyeing his steaming, sauce-drenched and cheese-coated noodles eagerly. He seemed pleased with tonight's spread, cheeks pink with delight, but all you could think of when you saw his face was Nancy.

"He's not who you think he is. He's done things."

You cocked your head as Steve reached for his utensils, metal clanking as he gathered them in his palm. He began to cut at the corner of his rectangular slice, oozing scarlet sauce, crumbling pieces of meat. He was exactly the same as he had been every night —big, almond eyes, an aquiline nose, a strong jaw, high cheekbones. You could count every mole on his neck and across his broad shoulders. You could map them like the constellations. He always had a slight pinkness to his cheeks that made them look rosy. Most of the time, he had a puppy-dog gaze, and it was nothing but sweet.

What could he have ever done? Steve wasn't capable of awful things. You were sure of it.

"Baby?"

You blinked, pushing aside your thoughts to flash a smile at Steve.

"Yeah?"

"I asked how your day was."

You tore your gaze away from him and turned it toward your food, plucking your fork from the table to dig in.

"It was okay. Everyone is still kinda on edge," you explained lightly, bringing a bite of the steaming noodles to your mouth.

Steve hummed, reaching for his water.

"Makes sense. Ugh, you would not believe the day I had. This old woman was holding up the line for, I swear to god, thirty minutes all because she thought Rosemary's Baby was a religious film and swore that we scared her on purpose. So I, of course, as the manager, had to try and explain to this geriatric hag that we're not liable for her heart attack."

You couldn't hold it in. You had to tell him what Nancy said. You had to tell him, if only to put your mind at ease.

"Steve?"

Steve stopped, eyes jumping from his plate to your figure across the table. His cheeks were swollen with food, lips coated in a glossy sheen of sauce.

"Yeah, baby."

You tore your eyes away again, unease churning in your stomach. What if he got mad? What if he thought you had sought Nancy out on purpose? What if he still liked her, and he wondered how she was? Should you tell him about Eddie, too? Would that make things worse? Was lying better?

"What is it, sweetheart?" Steve pressed.

The sharpened prongs of your fork sank into the layered stack of your lasagna slice slowly.

"Um...something odd happened today," you started slowly.

Steve wiped at his mouth with his napkin, rubbing his fingers against the cloth. He reached for his water again, gulping down a few sips.

"Okay, like what?"

You pulled your fork back, tearing the noodles like flesh. They fell into a messy pile on the edge of your plate.

"Nancy Wheeler came up to me. She said...," you paused, eyes flickering over to Steve briefly. "She said that you aren't who I think you are, and that I should leave before it's 'too late.'"

You held your breath and stiffened. The room fell to silence. You could almost hear the crackle of the candlewick, the faint whoosh of the flame swaying back and forth. There was a window open somewhere in the house, and distantly, the wind whistled through —a groaning whoosh that blew chills across your skin. Your cheeks started to taste sour, swelling like they do when you're about to throw up.

"Did she now?" His words were deliberate, his tone even and almost musical.

Your chin bobbed with a jerky nod, but your eyes remained firmly planted on the reflective surface of your plate. The chandelier overhead haloed around your face, obscuring your picture in the glossy green surface. You scraped your fork over your eyes in the porcelain. The metal wobbled between your unsteady fingers.

"Hmm," Steve hummed absently. "Well, you know she's never gotten over me, baby. She's always been jealous of you, even back in high school."

He returned to his previous task of eating dinner, cutting into his lasagna and shoveling forkfuls into his mouth. You lifted your eyes and watched him, following the mechanical movement of his hand to his mouth.

"Yeah, but...why would she say that?"

Steve sighed, head shaking down at his plate. He gave a shrug of his shoulders and set his elbows on the table.

"Dunno, baby. Maybe she's just trying to scare you. I mean, she's pathetic, she'd do anything for attention. She was always like that, remember?"

You didn't. Nancy was always perfect —she had excellent grades, an abundance of extracurriculars, came from a cookie-cutter family, and always had the newest hair products. She was the golden girl to Steve's golden boy, which is why it made sense when they started dating your junior year of high school. Everyone was confused when Steve dumped her for you. And you felt bad, you did, but you loved Steve. He swept you off your feet, and you'd been spinning in his whirlwind for years. You never really had time to slow down and think of how it might affect other people.

Maybe Steve was right. Maybe she was just jealous, trying to unnerve you with made up accusations.

"Yeah, I guess..."

Steve's eyes rolled up to you again, slowly bringing another bite to his mouth. As he disintegrated it with his teeth, he studied you. You looked flush, like you had a fever. Your slice of lasagna was still whole, except for the corner you had ripped off with your fork. Your water was untouched. Your hands were shaking, and under the table, your leg hadn't stopped bouncing. You could barely look at him.

"What else happened?"

He tipped his head, chasing your gaze, and with his silent insistence, you brought your eyes to touch his face. He blinked blankly at your waiting gaze, lips in a thin line, and for a moment, you wondered —did he already know? The way he was looking at you now led you to believe that he did. That expectant sharpness, the impatient glint.

"There was someone with her," you murmured.

Steve eased back into his chair, fingers knitting together over his stomach.

"Oh, yeah? Who?"

His voice sharpened like a dagger, and you winced. He definitely knew. He had to.

"Ed-Eddie Munson."

Another moment of silence filled the room. It was stiff this time —suffocating. Your throat felt like it was swelling, and your brows furrowed when you tried to swallow only for your spit to stop halfway. You curled your fingers into fists and brought them to your lap. Across the table, Steve's chair creaked. A throaty hum rumbled through the room as Steve plucked his napkin from his lap and tossed it atop his plate.

"Huh." His tongue prodded his cheek and slid over his teeth.

His chair groaned across the floorboards when he stood, towering over the table. You tucked your chin toward your lap and waited. He reached over his plate and retrieved his glass, bringing it to his mouth, where it shattered in his fist. You gasped, watching the glass flutter to the table like reflective flecks of snow, sprinkled across the carpet at his feet. You finally looked at Steve, and with a slow tip of his head, he leered down at the mess he made.

"Oh. Look what you did, honey."

Your chest felt hollow. Your veins crystalized like ice. The dining room felt vast and empty and freezing cold. Steve was looking at you like he would a stranger —there was nothing behind his eyes.

So, if only to gain back that warm, doe-eyed grace, you scurried from your chair to the mess of glass on the floor. It crunched beneath your shoes, and you bent at the knees to pluck the delicate shards from the carpet fibers into your palm. Steve stepped back to give you room, but was otherwise silent as he sank into his chair again. A sigh left him as he slumped in his seat, and your eyes flitted toward his wide-spread knees as you continued to clean up his mess. —no. Your mess.

You should have known better than to mention Eddie's name, another man's name, around Steve. He already had trouble trusting you after the incident with Todd last week, and the mishap with the boy from your school a few months before that. You were giving him more reasons to doubt, and that was your mistake.

So distracted by your own swirling thoughts, you didn't notice the jagged shard sticking straight up, lodged between carpet fibers. It sliced through your forefinger in a clean line, and you snapped your eyes over just in time to see your skin expand and separate, a fleshy opening that immediately dripped bright ruby liquid. You hissed at the stinging pain radiating through your finger, the glass in your palm quickly returning to the ground when you cradled your wounded finger to your chest.

Steve's hand shot out before you could bring your hand too close, fingers curling in an iron grip around your wrist. You inhaled sharply when Steve tugged you close, causing you to topple into his lap, catching yourself on his thigh. With your wounded hand raised in the air, Steve inspected the stream of blood trickling down your palm with crazed eyes, blown to saucers. He held it just before his mouth, grip so tight around your wrist that your skin was beginning to discolor between his knuckles.

He suddenly lunged forward and wrapped his lips around your finger. You watched in horror as he hollowed his cheeks, felt the suction of his fleshy mouth close around your finger and seep blood from your skin. His eyes sank closed, his pleasured hum vibrating through you, and rosy warmth gathered on his cheeks. Your lips parted, but only shallow, bated breaths escaped you.

When he had his fill, Steve snapped his eyes open. He tore your finger from his mouth, though kept his hold around your wrist and used it to yank you the rest of the way across his lap. Chest now smooshed against the expanse of his splayed-out thighs, you cowered beneath his heavy gaze. Your knees dragged across sprinkles of glass that pricked your tender skin like a dozen sewing needles.

Steve latched his free hand around your throat, the pads of his fingers pressing firmly into your windpipe. Your head immediately fogged with the restriction, eyes glazing over to drunken slits.

When he spoke, his tongue was cherry red, and his breath was metallic.

"You're mine. No one will take you away from me," he snarled, jutting forward to press the tip of his nose against yours. His brows angled and his lip curled into a terrifying sneer.

"Not Nancy Wheeler, not Eddie fucking Munson. No one."

Those eyes were full of fury as they flickered between your own, ensuring the message was smeared across every inch of your oblivious brain.

"No one," you echoed, voice a hoarse gasp.

Steve watched you for only a moment longer before surging forward to collect your lips in a crushing kiss. He devoured you, possessing you with his mouth, and when he finally pulled away, all you could do was suck in a much needed breath.

"I'll make sure of it."

Ever since that night, something seemed off about Steve.

He didn't just fuck you, he destroyed you. There were days you struggled to move, finding every step from bed painful and agonizing. You stung and ached in every muscle, sporting bite marks along your thighs and stomach, bruises on your ass. He had always been rough, but this was different. This was...unhinged.

You didn't say anything, though —it wasn't your place. Steve was just coping with all of this —the murders, the harassment, the instability— in his own way. He took care of you, he loved you, that was all that mattered.

"You sure you don't wanna come to the store with me, baby?"

You frowned from your spot on the couch, watching the illuminated screen of the television flash with muted scenes of Cheers. A blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a mug of tea sitting on the coffee table near your sock-covered feet.

"I'm so cozy, Stevie. I'll just take a nap."

Your boyfriend sighed from his spot near the door, stuffing his keys into the pocket of his windbreaker before hurrying to the couch. He stooped down to collect your chin in his palm and plant a wet kiss across your mouth. You smiled in reassurance when he pulled away, where he tucked his lip between his teeth and pulled at your own with his thumb.

"Alright, pretty girl. I'll be back in no time. Keep this door locked, okay? Just in case."

You nodded enthusiastically, waving him off as he yanked open the door. You blew him a kiss and he grinned, stepping out onto the porch. The door swung closed behind him with a sharp snap, and then the roar of the BMW engine came shortly after. When it faded off in the distance, you sank into the cushions and sighed.

The apartment was eerily silent in his absence. You weren't used to being without Steve like this. You used to be without Steve like this all the time —things were different once you moved in together. He always seemed to be around, hovering over your shoulder, peeking around corners. He was everywhere, all the time.

Though his absence left you empty, the silence was peaceful. You found your eyes drooping closed the moment you unmuted the television, the lull of audience laughter growing distant in your ears.

A sharp knock on the door jolted you from your approaching slumber. Your foot bumped the mug of tea on the table and sent it rolling toward the floor, spilling thin liquid in the process. You cursed at the mess and scrambled to remove the tangled blanket from your body as another knock pounded.

"Coming!"

Leaping over the puddle gathering on the floor, you rushed to the door and swung it open, too lost in your scrambled thoughts, fretting over the mess you'd have to clean up, to worry about asking who it was. Though when you found who was standing on your front porch, you really wished you had.

"Y/N, thank god," Eddie gasped.

You jumped back when he stepped forward, desperate for distance. He paused at your reaction, lowering that hand that reached for you. His bulging black eyes lowered to your stomach in shame.

"W-what are you doing here?" you stammered.

If Steve found out Eddie was here, at his home, talking to you, he'd flip out. He'd do more than flip out —he'd lose it. Whatever resolve he'd been grasping to hold onto would be gone in an instant. Your stomach quivered at the thought of what might happen if Steve knew.

Eddie inhaled to prepare his answer, but you were already inching the door closed.

"You need to go, Eddie. Y-you can't be here —you shouldn't be here."

The older boy frowned, bringing his eyes back to your face. He scanned it worriedly.

"What? No, I need to talk to you," he insisted.

Another inch closer to the doorframe. You glanced at his feet warily.

"I have nothing to say to you. Please go."

"No! We tried to warn you, Y/N, why aren't you listening? Robin said you haven't been answering the phone, she hasn't seen you in over a week since Todd...—"

"—are you stalking me or something?" You gaped at him in shock.

Eddie blinked.

"What? No, I just...I need you to listen to me. Steve is not a good guy, okay? Nancy said when they were together that he—"

"—I think you and Nancy need to mind your business," you barked.

Eddie's jaw grew tight with a clench of his teeth, and when his fist hammered into the door, you flinched.

"Goddamn it, Y/N, listen to me! I'm trying to make sure you don't end up dead like the rest of them! Steve hurts people, and you're gonna be next."

Your eyes welled up, nostrils flaring, chin quivering. You gave a slow shake of your head, shuffling back from the doorway.

"You don't know what you're saying." Your voice was barely audible.

"He left bruises on Nancy, did he tell you that?"

"Stop it."

He seemed to get closer with every word pushed between his teeth. His spittle flew into the air and smacked your cheeks.

"Doesn't he get a little mean, Y/N? Does he yell at you when you look at other guys, call you names when you make him mad?"

He was glowering at you, fixing you with a cold, hard stare. You wrapped your arms around your middle and cowered back.

"S-stop it. You don't...you don't know what you're talking about!" But your voice was a weak, squeaky chirp.

"I bet all your friends are his friends. I bet he makes you feel like without him, you'd be nothing. He probably convinced you to close your checking account and open a joint one. Didn't he? And you have to ask him before you buy anything, even a pack of fucking gum."

"T-that's not true —"

You didn't have to ask to buy gum.

"Did he? Huh? Did he, Y/N?"

His taunting sneer, his cruel eyes, they sent you bursting into tears. Overwhelmed with panic, riddled with fear, you wailed loudly and surged forward for the door.

"G-go away!"

You slammed it, never mind his hand in the way, and twisted the deadbolt with urgency. The pounding came shortly after, heavy beats against the wood that rattled the picture frames and reverberated in your chest.

"Open the door, Y/N, I'm just trying to help you!"

Steve was right. Eddie was crazy.

You took off in a run, leaping up the stairs two at a time toward the bedroom. You slammed and locked the door, crawling across the carpet toward your bed. In a last ditch, panicked effort to conceal yourself and get away from his shouting, you slipped under the bed and curled into a ball. You wept into your knees, clutched tightly to your chest, and pinched your eyes closed.

The pounding ceased only a few moments later, and you fell to pitchy, muffled whimpers as you listened to the grumble of his van chug away. But even with him gone, you were too frightened to come out. Like a child hiding from the monsters in the night, you were fearful of being seen. Terrified that if you peeked out, he'd be waiting for you.

He had everyone in town fooled, including Nancy —unless she was in on it, too. After this stunt, it was clear to you that Eddie Munson was twisted, and only someone like him could have committed those heinous homicides.

You weren't sure how long you shook beneath the bed, sniffling against your knees, before the door opened again. You froze at the sound, stiffening with an unearthed breath puffing up your chest.

"Baby?"

You released it immediately, clawing at the carpet to make your way out from under the bed. When you were free, you made a run for it, sprinting through the door and down the stairs, straight into Steve's arms.

"Hey, honey, what's —oof!"

His arms encircled you, cradling you to the warmth of his chest as you drenched his sweatshirt in tears. Your nerves were still buzzing with terror, arms vibrating weakly around his waist. Feeling you tremble, Steve's brows furrowed, hands rubbing soothingly against your shaking spine.

"Baby, what happened?"

"Y-you were right," you blubbered against his chest, nose buried in soft red cotton.

Steve pressed his cheek against the top of your head.

"What was I right about, honey?"

"E-Eddie. He's...he's crazy."

Steve stiffened, pulling his face from your head to gaze down at you. You clung to him like a kicked puppy in the rain.

"What are you talking about?"

You sniffled sharply, rubbing gelatinous snot along his chest as it trickled from your nose.

"H-he came here, he...he wouldn't leave. It was so s-scary, Steve," you whimpered.

Steve clenched his teeth together, glaring over the top of your head. He didn't plan this. Eddie wasn't supposed to come here. He wasn't supposed to talk to you. He was going to ruin everything.

Inhaling deeply, Steve resumed his soothing, circular ministrations along your back with one hand, and used the other to kick your chin back. You blinked rapidly to clear away your tears, sniveling pathetically, bottom lip wobbling in a petulant pout. Steve watched his thumb pull at the wetness of your lip before he even knew he was doing it. He smeared your tears along your mouth, slid it along your damp, sticky cheek and collected the salty warmth on his skin. He hummed deeply, eyes flickering over your misery in delighted wonderment.

"I'm here now, baby. You're safe with me."

Your eyes brightened at the statement, welling up like shiny globes, and Steve's lip coiled sideways.

"Thank you, Steve." Thank you, Steve, thank you, Steve, thank you, Steve, thank you, Steve.

A dreamy sigh huffed from his chest, mirroring the glowing tranquility glittering across his features.

Fucking, Munson. Steve had you right where he wanted you now, more reliant than ever. Dependent on him. Now, after Munson's little stunt, you wouldn't be able to breathe without Steve. You were safest with him. He made certain of it.

"You're welcome, baby. Now come on, let's draw you a bath so you can relax."

Steve swooped you off your feet and carried you like a bride to the bathroom. He knelt on the tile and bent over the porcelain, squeezing soap and hot water over your tense shoulders until they melted under the affection. He doted on you, showered you in love, and let you bask in it like an injured dove, cradled in his hands with a broken wing. But his fingers would crush you, worsen your injury, entrap you in his palm.

And you were so lost in his tender affection that you hadn't even noticed —Steve came back from the store empty-handed.

"Holy shit."

Robin was seated beside you on the couch, two sets of eyes glued to the television as urgent news flashed across the screen.

"The body of twenty year old Nancy Wheeler was found at this very trailer park around nine-fifteen this morning, when residents called and complained of a 'foul odor' from a clearing near the park. Her death comes just a week after the murder of Todd Misney, and a few weeks after the murder of Deborah Williams. Hawkins Police are now questioning whether these deaths could be at the hands of a serial killer."

"A serial killer? In Hawkins? This can't be happening...this, like...isn't real," Robin blabbered from beside you.

You swallowed, hands trembling as you tucked them beneath your feet atop the couch cushion. You tore your eyes away from the tv and looked off toward the kitchen where Steve was clinking around. It was movie night, and after pleading with him for nearly an hour, Steve agreed to let Robin join you.

You didn't tell him it was because you worried what Eddie said might have bene true —Steve didn't let you see anyone these days. You just wanted to prove him wrong, show him that Steve wasn't as bad as they say.

"What happened?" Steve called from the other room, and appeared in the doorway of the living room a moment later, balancing two pizza boxes and three bottles of Coke in his hands.

He set them on the coffee table and turned his head toward the tv, jerking to stand erect at the sight that awaited him. A body on a stretcher, being wheeled out of the trailer park. Eddie Munson's trailer park.

"Holy shit, another one?"

Steve sank down beside you, arm curling around your shoulders, and you instantly fell against his side. You cowered in his neck and clawed at his t-shirt.

"It was Nancy, Steve," Robin hushed.

Steve's head snapped to his friend.

"What?" His voice was squeaky. "Nancy died?"

"They think it's a serial killer. Jesus, we went to school with her! I-I don't know how much more of this I can take," Robin moaned, and you reached out blindly to grasp her hand.

Steve's teeth creaked at the motion, glaring at your intertwined fingers. You were only supposed to be seeking comfort in him.

"Hang on, isn't that Munson's trailer park?"

Robin turned to the television at Steve's declaration.

"Yeah...you don't think..."

"Of course I do, he's a fucking freak," Steve spat.

You tensed, pressing closer to his neck, eyes pinched closed.

"Come on, you really think Eddie Munson is a murderer?"

Steve fixed Robin with a sturdy glare.

"Yeah. Did Y/N tell you what he did yesterday?"

"No..."

"He came and harassed her. In my —in our home. He scared the shit out of her, she was a wreck when I came home," Steve snapped, brows furrowing when he redirected his gaze to you and rubbed your arm.

He cooed quietly in your ear and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, lulling you through images of yesterday's incident that flashed through your head. You inhaled shakily and focused on the feeling of his touch, the piney scent that coated his chest and filled your nostrils. The warmth of his neck. There was something metallic about the smell of his hair when it tickled your cheek.

"Oh my god, I had no idea. Shit, Y/N, are you okay?"

Robin's hand braced the small of your back and Steve's grip tightened on your arm. You pulled your head from his neck and hooked your chin over your shoulder to smile weakly.

"M' alright."

The other girl sighed, rubbing at your back. Steve glared a hole into her hand.

"Maybe you should go to the police. Before anyone else gets hurt."

Steve softened with a sigh, tipping his head down to you. He directed your gaze over to him with two fingers beneath your chin, thumb pressing firmly into the bone. You frowned at him, eyes wide and round and oblivious.

"Do you think we should, Steve?"

He pouted his bottom lip, subconsciously mimicking your frown, and brought his thumb to the corner of your mouth.

"I just don't wanna see you get hurt, baby."

You nodded, and, briefly, your lashes fluttered. Steve clocked it immediately, recognizing the warmth that swelled on the apples of your cheeks, the glaze that shined over the surface of your eyes. He concealed the twitch of his lip by sinking his teeth into it, pulling his thumb from your mouth to cup your cheek.

"Come on, honey."

And then he was standing, pulling you along with him. He looped his arm around your waist and tugged you into him, guiding you toward the staircase.

"I think she needs to lie down," he told Robin over your head. "She's been really shaken up."

And Robin, poor, sweet Robin, awed her agreement.

"Okay. Sleep well, Y/N!"

Though once the bedroom door clicked shut and you were alone, Steve shoved you back against the bed and mounted you. You shivered at his proximity, his hot breath fanning your face as his hard, jean-clad bulge pressed into your clothed pussy. His eyes were wild, his grin a row of sharp, white teeth; and when his hands came to your face, they were rough and firm. One wrapped around your jaw and the other came to your throat, restricting blood flow and bringing pressurized heat to your cheeks.

"Mmm, feel what you do to me, baby? Feel how hard your tears make me?"

He rolled against your cotton-clad heat, grinding his concealed cock against the pool of wetness gathering between your thighs. Your tweed skirt was bunched around your hips, legs spread wide for him on instinct. You nodded mutely at his inquiry, and watched his tongue glide across his ruby lips. He shook his head in disbelief, eyes rolling over your face. A vein was starting to protrude in your forehead from his grip on your neck.

"M' gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Nobody's gonna hurt you again, I promise."

Steve smashed your lips together, all teeth and tongue, nipping and licking at your mouth. A cool draft slapped against your cunt when he pulled his fingers from your jaw and tore at the cotton between your legs. It ripped nosily, lying in a tattered pile against the mattress. He dragged his slender fingers through your slick, pulsing heat, and relished in the choked whimper you released. He swallowed it with his animalistic mouth, and without warning, plunged two fingers into your fluttering hole.

When your jaw unhinged in a silent scream, cut off by tight fingers pressing into your windpipe, he snapped at your bottom lip with those razor-edged teeth. Another yelp died in your throat at the searing pain, skin tearing and boiling with ribbons of blood that his tongue swirled around and collected. Steve groaned, slamming his fingers into your fleshy walls, sucking your lip into his mouth in search of more of that iron-laced liquid. You pushed at his bulging biceps desperately, out of breath and lightheaded.

Steve relented, releasing your lip with a pop, loosening his hold on your neck. He watched the color return to your face, listened to your sharp gasp echo off the bedroom walls like music. He pumped his fingers into your tight walls in rhythmic succession and tipped his head, hair falling in a curtain to one side. Your eyes pinched closed, lips parting with a breathy, whoreish whine.

"You want my cock? You want my cock, you filthy whore?" Steve murmured above you, forearm tensing with every pump of his fingers.

You whimpered as his words burned in your core, as your walls stretched with his assault. His fingers tightened around your neck again and you gagged, tongue swelling between your lips. Steve gnashed his teeth, eyes narrowing to dark slits.

"Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me, you pathetic slut," he hissed.

Your head felt too big for your body, like it was filling with helium like a balloon. The pressure gathering in your temples was agonizing, the fire burning in your belly too much to bear. Your thighs quaked and your eyes stung with tears. Your lip pulsed and swelled, and from the slit split down the middle, warmth trickled down your chin.

Steve's face inched closer, and you flinched back into the mattress when a glob of foaming spit smacked against your eye. Heat flared in your face and burned painfully.

"Tell me."

"I..." your voice was a croaked gasp, but Steve wanted to watch you struggle. "I...want y-you."

Steve exhaled deeply, blowing a gust of hot air across your sticky face. He beamed maniacally, eyes ablaze.

"Oh," he sighed, leaning down to press your foreheads together.

He still had you by the throat, fingers nestled deep in your cunt. Your lip had a heartbeat of its own, swelling to double the size.

"Of course you do, sweetheart. Don't worry, I'll make it better."

He ripped his fingers from your cunt and wiped your slick on the rough fabric of your skirt before impaling you with his cock. You were shoved up an inch from the force of his hips slamming into yours, head bumping the headboard, lips parting in another silent cry. Steve hummed, nosing at your cheek, smearing his spit that was oozing from your eye down to your cheek.

"Mmm, much better."

He kept you anchored by the throat, plowing into you until the bed squeaked and the walls seemed to shake. He was quickly chasing his release, feverishly pounding your pussy in search of it. Your spit-smeared, tear-streaked, blood-painted face is what drove him to it. He came all over your skirt and left your pussy pulsing without release.

"Fuck, I love you," he sighed as he released your throat.

You sucked in a gasp, spluttering noisily as he fixed his pants and smoothed back his hair. He sauntered toward the door and tossed a glance over his shoulder.

"Get some sleep, baby. You'll feel better."

The door closed after him with finality.

And as you caught your breath, panting into the ceiling, feeling your blood disperse back into your body, you heard Steve's voice faintly below the bed.

"She fell asleep. Maybe you should come back another time when she's feeling better."

Eddie Munson was arrested two days later.

It was everywhere —The Hawkins Chronicle, Channel 4 news, even the ladies at the grocery store were murmuring about it between soup cans. Eddie Munson, the town freak, was a murderer.

They tied him to Nancy immediately. He was seen with her just hours before her murder, and no one could place him at work at the time of death. He had no alibi, and recent sightings of the pair together around town was evidence enough to convince all of Hawkins that he was guilty.

Then, they tied him to Todd. They worked together at the record store, and Eddie was seen arguing with him in the Joe's Pizza parking lot a few days before his murder. Steve testified that he saw it himself.

"I told you, baby. I told you they'd catch him," Steve cooed as you watched the news unfold on the television.

And for a week, everything was fine. One blissful, relaxing, quiet week. Halloween festivities resumed excitedly —pumpkin patches, costume planning, party organizing. The lamp posts around town were tied with orange ribbons, scarecrows were planted in fields, and every storefront had some sort of pumpkin in it.

A few days before Halloween, Eddie got out on bail.

The joyous laughter and excited chatter lulling over the town came to a halt. The streets grew barren again. Everyone shut themselves up and boarded the windows. A killer was on the loose, and the Hawkins Police didn't even seem to care.

"Every man has a right to bail, and until his trial, Eddie Munson is a free man. We advise you to take precaution, and have set a curfew of ten o'clock for all Hawkins residents," Jim Hopper announced at a town hall meeting.

Steve seemed the most on edge about this, even more so than you. But Eddie's release made you cling to him, practically glued to his side. You skipped classes again, begged him not to go to work, pouted when he scolded you for whining.

"I guess we can't go to Robin's Halloween party now," you sighed with a frown.

Steve looked up from his food, mouth full of meatloaf.

"Why not?" he mumbled.

You shifted in your chair.

"Well...with the curfew, and Eddie...—"

"—don't say his fucking name."

You jumped at his bellow roaring across the table, eyes snapping away from your plate toward his harsh glare. Your cheeks bloomed with warmth, head bobbing obediently, eyes turning down.

"Sorry. Sorry, I just..." You twisted your fingers together in your lap and tapped your toes together beneath the table. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Steve wiped his mouth with his napkin and sighed.

"It'll be fine. He wouldn't dare to show his face after what he did," Steve assured you.

Steve knew better than you did about these sorts of things, so you agreed. You picked your costumes —a bride of Dracula for yourself, and an all black cloak for Steve, which he claimed was Dracula.

You sat down to ready yourself at your vanity, pulling out your darkest shades of eyeshadow, the deepest red lipstick you owned, and all your eyeliners. Your dress was midnight black, cinched like a corset around the waist with a sweetheart neckline that squeezed your breasts.

Behind you, Steve was flittering around the room, and you gaped at him in dismay when he slid a silver pocket knife into his front jean pocket in the reflection of your mirror. You turned to peer over your shoulder, eyeliner pencil in hand.

"What do you need that for?"

Steve's head snapped over to you, jolting in surprise. He hadn't expected you to see. He soothed it with a smirk, cooling his demeanor back to nonchalance.

"Can never be too careful, baby."

Robin lived on the outskirts of town, not too far from the trailer park they had discovered Nancy at —Eddie's trailer park. You drove past it on your way there, head turning to follow it through the window as the car rolled by. An uneasy churning swarmed your stomach, and you reached over to Steve to grab his hand from the wheel. He let you pull it into your lap and lace your fingers together, turning from the road to flash you a handsome smile.

"Don't worry, baby. Tonight's gonna be fun."

He veered into a gas station down the road after checking the meter, slowing to a stop outside the pump. It was an old place, a lone pump and an empty lot with a yellow light that flickered above the convenience shop door. The sky was already inching toward blackness, and you swallowed when Steve reached for the door.

"I'll just be a second, baby. Stay here."

His keys jingled as he slipped them into the pocket of his black trousers, and you twisted your fingers together nervously atop your thigh. He slammed the door, jostling the car, and rounded the hood to come around your side. He tapped two fingers on the glass and dropped his eye in a wink, to which you smiled in response. Your eyes followed him until he disappeared inside the small shop, though the small, foggy windows prevented you from seeing anything after that.

You bounced your heel as you waited, nibbling on the fleshy corners of your fingers around your nails. Your eyes bounced repeatedly from the window to the dash, waiting for Steve to return. There was something haunting about the emptiness of the gas station, the vacancy of the one way road surrounded by trees and overgrown fields. Without the steady blast of heat from the vents, you shivered; and without the lull of the radio, you were restless.

You looked away from the flickering light your eyes had been trained on toward the dash again, but two spots of white light behind the car stopped you halfway. You snapped back to the rearview mirror, watching a pair of headlights pull into the station. Your stomach clenched when they died, and without their streaks of light to obscure your vision, you could make out the car they belonged to. A van. Black, two-doored, driven by a mop of hair.

Eddie.

You froze, immediately reaching to slam down the locks. Your feet kicked when you reached toward the driver's side to press the automatic button, and when you sank back into your seat, you screamed.

"Y/N, please, listen to me—"

You could barely hear over your own screaming, cowering away from the window where Eddie was leaning forward, bent in half, angled to breathe grey fog against the glass. His voice was slightly muffled, but your ears were ringing with your own shrieking anyway.

"Steve will be here any minute! Steve!" you tried to call over Eddie, angling toward the window, but you knew it was no use. He wouldn't hear from all the way in there.

"Y/N, please, hear me out! I didn't do what they said, I didn't kill Nancy! I didn't kill anybody!"

Panicked breaths wracked your body like shivers, fingers fumbling as you undid your seatbelt and reached for the wheel to sound the horn. Eddie's hands slammed against the window desperately and you cried out.

"Don't —don't do that, Y/N, please! Please just listen to me—"

The horn blared nosily in an elongated shrill, and when your fist gave in, you pulled it away onto pound the heel of your palm into the wheel again. Two short beeps drowned out Eddie's calling pleas, but you looked over your shoulder just in time to catch the top of Steve's hair flouncing over his shoulder as he headed your way. You sank back into your seat, overwhelmed with relief, and watched Steve approach the car.

"Steve! Thank god, call the pol—"

The sharpened edge of a silver blade appeared through Eddie's stomach. His jaw unhinged, eyes bulging as his white shirt stained crimson. Blood pooled around the tip of the knife, splattering and spraying when the blade was pulled through. Eddie toppled into the car with a bang, but you were too stunned to react. The blood seeped through his shirt and smeared across the window as his weight gave in, sliding down the side of the car. He crumbled to the ground in a lifeless heap.

And standing in his place, bloody knife in hand, was Steve.

His eyes moved from Eddie's motionless body to you when you started to scream. Through the streaks of blood painting the glass, you watched Steve step over Eddie's legs and approach the car. The silver of the blade had turned scarlet, and it clattered into the glass when Steve planted his hand against the roof.

"Baby."

Steve sighed at your persistent screeching, tipping his head to appear in the window. He watched you flutter around, struggling with what to do, hands shaking as you reached for the door and then pulled back. Your head whipped in all directions, mouth spread with an ear-piercing shrill.

"Sweetheart," he droned, a little louder this time.

He rolled his eyes when you jumped to the driver's seat, then rolled into the back, only to come right back to where you were.

"Fucking listen to me!"

You fell silent at the fist that pounded the bloody window, reverberating through the car like a hollow pang. Your screams diminished to hiccuped breaths and squeaky whimpers, the sight of Steve outside the window blurring through your tears. The thin blade screeched against the glass when he bent at the waist, lowering to level your gazes. A deranged smile broke out on his face, flecked with blood. Eddie's blood.

"Hey," he cooed, tapping the glass. "There you are, baby. I need you to open the door, okay? We gotta go."

Your body shook with tremulous breaths, lip wobbling as you struggled to form words.

This whole time. This whole time it was Steve.

"You...you killed him," you blubbered.

Steve sighed, leaning forward to press his head against the window. Eddie's blood collected on his forehead.

"I had to, honey. He was gonna hurt you."

You shook your head, cheeks jiggling, hand flying to your mouth to stifle a sob. Steve pulled away from the window, pressing both hands to the door, trapping you in.

"Open the door, baby," he echoed firmly.

"N-No! You killed him —y-you killed—oh god, you killed Nancy!"

His nostrils flared, teeth gnashing together as his forehead creased. He hardened like stone, glaring through the blood.

"I killed that nosy bitch because she came after what's mine. She fucking deserved it," he snarled.

His voice echoed through the car and pierced your ears. Salty wetness gathered on your lips, smeared your mascara and washed away your makeup. They traveled down your neck in blackened trails.

"Did...did you kill Deborah too?" Your voice was tiny, breath fanning puffs of grey across the window.

Steve sighed, eyes softening again, rounding to that puppy-dog plead.

"She was trying to take you away from me, baby."

The truth was, Steve found the slip of paper Deborah had given you after your visit last month.

"I'm afraid your boyfriend is going to harm you, Y/N. I'm afraid for your safety. I'm going to give you a list of resources, think them over. I hope you make the right choice."

The domestic abuse hotline number was sitting in your purse while you showered, and all Steve felt was unabridged fury at the sight of it. He took pleasure in piercing that bitch's skin and choking the life out of her bleeding, pathetic body.

"Sh-she said you would hurt me."

Steve shook his head, hands pressing against the glass.

"No. No, baby, I would never hurt you. Those people, all those people, they were trying to hurt you. They wanted to tear us apart," he whined.

You cowered back, fingers fumbling over the console.

"Y-you're a murderer."

Steve's head lolled back with an exasperated huff.

"Honey, unlock the door. Let me in."

You inched back a bit further.

"You're crazy."

"Let me in, Y/N."

"You're a psycho!" you wailed.

Steve's fist soared into the window again, tears stinging his eyes.

"Let me in! Baby, come on, let me in."

The sudden onset of tears unnerved you, like a switch had been flipped in him and he was suddenly remorseful. He blubbered as he beat on the window, yanking on the door handle, tapping the knife into the glass.

"Baby, please! Please, I love you, just let me in."

You briefly pondered over your options. You could let him in and try your best to escape later. He wouldn't kill you, right? Or you could unlock the driver's side and make a run for it, ask the convenience store clerk to call the police.

Little did you know, Steve had killed him fifteen minutes ago.

"Y/N, I love you so much, baby, please open the door. Please, I'm sorry, I did all this for you. I did it for us!”

You smacked your hands over your ears and pinched your eyes closed, teeth sinking into your lip to stifle your cries. The car rattled with every yank on the handle and pound on the glass.

"Let me in! Let me in, baby, please!"

More rattling, rocking back and forth on the tires, banging that vibrated through you like fireworks.

And then it stopped.

You froze, peeking your eyes open to peer through the window. Steve's face had lost its anguish, smoothed back to emptiness. Streaked with tears, but vacant. His eyes were cold. In his right hand, pressed against the glass in his palm, was a BMW key fob.

Your stomach dropped, nerves icing over in fear. They crystallized when the locks popped with a distinct chirp. Steve's thumb was on the button.

"I told you to let me in."

DUN DUN DUN

no part 2 folks, this was enough of a ride. I hope everyone that read it enjoyed it!! 💗💗

xoxoxxo Roller Girl 🛼

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