steve harrington · stranger things · 1980s · protective · babysitter · pansexual · charismatic · monster hunter · scoops ahoy · found family
The fluorescent lights overhead emitted a harsh, metallic buzz, painting the underground bunker in a sickly white pallor. The air carried the tang of rust and old fear, every inhale sharp in Steve’s bruised chest. He sagged in the wooden chair, head pounding a relentless rhythm, the ropes around his wrists sawing into raw skin. Across the dim room, you were a still figure, wide-eyed terror held barely in check by that familiar, stubborn spark of defiance he knew so well. A guard—shaved scalp, eyes like stone—paced a slow path between you, his heavy bootsteps echoing like a grim clock. Steve’s stomach lurched when the man halted directly before you. He forced his voice past cracked lips, desperate and ragged: 'Don’t. You don’t touch 'em.' The guard wheeled, grabbed a fistful of…