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idyllicwillowtree · 8 months

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How Much Love

Genre: Steve Harrington x fem!reader / gn!reader; angst with fluffy ending, hurt/comfort, established relationship

Summary: Steve has a migraine attack but he’s too stubborn to take care of himself.

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: one curse word, non-descriptive vomiting, migraine symptoms, chronic pain, crying, one use of Y/N, dumb joke, p*rn reference?

Author’s note: I know the migraine thing has been overdone but idc :) I'm pretty sure this could be read as gender neutral but you can lmk if that's not the case

Enjoy!

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Steve knew he shouldn’t have gone to work. The second his eyes opened he knew it was going to be a rough day. The persistent throbbing on the left side of his face and the twist of nausea in his stomach would be enough to convince anyone else that they should take it easy.

Not for Steve though.

He’s done this dance before. The battle in his mind of not wanting to waste one of his precious sick days or if he should stay home and take care of himself so he can make it through the next day. He usually sucked it up and went with the former.

I’ve had worse before, he’d rationalize to himself. I can handle it.

His true motivation for leaving the comfort and warmth of his bed was the date he had planned for you two. Steve went all out with flowers, chocolates, dinner reservation at Enzo’s, and concluding the night snuggled up on his couch watching a rented movie.

But the customers kept coming. Steve could've sworn they were all there, not to rent a movie, but to exacerbate his migraine attack. Tired mothers bringing in their screaming babies, a group of smelly teenagers, and a boisterous man who was trying to convince Robin that The Godfather was the greatest movie ever made. That’s not even mentioning the flickering fluorescent lights that Keith refuses to change the bulbs in.

Robin began to take notice once Steve kept bumping into the shelves as he put away tapes around the store. She watched as he mustered up enough strength to pick up a stack of returned tapes and mindlessly put The Muppet Babies in the Horror section and something called I Dream of Weenie in the kids section.

By 4:30, he was absolutely fried.

“Go home, dingus,” Robin ordered.

All Steve could muster was a small grunt from his spot at the register. His forehead was pressed to the cool counter, toned arms wrapped around his head, trying to keep as much noise and light out as possible.

The bell on the door of Family Video was the final nail in the coffin. People have been coming in and out all day but this time the ring pierced through the side of his head like a burning knife, swiftly penetrating his brain and twisting it for good measure.

Steve’s back stiffened as he sat up too fast, stomach turning when he ran blindly through the store and into the bathroom before emptying out the contents of his stomach. He tried not to think about when the last time the toilet was cleaned as he kept his face in the ceramic bowl, spitting out the rest of the sour bile coating his throat.

Steve barely heard the door creak open through the throbbing in his head and the ringing in his ears, but he did notice the light in the bathroom turn off. “Go away, Robin,” he croaked out.

The disobedient footsteps continued towards him. He just wanted to be left alone, feeling too vulnerable in this state. He felt embarrassment twist in his chest at the thought of not being able to handle a simple headache.

A cold hand landed on the back of his neck and began to massage lightly. It felt comforting but Steve’s mind was rejecting it, “Robin, I said-”

He finally lifted his heavy head, half opened eyes widened slightly as he met your concerned gaze, only for him to start welling up. Steve’s lip trembled as it failed to keep a sob from escaping.

“Oh baby,” you whispered. “Not feeling good?”

Steve hung his head the best he could with his stiff neck and shook his head in response.

“It’s okay, Stevie. Try not to move your head too much.”

You squatted next to him on the nasty bathroom floor and gently brought him into your arms. You let him cry into your shirt, gently rubbing soothing circles on his back and neck. Steve knew that crying would only hurt his head more, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t understand the emotions he was feeling yet, but he knew he was relieved to see you show up. Like a superhero, there to heal and protect him from any harm.

“I’m here now, baby. Let’s get you home, okay?”

_______________________________________________

Steve was so out of it he wasn’t sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew he was snuggled in a cocoon of pillows and blankets. He peeled his eyes open and recognized the dark ceiling of his bedroom.

You were puttering around the room, tidying up a little so Steve would have one less thing to worry about. He admired how natural it looked for you, knowing where everything goes and even avoiding the loud creaking spots on the floor. Steve had the sudden urge to reach out but you tucked him in so well he was having trouble slipping his arms out.

His grunt of protest over the blanket entrapment alerted you and you were by his side in an instant.

“What is it baby?” you whispered gently, “you need some water? Or a new ice pack?”

Only when you removed the cool washcloth from his forehead did he notice the satisfying chill. He must have been practically asleep when you brought him home because he really doesn’t remember anything.

“What time is it?” Steve croaked out.

He leaned into the kiss you pressed gently to his cheek before you answered, “almost midnight.”

“What?!” Steve immediately went to sit up, but in his weakened state you were easily able to push him back down. “We had reservations!”

“I know, Stevie. It was really sweet of you to make plans but nothing we can do about it now,” you tried to reason. “We need to get you feeling better.”

“But I-”

“Stop that,” you demanded, still with a quiet and gentle tone, but it was still enough to cut him off. “Let me take care of you, Stevie. I know you feel bad, but I want to take care of you.”

Steve wasn’t sure if you meant he was feeling bad because he was sick or because of the immense amount of guilt he feels whenever he sees himself as a burden to others. Probably a little of both.

“I just…I was looking forward to tonight,” Steve muttered tiredly. “And this stupid chronic thing just always gets in the way and I don't…I don’t like asking for help.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he was making much sense but your smile showed him you understood. Your expression was soft and comforting as you gently raked your fingers through his hair. “Steve, I love you. All of you. Every single part of you I just adore. It doesn’t matter if those parts are feeling bad or good, I’ll always be here,” you stroked his cheek gently with the back of your hand, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. “I like caring for you Steve. It makes me feel good. So don’t worry about burdening me or anything like that, okay?”

Steve felt his lip tremble again but managed to gulp down his sobs this time. He whispered a quiet, “thank you” before fully relaxing. He lazily pursed his lips, silently asking for affection, which you happily fulfilled. You moved in close and kissed his lips as a way to let him know you will support him during this tough time.

Once you were leaned back you said, “now, on a scale from one to ten, how bad does it hurt?”

“Mm…Eleven.”

“No, it’s Y/N.”

Silence engulfed the negative space until a curious Steve peeled one eye open, only to see your shit-eating grin. He knew you’d be frozen like that until he laughed, but your expression was usually funnier than the joke.

He puffed out a laugh through his nose before shutting his eyes again. “That was horrible,” he said.

“Maybe, but at least I got you to smile,” you said smugly.

“Mm you sure did,” he praised you lightly. “Now c’mere. Cuddling is the best medicine.”

It’s called ‘chronic pain’ for a reason. Sure you can dull the pain with medications and treatments but it’ll always be there. Sometimes all you have to do is deal with it and ride it out, but it makes it so much easier when there’s someone there who loves and supports you.

Love may not be able to cure all kinds of pain but Steve thinks your love comes pretty close.

thank you for reading!

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littlemissomega · 8 months

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How Low Can You Go ?

Diabetic!reader x Stucky

Summary: reader’s blood sugar drops in the middle of the night

Warnings: Dangerously low blood sugar, low blood sugar symptoms (head racing, shaky, brain fog), crying, blood, mention of glucose tablets (which is kinda a medication? It helps get your blood sugar up), orange juice, fluff, pet names (Ladybug, princess, sweetie, honey, etc)

Short and sweet enough to give your hyperglycemia (high blood sugar)

For reference, any blood sugar below 70-80- depending on your dr- is considered low

Masterlist

Why is my heart pounding? Y/N wonders groggily as her eyes flutter open. She can tell something is wrong. Her skin feels clammy and her whole body is shaking. Y/N slowly sits up, looking around confused. Her brain feels foggy and she can’t think straight. Tear well in her eyes from the frustration and she put her face in her hands.

“Are you okay, baby?” Bucky asks, voice thick with sleep.

Y/N bursts out in tears and he shoots up in bed.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, putting a hand on her cheek. Her skin is cold and sticky under his palm, “Steve, wake up,”

Y/N feels Steve sturs and sits up on her other side.

“Ladybug, what’s wrong?” Steve asks, rubbing her back.

“Don’t kn-know can’t think heart don’t know don’t fee-feel good,” Y/N sniffles.

“What’s your blood sugar?” Bucky asks, turning on the lamp.

Y/N squeezes her eyes shut, nuzzles her face into Steve’s chest in the bright light.

“Huh? Don’t know too dizzy,” she whimpers.

“It’s okay, princess, we’ll make it all better,” Steve soothes, wrapping his arm around her and Bucky grabs her phone off the nightstand.

Bucky goes straight to her Dexcom app.

“Shit,” he mumbles, pushing the blankets off and jumping out of bed.

“What? What is it?” Steve asks, tightening his grip about Y/N

“40.1 (2.2mmol/L) with double arrows down,” Bucky calls as he runs down the hall to the kitchen.

Bucky’s hands tremble as he grabs two bottles of orange juice from the fridge, as well as Y/N’s glucose tablets.

“Let’s manually check, baby,” Steve suggests, gently turning her so her back is against his chest. He grabs her diabetes bag off the nightstand and gets the glucometer (what checks how much sugar is in your blood) out. He quickly puts a strip in before getting the lancet (finger pricker) out. He quickly cleans her shaking index finger with an alcohol swab before pricking this finger.

“Oww Stevie,” Y/N whines.

“I know baby, I’m sorry,” he soothes, wiping the blood up with the strip. Steve lifts her still bleeding finger to his lips and sucks on it gently. 3…2…1…

“39.3, Buck!” Steve calls, releasing her finger with a pop.

“That bad?” Y/N slurs.

“Don’t close your eyes, Ladybug, Bucky will be right back,” Steve tells Y/N, gently tapping her cheek as her eyes start to close.

“Don’t li-like it,” she responds. Steve wipes the tears from her cheeks.

“I know, baby. Here’s Bucky!” Steve points out as Bucky plops down on the bed.

“Here you go, Ladybug,” Bucky voices, opening the orange juice and lifting it to her lips.

Y/N struggles to part her dry lips, still feeling confused. The sugary, tart juice is a shock to her system and she almost chokes on it.

“There you go, baby, think up,” Steve whispers, placing a hand on the back of her head.

“Take this too,” Bucky adds, opening the glucose tablets and getting two out. He gently parts her lips with his thumb and places them on her tongue before lifting the juice back up. She swallows them without hesitating.

“You’re doing so good, honey,” Steve soothes, “Keep drinking it,”

Y/N obeys, swallowing until the last drop is gone.

“Do you think that’s enough?” Steve whispers.

“I think? I don’t wanna overtreat and it goes high. Let’s just wait 15 minutes and recheck,”

“Bucky?”

“Yes, baby,” Bucky responds, putting a hand on his girlfriend’s leg.

“I’m sor…sorry I woke you up,” she stutters.

“It’s okay princess! I’m sorry you’re feeling icky. You’re gonna start feeling better soon, honey,”

Bucky places a hand on Y/N’s cheek and she leans into it.

“I love you,” she mumbles.

“I love you too,” Bucky smiles.

“And I love you,” Y/N repeats, flopping her head back on Steve’s shoulder.

“And I love you too, Ladybug,” Steve chuckles, “You’re our best girl. Always,”

Masterlist

Taglist:

@liidiaaag

@flourishandblotts-inc

@aagn360

@smromanoff

@butyoudontlookdisabled

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starrystevie · 1 year

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steve has good days and not so good days. they intermix often, some weeks with more good than not so good and vice versa. there are months that pass by in a lovely wave of only good days which normally consist of sunshine outside his window and a certain curly head in his bed. the not so good are actually not so bad and can be coddled with a kiss and arms around him. they aren't fun, but they're manageable; he still feels like a person even if head is telling him otherwise.

but along with the good, there has to be the bad. the days where it's harder to get out of bed even if a certain curly head is pulling at his arms and heartstrings. days where his head is foggy, the memory of something so clearly there but it's impossible to wipe away the condensation that covers the looking glass into the past. days where his bones ache and he wants -needs- to pass it off as an incoming storm messing with his joints but he knows it's not. days where he doesn't speak, his throat feeling tight with anger and frustration, afraid that when he does let out a sound that it'll only be a scream.

waking up on his birthday, what's supposed to be a good day, with a ringing in his ears that keeps him on a dizzying ledge is never a good sign. he has eddie standing in the doorway and he sees him mouth something, or maybe he whispers it, and he has on that soft simple smile that has steve craving to know what he said. the ringing muffles whatever he says next and he knows it's something lovely because eddie's lovely and only has lovely poetic things to tell him on special days.

but steve can't hear it.

the sunlight is beautiful and it breaks his heart. he can see specks of dust floating through the rays and sees the way it paints eddie's curls golden and he can't help but wish it wasn't so goddamn bright in their room because it hurts his head even more than usual. eddie senses it because of course he does; he's able to read steve like the book with a broken spine and frayed pages that he is.

the curtains are pulled closed leaving a red hue over the room and there's a kiss pressed between his furrowed eyebrows. steve sighs, melts into eddie's touch, chases after him with open arms like a child for a lingering birthday hug.

"the ringing, it's- i can't hear today," steve breathes out, afraid to whisper because even that can be too much. it happens on bad days where all he can hear is his own dampened voice rattling in his skull. he never talks above a whisper, afraid that his voice will be loud and booming when he feels too small to handle it.

"i know," eddie says slowly and his eyes follow steve's down as he watches the words form on his lips. his hand cups steve's cheek and it's warm and grounding and he feels he can breathe again. steve doesn't have to read lips to know his next 3 muttered words that are followed with a kiss, the words that are stamped on his heart, the words that a brain which struggles with memory can't take away.

it's a bad day that should have been a good day mixed in between some maybe not so bad days. but he has eddie. eddie who pulls the curtains closed and holds him like he matters and lets his fingertips run over steve's temples in the barest of soothing touches like he could take away the pain because he wills it so. and if he has eddie, the bad days can never really that bad, can they?

#it's been a while since i've written sad steve so enjoy #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #steve harrington #hard of hearing steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #(also side note i am absolutely not saying that having a partner will 'fix' chronic illness/pain/trauma but it's nice to have someone...#... to lean on)

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emsgoodthinkin · 4 months

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As long as I’m with You

Steve Harrington x You (short)

Summary: Steve wakes up to another bad night you’ve had this week

Warnings: hurt/comfort, talks of poor physical and mental health, doctors, suicidal ideation, medication use, drug use, chronic health issues, BPD if you squint, disabilities, use of the word “girl” x times, negative self talk, mentions of sex, angst, fluff~~

This is based off my own experiences and inspired by my pal Morgan’s version; feel free to check hers out

Tick tick tick

The clock strikes 12 and then 1, 3, 5am in the morning, no sleep no rest it’s an every day cycle. The same shitty cycle.

It’s a new year, but not a new you.

Sitting in your walker in front of the excruciatingly bright television screen, high as a kite, everything in existence running through your mind 100 mph, sometimes the weed helps the pain. Sometimes it induces it or even makes it worse. Right now it’s doing nothing for you. Looking over at your loved one sound asleep. You don’t want to bother him with your whines or crying. So you just sit there silence, tears rolling down your cheeks; while you watch some bullshit on YouTube.

Sniff Sniff

“Baby?”

Shit.

“..yea?” you say in a whispered tone

“Are you ok? what’s wrong?”

“Ah, you already know”, you’ve used that line probably over a million times

Steve comes along your side expecting a few dried tears, but his eyes widen when he’s sees the collar around your shirt bitten, snot dribbling down your mouth and throat, crouching down, he lies his head onto your thigh looking up at you, “Talk to me sweetheart”

“No.”

“Hey, I know you’re hurting”—

“GOOD FOR YOU! Congratulations you know I’m hurting, you know I’ve been hurting for fucking years. I’m glad you’ve acknowledged it unlike some people”you sniffle getting up in a hurry to take a piss as he follows with sad eyes leaning against the door frame

“I’m fucking tired, I’m so goddamn exhausted nobody will ever know what I’m dealing with!”, you say wiping your ass not bothering to wash your hands, “I can’t do anything I can’t run, I can’t jump, can’t go to the stupid, fucking grocery store without one of those motorized carts.. my back hurts, my fucking knees are throbbing, stupid fucking nerves won’t calm down FUCK! It’s not like I can get in the bathtub to calm my muscles down. Nothing is helping! No medication, no PT, no injections, no nothing! Why?? am I just resistant to any source of help or treatment? I-I can’t even lay in the goddamn bed to sleep. That’s all I have left is rest!! What is rest!? I don’t know what the hell that even is”

“I know baby I know”—

“NO YOU DONT STEVE, all you know is what you see. I wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy, my worst enemy to feel what I feel. That’s how bad it all hurts. The most evil, sick and twisted person in this world, I would never wish this upon. I just..”, getting dizzy you collapse on the bed sobbing into your own hands, then eventually into Steve’s shoulder as he rocks you, tears spilling from his own eyes—

“Nobody cares, nobody wants to help me. nobody cares unless I’m rich and can afford to give them any and ALL the things off my back, but I can’t. Even with the money you make it will never be enough to help the poor girl who’s too young to have any kind of issue. It’s “all in my head” I’m just fucking crazy. I could break my own neck and still be told it’s only from anxiety. Nobody cares just”—

“I care” he exhales

“It doesn’t matter if you care, all your care is useless, all your help is worthless to me because it gets me nowhere. Nobody’s love and care gets me nowhere. It’s nothing all but fucking false hope. Don’t you get that? None of you still to this day seems understand that. Stop praying for me to get better. It’s never going to happen. I can’t take it anymore.. I just wanna die! All I wish for is to die but, I can’t even have that. It’s like all of you want me here, to live and suffer for the rest of my life for y’all, it’s not fair, fuck that”, your trembling, body in fight or flight

“Don’t say that, you know I’d do anything to take your pain away”

“It doesn’t matter what you’d do because you’re not a doctor. You’re not a professional, you can’t help me get better.. sucks to hear but it’s the truth Steve..fuck”—

Steve’s really trying not to beat himself up over your words, he knows you’re in pain, it comes from a place of anger, frustration and fear

“I have all these pain medications I could easily take all at once, so I’ll never have to wake up in this position ever again. Why can’t I do it huh? I could end right here right now you never have to suffer again, but I just d-don’t; If anything, I’m the most selfless person for staying alive for YOU just so I can be alive but in pain all over again for YOU!”, your tone getting higher and higher in pitch

“I-I’m sorry.. I wish I knew the right words to say baby”, he’s trying his best to stay strong for you

“You’ve got to be sick of me, tired of me. All I do is cause more money to come out of your pockets, more exhaustion, more burdening, more crying, more everything bad for you. You already deal with your own shit. I do nothing but make your own mentality worse, hell you’re making your own self worse being with a person like me. A broken and useless excuse of a human being. You deserve somebody who can go hiking with you, go to the beach, travel with, who can do the bare minimum. Can’t even fuck you properly—

“STOP! Stop that right now” he shouts

You freeze because he’s never raised his voice at you, atleast not on purpose at such a vulnerable time

“I hate it too. You know it hurts me to know that you hurt and I’m sorry that I can’t take the pain away from you. My sweet, sweet girl I’m so sorry that nobody has given you the chance to hear your voice, to help heal you..but I’m gonna make you the same promise I make you almost every single night. As long as I’m with you, I will try my best with all my power to make it a little bit more bearable for you to be here, and I am so grateful that you are still here and choose to be here with me for us to be together. I know you hurt, but as long as you’re with me, I’m going to do my best to put a smile on your pretty face, beautiful sunshine of a smile because you’re my sunshine.. y-your smile gives me life did you know that?”

You nod. He tells you all the time

“I- I’m tired for wishing to feel ok for my birthdays, every Christmas. All the shirts and posters you got me for Christmas? I haven’t even touched them yet, you know why? Because the selfish person in me doesn’t give a fuck about none of it. The only thing I care about and want and NEED is pain relief and that’s too much to ask for isn’t it? Apparently wanting to be better in the world it’s too much to ask for”

“You deserve to feel better”, he says while his hand travels up your back to rub your tense neck, “You deserve to be free from all of this and I can’t give that to you. You’re not selfish baby you’re hurting. I love you for you. I knew what I was signing up for, and if I didn’t want that I wouldn’t be here right now with you. I know the sacrifices Ill have to make, the tears I’ll have to shed, the strength it’ll take me to pick you up when you’re down, but I fell in love with you, how you are, and who you are”

“Who are you kidding Steve, you don’t even know who I am. The real me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I wish you met me when I wasn’t sick then maybe you wouldn’t be so stressed out a-and.. and,” you start sobbing again, it’s all too overwhelming

“Hey, hey look at me, no. I met you at the right time. You need me just as much as I need you. You may not think you’re worth nothing but you’re worth everything to me. Yeah you have a good and bad days..—

“I’ve had nothing but bad days for the past few months Steve”-

“I know, I see it, I hear it and I witness it, I may not can feel it, but at the end of it all, you still love me. You’re still here. You still want to cook for me. You still get up to brush your teeth and I’m so proud of you for still trying to care for yourself. That’s the biggest job you’ll ever have, and it’s been a very hard job hasn’t it?

You nod, as he nods with you

“Yeah, it has, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I want to provide for you. I want to take care of you. You’re my girl, you deserve so much and as long as I’m with you, I will try every day, every hour, every second or minute, to make sure you know how loved, how great and how amazing you are. How great and amazing you’re doing for yourself and for me. How strong you are”—

—“im tired of having being strong all the time”, interrupting him

“I know you are. You are so strong for being on this earth, even when you don’t want to be. I wouldn’t ask for anybody else, you’re it for me always. Will you continue to let me try to make it better for you every day? To take care of you?”, he squats in front of you, cupping your wet cheeks, kissing your forehead

“But Stevie.. you know you’re getting your own hopes up because nothing you do helps either and I feel like a piece of shit for saying that because”—

“I know what you mean, you don’t have to be sorry. I understand you may not have hope but I do. All my Hope goes towards you and it always will. You are the most important thing in my life. I’m not gonna give up on you, on me or on us, ok sunshine?”

..”okay”, you repeat rubbing your temples

“Head hurt, darling?”

“yes”

“From crying too hard?”

You nod, looking away in shame, “It’s okay, I’ll get your Migrane cap from the freezer and i’ll set your pillows up how you like, just sit tight”, he says it standing then pausing at the doorway, looking over his shoulder, “I love you”

“luv you—

“Hmm? What was that, I couldn’t hear you” he exclaims

“I said love you gosh.. shut up”, you barely crack a smile

That was enough to get him through the rest of the night.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x disabled!reader #steve harrington x ill!reader #tw sui talk #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #tw sick mention #mental health awareness #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x chronically!ill reader #steve harrington x sick reader #steve harrington angst #stranger things #joe keery #chronic pain issues #bpd #spoonie

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skys-archive · 19 days

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I humbly apologize for my constant steddie and disability posting but right now that's the only thing on my dash

#disability #physical disability #chronic pain #chronic illness #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington

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boldlyvoid · 1 year

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Eddie x chronically ill!Reader where the sex isn’t often but it’s still amazing. they do have the occasional crazy rough sex when they still have some spoons left at the end of the day. but after he has to help them walk to the bathroom to clean up and the pain they feel when they sit back down in bed and the winces and hisses always makes Eddie’s heart hurt. Even though it’s not his fault. They assure him that they love it, it’s fun for them and the orgasms are amazing and the soreness and the added pain after is worth it because more than anything, they love feeling close to him. The aftercare is as good as it can be, that still doesn’t mean they instantly feel better after, the ache in their legs lasts well into the next day and sometimes even sitting is hard for hours after. Even if they didn’t get too crazy, their lower half is just not as strong as most people’s. He loves them endlessly, enough that they go months sometimes without having penetrative sex because it’s just too much for them, and when they do end up doing it, he will dedicate as long as they need to making sure they feel okay with snacks and baths and kisses and words of praise that he loves them and they did so so good. He doesn’t care that their version of a happy and healthy sex life isn’t what people would describe as perfect or desired, it isn’t crazy and everyday, they don’t fuck all over the house, they can’t just have a quickie in the bar bathroom or in his van… but he doesn’t care. Every moment he gets with his lover is enough. What they have is perfect for them.

#don’t mind me #I’m just sad about being chronically ill and how sex both with people and alone is taxing #Eddie munson x reader #chronically ill reader #eddie munson smut #this applies to Steve too when he develops some chronic Illness from all the trauma #me and Steve fibro buddies

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hargrove-mayfields · 1 year

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It’s fibromyalgia awareness day! 🦋

Fibromyalgia is a disability characterized by lifelong, unexplained body pain and numbness, memory problems, attitude changes, depression and anxiety, stomach issues, migraines, and sensory sensitivity.

Here’s a fic about Billy Hargrove (and Steve Harrington) having that disability!

content warnings for: discussion of child abuse and abandonment, ableism and ableist slurs, vomiting, detailed and stressful descriptions of chronic pain, illness, self-deprecation, and suicidal ideation.

~~~~~

Something is off with Billy.

Atop the lifeguard tower, wearing a long sleeved sweatshirt, sunglasses, and a hat. From the outside, it looks like he’s hiding from something. Trying to blend in.

Max had accused him of as much this morning. Pointed her finger right at him and started snapping her teeth about pretending everything was normal. The kid was almost in tears while she confronted him about telling the truth. But Billy had no idea what she was talking about.

His back fucking hurts and he wanted to wear a comfortable shirt, so fucking what? He doesn’t have to justify that to her.

Now he can feel all her creepy stalker friends staring at the back of his head at work. Even sees the glint of the magnifying something or another they’re using to watch him.

He can’t give a shit about whatever those tiny assholes have gotten in their heads about him. They’re probably doing a round of their stupid role play game shit again.

Whatever. Because sitting in this hard ass chair isn’t helping his pain any. The sun is fucking hot, but he’s got chills from how bad his body hurts, a deep ache all over in all of his limbs. The migraine certainly doesn’t help, but even his glasses and his hat aren’t enough to block out the harsh light.

The summer isn’t easy on his body. Neither is winter, or any other time. He never gets a break. But the heat is especially bad on his body, and specifically, the pain in his legs and shoulders. He’s got the body and immune system of a guy in his 60s instead of one who just turned eighteen a few months ago.

Some lifelong nerve disorder he’s had since he was a kid and would spend hours curled up in momma's arms screaming for relief. Good luck with that kid. He lost the only person that ever tried to help; he should’ve been grateful he used to even be able to ask for it.

Now, the best he gets is an apathetic glance. He buys drugs off of some sketchy kid in a creeper van to manage it himself. The doctors and Neil cut him off of his prescriptions a long time ago, accusing him of just trying to get free drugs. Even still Max gives him shit for taking random pills, and he knows she’s right, but he’s just trying to comfort himself when the going gets rough.

He’ll live. Get over it, kid. Man up.

Right now he can barely breathe.

Someone could be drowning three feet in front of him and he wouldn’t even notice. All because Heather had some emergency and needed to take off and leave Hawkins for a few weeks, and he had been the one stupid enough to volunteer to pick up all her shifts until she gets back in late July.

If he lasts that long.

Right now his stomach is twisting from how bad it all hurts. It’s indescribable. If he had to try, he’d say it’s like threading fishing wire through his muscles and tying his whole body in knots, tearing through tissue in the process. Like hammering nails into his joints to keep the mangled mess all together.

He's going to be sick.

It’s not time yet but he blows the whistle anyways, because he needs a fucking breather. There’s no one else on duty with him because today is slow after yesterday's rain. Who’s gonna know?

Those scurrying little shit head stalkers will probably notice. Still not his damn problem.

Billy manages somehow to drag himself to the back room to collapse onto a bench. He tries to tell himself he won’t cry, but it’s far too late for that. This is the worst he can ever remember it being on its own. At least since the beating he took right before the move. That was probably the actual hardest time of his life.

Doesn’t change a damn thing about how bad he feels now though. As he’s just laying there, pathetically wasting his shift away, there’s a painful feeling traveling up his spine and into his ribs, stealing his breath away. He feels so damn worthless. Nobody would probably even notice if he died right now. Suffocated from the inside by his own body.

But that’s not the way this works. The pain cracks open suddenly at the highest point of his spine like a fault line, leaving behind a deep set, intense flash of pain in his back and his ribs.

That’s his last straw. His lowest point. He drags himself off of the bench and literally crawls to the showers. Hot water might help, he needs it to, because this is unbearable.

The shame of pulling himself on his hands and knees across the pool’s filthy floors is almost too much. He wants to scream for help. But nobody’s going to come for him.

Nobody will find Billy collapsed in the shower stall, wheezing like he ran a marathon just from the extraordinary effort it took him to crawl ten feet. It feels like he’s dying. The ground is cold but he’s hot, his skin flushed and sticky with sweat. If he had the energy, he’d take off his shirt, but he’s stuck. Arms tucked underneath of him, one cheek pressing into the floor and just staring at the wall because it hurts too bad to even hold his head up. He’s stuck.

It feels like some other thing is piloting his body. Right now, the pain is. It took the reins and told him to sit. Like a damn dog, trained by his own weakness. A shock collar tightened around his neck from the day he was left alone with this hurt, choking and gagging him.

It feels like he’s already dead.

An hour or so passes. He can tell because he hears a distant blow of a whistle. They probably assumed he ditched work and stuck a manager onto guard duty. He’ll get pointed for this. He could lose his job just because he’s lying miserable in a pool of his own sweat and tears and vomit. Just because he can’t take a little pain.

Try as he might, nobody ever believes him that it’s not just a little. More like a full body sensation of being torn apart from the inside. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Jesus, maybe he is dying.

That thought sends a rush of adrenaline through him. It would anybody, no matter how many times he might have prayed for exactly that to happen when he was lying in bed just the same way as he is here on the cold, wet floor.

Billy forces himself to sit up. His arms wobble like they’re too weak to hold up his weight, but he pushes up until his back is propped against the wall, and he’s not really holding himself up at all. His head fell back and knocked against the wall too, pretty hard.

The pain shoots through his neck, precise lines of fire burning in his veins, from the back of his skull down into the base of his neck. His fingers go numb. He leans over and tries to throw up again. There’s nothing left in his body. He’s dehydrated. Starved. Sick of this.

He’s still going to ride the adrenaline shot for what it’s worth. It’s the only chance he has of not spending the night on the ground in this locker room. God he wishes he had somebody to help him.

It’s past the point of denying it; Billy needs help. If only he’d realized that before right this moment.

The next step is standing. There’s not enough power in his entire body to get his knees to straighten. He’ll have to pull himself up to at least a kneeling position.

His eyes are still blurry from hitting his head though. Protected by a shower curtain in the already dimly lit locker room, there’s barely enough lighting for him to see anything at all in this tiny stall. So he’ll reach blindly for the shower seat and try to pull himself back up.

Billy grabs the spicket instead. All he feels is metal and he assumes that’s good enough. He barely knows where he is right now.

Besides, whatever it is will act as a base to help him slide his back up the wall. His legs wobble all the way up and his knees stay bent, but slowly, slowly, he’s getting himself to his feet.

And then the spicket twists. Billy loses his grip and slips back down to the ground, harder and faster this time, and hits his elbow. There’s no suppressing the shout of pain that bubbles up from his throat when there’s what feels like electricity charging through every nerve in his arm from the one contact point. He had hit his left hip off the floor too, and his leg on that side went completely dead.

When he’d twisted that handle, it turned the water on too. Freezing cold. Hitting his body like shards of glass against his already aching and sore.. everything. Even with the weak water pressure, every drop feels like an electric shock, pressing down and down until he feels like he can’t even move from how deeply the pain goes.

Billy’s sure he’s actually going to die this time. It’s time to swallow his pride.

He calls for help, “Hey! Need a hand back here!”

Nothing. Just the sound of water rushing, soaking him and making him freeze. This isn’t going to end well.

Straining his voice to be heard, so weakened by his condition as to still sound meek even at his loudest, he tries again, “Adam! Come on, I know you’re working today!”

Billy doesn’t know how long he’s spent on the ground now. Hours could have passed. The goddamned pool might have closed and he could be all alone here. He grows desperate, “Somebody, please!”

Something snaps in the primal part of Billy’s mind. He physically can’t sit up. Can’t turn the water off. Can’t survive on his own.

He needs…

“Momma! Momma come back!”

Nothing

After some time the curtain opens, but Billy is barely conscious anymore. He doesn’t look up or move or anything. Just sees a shadowy pair of shoes in front of his face. There are tears on his face already. Anguish. Pain. Disappointment in himself.

Let it be the goddamned figure of Satan, as long as this suffering might end, and for the moment, it does. Everything, the stall, the figure, the whole world turns black as he loses consciousness.

———

Suddenly blinding white light hits Billy’s eyes when he opens them again. He’s in some room with a window, and the curtains aren’t closed. That’s how he knows it isn’t home, his own bedroom window long ago sealed over with a thick blanket for keeping the light out when he’s having a migraine.

The wall paper in this place is almost as headache inducing as the entire fucking sunshine positioning itself right in his face after god knows how long he was unconscious. Blue and red plaid that is as dizzying as it is tacky.

Nothing else in the room identifies who it belongs to, the only hint of personality being a sticker covered cane in the far corner.

Did he get fucking kidnapped by an old person? Maybe, but what kind of an old person uses Garfield puffy stickers on their mobility aids?

That question is answered when, after some trudging through the fog in his brain for any hint of who’s house he could be in, Steve Harrington opens the door to the room he’s in.

Like it’s totally casual to just bring somebody home from their work, no matter how fucked up they were, Steve just walks in and talks to him like it’s nothing, “Hey. I heard you up. You doing good in here?”

Billy stares in disbelief for a moment, squinting against the overbearing sunlight to see Steve, the action making his skepticism doubly apparent, to make up for the work his tired and crackly voice isn’t doing, “So you’re the one. Mother fucking knight in shining armor..”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I went to give Dustin a ride and he told me there was something off with you. I went to check and found you on the ground.” Steve explains it all, pacing around slowly. At least he shuts the curtains on the way before sitting on the other side of the bed Billy’s laying in. A fucking queen size, since he’s some rich messiah apparently. “Matter of fact, you still look pretty rough..”

Billy doesn’t like feeling his sympathy, something like humiliation burning in his face, second to the pain, “Just get back to your bullshit little family, Harrington.”

Steve protests the idea, arguing automatically, “It’s not complete without you.”

A beat passes. For a moment, Billy doesn’t know what to say. He knows what Steve means, because he’s Max’s brother and whatnot, but that sentence has him feeling some kind of sentimental.

His instinct is to become defensive, so he tries it, since every other aspect of this situation is completely out of his comfort zone, “Well, get used to it. Probably won’t be around much longer.”

He’s referring to the fact that he feels like death constantly, a looming feeling of failure in his body. Any moment he could lose his battle against this invisible thing he doesn’t understand.

Poor Steve doesn’t get it. “Oh. Are you moving away already?”

How optimistic, to think only a month of work after graduation would be enough for Billy to make it on his own. He’d think it was because Steve was sheltered, if he didn’t know the guy was working his ass off at the ice cream parlor almost every day of the week.

It almost makes him feel guilty, that he can’t be as hopeful as Steve is, “I’m giving up.”

“Billy..” The concern is so raw in Steve’s voice, it breaks something inside of Billy. His intense resilience could carry him through when he was by himself, but he isn’t this time. He wants to be, so he tells him that, “No. I said, go away, Steve..”

It’s at that moment that he breaks down crying. Not even lying on the hard cement floor at the pool did he feel this pathetic and broken. Painful sobs in his throat and his chest ripple through him in larger waves of stinging jabs. Like the very act of crying is a punishment.

“Billy. Hey. I’m not going anywhere.” Steve soothes, moving closer but keeping his hands off of Billy. Afraid to touch what is broken, Billy deduces. Though Steve at least seems genuinely interested and not just being creepily invasive, since he gently requests, “Tell me what’s up..”

In frustration, Billy exclaims simply, “It hurts!”

“What hurts? Do you need a doctor?” Steve looks him over now quickly, frantically, like a worried parent. That just makes Billy’s feelings hurt worse.

The question also makes him irrationally nervous, spiraling once he realizes that a trip to the doctors would mean Neil would find out this happened. That meant more pain, and right now, Billy can’t handle that. He rushes to insist, “No! They won’t do anything..”

Steve looks so sympathetic, asking all the right questions to make Billy feel heard, “How long’s it been hurting?”

“My whole fucking life. If you can even call it a life. It’s not worth living.” Billy sobs apathetically, earning a sad, slightly panicked even, look from Steve.

His caring nature prompts him to plead, “Don’t say that.”

Billy is so unused to having anybody that cares, he feels like he has to defend his self-deprecating remarks, “But I feel dead. I can’t sleep, but I can’t stay awake. I can’t keep down what I eat, and half the time it makes me fucking sick. I just hurt all over, and it makes it worse when-“

He stops himself abruptly. Harrington is sweet and all for doing this, but Billy barely knows him. Not as much as he wants to. There are some secrets that don’t just get blabbed to close strangers. Even ones he has a crush on.

Steve isn’t content with that, never is without the full picture. Or maybe Billy doesn’t mind sharing as much as he pretends to. Maybe it’s nice to feel listened to for the first time in forever.

“When what, Billy?”

“When my dad hits me.”

Short and to the point. Having a fucked up body means it’s agony going through what he knows no kid should have to. He’s never told anybody that before, especially not so bluntly.

Once or twice Billy has tried to imply he needed a hand back when he still believed other humans had the capacity to give a shit. Steve Harrington and his kind and wise brown eyes is the first goddamn sign he’s had since then that there’s a chance someone might still care.

So when Steve tries to apologize, saying, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“ Billy is quick to interrupt.

He tries to sound more gentle than his previous, snappier responses had come out, “It’s fine.”

Stubborn apathy crashes into the force of determined empathy. A battle Billy doesn’t mind losing.

Not when Steve so passionately argues, “No it’s not! You need help, you can’t do this all on your own!”

And finally, going against what last bit of his aching soul wants him to believe in, Billy lets him in.

Instead of arguing, or asking in bad faith, he genuinely wants to know, “How do you know what this is like?”

“Have you ever heard of fibromyalgia?” Steve prompts, his eyes lighting up as bright as the morning sun when he recognizes that Billy isn’t pushing him away anymore, but inviting him in on his own terms.

It doesn’t help that he literally hasn’t heard of that though, shrugging to show his ignorance. The action of raising his shoulders up hurts though, and it dies out halfway, along with a pained grunt. To make sure Steve got his message, Billy answers verbally instead, since his skeleton is fighting so hard against his broody body-language thing, “Fuck no.”

“I could tell you about it, but just by hearing what you went through, I think I know what you’re going through. I got diagnosed just a few years ago.” Steve explains carefully, watching Billy like he’s about to say the wrong thing at any second.

Billy just stays quiet while he processes everything Steve is saying, but he realizes what exactly Steve was worried about saying once he continues, “Yeah, sometimes I have flare-ups and I can be right where you are. But, you know, I don’t have anyone at home actively trying to make it worse.”

That’s hard to hear. He’s right, and Billy doesn’t want him to be. Without the energy to get mad or lash out about it, Billy asks more questions.

“Flare-ups of what?”

“Fibromyalgia. Like I said. It’s a pain disorder. Makes you feel gross and sleepy and in pain all the time.” Steve puts it into words exactly like Billy has tried to for years, only they know the context between one another.

The sleepless nights writhing in agony, the loss of self, the torture from the inside out, it all goes without saying between the two of them. In Steve’s presence, Billy has a place where he’s understood instead of examined under microscopes and treated like a monster.

This drab bedroom suddenly feels like the only place he wants to be, saying with an almost awe-stricken quality to his voice, “So you really do get it, huh.”

“Mhm. Except I have it easier. I’ve got a Jewish Ima who loves me and lets me take breaks when I’m hurting instead of.. well.. the stuff your dad does.” So Steve isn’t letting that go.

Shockingly to even himself, Billy isn’t all that mad about it. Telling someone his deepest, darkest secret and having them actually listen, for the sake of helping rather than keeping dirt on him, that’s something Billy has never had before.

Now he just wants to know, “How do you fix it?”

Steve breaks the news softly, but in a huge way, “You don’t, B. It’s a disability.”

“I’m not-“ Billy tries to argue with that right away, associating that word with all the horrible things his dad had called him over the years. Fuck up. Cripple. Waste of space.

Something compels him about Steve’s brutally honest interruption of an explanation though, “I didn’t think I was disabled either until I slipped on my ass down the stairs and couldn’t walk for a month, long after the bruises, because I was in so much pain. That’s not normal for just any abled nineteen year old, and neither is what you went through last night.”

Even still, Billy’s impulse to argue is triggered, “So I just have to accept that I’m fucked up for life. But I don’t understand what I fucking did wrong?”

Steve doesn’t even hesitate for a moment before he’s assuring him, “Nothing. You didn’t do anything. It’s just a part of who you are.”

A failure. A fuck-up. All those rotten things come back in his head again, and Billy worries, for a moment, that Steve is turning on him. Mocking him.

“Yeah, damaged goods?” Billy scoffs, bitter and hurt, emotionally instead of physically for once.

Steve proves him wrong, for the thousandth time, and heals his heart just a little bit more, “Would you say that about me?”

“The opposite really.”

“But what does that mean?”

Well, Billy meant it in two ways. For one thing, Steve isn’t like him. Steve is kind, and loved, and all around doing better in life than him, relationships wise and career wise. It doesn’t feel right to compare all of his wrongs to all of Steve’s rights.

Though, because of how vulnerable he’s been already, it’s easier for Billy to say, “It means everything about you is fucking perfect. You got a good mom, a huge mansion, and probably the best fucking doctors out there.. Sure, maybe I gotta accept that I’m busted, but why can’t I be busted like you?”

“Why do you want to be?” Steve sounds like a therapist, and a damn good one too. He stays all soft and sweet and god it makes Billy frustrated.

He bursts out, talking with his hands without realizing that he’s been distracted long enough to recover enough energy to do so, “Because it’s easier for you!”

The final nail in the coffin. There’s nothing left Billy can say to pretend this isn’t what it is.

He’s jealous of Steve, he idolizes him, fucking loves everything about the guy. No matter what he argues he can’t hide how stupidly fond of the other boy he is, and has been. Even if the thoughts aren’t the sweetest, he’s got Steve on his mind, all the time and especially now that he’s being interrogated in his bed.

Crucify him, but Billy fucking Hargrove has a crush on Steve fucking Harrington’s

Steve isn’t afraid of that for even a second. “So let me help you, B. I don’t want to compete. I want to take care of you.”

While Steve isn’t afraid, Billy is. He’s terrified. Nobody has ever treated him like Steve, and his heart is getting too attached.

Hoping to get an answer that will either make the heart break easier or avoid it entirely, Billy asks him, “You’re not sweet-talking me, are you?”

Steve shakes his head patiently, “Nope, but I don’t know how to prove it to you. Can you tell me what you want me to say?”

“Fuckin’- Maybe.. some tips?” Billy tries. This isn’t natural or easy for him, asking for help. It took him this goddamn long to even accept that Steve was genuine, despite waking up in his bed more than an hour ago now. His trust has been established, but now he’s unsure what to do with it. So he keeps asking the questions nobody else has ever been able to answer for him, half to test Steve, and half just because he truly trusts Steve to answer, “How do I make it hurt less?”

“Self care. But-“ Steve starts, about to hand Billy the hard truth.

To avoid blaming Steve for it, Billy just decides to admit that reality out loud, “I know, I know. Going back home where my dad beats me doesn’t count as self-care. I know.”

Thankfully Steve moves on to giving more advice that doesn’t involve the tragic circumstances of Billy’s life, “Heating pads help.”

It sounds nice, but Billy has to admit, “I don’t have a-“

“I do.” Steve interrupts before Billy can finish, with all the eagerness and expectation of a new puppy waiting for a treat.

It’s charming and sweet, how much Steve wants to take care of him. Billy doesn’t want to outright accept or deny anything yet, the decision feeling too large when his head is still hurting and his thoughts are all jumbley and messy.

He’ll settle for giving Steve a fond smile, to make his words match the positive feelings in his heart, “You really want me to accept your help, don't you?”

“Uh, fucking yes.” Steve laughs, like it’s really nothing stressful for him. Like he’s happy that Billy might stay.

It’s not as easy for Billy to get to that stage of comfort, so he wonders, “And if I do say yes?”

“I’ll drive you home today to help Max pack you a bag, and you’ll move in with me. Hopper will deal with your dad while my Ima and I help you manage your pain and get you a new doctor. And make you good food.”

That sounds like a fucking dream. The fact that Steve came up with it so quickly somehow even dreamier, “You’ve thought about that before, haven’t you?”

“I like you a lot, Billy.” Steve confesses.

It’s almost too good to be true. As a matter of fact..

“In what way?” Billy asks skeptically, after everything, the fight, the showing his true colors, he can’t believe that Steve would have those kinds of feelings for him.

But, for the thousandth time, Steve proves Billy’s unintentionally cynical assumptions wrong, when he details, “In the way that I like you. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, butterflies in my chest and I can’t stop thinking about you, and when I see you hurting I just want to hold you and make it all better.”

Billy can tell he’s blushing and his eyes are wide, “Really?”

Steve sounds breathless, like he can’t believe he just confessed all of that. Still, he doesn’t deny it, though he clearly begins to worry how Billy feels, “Yeah. I’m sorry if that’s-“

“You’re the first.” Billy says abruptly, before Steve can take back his love. Though the sudden declaration seems to confuse Steve, according to the furrow of his brow, so Billy explains his thought process, “You’re the first person to care about me like that.. But you deserve better than a broken-“

“Hush. You’re not broken. You need a little TLC is all.” Steve says it all so confidently, and since he’s been right about everything else, Billy finally feels ready to believe him.

He just has one more question, “And you’re seriously saying you’re gonna be the one who does it?”

“Yes! Please, Billy. Let me.” Steve begs for the right to love Billy. And that, that dedication and longing- that convinces Billy.

The time for words is past, instead letting their body language do the talking. At first, Steve is just holding Billy’s hand, but Billy gets closer and closer, until they’re arms are pressed right against one another.

Billy is pretty sure he across Steve first, connecting his lips with his, kissing him softly, but with all the passion he’d saved up for the months he’d loved Steve in secret.

Yesterday is still affecting Billy, stealing his breath away and making it so he needs a break. He taps Steve’s cheek and they part, but only enough to get their bearings back. Steve patiently waits until Billy is ready again, smiling as Billy leans in and they kiss once more.

It’s nothing too intense. After all the emotions of today, they aren’t ready for that. Right now is for gentle affection, and love, and all the tender moments that Billy’s suffering had robbed them of.

Steve adds at some point, after they’ve been cozying up for a while, “By the way, the kids are going to apologize to you.”

“Nah, they didn’t do anything wrong.” Billy shrugs, not really bothered by their stalking, even if it was a little weird.

Steve makes a guilty face and Billy can tell he doesn’t have the full story before Steve even explains it, “They almost did. Their solution before they called me was going to be to put you in the sauna. Burn the sick out.”

Oh. Now he’s a little more than fucking bothered. Those little assholes are gonna get somebody killed someday.

“Holy shit, never my fucking mind. I expect a damn cake and a handwritten, formal apology.”

“Right?” Steve rolls his eyes at the thought of them, and Billy does too. Already on the same page, Steve thinking exactly what Billy is, he says it, punctuated by a kiss on the cheek, “Later, you’ll have it. Right now you need some sleep more than any of that.”

“I’m not gonna say no, but…” Billy shuffled into a comfortable lying position, and pats the pillow next to his head, wiggling around to make room for Steve to lay by his side, “Care to join me?”

Steve laughs, a bright bubbly sound, and copies him by laying down and getting comfortable, “For sleep, yes. I need a goddamn nap.”

Billy ends that morning with an arm around his middle, a puff of hair in his face, and a full feeling in his heart. Billy is finally safe. Finally at ease. He mumbles, barely awake as that comfortable feeling sets it, “Thanks, Stevie. Love you.”

“Don’t worry about it. And I love you too.” Is Steve’s easy response, without needing to prepare it or anything.

Everything is just fine with Billy.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #billy x steve #disabled billy hargrove #disabled steve harrington #my writing #ej writer #tw abuse #tw ableism #tw suicidal ideation #i have fibro and like. as poignant and heartbreaking as so many comparisons to being flayed are #the one I resonate most with is chronic illness #so this fic is basically what would happen if billy wasn’t actually flayed he just seemed like it #and also if Steve wasn’t trapped underground and could have helped billy #because they’re romantic soulmates and you can’t tell me otherwise #/lh

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eva-knits12 · 4 months

Text

Christmas with Steve

Trigger warning: Christmas, Steve Rogers, fibromyalgia, fluff

Summary: You and Steve spend your first Christmas as a newlywed couple.

Steve rolls over on his back. His eyes are open, and he has a smile on his face. You have finally gone back to sleep after finding another comfortable position after you've gotten up to pee for what seems like the 100th time that night because James was sitting on your bladder. James had finally settled down inside you. Steve gets up, pulls the covers over you, lets you sleep, and kisses your cheek.

Steve went to church last night, and when he got home, he saw you sleeping in the recliner. He got you to bed, and picked you up, and carried you bridal style to the bedroom. Your seven-and-a-half month pregnant belly didn't stop him.

He gathers his clothes for the day, which is black dress pants, a white button down, and a blue cardigan. He goes to the kitchen, turns on the coffee maker, and then goes to brush his teeth and shower.

He turns on the lights to the tree, and turns on A Christmas Story. When the coffee maker is done, Steve pours his first cup of the day. He turns on a smaller pot so that you can have some decaf.

You wake up, and call for Steve. Steve helps you out of bed, since you are now seven-and-half months along right now. Steve helps you help, gathers your maternity clothes for the day, which is leggings, slippers, a maternity dress, and a cardigan. Steve won't let you do anything, lift anything, or even go anywhere without his assistance.

"Merry Christmas, doll." says Steve.

"Merry Christmas, Captain Handsome", you say.

You and Steve kiss each other lovingly. You two are newlyweds after all. Steve gives you a cup of decaf the way you like it, and you take your first sip. Steve also fixes you some toast, so you can have something in your stomach.

"Merry Christmas, James. Be good to mama," says Steve, talking to your pregnant belly, and James kicks. Steve kisses your belly where James kicked. Whenever Steve was around, and James would kick, Steve always kissed your belly where James kicked.

You and Steve conceived James on your honeymoon. You and Steve went to Rome for your honeymoon earlier this year, way back in the spring. You found out you were pregnant around Steve's birthday, thanks to Tony rushing you to the medical bay after you threw up for what seemed to be the twentieth time that day and Tony found you passed out. Steve's serum and altered DNA intensified your symptoms. You also had hyperemesis gravidarum, which was the morning sickness from hell.

You revealed that you were pregnant to Steve on his birthday. Steve fell in love with you even more. You remember his words when you were telling Steve about your abusive ex.

"Doll, if you got pregnant tomorrow, I would love that. I love you so much, that you having the most beautiful and purest thing in the world as a result of our love would make me fall in love with you even more," said Steve.

Steve meant every word of that. You were carrying his child, and you couldn't have felt more feminine and beautiful right now.

Steve helps you into the shower, and helps you strip down. You go to shave your legs, and Steve helps you with that. He would anything in the world for his pregnant wife right now. After, Steve dries you off, and then applies your body lotion and cocoa butter on your pregnant belly. James decided to start doing his Pele impersonation, and once James got going, he would be kicking for a few hours. James was already a ball of energy. James loved to be active first thing in the morning.

"Good morning, James," you say, as you start to rub your belly.

"Good morning, sport," says Steve, kissing your belly where James kicked. Steve puts his hand on your pregnant belly, and feels James kick. He kisses your pregnant belly again.

You're lying on the bed, naked, and Steve is drawing you. Every day, Steve draws you naked, and then dates the drawing. You have a big red bow on your belly, and you also have a small chalkboard that says the stats of the day. What's written on the chalkboard gets written on the drawing. He plans on giving you this sketchbook after James is born. James is due in February, and he's due on Valentine's day. This time, your lying on your side, your right hand is on your belly, and your looking at Steve. Steve is sitting in the armchair, just drawing you, and snow is falling out the window. The snow sets the mood.

Steve helps you get dressed, and then helps you to the living room. He sits you in the recliner, puts up the footrest, kisses your forehead, and covers you with a blanket. You're watching A Christmas Story, and knitting a sweater for James. Steve is in the kitchen fixing you both some breakfast. He's making you both some eggs, bacon, and toast. He looks over to check on you every once in a while, and he smiles. There's a fire in the background, the tree is standing in the corner, and the gifts are sitting underneath the tree. Your and Steve's stockings are full, and are hanging on the mantle over the fireplace. You'll open your presents and go through your stockings after breakfast.

Breakfast is ready, and Steve helps you up from the recliner. He pulls out your chair, and helps you sit down at the table. He pulls your chair back in, and gives you your plate.

"Steve, this is amazing," you say.

"Thanks, doll," says Steve.

You and Steve eat your breakfast, and then Steve helps you back to the living room. Steve cleans up, and loads the dishwasher.

You're settled into the recliner, and A Christmas Story is playing in the background. The fire is going, and is bringing a cozy feel to the living room. Steve hands you your stocking, and you go through it. You got a pair of simple gold hoops, a nice watch, and a silver locket with a picture of James's first ultrasound inside. You also get some chocolate, a chocolate orange, and some oranges with cloves in them.

Steve got a lovely watch, some oranges with cloves, some warm socks, and you even got him a nice signet ring that has his initials on it.

You then open your gifts. Steve got you some really cozy PJ's, some nice slippers that you'll wear at the hospital after you give birth to James, a warm cardigan to wear when you come home with James. He even got you a nice, blanket.

Steve got a nice handknit sweater, a nice tie, a crisp white and blue dress shirt. and a nice handknit cardigan.

"Doll, I love it. I love you so much," says Steve. Steve gives you another loving kiss.

Steve helps you back into the recliner, and covers you with a blanket. You knit for a bit, then you yawn. You start to fall asleep, and Steve sees. He kisses your forehead, and turns the TV to low. Steve reads his book while you nap.

After a while, Steve kisses your forehead again, and decides to prepare some beef barley soup and some bread for lunch. You and Steve eat the soup.

Dinner is turkey with all the trimmings. You went to Tony's party a few days before, but Bucky and Nat are coming, and they would bring some wine. You would all be having dinner, and Steve prepared it. He wanted you to be off your feet as much as possible.

Bucky and Steve talk about the good old days, and Nat and you are talking.

"Nat, I can't wait until James is here," you say, rubbing your belly.

"Yeah, it will be his first Christmas. I just hope Tony doesn't try to overshadow it," says Nat.

"Let's worry about it next year," you say.

"Steve, I never thought you'd be the guy to marry and have a kid. You were always the skinny, sickly guy from Brooklyn," says Bucky.

"Remember the Christmas I got sick again that year," says Steve.

"Yeah, you just couldn't shake that cold," says Bucky.

"Wait, Captain used to get sick?" asks Sam.

"He got sick all the time," says Bucky.

"Wait, are they talking about Steve being sick again?" says Nat.

"Yeah, it was nothing like my first Christmas with Steve," you say.

"I wanted it to be perfect. I really did. Only, I caught a bad cold that turned into a nasty flu. I just couldn't shake it. Eventually, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia," you say.

"Look, Steve loves you. He had so much chronic illnesses before the serum. He only sees you," says Nat.

"The doctor says that the flu helped the fibromyalgia diagnosis, otherwise, my symptoms never would have manifested themselves the way they did," you say.

Steve hears this, and he smiles. When you were in the hospital for a few days after, he refused to leave your side. He would draw, read his book, and keep you entertained while you were chained to the machine taking your vitals.

Steve would bring you flowers every day. He would bring you your favorite chocolate covered strawberries and you favorite chocolate truffles. He helped you shower when you were in the hospital. The doctor diagnosed with fibromyalgia, and she considered this flu that you had at the time lucky. You thought it was strange, but in your case, it helped with the proper diagnosis. You were also diagnosed with chronic anemia, and that was a diagnosis that could easily be solved with diet and supplements.

You, Steve, Bucky and Nat all exchange gifts. Bucky gets James a bear that looks like Captain America.

"James can take all the stupid with him," says Bucky.

Bucky and Nat got you and Steve a nice picture of you and Steve at your wedding. It's your first dance as a married couple, and you and Steve are staring at each other lovingly.

It's in a really pretty gold frame, that has a pair of bells on it with a ribbon. Your and Steve's wedding date is engraved on it.

You got Natasha some lovely gold earrings with a matching gold chain. For Bucky, you got him a nice camera.

You look at the engagement ring on Natasha's finger, and you hug and congratulate Natasha. It's a nice marquise diamond in a nice, yellow gold setting.

Steve also congratulates Bucky. You guys don't have any champagne, but that's okay. You can't drink because of the baby.

Steve makes some hot chocolate for everyone. You all are drinking hot cocoa in front of the fire, and are just having an amazing time talking.

Eventually, Bucky and Nat leave. You and Steve put on your PJ's, brush your teeth, and watch another movie. Eventually, you fall asleep, and Steve puts out the fire. He waits until it's out completely, and then he helps you to bed. He pulls the covers over you, kisses your forehead, and then says good night to James, and kisses your belly. Tomorrow, it will just be you and Steve, and Steve will do the laundry tomorrow.

You and Steve slow dance in the bedroom for a while. Steve gives you a loving kiss as you two are slow dancing in the bedroom with Christmas music playing in the background. Steve and you found love and happiness in each other.

You snuggle next to Steve and you're sleeping on his chest until you have to wake up and pee for what will be the first time that night because James has made a habit of sitting on your bladder.

#steve rogers #christmas #a christmas story #natasha romanov #bucky barnes #steve and bucky #chronic illness #fibromyalgia #pregnancy #breakfast #lunch #dinner #fireside snuggles #knitting #knitting project

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