#i lied steve is the most gooey when he’s in love

[stevebabey]

oh god i have to write a kiss now

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

not to be a whore on main but I really could use Steve being a lil firm...a lil rough tonight. Not necessarily being a brat tamer cause the brattiness isn't there tonight. Just want to feel loved, but also protected...and taken care of.

Orgasm after orgasm almost to the point of overstim. Mind melted bones gooey just a puddle of love. And the aftercare?????

oh man, I need steve to be rough with me so bad 😩

just imagine, though. I don’t think he would be rough in the same sense that eddie would be, but he would still pull it off quite well. i think steve would be too afraid of hurting you to be too rough, but a little spanking, maybe a little light choking, and some hard, fast sex would definitely be in his playbook. he would make sure you felt loved and safe the whole time, too, for sure. he would kiss you sweetly, hold you protectively, stroke parts of your body (especially ones you may feel most insecure about), and just worship you like the goddess that you are to him.

“are you okay?” he asks as he fucks you roughly, your legs thrown over his shoulders as tears leak from your eyes. “am I hurting you?”

“no,” you breathe, smiling at him. “i’m crying because it feels so good.”

“are you sure?” steve asks, leaning down to pepper gentle kisses over your neck and shoulders. “we can stop, y/n. it’s okay.”

“no, please,” you beg, pulling him down for a hard, hot kiss as he keeps fucking into you. his big cock stretches you open, your walls clenching around him on instinct with every thrust he makes. “please, i want more.”

“more?” he asks, chuckling. “I’ve already made you cum four times tonight, and you want more?”

“yes,” you breathe, clawing at his back. “i’m so close already. please keep fucking me, but fuck me harder.”

he does so, going as hard as he can. he keeps kissing you every chance he gets, though, showing you so much love and affection. he strokes your thighs gently, caressing the skin with his thumbs as he pounds directly into your sweet spot. when he touches your clit, it’s a complete contradiction of his thrusts. his touch is gentle, his movements slow, his eyes scanning your face as he searches for any signs to stop. when he sees none, he keeps going, and doesn’t stop until you cum hard around his cock.

when he’s finished as well, he pulls out of you and lies next to you. he would hold you all night, stroking your back with his fingertips, running his fingers over your head, kissing you, talking to you, and you better believe he’s the type of guy who will run you a nice hot bath and sit in it with you. he would clean you up, stealing kisses, paying extra attention to areas of your body he knows drives you wild. he’s the king of aftercare, and he makes sure you won’t ever forget it.

[stevesbipanic]

Steve hadn't even remembered the letter.

After everything had happened, after Steve had to leave Eddie's body, had to sit at the bedside of a girl that might not wake up, had to bury an empty box and hold his kids as they were told they were losing Max all over again, the letter was furthest from his mind.

Max's body was too damaged, her mind too post despite El's best efforts. The weight of responsibility and the energy it took every time El tried to bring Max back was killing El too. After the fifth time Max had coded, Hopper had to tell her to not being her back again if it happened.

Three months after they buried Eddie, they buried Max too. The ghost of her was felt in everything they did. When Suzie visited Hawkins for the first time, Max was missed in the party's introductions. When Lucas became captain of the basketball team in junior year, Max was missed in their group hug. When they party graduated, Max was missed in the chair left empty between Darcy Lunce and Paul Meston.

As the kids left one by one to college, following the footsteps of Nancy and Robin years before, Max was missing from their goodbyes.

Steve hadn't been able to leave until he knew the kids were safe and grownup and out of Hawkins. He'd thought about leaving with Robin when she first left, he'd had a panic attack when he started packing. Now the kids were gone he could leave too, the protector could finally rest.

He was moving to Chicago, Nancy and Robin already had his room ready for him. They had understood why he'd had to stay. Most of his items were packed up and loaded into a moving van that the girls had driven back to their apartment. All the was left was Steve's car. He was selling it, he didn't need it in the city and some extra cash would tie him over while he looked for a new job.

He was cleaning it out ready for the buyer when he found it. Dropped between his chair and the gearbox. Perfectly preserved from the day Max handed it to him. At the time he refused to believe he'd ever need to read it, refused to believe he'd lose one of the kids before dying himself first. Yet here he was, alive, and the author of the note was gone.

He tucked the letter into his jacket and finished with the car. Once it had been picked up he still had an hour before the taxi came to take him to the airport. He made his way to the cemetery, it was only fair he say a proper goodbye to her before leaving her to watch over their town. When he arrived at the plot he took a moment to admire the bright flowers the kids had planted years ago, the beautiful mural Will had painted on the back of the headstone.

Here lies Maxine "Mad Max" Mayfield

1972-1986

He took a deep breath and sat down facing her grave, eerily mirroring the girl years before. He took out the letter, carefully opening it and began to read.

Dear Steve,

First off yes of course I'm going to write you a letter, I don't want to hear any self deprecating nonsense when I hand this to you, you're my brother as much as Dustin is and as much as Billy was. People care about you and love you and shut up yes they do.

Second of all if I somehow don't die you better have burned this I don't want you having anything soft and gooey to hold over me if I'm still kicking. If I find out you've still got this I get to drive your car ok?

I should really get to the point of this letter, I'm writing yours while putting off Lucas', I don't know what I'm going to say to him yet, I wish I could ask you to help me but I need to write these myself, he deserves that and so do you. These might be my last words to you and I need you to know a few things and you've got to believe them because if you're reading them it means I'm gone and you have to honour the dead asshole.

It's not your fault.

Listen to me Steve, if this is the last thing I do, if tomorrow everything goes wrong and I can't be berating you for getting hit in the head and you're crying somewhere alone I need you to know it's not your fault.

If I'm dead, if any of us are dead, it's not your fault. We're old enough to make our own choices. If I'm lucky in a couple years I'll be the age you fought a demogorgan for the first time. If I'm dead it's because whatever is down there took me but that's not on you. If I've made myself bait, or run off or done something stupid or brave or sacrificial or we just got unlucky, it's not your fault Steve.

It's not your fault.

If I hear you thinking it's your fault I'm coming back to haunt you.

Love, Max (your favourite)

Steve has to catch a later flight, he doesn't cry until later. Max's words rattle through his brain, years of guilt that he had pushed down slowly bubbled to the surface until he was in Chicago and could sob in his best friend's arms. Whenever he needed to he would reread Max's letter just to remind himself.

It's not your fault.

[steveharrington]

Sarah! Happy Birthday! I recently reread "things to come" since it's a personal all time favorite, and while it's both amazingly written and structured, there was just this "something" it had that made me go gooey in every way. It took awhile to really pinpoint what it was but I realize that it's how you view and characterize Steve as a whole. I know there's a largely accepted headcanon of Steve having unhealed trauma, unhealthy habits, and PTSD (very reasonable because all of the characters have been through so much), but in a lot of the other fanfiction works I've read, his episodes or possible symptoms are depicted in a very fetishistic way. In a way he is "babygirlified", or put into a submissive role that is more like an uncomfortable caricature of who he really is. This has shown up in general works as well as NSFW work.

Everyone is free to interpret things how they choose, but I have a particular itch I must scratch since I'm a lover of psychology and the affects of mental illness on the brain. I also actually really support the adopted headcanon of the Stranger Things characters developing some form of post traumatic stress as a result of the continuous near death experiences they've faced.

A direct quote explaining Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or C-PTSD: "Survivors with Complex PTSD have a very difficult time with emotions -- experiencing them, controlling them, and for many, just being able to comprehend or label them accurately..." [beautyafterbruises.org] this website actually does a great job of explaining the affects of this illness if you ever want to read about it.

This can be labelled as Emotional Disregulation. The symptoms and reactions aren't something to be romanticized: episodes can cause one to lash out in defense, lie for fear of what "is" or what they suspect is happening (could be a physical or emotional flashback), isolate themselves to feel "safe", dissociation and a low self esteem, guilt delusions that have your entire body feeling "wrong", an inability to see yourself as anything other than bad or shameful or different even when told otherwise, issues with memory. Your brain is working on a completely different level than someone else; all the cogs working ten times harder.

And I think there's just such a human beauty to how you depict Steve [as well as the other characters] because I very much see reflections of the real side of this illness in your characterization. Intentional or not. Yes, he is flawed: he was a bully, he lies, he makes mistakes, he gets defensive, and he pushes and pushes until his body can't bear it anymore. On all accounts, it makes sense why he's so willing to give himself up at any given chance and I wouldn't be surprised if he expects the people he loves to abandon him. Steve may be damaged, but he makes up for it in his loyalty and character. He tries and tries, a protector through and through, he's understanding and soft, kind and blessed with a snarky attitude, he loves deeply and gives it his all even when it's unrequited. Most importantly though, despite Steve being a contender for mental illness in this form, you still stay true to him as a person. He isn't boiled down to be this one dimensional post it note of a character. You've executed this with all of the cast actually - they feel fleshed out and real and so so human. You emphasize the importance of connection, of care, of patience and understanding. Whether that's through his friendship with Robin, his interactions with Jim and Wayne, or his relationship with Eddie. To have true friendships, people that truly care to sit with you through the ugly side of things, it's amazing. You've written a delicious piece of literature that has so many layers; I still find myself studying how you did it. But I'm so glad you did. I cannot wait to read your newest update as I'm sure it will be just as good as the last. This message extends to @lesbianrobin since they seem to be your "partner in crime", blessed thanks to the both of you.

🧜‍♂️

THANK YOU this is so sweet and means so much to me <3 :’) i spend so much time thinking abt how everything that’s happened would affect steve, and if the show doesn’t want to talk about it then i will!!! i was also a psych major so i am glad i can at least use my degree to write stranger things fanfiction hehe

[cockasinthebird]

It's pouring down outside, rain drops the size of your thumb beats against the windows and roof tiles of the Harrington mansion. Falling down in such droves that residents around Hawkins might want to double check that their basements are as waterproof as they believe.

"I love rain," Steve speaks softly as he watches water gushing down his bedroom window.

"Yeah," Billy mumbles from where he lies underneath the covers of Steve's bed, nestled in all cozy and warm.

"Let's go outside!" there's far too much glee in his tone for what he just suggested if you were to ask Billy, who more sensibly replies with,

"What?" as if it's the most ludicrous suggestion he's ever heard.

Steve climbs further down the bed to sit next to Billy and draws gentle circles on his bare chest.

"You've never just... Stood outside and enjoyed the rain?"

And he has to snort at that, "No."

"Why not? It's fun and romantic and calming! You get to feel it massage your whole body, the grass smells incredible, and I love watching the ripples in the water," Steve explains like describing a dear dream, and sighs with the same sense of happiness.

Billy grabs the hand dancing across his chest, and looks up at where Steve smiles so softly, his hair a complete mess after the way they just spent time enjoying one another.

"Fine, if it means that much to you."

The way Steve beams at that might just fool anyone into thinking the sun is out again. "Get dressed then!" And he's up before even finishing the sentence, throwing on his gym shorts and a random tee off of the floor.

It takes Billy a bit longer to leave bed, as he leans up on one elbow and watches as Steve bends down for his clothes, ass naked in the air and giving the blonde quite a view.

Steve jumps down the last few steps of the stairs and turns to make long strides toward the glass doors exposing the pool area behind his home.

At a much more leisurely pace, Billy walks to stand next to Steve, in a tee and sweatpants that he stole from the floor, because fuck no if he's gonna get his own clothes soaked for no good reason.

"We're gonna catch a cold," he says with a shrug, but a willing smile as well.

"Not if we're quick! We'll get a cup of hot tea after, and, maybe..." Steve steps up near Billy, and runs his hand along a toned bicep. "Maybe a quick hot shower to warm us up again?"

Billy smiles at the promise of them showering naked together in other places than at school, even if this wouldn't be the first time. He still feels endlessly blessed every time Steve touches him, and he leans in to show that appreciation with a tender and loving kiss.

"What are we waiting for then?" he asks and grabs his boyfriends hand, now suddenly the one all too eager to continue.

They are near immediately soaked the bone, shirts and pants clinging to every nook and cranny of their bodies.

It's not the worst thing ever, Billy will admit. The air is humid, the rain room-temperature at best, and truly there's a fresh and fragrant aroma seeping in from the dark forest.

Steve spins around on the wooden patio, arms in the air and head raised up to feel the calm drumming of raindrops on his face.

Billy, on the other hand, stands quite still, the crossing of his arms only interrupted when he occasionally has to push his bangs away, so that he can adore the sight of how wide Steve smiles.

"So what now?" he asks.

"Now you kiss me and hold me," Steve laughs and stops dancing across the planks.

"You're such a sap, you know that, right?" Billy chuckles and grins all too happy as he steps closer to Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"It's called being a romantic," Steve laughs as well, and runs his hands up Billy's toned arms, forever warm as if the sun is trapped beneath his skin. He moves up to hold on to Billy's strong jaw, and leans in to press their lips together.

It's nice and soft and wet, everything as expected, where it tugs at Billy's heart strings and brings him deeper into the unfamiliar sensation of being in love; of being loved at all.

They hum together in harmony as their kiss remains amorous, neither of them pushing for more than this enchanting moment. And maybe standing outside in the rain isn't all that bad.

It sure is everything as seen in the movies that Steve loves to watch, that Billy likes to pretend he hates. He's not opposed to watching chick-flicks together with his boyfriend, but the clear glee in those doe eyes that comes from believing that Steve has convinced Billy to watch something so gooey, is worth the feigned struggle.

When Steve pulls away from the embrace of their lips, he laughs, "We should go inside before we do get sick."

"Mmmh," Billy resists a bit and strengthens his arms around Steve. "Just a bit longer."

And he dips in for another long kiss.

[yikesharringrove]

billy’s this very known lead singer and guitarist in the band he’s in and he has one of his concerts where he meets steve. steve who’s the prettiest boy he has ever seen, big brown eyes, beautiful smile. he’d totally lose if and would go talk to him after the gig all sweaty and shit and even steve finds it hot

So, I LOVE famous aus, so yeee.

NB Steve bc lets be real. I am who I am.

-

Billy was sweating.

He had just played a ridiculous show, played an hour slot on the Coachella main stage.

“Holy shit, man. What a fucking riot!” Tommy slapped him on the shoulder, sweating as much as Billy, clutching cracked drumsticks. Billy grinned.

The show had been amazing.

The Mind Flayer had skyrocketed quickly, releasing a single that went gold in just about a month. It was a whirlwind, getting signed, playing festivals, releasing an album, kicking off a supporting tour at Coachella.

Billy didn’t know how he went from practicing guitar in his fucking car so that his dad wouldn’t get mad, to being featured on the goddamn cover of Rolling Stone.

They were ushered through the backstage area, taken to the VIP bar behind the stage.

They were being rowdy, talking loudly and laughing, getting a few rounds of shots for their table.

Billy was laughing at something Patrick, the lanky bass player was saying when his eyes shot to the opening of the tent.

Billy had never seen someone so beautiful.

They were all leg, pale and long in shorty little shorts. They were wearing a cream colored silk shirt, only one button done, tucked into the shorts, a lacy bralette underneath, glitter brushed across their delicate collarbones. Their eyes were so big, a gooey brown color, only accentuated with smokey eye shadow, rich shades of blue underneath thick false lashes.

They walked up to the bar, laughing and talking with a pretty blonde on their left. Billy was on his feet in an instant, setting next to them at the bar, putting in an order for an old fashioned.

“I know you.” Billy turned to smirk at them. “You’re in that band that’s really popular right now. Mind Flamer.”

“It’s uh, Mind Flayer, actually. It’s a Dungeons and Dragons character.” They quirked a sculpted eyebrow up. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Steve Harrington.” They shook hands, Steve’s was soft in his.

“Where do I know you from?” They looked down at their scuffed boots.

“I’ve done some modelling.” The blonde on the other side of them scoffed, muttering some under her breath.

“Wait! I’ve seen you on a fucking billboard!” Billy gaped at them as they blushed. “Yeah, you did something for like, Dior recently.”

“And Louis Vuitton, and Jean Paul Gaultier, and-”

“Literally, Robin, stop talking.” Robin just held up her hands, sipping at the cocktail the bartender placed in front of her. “And that’s Robin, she used to be my friend.” She rolled her eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Robin.” She grinned at Billy over the bartop, leaning in front of Steve.

“Dingus was pretending not to know your band’s name, we literally just watched your set and they would not stop talking about how hot you are.” Steve’s face was on fire as they pushed Robin away, making Billy howl with laughter.

“I will end you,” they hissed at her. She just blew them a kiss, taking a seat at one of the high tops near the canvas wall. “Yes, I lied but like, what was I supposed to say? Hi my name is Steve and your song Gentleman is my go-to fuck jam and think you’re at your absolute hottest when you’re sweaty.”

Billy was losing his damn mind. He was doubled over laughing.

“I would’ve loved that. That woulda made me fucking day, honestly.” Steve just glared.

“So glad my mental anguish is causing you joy.” They went to turn around, Billy catching them around their thin wrist.

“C’mon Sweet Thing. That song was literally made to be a fuck jam.” They huffed. “So, sweaty?” He made sure to put on his most you’re welcome to sit on my face smile as he leaned closer into Steve’s space.

Steve flushed an even deeper shade of red, the color spreading down their chest.

“You’re just, a very energetic performer.” Billy laughed again, licking over his bottom lip.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Without Question (8)

Steve Rogers x Reader

Content: angst, fluff, and some new discoveries apparently

Warnings: None

Word Count: Hi there! Never thought you’d see me again, would you? ehehehe. *sigh* What am I doing with my life?

MASTERLIST in bio

"You talked to her? To that...that thing?" "Yes. And she showed me an entire alien fleet coming for the earth to destroy it. Inside out." "And you believe her." "They want to kill her, Steve. I don't think she has any motive to lie."

You brush away the branches in your way, walking straight through the familiar tall trees you found Steve and yourself dumped in. Loki had teleported you and the captain away from the facility, but he had not been generous enough to drop the two of you right next to your house. The forest occasionally felt alive with the sounds of a bird chirping here and there, sending a mating call or pointing out the position of predators. The dull green and dirt hue was lit up only by the lone blue bathrobe still covering you-  wrapping the fabric around yourself as securely as possible- and the stench of wet pines was overpowered by Steve's alert presence right behind you. "So she's been hiding here...in you," Steve's hoarse voice concludes as he takes a step to move ahead of you- jumping over the rocks and logs rotting in the middle of the path- to help you cross them in as modest a way as possible. "Yes," you affirm as your voice tries its best not to waver when Steve's strong pale arms wrap around your waist and thighs- securing the robe under his hold, giving it no chance to slip in a way you don't like- to pick you up and safely help you land away from the hurdles. Ever the gentleman. Your hands involuntarily wrap around his neck, grazing the back, making both you and he take a moment to still the sudden flicker your bodies feel on each other's touch. "She and her friend had run away from their home because she broke the law and was to be executed," you continue, trying to hide the colour in your heated cheeks by bringing forth your hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. "What did she do?" Steve's blue is bright with specks of silver floating over them, just like a clear shallow part of an ocean reflecting the sun from its surface, competing with the sunset in its full prestige. At that moment your heart wants to wrap his entirety in its strings, keep the man warm, safe, and close. Closer than you want to. Close enough to feel his skin over yours. But the reality stings. "She um..." you take those inquisitive crummy thoughts and shove them in a tiny cage in a dim lit corner of your mind, "saw her future." The words make Steve pause, his brooding beard carrying wrinkles of confusion. "Her species can alter time. They can travel from one timeline to another. Forward, backward, sideways, you name it," you sigh and shrug before rubbing your temples with your fingers. "She saw her future and found out that the alphas were using their battalions as pawns while invading other planets. Thousands of her comrades sacrificed just so the ones sitting at the alters could find strong hosts. Her mother helped her escape but not before the general of their army got word of it." A light breeze makes the forest yawn, reflecting the invisible pain and tiredness you are feeling as your brain tries to process and pass the knowledge you had just been bestowed with from a parasite living inside you. Steve attempts to let your every word seep in and work through his brain. You know in his lingering pause and concern-filled brows that he is trying to figure out the whats and the hows. But what you don't gauge is that he has already moved five steps ahead of you in what all you have thought and are probably thinking right now. "Come on," you try to snap yourself out of the low tide of anxiety touching your shores, "I can see my place." "Why did we even bother going back from here," you mutter to yourself as you start walking in the direction of the familiar white and brown structure peeking through the woods before you feel Steve's arm catch yours, forcing you to stop. "Look at me." His voice is soft but his words are heavy, already dropping a weight on your chest as you turn to look into his eyes; the searing glare making the weight burn. And at that moment you are your most vulnerable. Naked in the most crucial metaphorical sense. And you cannot even help it. The layers are coming down one by one as his adamant look is burning away the carefully placed curtains. Your skin is feeling the goosebumps. Your lungs are getting tight. Your lips want to say something but are scared of giving your fears away. But turns out they don't have to hold the secrets any longer. "Don't you dare." He knows. He has known it since the moment you told him the parasite was in hiding. He knows you think the best way to stop the mayhem would be to give yourself up to gooey bastards. Of course, he knows. He is basically the walking example of being the one to catch hands with anything that involves sacrifices. "You are not doing this." The words escaping his red lips are final, trying to punch hard at your controversial resolve. "Steve, listen to me," you begin, your voice carrying a soothing balance, "I was going to die anyway. At least I'll go out doing something for the greater good." His huff and the scrunched nose reflects transparently the emotions of being done. "Greater good," he echoes, licking his lips before deadpanning on you, "you want to give your second chance away by turning yourself up as a sacrificial lamb. That's your definition of the greater good? What makes you think your death will stop anything?" He steps closer to you, not leaving your arm as he towers over you, making sure your eyes do not fray from his. "What makes you think," he nearly hisses through his teeth, "that killing yourself will make everything all right?" And that darkness you saw in the unlit corners of the facility comes back in his eyes. The familiar beast from that night lurks in front of you in his hollowed blue, making his grasp on your arm just a level tighter but never enough to make it hurt you. "Steve-" "I lost my best friend because he sacrificed himself for the greater good. He died trying to save this planet and quite possibly the entire universe from being wiped away from existence, Y/N," he declares right in your face, the sparks of rage burning through his eyes, "and look where we are still! Fighting another threat! Losing! Hurting! Repeating everything! Every. Single. Thing! I have lost him more times than I can count so don't tell me sacrifice." He moves away from, trying to walk away; trying to leave you with the increasing ache in your heart. "Bucky died protecting you, Steve!" You shout, your voice wavering on registering the blurriness in front of your eyes. "At least have the decency to respect the memory of your own best friend. And I'm quite sure you would have done the same if not something twice as fatal as what he did." He stops in his tracks, letting his mouth fall in an utter offence. "You know what, you two would have made such great partners," he shouts back, turning to face you one more time, "because somehow it's too much when I put myself in harm's way but it is just reasonable enough to give you a reason to die!" "Well isn't it obvious, you dolt!" you announce, your voice box nearly collapsing. "What?!" "We want to do it because we cannot see you die!" A few birds fly away at the reverberations your voice creates. Steve's wrinkled rage collected in brows is diluted by the weight of your words with every passing second. "I have seen my family die too, okay? I have seen my niece and nephew perish right before my eyes before you guys were able to stop Thanos. But I am done seeing people I love die before me. I am done and I am tired and I have started to care about you way too much to even imagine losing you, Steven Rogers." The silence of the forest contains just the sounds of your panting and the crunch of dried leaves under your muddied socks. The only colours apart from you in front of your eyes is Steve's blue shirt stretching every time he inhales, feeling the ache of your words in his lungs. The mesh of all those emotions leaving you now lies between the two of you, waiting to be tugged at from one side or other. He stands there, shocked, appalled, confused, dazed- probably everything at once. What did have you done, your insides groan. "Y/N..." his voice croaks. "Don't," you interrupt him softly, looking down at your fingers while shaking your head, "you don't have to say anything. I just...it just came out without a warn-" You barely register the gentle cold touch on your cheeks under your undone hair strands. Your eyes scarcely move up to watch the arm come forward to hold your face close. Your ears just catch the that one deep inhale his lungs take. Your lips hardly part to roster the minute impact of his fingers on your cheeks when his hot lips press unto yours; to feel his beard touch your skin, scraping it, letting you know it's him. It's confounding at first, to feel his lips on yours; nothing like you imagined- better in every possible way. Then when the touch seems to be real, your hand lingers over his jaw before finally wrapping around his neck. Your eyes close themselves to let your other senses heighten; to feel him- to drink him down- in all ways possible. Finally, your lips press back on his, letting him know he is not the only one craving the other with such urgent need, letting them linger on each other for a moment longer because even the thought of letting go hurts. But you do let go. And breathe in the forest air to let yourself know that this is no dream. "Steve," you declare his name before opening your eyes, almost like an affirmation to some divine powers looking over you. "I care about you too," he answers softly, putting every last ounce doubt in your heart at rest. His blue eyes are dark. Dilated. Hungry. Craving. Parched. You know- better than ever- that you are the one who can put the beast at rest tonight.

TAGLIST

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[wickedlittleoz]

Steve is seriously sick, Billy doesn’t know, Steve needs to tell him before it’s too late!

I apologize in advancebecause this turned into a bit of a Walk to Remember AU, but the only thingthat came to mind when I read the prompt was ANGST. Thank you, though, nonny,no one’s ever sent me prompts and now I feel like an actual writer XD

It was getting worse.Had been, for the last five years or so, but the meds had managed to hold itback for a while. Not anymore, though.

He had days. Some ofthem he was perfectly fine, all smiles and disposition, laughing and singing (terribly out of tune) with Dustin in thecar, days in which you wouldn’t even know his body was self-destructing cell bycell, 24h a day.

But then came the dayswhere he could barely get out of bed, the very rise-and-fall of his breathingmade him sick, and he was so weak that his hand was shaking when he reached forthe phone by the bed to call Nancy and tell her he couldn’t make it to school.

He couldn’t even blamehis parents for not sticking around much. The treatments were expensive, thedoctors were states away. They had to overwork themselves to keep up with thebills – and now as it appears it was worth shit. Steve was getting worse andthe doctors were, all of them, hopeless.

At first he was toldhe wouldn’t make it to high school. Then he did. Freshman year they started anew treatment that worked wonders for a while. He made it into the basketballteam, played better than anyone else on the team, scored the most points in theregionals and brought the cup home. He became King Steve, life of the parties, masterof the basketball court, professional heartbreaker.

Then they told him hewas already stretching too far. He wouldn’t live to see college days, and Steveactually overheard a doctor tell his parents not to worry about saving money.

But he didn’t care. Hefelt that he was making the best of his life. Going to parties, bossing theschool, hooking up with whoever he wanted. He just wanted to be a normal teenager, doctor appointments andmeds were a secret he didn’t mind struggling to keep.

When Nancy came along,though, that’s when it really hit him. Steve had never been in love before. Shecrawled into his heart and into his life, and sooner than later, she saw one ofthe bad days. Steve had to tell hereverything. He cried and she held him, and when he thought she was going toback away out of his life, she did the very opposite.

His entire body hurtthat day, but his heart ached the worst, filled with so much love.

But he always knew shedidn’t love him as much as he loved her. Sure, it hurt when they eventuallybroke up, but she was better off with Jonathan, who had a long, promising lifeahead of him.

He thinks it wassomething to do with the Upside Down. Being down there must have messed withhis body in a way – air pressure or some expensive scientific bullshit – thatit simply stopped fighting. Bad days jumped from one every 15 days to once aweek. Halfway through the day he would suddenly feel his chest tighten, hisbreathing become erratic, his head begin to spin.

He actually passed outon the court twice before Nancy talked him into signing out of the team, healthfirst, she had insisted. Steve would rather leave than watch Hargrove win themthe championship from the bench, anyway.

It was a bad enoughday without said mullet-wearing asshole cornering him to ask what the fuck hethought he was doing, giving up the team. Steve gave him a generic excuse, hewas sick and couldn’t play anymore. When Hargrove insisted, told him to just“take some cold pills and a bowl of soup”, he nearly broke down crying, becauseSteve wished it was that easy.

Here they were,though, with Billy lying on his chest as the morning sun filtered in throughthe curtains. It was a Bad Day, capital letters, because while Steve knew hehad to get up and take his meds – and should get to it before Billy woke up –,he was dizzy just laying there and breathing.

He sighed, carding hisfingers through the blond curls, and felt the tears wet his cheeks before evenrealizing he was sobbing.

Steve wanted to tellhim. Had to, before he ended up in the hospital and someone in a white coat andzero intimacy to the boy on his chest told him Steve wasn’t coming back home. Billydeserved to know, because he didn’thave much longer. Steve felt it.

Ever since he andBilly had gotten past the fighting and teasing, they’d realized it was allsomething else. Electricity brewed and built around them for days followingSteve resigning from the team, until one night the storm just… Broke. Steve wassitting in his BMW, waiting for Dustin, and when he first caught a glimpse ofthe curly-haired boy and the blast of fiery color that was Max, Billy wassuddenly at his window. Meet me at thewoods tonight. Seven. Don’t be late.

He was almost late, acoughing fit taking the best of his nerves. But Billy made up for it, made himfeel good and wanted, and despite the physical exhaustion, Steve felt the healthier in days.

Their thing had grownquickly, at first just hot, needy fucks whenever Steve’s parents were away andhe had the house. But at some point (most probably when Billy showed up withhis face all fucked up and opened up about his dad) feelings got involved.

Now Steve realizedthat for the first time since this madness had started he actually wanted to live until graduation, andafter. Wanted to run away to California straight out of prom in Billy’s Camaro,blasting rock songs all the way up to the coast, making love in shitty motelbeds and just being young and reckless and inlove.

He feared, as hepinched his nose to stop the sobs, that Billy wished for that, too.

His finger came backred and gooey with blood. Steve sighed, suppressing a cough, and gently pushedBilly off his chest. Billy murmured something unintelligible, but continued tosleep, and Steve slowly teetered his way to the bathroom.

It took a while forthe bleeding to stop, so long that when he finally emerged from the bathroom,Billy had made them breakfast. He smiled, bacon grease smeared over his lips,making them look even plumper, and Steve’s stomach churned. He spun on hisheels immediately and braced the sink.

His body was shakingshallowly with the force of it. He’d had nothing to eat and it was just acidand blood.

Then Billy was there,a warm (clean) hand on his back, brows furrowed in worry. Steve couldn’t helpthe tears, but he washed his face before Billy could see them.

“You okay?”He asked, arm snaking around Steve’s waist when he pushed away from the sink.

“Yeah,”Steve responded – lied –, avoidingBilly’s eyes as he wiped cold sweat off his forehead.

“Sure you don’twanna–”

“No,” healmost jumped and definitely spoke too soon, because Billy’s brows furrowedeven further. So he gave his best attempt at a comforting smile and kissedBilly’s still naked shoulder.

He knew Billy didn’tbelieve him. But he just couldn’t face a hospital with Billy at his side, notyet.

So they spent the dayinside, going from the couch to the bed, with eventual stops at the toilet.Steve fed off salt crackers, OJ, and milk whenever it seemed that Billy wasgoing to comment on his lack of appetite. But mostly he just clung to Billy, asif trying to make the best out of their last moments.

It felt ominous.Imminent. As if he subconsciously already knew it was going to happen and when – soon.

Suddenly his chestfilled with a sort of warmth as he looked up at Billy, blond curls splayedaround his head like a heavenly halo. Steve felt happy, so happy, strangelyhappy that he’d had the chance to be loved.

“We need totalk,” he announced around eight, as they lay on the couch. Billy’s hand,where it rested on Steve’s stomach, grip loose around the remote, jerked intoaction, turning off the TV. He sat up, gently pushing Steve off his chest, andthey were suddenly face-to-face.

“What’swrong?” He was grinning, but Steve could see it in his eyes that Billy wasworried.

He stopped. How didone approach the subject of death? To Billy, of all people, who had lost hismom and found home in Steve’s arms, and given Steve so much love and will tolive. How could he have the courage to tell Billy that it was all going to endand there was nothing any of them could do?

He was sobbing, tearsleaving dark stains on his sweatpants, even before he started to speak.

“I’m sick,”he managed between sobs, eyes lingering on his hands. He heard Billy chuckle unamused.

“Yeah, Inoticed.”

“No Billy, youdon’t get it,” he sniffed, mustering the courage to look up. Billy’s facewas a mask of confusion, that quickly became worry and he scooted closer toSteve when their eyes met. “I'm–I’m dying.”

Billy was silent for aheartbeat. Then two. He watched Steve’s face, his eyes, as if searching forsomething that pointed that this was nothing but a tasteless joke.

But Steve’s wide, wet,dark eyes were truthful.

“What do youmean, dying?” He asked hesitantly, voice but a soft murmur.

Steve felt his throatclosing as he tried to speak. He choked, and coughed into his hand, and Billydidn’t miss the blood on his palm this time.

“I have leukemia,”he said, more to his hand than to Billy. They both watched the blood with asort of awe for a moment.

“When?”Billy asked darkly, the way Steve knew he did when he was trying not to cry.

“I don’t knowyet,” he said, wiping his hand on his pants, and Billy held it and lacedtheir fingers. “I’m going to see the doctor next week, but my body’sjust… Not fighting anymore.”

As if to prove apoint, another coughing fit shook his body. He wasn’t sure if the tears in hiseyes were his crying or coughing.

He felt Billy’s eyesscorching him. Steve remembered, then, a few nights ago, as they lay spent onSteve’s bed and Billy traced his ribs with the tips of his fingers, he hadlaughed and said he should probably feed Steve better because he was gettingtoo thin.

Steve had dropped 10lbssince then, hipbones jutting out sharp enough to cut or break, most likely thelatter. But Steve liked the idea of Billy cooking for him. Made him feel caredfor.

“And where thefuck are your parents?” Billy spat angrily, and Steve saw in him his 14-year-oldself, pissed at the world and whatever god there was that Steven Harringtonfrom Nowhere, Indiana had been chosen as the self-destructing time bomb of thedecade.

“These treatmentsare expensive, Billy,” Steve said tiredly, because his 17-year-old selfwas too far into acceptance to get heated. “Most of the doctors on my casearen’t even from Indiana. We can only afford these things because they’re always out working.”

“But–But thisisn’t right, Steve!” He stood suddenly, started pacing up and down like acaged animal. Steve knew the feeling, knew what it was like to feel like you’regoing to explode as you try to digest the information. “This isn’t right,it isn’t fair, you shouldn’t have to deal with all this… All this bullshit alone!”

“But I’m notalone. I have you and Nancy and the kids–”

“They allknow?” He stopped and stared at Steve, and he saw quick glint of jealously– he was the last to know.

“JustNancy,” Steve hurried to respond. He hadn’t yet been able to figure outjust how to tell Dustin. The boy had been through too much already for a kidhis age.

Billy sagged by hisside again, heaving a sigh. They were silent for a moment, the air heavy andtension nearly tangible, and the world around seemed to mimic them, suddenly tooquiet that he could almost believe it was a dream that he was close to wakingup from.

But Steve knew betterthan to cheat himself like that. It was no dream. It was very real, as real asthe weight and warmth of Billy’s hands between his two, his thin, pale fingersfeeling smaller than ever against Billy’s tanned skin. It was as real as theever-growing love he felt for Billy, the love that made his heart seem too bigfor his chest sometimes, and that had been his cure.

It was only because he’dbeen loved so deeply and intensely and honestly that Steve was not afraid.

They didn’t fuck thatnight, but neither of them slept, either. They lay curled into each other, as iftrying to mark the scent forever. Steve felt the tears Billy had been holdingback dampen his hair and pillow, and held him tighter.

Billy was right, itwasn’t fair. And as he gazed into those blue, blue eyes that had taken hisbreath away from day one, he wished someday Billy managed to get out ofHawkins. That he made it back to California, safe and sound, and started over.And that one day, when he sat on the sand to watch the warm and orange sun rise(nothing like the sad, cold and blue Hawkins sun), he felt the wind and heardit whisper in Steve’s voice, I love you,I love you, I love you.