Hear Me Out.. Stranger Things 5.. It Starts With Dustin Sitting In His Room On The Edge Of His Bed. He’s

Just Eddie Munson swearing for almost 2 minutes 😌

He just wants his dad // Eddie & Wayne

Summary: as the title says - Eddie just wants his dad. Comfort.💗

It's barely noon when Wayne, a heavy sleeper, is woken up. He only got back from his shift a few hours ago and he had immediately toed off his boots and collapsed into the pull out bed which Eddie had prepared for him before he had left for school that morning. The Munson men had a quiet way of loving each other, understated to all but those who understood.

There's a heavy pressure on Wayne's chest. Sound creeps into his awareness and he registers quiet sniffles, suppressed and muffled by lips pressed tightly together. Wayne shifts and the weight on his chest freezes, the sounds of crying stops and Wayne can only hear his own breathing in the room.

The crying isn't his and only one other person has a key to the trailer, which means...

Wayne's hand lifts and moves into Eddie's hair of its own accord; so strong is his instinct to protect his nephew. Nicotine stained fingers delve into dark, soft curls. Eddie jolts at the first touch, unable to see his uncle move with the way his face is pressed into the blue shirt underneath red and white plaid, but Wayne persists. Gentler at first, to soothe Eddie's scare, but then at the pace he prefers; smooth, steady, constant.

Through his threshold consciousness does he feel Eddie nuzzle his face across, and Wayne moves his hand so he can tilt Eddie's head up. Eddie follows the upward tug and Wayne cracks his eyes open, groggy blues taking in tear soaked cheeks and molten pools of chocolate.

"S'matter, kid?"

Eddie's bottom lip and chin tremble. He shakes his head, exhales roughly, looks down and plucks at Wayne's shirt. "Too much, man. I just - " more tears drip sore down Eddie's face and Wayne brushes them away easily, his body moving by itself. He's not thinking about how to comfort Eddie, it's just happening. It's always been easy to love Eddie. Anger burns hot in Wayne but he channels it into soothing his nephew, taking care of him the way he always has. "School got too much and I didn't even get to see you this morning before I took off and, fuck, I just - " Eddie shook his head as a sob ripped out of his throat. "Got in the van and before I knew it, was here. Saw you, d - " Eddie cuts himself off with a firm headshake, not letting himself say what he was going to.

Wayne watches Eddie try to make himself smaller and touches the back of Eddie's head, pushing down lightly. Eddie gets the hint and rests his head back on Wayne's chest, his ear over his uncle's beating heart. "Finish the sentence, kid," Wayne's voice is gruffer than usual in his sleepiness but his encouragement is warmly intended.

Eddie takes a deep breath, steeling himself to say something he usually doesn't allow him to unless it's in moments like this; when Eddie needs familial love. "Saw you lying here, dad, and I just - " Edie sighs, swipes a hand over his face, "I just wanted a hug. Didn't mean to wake you but it got to me, man."

Wayne hears everything Eddie says but what he listens to is, someone was really mean to me today and I missed you this morning so I came home for a hug.

And it warms him from the inside out.

Wayne smiles and begins to sit up on the bed, making Eddie move. Once Wayne is all the way sat up on the bed, Eddie is moving from the floor and sitting beside him, totally leaning into Wayne. Wayne opens his arms and Eddie falls into the fleshy cage offered to him, more tears soaking his uncle's shirt as he shakes and cries. Wayne sits there, quietly stewing in anger towards whomever or whatever caused his strong nephew to shatter like this, unable to hold himself together in such an intense way that he has come home in the middle of the day for a hug, but shows only love and care towards Eddie. The anger is channelled into love, because that's who Wayne wants to be for Eddie.

The one who always, always steps in and steps up.

"M'sorry, I - "

Wayne cuts Eddie off, "this wasn't you, son. You need a hug, you need anything, you come find me, just like you did today. You know that."

Eddie does know that, he does, and that's why he feels no shame or embarrassment when he squeezes his arms even tighter around Wayne and nuzzles himself home. His tears slow, slow, but Eddie remains where he is and Wayne lets him. He's tired, he wants to go back to sleep, but Eddie isn't done and Wayne's not working tonight, so his body's needs can wait. Anything for Eddie.

Anything.

Everything else fades away until it's just a broken-hearted son and his gentle natured but angry dad and a whole lotta' love. It's what the Munsons always get right.

Love.

eddie & wayne @hellfirebabe @eddiemunsonshoney @potatos-library @bakerstreethound @gemstone-roses @sweetpeapod @authorlovers @jslittlebirdie @heydreamchild @comfortcharactercraze @mywinterivy @corrodedcoffeen @ourstaturestouchtheskies @m00nlight101

i’m literally so in love with nurse stevie !! he and his clumsy girl are so sweet 🤍

i was thinking, what if she was having a pregnancy check up and it happened to be at a time where steve was on shift so he like races down to where she is and does the ultrasound himself and gets to see the baby and she asks why he ran down here or something and he accidentally says “i missed my girls” and she’s like “wait it’s a girl?”

idk just him doing the ultrasound himself and accidentally telling her it’s a girl is just asjsueked ahhh so fkn cute

AN | Okay but stop! This is the cutest and with how much of a loveable disaster these two are, I could totally see this happening 🥺 This can be read as a companion piece to the below but also as a stand alone!

Warnings | Mild Language, Pregnant!Reader

Pairing | Nurse!Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Steve, Main, Nurse Steve

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Despite your best efforts, a small sigh escaped your lips as you looked at your watch. Steve should have been off by now - he realistically should have been off about an hour ago, but you were used to that by now. There was a still small part of you that had hoped he would be here for the ultrasound. You knew you could just take home the photos, but it wouldn’t be the same. There was always next time, but today you were halfway through your pregnancy and it felt like a milestone. 

When you heard your name being called by the ultrasound tech, you stood up and made your way over. You suddenly felt very pregnant with how long it took you to properly stand up and make your way over to her. At least you weren’t waddling just yet.

“Hello there,” Mary was sweet with a kind face and gentle smile. She’d been the one to help you out since the beginning and had always made you feel better, especially when you had a million and one questions, “no Steve today?”

“He was going to try and make it,” you explained and she made a small sound of understanding, “but it appears he got stuck past his shift.”

“The ER has been pretty busy today,” at least that confirmed your thought that he got stuck working late, “and you know how he is. Always going above and beyond for everyone and everything.”

“Trust me,” you grinned as you set your stuff down and moved to lie on the table which had become a friend the past few months, “I’m well aware. He’s being even more cautious than normal these days. I can barely lift a finger before he’s offering to do it or helping.”

“Well…” she was grinning in spite of yourself as you sighed dramatically, already knowing where this was heading, “remind me how the two of you met again? Something about a broken ankle?”

“Very funny,” you snorted in amusement, “I’ll have you know that nothing bad has happened in months! I’ve been very careful.”

“Mhmm,” she shot you a wink as you laid back and slowly began to undo the button of your jeans. Before she could say anything else, a frantic knocking came at the door, causing you both to pause, “do you want me to check who it is or let them know we’re busy?”

“You can check,” you shrugged, “don’t want to keep you from something potentially more important.”

She gave you a small smile before slowly opening the door. Mary almost laughed out loud when she found Steve on the other side, a panicked expression on his face as he tried to catch his breath, “hey! Hi, sorry I’m late - is she still here? Please don’t tell me I missed it!”

“We were just getting started,” she stepped aside to let him in, and as soon as he spotted you, he gave you a huge grin and visibly relaxed, “better check with your wife to make sure she wants you to stay.”

“He’s alright, I guess,” you teased, but Steve wasted no time before gently talking your face in his hands and leaning down to kiss you. You almost melted into his tender touch and the feel of his soft lips on yours. When he pulled back he was practically beaming, “on second thought, he can absolutely stay.”

“As if you’d ever say no to him,” you looked at your husband and shrugged, giving both of them a sheepish grin. She was right - you couldn’t fathom any situation in which you’d turn him down for anything, “ready to get started and see your baby?”

“Definitely!”

“Actually, Mary, I have a request,” you raised your eyebrows, trying to fathom what it could possibly be. He turned towards her so you were looking at his back and spoke softly under his breath, “I know we don’t usually do this, but do you think I can do the ultrasound today? I’m trained on how to do them and thought it might be cool, you know? But I understand if you say no…”

“You’re something else, Harrington,” there was nothing but playful affection lacing her words as she shook her head in amusement. He gave her the best puppy dog eyes he could muster up, which all things considered were pretty good, “alright, I’ll let you have at it. But this stays between us and if anyone ever asks, I was here doing it and you were just watching. Yes?”

“Yes,” he cheered softly, “you’re the best, Mary.” 

“Don’t forget that the next time I need a favor,” she shot him a wink before turning back to you. You hadn’t heard their hushed conversation and looked at them in confusion, “well, I gotta get going but I’ll be back in a bit. Good luck!”

“You’re going…what? I don’t-” but she was gone and out the door before you could say anything else. You looked at Steve and raised your hands in confusion, “wait a minute, what are you two up to?”

“Nothing at all,” he smiled innocently before reaching to grab something off the cart, “but I’ll be conducting your ultrasound today, Mrs. Harrington. Now, whenever you’re ready.”

“Oh Steve,” you laughed at  him, rolling your eyes playfully, “well then, I’m ready whenever you are, my love.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a strange feeling to be lying on the hard examination bed, with your belly out (which seemed to have grown overnight out of nowhere) and covered in the cold jelly. You’d already learned that it was definitely not your favorite thing in the world. But the moment was perfect with Steve right next to you. As ever, he was calm and patient, treating you with such gentle reverence that made you weak in the knees. Good thing you were lying down or your clumsy self might have actually fallen. 

“Let us see what we have here,” Steve brought out the wand and settled it on your stomach, causing a shiver to run down your spine. At first there was nothing for a few moments, which caused your worry and anxiety to spike, despite the fact that you knew the baby was one - definitely in there and two - had been moving around in the day. You waited with bated breath until you heard the sound of the small heartbeat over the monitor, “just as I suspected, we have - a baby!”

He turned to you with an amused little grin and you couldn’t help but laugh at him, “really? I thought we were getting a puppy! Is it too late to exchange it?”

“Ahh, sorry honey,” he shook his head before kissing your cheek, “I think it’s too late. We’re going to be stuck with a small human.”

“I guess I can live with that,” your eyes were glued to the monitor where you could see the blob that was your baby. They were moving around and you couldn’t help the tears that sprung up along with the wave of emotion that washed over you. It all seemed so surreal; you were having a baby. A baby with your wonderful husband. What a crazy world it was, “look at that blob. That’s our blob!”

“Oh honey,” he turned to look at you, a soft smile on his pretty features as he tenderly wiped away the tears that had pearled up and rolled down your cheeks, “it’s okay. Baby’s looking great!”

“I know,” you leaned into his touch, letting his large, warm palm engulf your cheek as you offered him a teary smile, “it’s just all so overwhelming, and I’m already all emotional, you know this by now. I just…I’m really happy, Steve.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he kissed you, not minding the salty of your tears, and you sighed wistfully against his lips, “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Steve,” you teasingly poked at your belly, “and you too baby blob.”

“They’re going to come out of the womb thinking their name is Blob!”

“Tell them to stop looking like a blob then,” yeah, it might have been a blob, but you were already so enamored with it, “does everything look okay? Honestly?”

“I would never lie to you,” he wrote down a few things in your chart as you tried to peek over his shoulder as if you would understand any of it, “you know that. Yes, everything looks good. Strong, steady heartbeat, measuring around the perfect size. It all checks out - that is a healthy baby, and mother.”

"Good," you let out a nervous sigh of relief, "I can't wait to meet you little blob."

"Halfway there."

"Halfway there," you repeated, suddenly feeling like that was coming on way faster than you wanted, "slow down there little one!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Steve knew you almost better than you knew yourself. You were already tucked up in bed, half-heartedly watching some movie on TV, but mostly trying not to fall asleep by the time he came into the bedroom.  He had a glass of chocolate milk and a plate with some cookies in his hands. Your face lit up with excitement - you'd just been thinking about a sweet treat.

"Is this alright?" He asked, setting everything down on the bedside table before pressing a kiss to the side of your temple, "I had a feeling you'd been wanting something sweet right about now."

"You are my hero," you looked at him with big, wide doe eyes, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He tasted sweet; you just knew he'd already snuck a few cookies, "thank you, my love."

"No need to thank me," he pulled up the big fluffy comforter and crawled under it. He made himself comfortable before pulling you into his side. You rested your head on his chest and sighed wistfully, "how are you feeling?"

"Good," you promised, taking his hand in yours and lacing your fingers together, "today was good. I'm just tired, but that seems to be the new normal. But it's worth it - it was amazing getting to see the blob today. Thank you for coming, Steve. You didn't have to rush and leave work though, I know how hard you always work …there'll be plenty of other appointments."

"Are you kidding?" He scoffed playfully, "I wasn't going to miss it. I was already missing my girls too much."

"I - wait," you sat up and moved across from him so you were looking directly at him, "your what? Your girls?"

"Oh honey," a guilty, sheepish look crossed his features, "I-I didn't mean to…say that."

"We're having a girl?" and cue the waterworks. You most definitely couldn't help it at this point, emotions like a live wire as the tears rolled down your cheeks, "Steve?"

"Yeah," his smile was breathtaking as he nodded softly, "we're having a girl."

"Oh Steve!" you threw your arms around his neck and held onto him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He was surprised by your sudden excitement but melted into your touch as he pulled you onto his lap, "we're having a girl!"

"I'm sorry," his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, "I know we said we weren't going to find out, and then I realized today at the ultrasound. I didn't think that one through. But I also didn't plan on telling you…it sort of slipped out. Sorry, honey."

"I know that's what we said," you pressed a big, excited kiss to his cheek, "but I've been dying to know too. I'm not upset, Stevie. I'm just…so happy."

"Yeah?" There was a dopey, lovesick smile on his face as you nodded fervently, "me too, sweetheart."

"It just makes it feel more real," you looked down at your bump, running your hand over it. Holy fuck. There was a baby girl growing there. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt a flutter of movement, "oh!"

You grabbed Steve's hand and placed it on the spot you had felt the movement and watched his face light up as he felt her move. You placed your hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. You could see his pretty brown eyes glittering with unshed tears as, "Hey, baby girl. We're going to meet you really soon. Your mama and I love you so much already."

She moved around some more, clearly wanting to make herself known, and that left the two of you both emotional fools, "she likes you, likes your voice. She's totally gonna have you wrapped around her finger."

"Well, her mother already does so it's only natural," he touched your face, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek, as he studied you, “you know, some days none of this feels real. Like…how did I get my dream girl and get all of this, huh? Seems more like a lucid dream.”

“Dream girl?” you rolled your eyes affectionately before lightly pushing his cheek, “you’re so dramatic. I highly doubt your dream girl ever was the fool that trips over her own feet, manages to dislocate her elbow…among other things. It was a happy circumstance that we met!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he insisted, pressing his forehead against yours and letting his lips brush over yours, “you are my dream girl, and you were worth waiting for. You might be my clumsy girl, but you’re also my dream. I mean it - you are everything to me.”

“You’re not playing fair,” your voice cracked as you wrapped him up in your arms, clinging onto him like a koala. You were lightly crying again, unable to control the hundred of emotions that were coursing through your veins right now, “you’re taking advantage of my fragile state.”

“Oh honey, honey,” you could feel the rumble of his chuckle in his chest, but you refused to loosen your grip on him, “it’s okay, just let it all out. I’ve got you - I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you were pretty sure that there was no better spot than right there in his arms, “you're the best thing that’s happened to me. I’m so glad I broke my ankle and got to meet you.”

“Baby,” he sighed softly, rubbing soothing circles on your back, “that’s…we would have met some other way, I swear it. But I guess…I’m glad you did too.”

“And now you’re my husband,” you pulled back and gently took his handsome face in your hands as he nodded softly, “and we’re having a baby.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, turning his face so he could press a kiss to your palm, “we’re married and having a baby.”

“Steve?” he never loved his name more than when you said, always so sweet and soft. He made a small sound, encouraging you to go on, “you’re my dream too.”

And he practically melted in your arms as he leaned in to kiss you, “glad we’re on the same page, sweetheart. But now, the important question is  - are you ready for cookies and a back rub?”

“Oh yes,” you practically groaned at the thought, “best husband ever.”

“I try,” he reached over and grabbed a cookie, taking a bite before offering you half, “I love you so much, my girls.”

“We love you too, Steve.”

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 | 𝐃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐞

“Does he ever smile?” you sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch beside Peter.

Peter barely looked up from his book. “Derek? No. I’m fairly certain the last time he did, a solar eclipse occurred.”

You groaned, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I knew dating him would be a challenge, but come on! I cracked tenperfect jokes today, and all I got was a broody eyebrow raise.”

Peter smirked, finally lowering his book. “That is his version of enthusiasm.”

You pointed at him. “You get it! So why can’t he?”

Peter chuckled, setting his book down. “Because my dear nephew has the personality of a wet paper towel. But I’ll admit…” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Watching you try to break him is highlyentertaining.”

Your lips curled into a grin. “Glad someone appreciates my comedic genius.”

“Oh, I appreciate more than that,” Peter mused, eyes glinting.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the smile. “Focus, Hale. I need to figure out a way to make Derek laugh. Or at least smirk.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers. “Tickle him.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Derek’s a wolf. Wolves have heightened senses. Which means he has to be ticklish somewhere.” Peter grinned like the devil himself. “Imagine his face if you just… went for it.”

Your eyes widened. “Peter. You’re a genius.”

“I know,” he replied smugly.

Not even a minute later, Derek walked into the loft, looking—as always—like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You shot Peter a look. He arched a brow, silently encouraging you.

Alright. Time to see if Peter’s theory holds up.

With the most innocent expression you could muster, you walked up to Derek, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Hey, babe.”

Derek sighed, already softening under your touch. “Hey.”

Then—attack.

Your fingers dug into his sides, wiggling furiously.

Derek jolted. “What the—?!”

He grabbed your wrists, scowling, but there was something else—a twitch of his lips, a barely restrained laugh.

“Oh. My. God.” You gasped, eyes widening. “You’re ticklish.”

Derek glared at you. “No, I’m not.”

“You so are!” You lunged again, but this time, he caught you, hoisting you over his shoulder in a warning hold.

You squealed, laughing. “Derek, admit it!”

Peter, still on the couch, was openly grinning. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

Derek groaned, setting you down with an exasperated sigh. But as he turned away, you caught it—a tiny, barely-there smirk.

Your mouth dropped. “Wait. Was that—”

Peter clapped dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen, she did it. She made the sour wolf smile.”

Derek shook his head, muttering, “You two are the worst.”

But you saw it again. That flicker of amusement.

Mission accomplished.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

Steve walks into the Munson trailer like he does every Saturday morning; it’s apart of his and Eddie’s new routine after the Upside Down. They meet up there and have breakfast (or more likely lunch) and just chill together. 

Music was blasting from Eddie’s room, which is pretty normal, but what wasn’t normal was that Steve recognized what was playing. Elton John. Ok, what?

Steve brows furrow as he walks down the short hallway to the source, and pokes his head through Eddie’s open doorway. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. 

Sat on the floor with his legs criss-crossed, was Eddie. 

Only that wasn’t the weird part. 

Eddie was wearing a feather boa and those joke glasses with the fake nose and mustache, and he was rummaging through a shoebox. The chorus of the song starts to play, and Eddie is singing along with enthusiasm. “BENNY! Benny! BENNY! Benny! B-b-b-b-b-b-Benny and the JETS!” He was headbanging along now, and Steve’s jaw drops. 

Steve tears his eyes away long enough to look around the room. There were piles of stuff everywhere, more than usual, and the closet looked like it had been ripped apart. 

Eddie is completely absorbed in what he’s doing, so Steve decides to lean on the door frame and see how long it takes for Eddie to notice him. 30 minutes later, Eddie finally looks up, sees Steve, and screams, “What the fuck?!" 

"Me? What the hell happened in here, Eddie?” Steve says in between cackles. Eddie’s face of pure horror is diluted by the Groucho Marx glasses. Oh, Steve is never going to let Eddie live this down. 

Eddie regains his composure and crosses his arms. “I’m… cleaning." 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up and he takes a very pointed look around the room. Eddie realizes he’s still wearing the stupid glasses and tears them off, throwing them into a seemingly random pile. "it’s a process, Steve." 

"Does this process include gasoline and a lighter?” Eddie levels him with a bored look. The feather boa still around his shoulders isn’t helping at all.

“Hardy har har, you’re hilarious, Steve. I just got a little distracted." 

"When did you start cleaning, Eddie?”  Eddie squints his eyes and looks like he’s thinking, then looks at the light coming through the window. “Sometime around 2am." 

Steve’s eyes widen and he puts his hands on his hips. "2am?! Why would you start cleaning at 2am?" 

Eddie stands up then, feather boa still around his shoulders, and mimics Steve’s stance, squaring his shoulders across from Steve. 

"Because I noticed the shower was dirty." 

Steve runs a hand over his face. "How does the shower being dirty turn into a tornado coming through your bedroom?" 

"Shower was dirty, so I needed to clean it. I needed some gloves and goggles because, let’s be honest, a hazmat suit would’ve been the best choice. So, I went to my room to look for something to use, and I found those glasses,” Eddie says gesturing in the vague direction he threw them, “but then I also found a notebook I lost two years ago. After that it all gets a little fuzzy." 

Steve just stares at him, jaw hanging again. He looks at Eddie for a moment before asking him, "So, is the shower clean?" 

"It is not." 

"Jesus Christ.”

Hear me out…

When Max graduates she throws two caps. One for her and one for Billy, whose early acceptance to Berkely is still sitting in a closed envelope on her desk, postmarked July 23, 1985.

Dustin throws two, too. His own and one that has "86 Baby" painted across the top in dripping red paint. He keeps Eddie's lucky D20 is his pocket all through college.

Warmth | S. R. | oneshot

Mature | Steve Rogers x Chronically Ill Reader

I’ll take care of you, he had said then. I love you. I always will. On the bad days and the good ones.

AUTHOR MASTERLIST | AUTHOR AO3

Established relationship, married couple, romance, fluff & hurt/comfort, angst with a happy/hopeful ending. Reader is good friends with Bucky and Nat.

Word Count: 1,771 words.

Reader Specifics: She/her. Mid-to-late twenties. Has a chronical illness that causes pain and fatigue, no specific diagnosis mentioned. Married to Steve. No description of appearance (other than clothes and such), no use of Y/N.

Warnings: Themes of chronic pain & illness, and the feelings that such conditions may cause, including self-worth and self-esteem issues.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

You get close.

The base of the batter is done, butter and chocolate melted, instant coffee and sugars mixed into it, milk and eggs and vanilla extract poured into the bowl. The kitchen of the Tower floor you and Steve share is downright indulgent, spacious enough that you can spread everything out and you try to work fast enough before being up becomes too much to bear. You manage to ignore the nagging tingling of your body, the slow burning that goes in waves from knees all the way to your chest.

You grind your teeth, focus on the task at hand.

Just as you’re about to start sifting in the flour-cocoa mixture, the first red-hot knife sinks into your stomach. You yelp, even as you knew it was coming, and with the second strike of the blade, you drop down to crouch next to the kitchen counter, squeezing the edge of the counter with both hands, fingers cramping from the grip.

Eyes closed, you wait as the pain drums through your body with every heartbeat, nerves aflame with lightning, muscles contracting and releasing. You try to breathe through it, squeeze your eyelids together to keep the tears at bay.

That’s where Steve finds you.

It doesn’t alarm him like it used to; he no longer drops a bag of groceries down when he sees you like this. Instead, he sets it gently down next to the fridge and steps closer, kneeling down on the floor next to you. His warm palm slides over the back of your dress.

“You were supposed to rest, darling,” he scolds gently.

You glare at him with tear-filled eyes, but the anger melts away when you see the worry on his face. That has stayed, even as he has learned that anything like this is not inherently dangerous.  

“I wanted to bake. I was craving mud cake and the store-bought just never hits the right spot.”

“I would’ve baked for you,” he sighs.

“I don’t want you to bake for me! I want to be able to do things myself. I want this stupid goddamn body to fucking function like it should be,” you snap, regretting the bite in your voice the second the words have left your mouth.

“I know,” he says. “I know how it is. I know how much it sucks.”

And he does. It is almost impossible to remember that sometimes, after watching footage of him yanking helicopters out of the sky, but once, this was his life  too.

“Yeah, the difference being that you’re no longer pathetic,” you mumble.

“You are not pathetic. It’s just a rough patch,” he says.

He knows where it’s coming from.

You still remember the time you got your diagnosis, how you told Steve that you should break off the engagement, that you didn’t expect him to hitch his wagon to this. You went as far as sleeping on Nat’s sofa for a week, and then Bucky forced himself through the door and sat you down and looked at you with eyes full of Winter Soldier steel.

You really think he can’t take this, huh? If there’s one person who understands how it feels to be in pain and helpless, one person that will know why you’re full of frustration and anger at times, it’s Steve Rogers, he had said.

It’s not about what he can take. It’s about what he deserves, and what I don’t, you had grumbled in response, desperately not trying to show how much you missed sleeping in Steve’s warm arms at night.

So he wasn’t worthy of being loved and taken care of when he was sick and incapacitated and chronically ill? Would you love him any less if the serum fell out of him and he went back to that state?

Of course not. But that’s different.

How’s that different?

Because you are a fucking asshole, Bucky Barnes, you had spat, knowing that to resort to ad hominem was to admit defeat.

Oh, I am, he had grinned. But right now, I am the fucking asshole who is right.

And he had been precisely that. Steve had welcomed you back with open arms, and you had cried against his chest until you had felt like you could breathe again, until the words ‘chronic’ and ‘illness’ didn’t feel like they were sucking all the air out of your lungs.

I’ll take care of you, he had said then. I love you. I always will. On the bad days and the good ones.

You know that. You know Steve Rogers makes no such promises if he doesn’t mean them, but sometimes it isn’t the same to know something on a rational level and accept it emotionally. On some days, you are full of pain-sharpened thorns and god, you just want to prick something that is beautiful, want to wallow in the self-pity and despise any light that tries to reach your darkness.

“Help you to bed?” he asks, and you don’t want to, but you nod nevertheless.

He lifts you up. It’s spring; he’s been out in simply a button-down and slacks, and you can feel his warmth through the cotton as he holds you against his chest. At least this part was easy. At least you knew that taking care of you wasn’t straining his body.

You’ve done what you can to make the apartment into an oasis of peace, and the bedroom is no exception. The bed is huge, filled with soft sheets and a pile of pillows that can be moved to allow you to rest as comfortably as possible. Steve sets you down on your side and sheds the clothes he’s been outside in before getting into bed next to you. You groan at the feeling of his body, covered only by the boxer briefs, pressing against your back, warm and relaxing like a furnace.

“You’re the best heating pad in the world,” you manage to smile, snuggling deeper into his embrace as your muscles start to relax.

He chuckles against your neck and presses a kiss to the back of your neck. Lying down, as much as you hate to admit, always seems to make a wave of relief flow through your body, muscles relaxing. Steve’s palm smooths over your side, stroking again and again, and the relaxation deepens, seeps into every muscle.

“The oven’s on,” you mumble, as he makes no attempt to move. “The groceries you brought are still in the kitchen.”

In response, he rucks up your dress and places his palm over your stomach, and you can’t help but groan at the relief of the warmth.

“I’m on heating pad duty,” he says. “Those can wait.”

You sigh, despite the smile on your face.

“I really thought I had enough spoons. It was better today, until it wasn’t.”

“It’s okay. It’s not always predictable.”

It’s not. And he knows that’s the worst part of it.

“I wanted you to come home to something nice.”

“I come home to you every day.”

“Flatterer,” you say, but despite the words, you entwine your fingers into his on top of your stomach.

Your wedding rings make a small clink when they touch his. It had been a longer engagement than you had initially planned; you had wanted to make sure he wasn’t marrying you just because of duty, just because he felt like he should, now that he knew you were going to battle with this for the rest of your life. He had countered that with the argument that he had proposed to you even before he had known anything about this, when your illness had still masked itself into bouts of tiredness.

He had convinced you. Your wedding portrait, Steve lifting you up and spinning you around, hangs above your bed, and even on the worst of days, looking at it brings a smile to your face.

Bucky had cried through the entire ceremony.

“Do you want me to get your meds?” Steve asks.

“I already took them; can’t take more right now. Lot of good that did.”

“Hey,” comes the whisper against your neck.

The tears that have barely dried escape your eyes again. Steve feels you tense and kisses the back of your neck again, the hand on you pulling you closer against him.

“I feel so useless,” you say. “Everyone’s so nice to me; I’m everyone’s stupid charity project.”

He has heard all of this before; this conversation comes every time you are going through a rough patch, and every time, his answers are full of patience and love.

God, what have you done to deserve him?

“Or they’re your friends – our friends. They like you. You are more than this, even though it doesn’t feel like that right now. You are plenty of things outside this illness. And I love you, for reasons that have nothing to do with whether or not you’re useful.”

“And you’re the stubborn dumbass who married himself into this mess.”

“I’m definitely both,” he says. “But neither of those have anything to do with the fact that I married you. And the doctor told you to rest, so who’s the stubborn one here?”

“Hypocrite,” you say. “Bucky has certainly told me how good you were at resting up, huh?”

You hear the chagrinned laugh and know the expression on his face. He mumbles something about how he really needs to get Bucky to stop telling stories about his youth to you, if they are just going to be used against him.

“Too late,” you say.

The tiredness is creeping over you again; being up in the middle of a bad flare-up has taken more out of you than you care to admit, and Steve’s closeness has taken all the bitter fight that had remained after the energy had drained out.

“I know it’s hard to rest when it doesn’t feel like rest is making any difference,” he says. “But you still should.”

You want to fight him, but your eyelids are falling closed as his warmth has filled your every crampy muscle and tight tendon.

“I love you,” he whispers into your ear. “Sleep well, beautiful.”

“Loveyatoo,” you mumble in response, the safety of his presence nudging you over the edge of consciousness and into sleep.

An hour later, you wake up to the scent of freshly-baked mud cake floating through the apartment and smile into the room, feeling like you could go for a big slice and a nice cup of coffee, sitting across from Steve and listening to him talk about his day.

Even in a rough patch, it’s not all bad.

Everyone jokes about Steve being the babysitter or the mom friend, but no one actually appreciates everything he does until he gets sick. Steve is the epitome of a doting parent; sure, he's only twenty and the seven kids he's adopted aren't actually his in any legal way, but those kids are his pride and fucking joy. Anyone who sees Steve with those kids can tell that he loves them deeply, which is why Steve is the only person in the Party that can convince their parents to allow anything- their parents KNOW that their kids will not only be well looked after, but they'll be genuinely enjoying themselves too.

Because he's a single mom except he's actually just barely out of his teenage years with no kids, he gets a lot of shit from everyone about it; he's known almost exclusively to the Party as Mama Steve (when he isn't in earshot of course). That's all fine by Steve, he always wanted a big family and now he has it. The problems start to appear when the Party realizes that Steve Harrington flat out ignores his own needs until they're so pressing that he's physically unable to do anything.

It all starts when Robin is told by Keith, of all people, that Steve has called in sick. Robin, of course, panics and calls him, and when he doesn't answer she calls Eddie to check on him. He and Steve had gotten closer since spring break, so it wasn't unusual for a member of the party to call either Eddie or Steve to check in on the other.

Eddie checks in to find Steve Harrington, badass warrior prince incarnate, sobbing from a blanket mountain on the couch in his living room. No one has ever actually seen Steve cry before, so Eddie freaks out, but it's just the result of a high fever and watching Old Yeller by himself. After calming the sick man, Eddie managed to coax some medicine into him and call Family Video to let Robin know that, yes, Steve is alive and no, he wasn't going to die of fever, but he only manages to get Steve to sleep by reading to him (Eddie finds it disgustingly adorable, even more so later when Nancy mentions that Steve loves stories but struggles with what he calls "moving letters"). And for the next two weeks, Steve is down for the count. Joyce and Claudia Henderson take turns making sure Steve is alright (Joyce because Steve is one of Her Kids, and Claudia because Steve is the Older Son she never had) while Eddie, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin all try to take his place.

By the end of the first day, Nancy calls it quits: Mike is a bullheaded terror who only ever seems to like Will, El, or Eddie, and even then he doesn't always listen to them, so the Wheeler siblings fight even more ferociously than usual. She can't get El or Erica to listen, either; Erica is a force to be reckoned with, and El will only nod passively before doing what she wants anyway. By the end of day three, Jonathan is out. He won't say what happened, but he told Max to be nicer to the Party one time and, ten minutes later, he was tearfully saying that the kids were little monsters.

Robin lasts longer, almost an entire week, by chattering at the kids until they give up and listen to her. She meets her match when Dustin and Erica try to commandeer the Family Video computer again: Dusting sneaks past and almost breaks the computer just trying to get to it while Erica does Erica and argues until Robin the Rambler runs out of words. The morning of day seven is very dark for her.

Eddie, through what he believes to be the universe's acknowledgement of the depth of his affection for Steve and also sheer force of will, lasts the whole two weeks, but just barely. Mike argues over everything, no matter what; Will is skittish at the best of times and disappears constantly (thankfully, not like his Upside Down episodes - the boy just can't stop getting distracted and wandering away from the group), only to reappear directly behind Eddie and scaring him into an early grave; Lucas gets frustrated easily and can never seem to find the right words to communicate his thoughts and feelings, so he snarks and lashes out before awkwardly trying to mend the situation; Erica is so completely herself that it can be dizzying when the full force of that hurricane is directed towards Eddie; Dustin practically follows Eddie around like a little duckling, demanding updates on Steve or ranting about one of his many interests; El spends most of her time with the Party learning about how girls her age act through Max or practicing her braiding on Eddie. The worst of them all, though, is Max. Despite having healed up, she's still in physical therapy to rebuild her muscle strength and dexterity, and her eyesight is bad enough now that there's talk of her getting a service animal. It isn't that she needs a little extra attention that makes her the worst, though: it's that somehow, she still chases the most mischief. Eddie has only narrowly managed to keep her from assaulting no less that nine people in the two weeks that Steve is sick, and he knows she's definitely tried to commit arson at least twice that often.

Finally, after two weeks, Steve feels better enough to return to his usual activity, and Eddie begs him to never get sick again.