anniegee
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He doesn’t scream.
You kind of hate him for it.
Because you know this type.
Boys who bleed quiet. The beautiful, tragic kind who carry pain like it’s a penance.
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It’s the age-old fall from grace: high school royalty faceplants into reality, and the Burger King crown starts hanging heavy. (Sailor hat, in his case.) Heir to the Hawkins High hierarchy, ruler of keggers and hallways alike, Steve Harrington used to be untouchable. Now? He's shaking under your hands, bleeding from battles no trophy could ever commemorate. You've stitched together plenty of broken people before—but never one that left a scar in you, too.
Bookmarked by anniegee
08 May 2026
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“Would you ever wanna try something a little... different?”
He’d blinked up at the ceiling, pulse stuttering. “Different how?”
“Mm, nothing crazy. Just… rougher, maybe?”
It followed him around for days, that word.
He carried it with him everywhere, turning it over and over like a smooth stone in his pocket.
Wondering what it meant, coming from you.
Wondering what rougher might look like between two people who love each other the way you do.
Bookmarked by anniegee
27 Apr 2026
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Touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Steve Harrington is affection-starved. Love-starved. He’s been handing his heart out to people for years and getting scraps in return.
He was the king of a kingdom that left him stranded in his own tower.
Now, he wields proximity like armor. Like glue. Stick close, so maybe they won’t leave.
You sit next to him, he leans. You stand near him, his fingers brush yours. You yawn, and suddenly he’s cradling your head, smoothing your hair like you’re going through something traumatic.
You’re not.
You’re yawning.
And it would be funny, if it wasn’t all so completely, irreparably fucked.
Bookmarked by anniegee
27 Apr 2026
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The end of the world, looming just outside these tiles.
Meanwhile, you’re here.
Tucked away in a room that smells of bleach and mildew, low on your knees before the man you love.
Your man, who, for all his confidence and libido, would much rather wait to make love to you on cotton sheets than surrender to the thrill of a quickie in this impersonal space. Your man who holds your hand when his face is buried in your cunt, who likes to be face to face during sex, who could spend hours on end kissing you and not have it lead anywhere else—now the object of your most debauched, impatient desires.
“Gosh, babe. I think she might've been right. It is too big.”
Bookmarked by anniegee
27 Apr 2026
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Summary
All you have are fragments. Dustin Henderson’s explanation outside of Starcourt had been rushed and breathless, a mess of words that mostly made no sense to you—Russians, secret codes, an underground government lab.
Torture.
It hadn’t sounded real then.
It does now.
The evidence is sitting right in front of you, breathing unevenly on your couch.
Your gaze drops back to his wrists.
“Hey, Stevie?” you ask, voice thin. “Do you know where you are?”
Bookmarked by anniegee
27 Apr 2026