#Sunbeam Harrington

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1961 Sunbeam Harrington Alpine Coupe

Designed in 1959 to epitomize the opulence of the late 1950s’ “never had it so good” era, the Sunbeam Alpine emerged as a chic sports car. It shared its underframe with the Hillman Husky estate and was part of the lineup that included the luxurious Sunbeam Rapier and Singer Gazelle models, all from the Rootes stable. While the new Alpine adopted the Rapier’s engine and transmission, it featured an entirely new light alloy cylinder head.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Sunbeam Harrington Le Mans, 1961. Thomas Harrington Coach Builders Ltd made around 400 of these hardtop GT versions of the Sunbeam Alpine across 3 series between 1961 and 1964, of which this car is an original model. At London London Concours 2024

[thepossummoldypasta]

Hidden In The Woods

In the woods around Hawkins there is a van, and in that van lives an Eddie. Not a nasty beat-up van in constant need of repair, nor is it a creepy van that looks like it belongs to a serial killer; It’s Eddie's van and that means comfort. It has a perfectly undented body painted green and a mattress in the back. Or well, he doesn't actually live in the van. It's a nice van sure but Eddie lives in a doublewide trailer with his uncle, not his van–no matter how often they joke about it. 

(and there is a small chance he’s lying when he says it doesn't constantly break down)

He’s heading to his van now actually. 

Eddie longs for the ability to teleport at times like this; he’s trudging through the woods after a particularly fucked drug deal, and all he wants is to be in the back of his beloved shitbox, wrapped in blankets and smoking a joint. 

But Eddie can't magically teleport to the van and he also can’t ban Tommy Hagan from buying his weed–who was a major ass today by the way–because he gets most of his income from the jerk. 

He also can’t park closer to where he deals, which sucks. Eddie knows Hopper looks for his van parked on the side roads, so woods it is. Boo.

It's not that much farther….

And it's a nice day...

Plus the trees are pretty…

Eddie loves fall: the trees light up so magically in the sunbeams like a leafy fire, he sees more gray squirrels dancing about the forest floor this time of year, and Halloween is just awesome. 

This Halloween especially. He led a bitchin’ Halloween one-shot with his new DnD club this year and nothing could sour his mood for almost a week afterward. Even though there was some weird pumpkin blight that year that meant no jack-o-lanterns and the controlled burns in the woods behind Forrest Hills kept him up at night all that month. 

Plus he had a really good fall break so far. 

Okay, maybe things aren't sooooo bad. Trust a walk in nature to clear his head. Now that he’s calmed down Eddie can appreciate how nice everything is. 

Wait.

Eddie definitely didn't leave the back of the van open when he left.

Maybe things are shit and Eddie is an idiot. 

Fuck 

He’s lanky and gangly and has no weapon to defend himself with, but Eddie still creeps closer to the doors. 

Hagan couldn't have gotten here before Eddie, so he’s probably not going to get jumped for selling him overpriced weed. Maybe a really smart, really lucky,  raccoon just so happened to get the door open? More likely Eddie opened the damn thing himself, completely forgot about it, and is now making mountains out of molehills…

He props a hand on the closed door and peeks around it into the dim back. And promptly reels back in shock falling flat on his ass. 

It's a total Occam's Razor moment. The easiest and most simple solution is that the universe hates Eddie Munson. Because that's definitely Steve Harrington in the back of his van. He’s snuggled deep into Eddie’s blankets and smelling distinctly more omega than the last time he saw the guy. But it's Steve alright. 

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck 

What the fuck is Steve Harrington doing in the back of Eddie’s van? He’s never even had a conversation with the guy!

What do you do in this situation! 

Steve’s obviously nested back there, and if He was completely scentless before the fall break he’s gotta be fresh off his presentation heat, so like hell is Eddie going to go barging in–that's a surefire way to get his face ripped off–but Eddie also needs to get in that van eventually! 

He Raises back up on shaky legs, poking his head fully into the back; and takes another good, hard, look. 

There is still a person in the back of his van. A whole-ass person who wasn't in his van when he left. A person who is without a doubt, Steve. 

A rustle of movement, a quick shifting of blankets, pulls Eddie back to reality. There’s a cute little chirr from the nest followed swiftly by chestnut waves of hair shimming out into the open. Eddie isn't even given time to react before doe-eyes bleary with sleep blink down at him. 

“Eddie!” 

And oh isn't that the sweetest little chirp. Eddie watches in astonishment as the omega wiggles to prop himself up against the back of the driver's seat, chirping adorably all the while.  Eddie can't decide if he’s more mystified by The Prettiest Boy in Hawkins™ cuddled up back there, or That he knows Eddie’s name. 

Now that the omega isn't completely cocooned, Eddie can smell that faintest hint of mint that Steve is throwing into the air paired with heady lavender and it draws him in. Before he even realizes he’s followed his nose and clambered into the back of the van… his van. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Eddie starts slowly. Are you comfy?” It's an innocent enough question. Hopefully, if he plays it casually, Steve won't decide Eddie’s a threat and rend him to dust for being in the poor Omega’s space.  

Steve didn't seem to understand at first cooing a cute, drawn-out  “Hi, Eddie” but eventually he blinked owlishly and replied with a smile “So cozy”. 

“That’s nice sweetheart, but how bout we get you to your nest, hmm?” the alpha tries to suggest. Oh but now Steve looks a bit confused; drawing his brows together and pouting. 

“Nest? ‘M in my nest?” Steve says (well actually he whines it, but Eddie is trying to ignore that lest his heart break). Crap what does he do now?

“I–I know you’re nesting right now, uh–but wouldn’t you be–wouldn't you feel better at home?” Eddie reasons. 

“But there’s no nest there!” Steve whines again “They wont let me have a nest! I wanna stay here” 

“Okay, Okay” Eddie soothes in a hushed voice,” you don't have to go anywhere you don't want to sweetheart” Eddie is in so much trouble. Now that he knows Steve won't be pissed at him for being so close, Eddie’s having a hell of a time not being closer.  

Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing.  

Eddie coos from a distance until the whines and whimpers peter out and are replaced by soft sleepy snuffles. 

“How did you even get here, big boy?” Eddie questions. The thought has been plaguing him, what happened while he was away?

“I was taking a walk” Steve starts, he lays his head down and his eyes flutter closed before he continues. “I needed to get away and I went into the woods. I got turned around but you saved me.”

“I saved you?” How the hell did he do that? 

“Mmm hmmm, I smelled ya” Steve hums” smelled so good so I followed.” ok, even more confused now. Eddie has an…unconventional scent–basil and tobacco leaf–he can't imagine someone trekking through the woods to find something that smells like pasta sauce and cigarettes. And how long was Steve lost in the woods, how long was he wandering, cold and alone, with only a scent trail for comfort. 

“Hey, Eddie?” 

“Uh yes?” Eddie focuses back on reality, ready to face whatever he’s about to be asked.

“If I’m sleeping beauty, why didn't you wake me with a kiss?” nope not ready for that. 

“Would you? Uh Do–did you want me to?” Steve nods against the soft blanket pillowed underneath him.  

Oh. 

Eddie feels his resolve crack and threatens to shatter. He can't take advantage of Steve when he’s so vulnerable. Is he vulnerable? Steve isn't still in heat, his mind is sound. But he is upset.  Best to leave it be for now. 

“Do you still want me to kiss you?” 

Dang it.

Steve shoots up–ramrod-like–to nod ecstatically. Eddie's resolve shatters.  Absolutely not helped by Steve’s little please, please, pleases. 

“Okay” 

It's not like there's anyone around to judge him.

It’s like the movies, the way they lean in close and steal each other's breath. Steve tastes like honeyed sunshine. It sweetens the omega’s lavender-mint tea smell in a way that Eddie knows he’ll crave till the day he gets buried six feet under.  Eddie can't tell where he ends and his darling omega begins, drawn so close together that their purrs rattle in both chests. 

Only the lack of oxygen drives them apart, though Eddie tries to fight it. 

“I’ll do better next time princess” the alpha rumbles with care. 

They seal the deal with another perfect kiss. 

Hell yeah.

================================================

based on this post Special thanks to @starshideurfics for inspiring me to have Eddie call Steve sleeping beauty like a SIMP

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1K] set after she drives me crazy, steve and hawkin's first 'date' at the diner after camp ended.

Shady Lakes Breakfast Diner was cast in brilliant sunshine. 

Just off of the highway that led back to Hawkins, the brick building sat on a patch of brown-red dirt with a concrete parking lot, a red roof and there was no lake to be seen, shady or otherwise. Steve’s car was a shiny mirror next to yours when you pulled into the space beside it, palms sweating and clutching the steering wheel, your brakes applied a little too harshly and you didn’t need to look out of your window to know the boy more than likely laughed. 

You’d barely managed to wrestle out of your seatbelt when he appeared at your door, camp sweater still on even though neither of you would need it for another summer. Steve tugged at the handle and you cringed at the squeak of the hinges as he opened the door for you, a smirk on his face that seemed kinder than it had at the beginning of the season. 

You looked at Steve Harrington’s pretty face now and you were reminded of the kisses you’d shared, how his lips felt trailing across your throat, down your chest, in the dip of your hip, the inside of your thigh. His mouth held secrets shared and confessions, words whispered in lakes and in vans and cabins and in the dead of night. 

You weren’t sure what this was, not quite yet, or what it would turn out to be, but the flip flop of your heart in your chest told you that you were excited to find out. 

Steve held out his hand. 

You took it. 

——————

The waitress was a forty something redhead that sat you both in a booth near the window, the sticky table lit up bright with sunbeams and she handed you each a menu, smirking with a cherry red mouth when you both jumped knees and let out strangled apologies. 

“Well, ain’t you two sweet,” she drawled and then left you unattended for too long. 

You wondered if it would be awkward, if the silence would stretch on too long and the spaces between words would be filled with doubt and the realisation that nothing more could come from this. 

From the two of you, together, and not arguing. That maybe all those years of tension were only good for one night of fun, the release having been and gone, the pent up frustration no longer there. 

But then Steve leaned in a little, elbows on the table and he pointed out a burger to you on your menu, voice low as he murmured that it was really good and his fingers brushed yours. That spark was there, the one that made your insides flip, that buzz on your skin, body electric when your eyes rose to meet his. Steve looked how you felt, a little giddy, with pink cheeks and bright eyes, as if he hadn’t been up at the crack of dawn chasing kids from their bunks and hunting down lost shoes and rucksacks. 

His smile was handsome, curling at the corners of his mouth all shy like, his hair messy from bed and how Eddie had woken him with a pillow to the head. Curls of it fell into his eyes and when you couldn’t hide the way your breath hitched and got caught in your throat, he grinned, brighter than the entire summer. 

“Shut up,” was all you could manage, a scowl on your face that was barely there from trying to hide your smile and it ached, pinching at your cheeks, the corners of your eyes and it made your heart thud too loud for such a tiny, little booth. 

You couldn’t decide on a milkshake, so Steve ordered both strawberry and banana, with cherries on top of their piles of cream and neither of you blinked at sharing a straw. And when he pinched some of your fries, you scoffed and tried to kick at his ankles under the table, but he just trapped your foot between his own and it stayed there for the rest of your lunch, your toes pushed into his calf and Steve’s smile got bigger and bigger until it seemed to fill the whole sky. 

It was sweet, that hour, that tiny slice of trapped time. It tasted like strawberry and banana, cherries and salted fries, leftover sunscreen and the last little pieces of camp. 

And when he slapped some bills down on the table, he waved away your fight before you could even say a word, grabbing your hand like it was something he’d always done and he pulled you out into the sun streaked parking lot with every intention of kissing you stupid. 

He did just that, pressing you up against the trunk of his car with his wide hands on the side of your face. Steve cupped your jaw, kept you pliant for him with the sweetest kisses that he trailed over your mouth, teasing and pulling away with a smile and a nudge of his nose on yours every time you protested. The boy couldn’t do much when you replied in kind, your hands winding into his hair and pulling him down to you, gasping against your mouth with your bodies pressed flush, your spine digging into his stupid BMW badge but you didn’t care. 

You couldn’t. It felt impossible. 

He kissed you slow, like he had all the time in the world now that you were out of camp, now that there weren't kids lurking around every corner. Steve made a soft noise, a moan and a grunt that was swallowed by you, his hips shifting into yours to press closer still and you were greedy, surging up to the tips of your toes and meeting his tongue with your own. 

Someone hollered out of their window, a trucker on the roadside that you didn’t open your eyes to see. A horn sounded, a laugh carried on the wind. Steve just kissed you deeper, pulled you closer. It was too difficult to worry about anything else.

[hellfire--cult]

idek based on this shit i posted minutes ago and @andvys gave me an idea, so here is the full version

Donut Stack

wc: 750w

Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington are being idiots together, and Reader sees them.

“What the fuck did you just say Munson?” Steve asks, eyes wide as he looks at his friend as if he had grown a plant on the top of his head.

“I asked if you knew how many donuts you can stack up your dick.” 

“I heard you the first fucking time, I am wondering what is going on in your head.” Steve shook his head, not really knowing why his best friend brought something like this out of nowhere.

“Well, I know I can stack up to three.” Eddie smirks widely and Steve’s face morphs into one of disgust as it processes in his head.

“What the actual flying fuck–”

“You know, those big krispy kreme donuts? I had to cut the middle open a little bit more of course, but hey, three fat donuts it’s a lot, right?!” Eddie was excited, smiling widely with a crazed look on his face as Steve kept staring at him, not believing what he was hearing.

“Are you trying to tell me, you bought donuts, to measure your dick?” Steve asks, just standing there in the middle of Eddie’s room and Eddie shrugs as he sat on the bed with a nod.

“I mean, I already had them–”

“Measuring tapes fucking exist Munson, Jesus Christ.” Steve ran a hand through his hair as Eddie kept the big smile on his face.

“Where’s the fun in that? My measuring system is donuts now.” He says and Steve finally came to the conclusion that he had enough for the night, leaving Eddie rambling about how he wishes he could stack up to three donuts on his erect dick.

Which leads to Steve staring at his unopened box of Krispy Kremes, on the counter, at 10 PM.

He shook his head many times, walking away from them to then return and stare at the donuts a little bit longer, until he finally grabbed the pack and a knife, heading towards his room.

“Out of my fucking mind.”

And the next day, when Eddie decides to steal Steve’s A/C privileges from the scorching heat that Hawkins brought, Steve has a triumphant look on his face, as Eddie opens a can of beer that he got from his fridge.

“Why so smiley Harrington?” Eddie asks and Steve shrugs but then raises one hand, putting four fingers up.

“Four.”

“What?”

“I can stack up to four.” Eddie’s eyes widened and he shook his head with a smile on his face.

“You’re fucking lying. You must have squashed them all over to make them fit, most likely.” Eddie was not believing that his best friend had a bigger dick than himself, and Steve’s pride was on the line right now.

You also, had decided that day, after fanning yourself for the millionth time, to go visit Steve, or well, his pool. Getting your bag ready, wearing a nice sundress, walking out of your house and onto your bike, trying not to melt under the burning sunbeams, parking the bike on his front lawn, and realizing that Eddie’s van is parked right in front, bringing a smile to your face.

Your best friends must be already drinking beer, enjoying the coolness of Steve’s home, and you cannot wait to join them. So you open the door, unannounced, and you hear their voices, frantic voices that were almost screaming, in the living room. You were already giggling as you walked into the room, only for your smile to drop instantly as you stared at the scene.

They both were on the couch, in front of the coffee table. Two boxes of donuts on top of it, opened, just two left… because the rest was stacked up on eachother’s dicks, as they argued with one another.

“You’re squishing them together Harrington!” Eddie exclaims as he points at the stack on Steve and he rolls his eyes, pointing at Eddie’s.

“You are the one squishing yours! if you didn’t, the tip doesn’t–” And his eyes finally caught yours over Eddie’s shoulder. He turned pale, and Eddie followed his gaze, turning his whole body to finally see you standing there, mouth slightly open, eyes completely empty, not a thought could be read on your face.

Everything was silent, not even a bird could be heard outside. You took a small breath to start talking, but then you simply turned, not a word being said, as you left the house. Eddie gulped heavily, looking back at Steve.

“Should we explain ourselves?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

i am not sorry for what i wrote

Thank u for reading this stupid shit I love them so much

[skepsiss]

For Steddie prompts -- I'm always a fan of older Steve and Eddie, like them in the 90's and still pining type of nonsense

That or them as camp councilors, for Summertime for us Northern Hemispherers ♥️✨

Pining in the 90s.... hmmm, as in they're not together yet? I'm going to take this in a rather AU way, hope you like it! Ooops, it's almost 2,000 words.... but whatever. (Anyone can send me a prompt! Please do) --

Eddie hoisted his guitar up his shoulder, grunting as he picking up his duffle and staggered away from the bus. It was a mild summer day, and he was pleased he had gotten in early to camp, even if he missed getting the extra sleep.

Eddie wasn't exactly 'a morning person,' but mornings came with their perks as Eddie took in the familiar sight of Camp Callingwood. He had never frequented the camp as a kid, but he had started as a seasonal camp counsellor in the late 80s as a last-ditch effort to not be homeless for the summer. It turned out to be one of the best decisions of his life because he had met some of the best people in the world. It was 'one of those perks' and Eddie couldn't help but look around to try and catch a glimpse of the guy he was looking for.

Like a sunbeam on a cloudy day, Eddie caught sight of Steve Harrington making his way down the dirt path toward the bus drop-off. He was talking to a younger woman who was also wearing the counsellor uniform, but Eddie didn't waste time waving Steve over. It took a beat, but Steve smiled wide when he saw Eddie.

"Hey!" Steve called over before saying something quickly to the young woman and then trotting up to Eddie. "Hey, man. I wasn't sure if you'd be coming around this summer."

"Wouldn't miss it," Eddie said cheerfully, letting Steve grab his duffle bag so they could start walking toward the cabins.

"No big break yet then, huh?" Steve asked, saying a few quick hellos to the other counsellors that had just been dropped off.

"You seen my name in the tabloids?" Eddie joked, only feeling a small pinch of embarrassment over Steve's comment. He hadn't made it big despite how much he talked up his music. He knew he was good, but there wasn't always an agent who could see that in the music biz. Still, he was nearly 26 now, and without a break soon, he feared he wouldn't make it at all.

"I guess not," Steve laughed, talking easily with Eddie along the quiet forest path. "Definitely would have taken notice to seeing you. You still selling songs?"

"Yeah, doing pretty good there," Eddie admitted, shyly glancing at Steve as he tried to gauge his attitude toward all of this.

Eddie was doing well in the 'selling songs' department; he could churn out hits for anyone, but it wasn't the music he wanted to play. It sucked that metal didn't seem to be in fashion right now, but no part of him wanted to change his whole personality to fit what was 'popular.'

"Wrote one for Whitney Houston recently," Eddie proclaimed, feeling a bit proud of that sell.

"No shit?" Steve asked, sounding surprised before he bumped his shoulder into Eddie's. "Good for you, man. Cool."

Eddie smiled stupidly, liking the roughness and how boyishly charming it was. When he had first gotten to Camp Callingwood all those years ago, Steve had already been a seasoned veteran at the game. From what Eddie knew, he ran the site year-round now, and maintained the grounds during the off-season too. Eddie was only a temp, but Steve seemed so pleased to see him every year. And every year… Eddie always tentatively sussed out whether or not Steve was still single.

"Any interesting changes?" Eddie asked, glancing at Steve from under his lashes, trying to keep things casual. "No… well, I got a dog," Steve smiled, opening the door to Eddie's cabin for him. "Pepper--she's great company during the winter. It can get pretty lonely up here by yourself."

"New dog, but no lady?" Eddie joked lightly, hoping the answer was no.

"No, no lady," Steve laughed, dropping Eddie's bag on the bunk bed. "They tend not to be great company in the winter when they have to rough it--in my experience."

Eddie laughed lightly, unable to hold back the little bloom of heat in his chest. Steve really was 'one of those perks' and Eddie could hardly wait for camping season to begin so he could sign up as a counsellor again. He liked the kids, and he had fun teaching everyone how to play the guitar, or hosting the 'in-door activities' for the kids that didn't quite fit in with the others, but the real reason he kept coming back was Steve. He wished it wasn't just a temporary thing, but he chickened out asking for more every year he was here.

"Don't get too comfortable," Steve offered, swaying and leaning on the pole of the bunk bed, looking casual as could be. "We've got a lot of kids these first few weeks so I might need to move you into the big house. You don't mind dogs, right?"

The big house was Steve's permanent residence, and it was a proper home rather than the bunk rooms the counsellors and kids usually slept in.

"No--yeah, dogs are fine," Eddie said quickly, "wouldn't mind meeting Pepper though--if you're not up to anything else right now?"

"Sure, I'll see if I can find her. She's probably running around somewhere. She's a bear dog, you know? Well, not for like attacking bears or whatever, but she does a good job of keeping them away," Steve explained, motioning for Eddie to follow him.

Eddie put his guitar down on the bed and followed Steve out, not sure if he knew what Steve meant by 'bear-dog.'

Almost as soon as they got outside Steve was yelling Pepper's name and whistling as he walked toward the mess hall.

"Did you get some new tattoos?" Steve asked as they continued to walk around the camp. Other counsellors were moving about and setting things up or settling into their cabins, the site a hive of activity.

"Yeah, one on my arm and one on my thigh," Eddie said, twisting to show off his new ink. That was another thing he liked about Steve: he didn't seem bothered at all that Eddie had tattoos, even though they were still considered quite scandalous to most employers.

"One more too on my chest, but I'll save that one for later," Eddie joked lightly, pleased to be asked about his ink.

"Later for sure," Steve retorted with a smile, and Eddie blinked at him as he tried to decipher what he meant by that. Later how?

Eddie didn't get the chance to dwell on that thought though as Steve hollered Pepper's name again and Eddie watched as a large white mass bounded toward them through the trees.

"There she is," Steve said pleasantly, crouching down to greet the dog.

Pepper was a Great Pyrenees and far too big for Steve to be crouching down for.

She bounded into him and turned happily, letting Steve rough her up with pets and scratches. He was cooing and making pleasant sounds of affection at her as she wagged her tall and rubbed her head under his chin.

"She's still a puppy, only a little over one year old," Steve explained as he stood back up and Pepper turned her attention to Eddie.

"She's big," Eddie said, a little surprised by the dog's size as she bumped into his hip, looking for attention. He gave her a few good scratches, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"She's friendly--might try and sleep with you," Steve joked lightly, motioning for Pepper to sit.

She obeyed quickly and Eddie grinned as he watched her pant happily, looking for more commands.

"So this is her first summer with the kids?" Eddie asked, crouching down like Steve had before and scratching and rubbing Pepper's neck.

"Yeah, well, in this amount. We get some winter scouts and groups like that, so she has been around kids and she's great with them, but she'll probably be excited to have so many people to spoil her."

Eddie laughed, charmed by how in love Steve was with his dog. If Steve was still single, and he was pouring all of his affection in to a dog… Eddie couldn't see why shooting his shot would hurt. He had backed off every year since he met Steve, but he was feeling determined to at least confirm that Steve wasn't interested in him. They were pals, and sometimes they wrote to one another during the year, but Eddie really wasn't sure how receptive Steve was to the whole… queer thing. He did know that they'd had queer kids at camp before, and Steve had always been gentle and accepting of them, so his attitude couldn't be all negative.

"Let's go grab your keys," Steve said suddenly, and Eddie stood up to follow him. "I'll just give you a master this year, easier that way. It opens all the bunk houses and the utility rooms--and the big house. Easier than trying to sort out all the rings."

Eddie nodded, feeling a small flush creep up his cheeks. It felt rather intimate to be given a key to Steve's house, even if it technically was part of camp property.

Steve handed him the kitschy keychain and Eddie quickly added it to his own keyring.

"Don't lose it," Steve said, sounding only moderately strict. "I only have three of those. You and me are the only ones that'll have them, I don't want to hand out the spare."

"Oh," Eddie frowned, glancing up at Steve. "Are you sure you want to give it to me?"

"Yeah, I trust you, man. Plus, I don't mind you letting yourself in whenever," Steve grinned, walking over to his desk and rooting around the papers there.

Eddie pinched his brow in with confusion, not sure how to react to that. What did he mean by 'letting yourself in whenever'? It sounded so off-handed, but Eddie had no clue if he was supposed to take that seriously or… flirtatiously.

Steve had always been friendly, but this felt like it went a bit beyond friendly.

Eddie swallowed lightly, mustering the courage to speak as Steve turned back around with a clipboard in his hand.

"I could move my stuff into your place now, if you want," Eddie asked, idly picking his nail polish. "Easier than having to do it later. Just… make it my spot for the summer."

It was Steve's turn to stare as they stood there quietly for a beat, before Steve seemed to shake himself from his astonishment.

"Yeah! For sure---that's cool, let's do that," Steve agreed quickly, smiling again but not making a move toward the door.

"You want to show me the room I'll be staying in?" Eddie asked, feeling his confidence grow a bit.

"Yes--yeah," Steve waffled, sounding pleased but a bit surprised for some reason. "Follow me."

Eddie chewed his lip lightly and looped his arms behind his back as he followed Steve out of the cabin. He wasn't certain, but Steve had seemed sort of… flustered by the prospect of them actually sharing a living space. The idea of that encouraged Eddie, and he grinned privately to himself as he thought about retiring for the evening with Steve in his little cabin in the woods. It felt… romantic and it really did set Eddie up to succeed.

Eddie was going to make this summer the summer he asked Steve on a date. He wasn't going to chicken out again.

[palmtreesx3]

Seeing Stars

I don't often share the words that vomit from my own head, but from what started as Hot Tub Steve appreciation inspired by the artist formerly known as @willowherbal (*insert Hunger Games 3 finger salute in memorial*) and the masterpiece that was Be With You Everywhere - Hot Dog Steve emerged and I couldn't remove the bumbling idiot from the depths of my brain. So thanks for that @sweetsweetjellybean @crappymixtape @superblysubpar

Steve Harrington x FEM!reader

Summary: The crew finally decides it's time to start celebrating the 4th of July again, but Steve Harrington finds he can't stop himself from staring.

References to past trauma, a dash of NSFW, staring, glaring and illusions to a hot tub hook up

Part 2: A Girl Like You

_________

It was hot. Not oppressive. Not stifling. But the kind of hot that has you seeing stars at one in the afternoon. Sunbeams bouncing off pool water, sunglass lenses and sweat glistening skin - not sure if you're more desperate for the cold beer or sticking your hand in the ice cold cooler to grab it in the first place.

Honestly, it's everything you could want for a celebratory, classic, absolutely patriotic 4th of July, but things are different at this particular picnic. It's been a few years, but the innocent holiday full of sparklers, sweet watermelon juice running down your chin and late night fireworks just hasn't been the same since everything that happened that year at Starcourt. It was when everything you thought you knew about the place you grew up changed in an instant and this motley crew welcomed you into their fold. Since then, most have pretended it was any other day, hiding away trying to busy themselves with whatever they can to avoid the Americana laced trauma.

You don't know whose idea it was to finally put a pin in the escapism, and while most tentatively agreed that it was about time you knock down the walls you all built to hide away the day, everyone unanimously also agreed they didn't want to spend it with anyone else that wouldn't understand. So that's how you found yourself here, hiding away for the holiday in the backyard of the Harrington house, poolside with people you grew up way too fast alongside, and others who are now far too grown to be the kids you once cared for. It's still surreal to you to think you can find yourself comfortably sitting here at this house with any of these people - none of whom (save the kids) were you big fans of before that star spangled day from hell all those years ago.

You were splayed out now, towel rolled up under your neck, daydreaming. Trying hard not to have your thoughts float back to all that you've collectively been through and instead on all the things you wish would go right from here on out. Behind a soundtrack of laughing, splashing and American Woman playing loud on the radio, you were grateful for the comfort of these people who turned into lovely friends and imagining the potential of a fresh start ahead after just finishing up your college degree that past spring. Things feeling far enough in the past to even consider what a future could look like.

That sparkling, blinking sunshine brought you back to reality - sunglasses snatched from your face in an instant by a meddling Dustin dashing by. The kids all now playing hot potato with your Ray Bans, you sigh before calling out "After all these fuckin years, you still think you can get under my skin? You know you're not 13 anymore, right?!" They laugh and you smile, because your favorite pastime is giving them as much shit as they can handle.

You squint hard against the blistering sun and in that moment become blissfully aware of the sweat dripping down your body. You casually reach in your bag, grab a second set of sunglasses and pop them on your nose while you swing your legs over the side of the lounge chair, considering your next move.

In that moment, your eyes catch on the steam now rising from the grill on the other side of the yard, Steve standing behind it ready to throw on a round of hot dogs to feed the ravenous troops. He's in navy blue swim trunks slung low and cut high, sunglasses perched on his head and a scowl of concentration on his brow. You selfishly pause for a moment to take him in, standing there so much more a man these days than before, but you quickly shake it off like you always have and make your way back over to the coolers, reaching in for a new can of beer and a handful of ice.

Behind the grill, Steve is doing everything he can to hold it together. He's kept himself busy today, lucky enough to be able to hide behind playing host in order to avoid suspicion. His issue isn't even the holiday - he doesn't need the 4th of July to remind him of his torture. He has chronic headaches and a ringing in his left ear to take care of that. His issue is you. You and the new view he has of you now that he's standing there behind the steaming hot dogs.

He takes a moment to gather himself, running both hands through his hair. You've never been one to fall for his charms. Not the King Steve brand nor the genuine yet still cavalier one that came after he actually got his shit together. He never did shy away from poking and prodding and exploring what he could get away with, but you…you always threw it right back at him. Playing what you assumed was a game of banter meant to keep each other on your toes - what he assumed was your attempt to remind him that you never really chose to be his friend. Despite everything you have gone through together, your friendship still felt a mile away from him and any semblance of a chance with you arguably further. He knows how you feel - felt? - about King Steve and he's pretty sure you being in his life is meant to be yet another reminder of what a shit person he used to be. So instead he settles for teasing and friendly yet biting remarks all soothed by his own fleeting glances.

And God damnit if he isn't cashing in on those fleeting glances today. He's pretty sure he's had to duck away inside the house at least twice to hide his half hard cock as he caught a glimpse of you sunbathing, sweat glistening on your tits in your festive red bikini or bending over, ass on full display, leaning deep into the cooler to pass out another round of beers to the group, including the kids who are now old enough for no one to give a shit if they have one, too. It's a challenge he wasn't aware he needed to be ready for. A battle of wills that makes tossing a molotov cocktail at an otherworldly monster seem like child's play.

Yet here he stands, making himself as busy as he fuckin can at the grill while you pass back over with a group to sit down again on the lounge chairs. Someone turns the radio up while you and Robin stand up and start belting out Wilson Phillips' "Hold On" to whoops and cheers from everyone around you. It's in that moment he slides his sunglasses down off his head knowing full well he will not be able to pretend he isn't watching you intently without the safety of his dark shades covering his eyes. He's taking deep breaths counting the hot dogs back and forth and back and forth again to ground himself when you run up next to him, out of breath from the sprint over, the singing, the dancing or all three combined and shove a can in his face.

"Can't forget the grill master, huh? Do me a favor and don't burn the dogs."

" Uh, yeah. Yeah, thanks." He stumbled out. Normally he keeps his composure and plays his role giving you some bite in his responses, but you've already derailed him and he's pretty sure the sun is frying his brain while he's at it. So now you're here, standing there completely thrown off.

"You okay there, Harrington? "

He grumbles out a hum and you leave him be, figuring he may need a few more beers or a whole new personality, because every time you consider dropping the snarky act with him he totally blows you off and can't be bothered to speak to you in full sentences. He's come such a long way and you want to let the past be the past entirely, but you find that you're irritated with yourself for even looking his way when he acts like that, so you come to give it to him harder next time.

Everyone has settled in again with their fresh drinks and full bellies, some playing a card game on the pool deck, a group taking a break from the water spread out in the grass and others bobbing in the pool. You take the opportunity now that the pool is calm and all games of chicken are nowhere to be found and slide in too, deciding to be unbothered by whatever the fuck is going on with Steve. You grab a hold of a float and kick your feet up so you're floating on your belly, arms folded on your float and head turned to the side resting in the cool water. After a best of silence you spin yourself around, ready to strike up a conversation with Nancy about her own post-college plans when you catch it. The sunglasses are just low enough on the bridge of his nose to catch a glimpse of the direction of his eyes and you are one thousand percent sure that before you turned your float around abruptly, Steve Harrington was staring hard at your ass. Fuckin typical.

Your conversations continue to flow, you join in on games of Rummy and races in the pool. You find yourself shoulder to shoulder with Max on your towels in the grass giving the girl the kind of advice you know she needs. And all the while you feel his eyes. You thought the first one was a fluke - of course Steve Harrington would oggle any ass put in his view - but now you're not so sure. Because normally with you, he'd follow up his blatant stare with some kind of bite or tease, telling you to put your ass away before someone uses it as a flotation device. Instead every time you think you might be catching him staring you down behind his sunglasses he makes himself busy and jams another hotdog in his mouth. At this point you think he's eaten at least 6.

It's late now, and the group starts moving inside, picking a movie and settling in cozy spaces to wind down from the day. Everyone falls into their normal movie night rhythms, bickering over movies, Dustin talking through the opening credits and flicking the lights off for the ambiance. You find yourself in your favorite movie night chair, giant Hawkins High Tshirt slung over your now dry bikini, feet with red painted toes hanging over the armrest, when you're certain you feel it again - eyes on you in the dark of the room.

Robins first to fall asleep, unabashed snores falling from her for far too long before Steve nudges her and tells her to go the fuck upstairs and get to bed already. He leaves to set her up in one of the guest rooms and you can hear now that instead of returning to the movie hes clanging around the kitchen cleaning up from the day. The others also start, sun-beat and slightly buzzed, nodding off into a comfortable slumber around you, and you don't hear Steve padding around the kitchen any longer, so you also assume he has packed it in and went to bed.

When you quietly snuck back outside, walking while shedding your oversized t-shirt yet again in favor of a quiet moment in the Harrington's new hot tub under the stars, the last thing you were expecting to see when the shirt lifted over your head was Steve, already perched there in the bubbles.

" I thought for sure you had already gone to bed. " You say into the silence. He has yet to really acknowledge you so now you're even more confused than before.

At this point, you're fully committed, shirt already off so you climb in, with or without his permission to join. Dipping your toes in and lowering yourself into the jets, you catch him looking before he looks away and you've about had it. You know you might come off strong here, maybe a bit bitchy…and the way he's sitting there with shoulders freckled by the sun and his chest hair all on display under the jets has you second guessing your frustrated emotions, but you don't let what's in front of you distract you. You stick to your guns and open your mouth.

"What the fuck is your problem today, Harrington. I know we're not the closest, but I thought we were friends and I'm not sure what I did to offend you?"

" Offend me? I - uh, shit. What do you mean? "

" Well you won't stop staring me down today, so either I did something to offend you or you can't help yourself enjoying this fucking impeccable view. " And as you say it, you genuinely feel that it's just a normal bite back. A tease that is on par for your friendship. It's when you see the look on his face after you say it that changes everything. He looks like a puppy dog. One that's waiting to be kicked after sifting through the garbage. Like a little kid with their hand in the cookie jar. Like he's just been caught red white and blue handed at his own fucking 4th of July picnic because he wasn't able to tear his eyes away from your body. Oh my God.

"I-it's not, I mean...I...guess it is, fuck. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. Y-you just… . "

You watch him stumble over his words - a literal feat for someone who used to wear a crown like King Steve - and see him slowly slink down until only his eyes and nose remain above the bubbling water, shutting himself up without fail. Of course he acts like this with you. How is he supposed to ever convince you he's not an ounce of that old disgusting version of Steve if he can't act civilized around you even when you're in a bathing suit. His eyes closed slowly before he squeezes them tight. He can't will himself to look at you because he's so fucking embarrassed and he doesn't want to talk about it, but you - your not dropping it. You can't.

"Steve, you fucking look at me right now."

He slowly opens his eyes, keeping half his face still submerged in the water to ensure he doesn't say anything else so utterly stupid or make you any more mad at him than you clearly are. He looks at you so intently, directly in your eyes almost without blinking and you don't think anyone has ever seen that far into you before in your life.

"Were you spending the day checking me out?" you say, softer than he expected.

He slides up, ready to explain and admit his transgressions "yeah I mean, listen, I really didn't think anyone noticed, especially you... "

" Oh my God, you really were shoving hot dogs in your face to try and throw me off, weren't you? "

" Holy shit, yeah I ate like 10. Fuck, it was that obvious? That's so embarrassing. I really need to get a grip. You just looked so good today and I was probably just distracted and I'm sorry - " eyes closed again in utter shame, completely word vomiting his explanation to you across the water.

But before he could apologize again or continue his ramble, you moved quickly across the hot tub, slotting yourself low, down at his level and between his wide spread legs. He opens his eyes when he feels you floating in his space, noses almost touching, chins just under the bubbling water, and you are eye to eye now. He hesitates, thrown off by your proximity, before smashing his lips into yours. It's rough and sloppy and the water is sloshing everywhere as he brings you in closer by the hips so your legs settle in on each side of his.

And he can't help it, he breaks away and starts in again on it "I'm sorry, I - oh my God" he gasps out as you cut him off by grinding your bikini clad core down hard on his dick.

"I swear to God Harrington, if you apologize one more time I'm climbing off right this second" he nods, enthusiastically, fervently as you reach down into the water, between both of your legs and give him a nice firm squeeze. His eyes roll back in his head and he gasps.

"I swear I'm not apologizing, but Jesus Christ, I don't deserve this. You - I don't deserve you but not even this little bit - Fuck!" You grab his shoulder tight, holding on to give your hips another firm roll back and forth and decide to get a little soft and card your free hand through his hair as he babbles.

"I know what you see when you look at me - ah, sh-shit" you roll again but he reaches up and grabs both sides of your face to get you to stop and look at him "I know who I was, but I know you like to make me remember it too, so I never thought… I know I'm better. Fuck, I know it, but I don't know why anyone who knows how I was back then even gives me the time of day. "

You reach up and grab the sides of his face, too. Challenging his unwavering eye contact with your own, you lean in and give him the softest kiss he could have ever imagined, raking your hands back through his hair and tilting his head back a bit to look up at you. From this angle he sees the stars behind you and questions what kind of penance he did these past few years to deserve this moment.

✨

[pitifulbaby]

damn shoes

summary: being pregnant and putting on shoes don’t usually mix well.

pairings: Steve Harrington x Pregnant!Reader

warnings: pregnancy, uhhh its pretty fluffy ngl

a/n: hello! so i haven’t written for the stranger things fandom though i’ve been in it for many a years, so this is a first! plus this is the first time writing in quite sometime, so it might be a little rusty. but i do hope you enjoy! 1.1k words

Pregnancy was, in theory- weird. Growing another human from your own body. Said human living inside your womb for nine months, completely moving each and every organ in your stomach to make room. The ‘morning’ sickness that was actually all day sickness that would be triggered by the most random things. Things you once enjoyed eating suddenly became the worst, and yet enjoying such an odd combination of food.  

But it would be worth it in the end, the endless mood swings, back pains, the kankles, the tossing and turning during the night struggling to find a comfortable way to sleep. The past nine months would seem like a piece of cake the moment you would be able to hold your baby in your arms.

But as of right now, the only thing that you could think about was the fact you couldn’t see your damn feet. Even as you were seated on your side of the bed, sneakers by your now sock clad feet- it was still a struggle to see them. Somehow, by some miracle you managed to put on your socks.

With a sigh you tilted your head to the side, watching the sunbeams as they entered through the slits of the blinds, creating little slivers of light against the carpeted floor. The sun had risen only a few hours ago, the summer sun creating overbearing heat that somehow felt even worse now that there was a human being created from your very body. The day ahead was gonna be a long one, shopping for baby furniture.

Just the thought of that made the fact of the matter even more real. In only three and a half more months your family of you and Steve would add a member. A teeny tiny member at that. Placing your hand on your bump you let your eyes look toward your sneakers. But soon your brain was fumbling over the fact that, how did you manage to put on your socks but not your shoes?

You had tried to put the shoes on while they were already tied, but that didn’t work. The ties were too tight and once you untied them to retie them, place them back on the ground and tried again- only for them once again to be too tight. And when you untied them and slipped them on, you couldn’t lift your leg high enough or lean down far enough to reach and tie said laces. And honestly you were too tired to try anymore ways. The pain in your lower back worsening each time you bent over, and over, and over. With a pout and a groan you rub your eyes with the palms of your hands, taking a break and trying to figure out how to put on your damn shoes, letting your hands fall back to your lap before once again- glaring at the black and white sneakers.

“Is there a reason you look like you are trying to shoot lasers out of your eyes at your shoes?” A voice rang out through the once quiet bedroom, with his hands on his hips- which was his usual stance, and towel slung over his shoulder was none other than your husband Steve. With a tilt of his head and leaning more on one side, causing his hip to jut out, he sends you a smile.

Replying with a huff you simply shrugged your shoulders. “If I glare at them enough, maybe they will magically levitate onto my feet.” You say simply, lip jutted out. Steve rolls his eyes with a quiet laugh, “Next time Henderson is over, you two aren’t allowed to watch Star Wars again.” He decides, taking the dish towel off of his shoulder and placing it onto the dresser before stepping towards where you sat, kneeling on one knee in front of you. “Dustin will have a field day when I tell him you think ‘magical levitation’ means Star Wars.” You said, your pout from before turning into a small smile.

“Is that not what they do?” He questioned, voice a little dramatic in hopes of making your smile wider, “The force is an energy field.” He once again rolls his eyes at your words, “Energy fields, magic- same thing.” He brushes off with a shrug before placing his left hand on your knee and letting his right hand cup the side of your face.

You let your eyes trail to the hand on your knee, reaching out and twisting the wedding ring on his finger that matched your own. “What’s going on, honey?” His voice was softer and more quiet than before, tilting his head to try and catch your eye. “I can’t put my shoes on, I tried everything and everyway.” You responded, cheeks flushing in embarrassment at the confession, sniffling to try and will the tears away.

It felt embarrassing not being able to put on your sneakers!

As Steve felt your cheeks heat up he rubbed his thumb against the apple of your cheek, “Hey,” He cooed, you only responded with a huff, moving your hands to rub at your eyes with a pitiful, forced laugh. “It’s embarrassing, m’sorry.”

With a shake of his head that you couldn’t see, Steve was soon pulling your hands from your face, letting your hands fall to your lap once again as he now placed both hands on the sides of your face, leaning in closer with a small frown. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about, not with me.” Steve promised, words hushed and sincere. He then presses a kiss to your forehead, then leaned back.

He soon was grabbing your left shoe, holding it in his hand. “What are you doing?” You questioned, he hummed in response, placing a kiss to your knee before lifting your leg up a tad to slip the shoe on. “Skydiving,” He replies, which in turn causes you to laugh at his dry tone.

Your eyes were soft as you watched him tie your shoe, finding it adorable and endearing that Steve Harrington still had to use the bunny ear method to tie shoes. After the left shoe was on and tied he moved to the other shoe, repeating the previous actions before he leaned forward to speak to your stomach. “Listen, I get it, you gotta grow before you come out, but give your mom some slack.”

Before he can say anything else, said baby is kicking right where Steve had placed his hand. “I know you can hear me!” He says through a laugh, which in turn causes you to laugh. He then tilts his head back to look up at you, the way the light hits his eyes makes them look more golden than usual, the more you stare the more it reminds you of the sun shining through the blinds that you were looking at a few moments ago. After a moment that feels too long, you are pressing your lips to his.

Maybe not being able to put on your shoes was a good thing...

[frenchcurious]

Sunbeam Harrington Alpine Coupe 1961. - source Amazing Classic Cars.

[ghosttotheparty]

spill my guts

also on ao3 cw: dub con possibly (they're both high but v into it); nonexplicit sex

It’s midnight.

The sky is dark, spotted with stars that shine clearly above the dark town, and the treetops of the woods cover the Harrington home, windows dark except Steve’s bedroom, dimly glowing from the golden lamps on either side of his bed. But Steve and Eddie aren’t on the bed; they barely ever are, preferring the floor and the worn rug even during long movie nights with the others. 

The others aren’t here tonight. It’s just them and the lamps and the stars that they can’t see from inside the house. And the weed. Of course. 

There’s often weed involved when it’s just the two of them. Not always. But it’s nice. It helps with the pain. And the nightmares. 

Eddie doesn’t sell anymore. Steve gets it from some guys in town, and he brings it around whenever he knows it’s just him and Eddie, waving it in the air as if to taunt Eddie even though Eddie is usually already grinning brightly before he walks through the door. They share, pass joints back and forth and pretend neither of them is thinking about how their lips are touching the same paper, damp with their shared saliva. Heads get cloudy as the air between them gets smokey, and they both long silently. Usually in Steve’s living room, often in his bedroom (also on the floor), and occasionally in Eddie’s bedroom in his and Wayne’s new apartment. But it doesn’t feel as secure there, not when the apartment is above one of the more popular coffee shops in the center of town, and the smell of weed is very distinct, especially when people know Eddie is nearby. 

Sometimes they don’t smoke weed. Sometimes it’s pills or powder, just for fun, just for the thrill of it without the fear of monsters and blood. Sometimes it’s booze, and then painkillers and a pitcher of water the next day. Sometimes it’s nothing of the sort. Movies, or spinning records and bickering about each other’s music taste, and then dancing and laughter. Hair flying in the air around them, eyes shining and stomachs aching from laughing so hard. Sometimes it’s tears and heavy breaths, whispers of safety and security and soft I’m right heres after nightmares and the fear of the dark. 

Right now, though. 

It’s weed. 

Neither of them has ever been particularly fond of the smell of weed. Sometimes Eddie bakes brownies to avoid it. He always wears Steve’s mom’s frilly apron, which makes Steve laugh every time. He looks ridiculous, but somehow less ridiculous than she does when she wears it. (Wore it. She hasn’t been here in ages.) 

But Steve doesn’t mind it when he’s high enough. And Eddie is kind of used to it. It used to linger on all his belongings in the trailer, on his blankets and clothes and the fabric of the sofa in the living room. 

The smell lingers a little in Steve’s room too, especially because tonight they’ve neglected to open his window to air the room out. The air is hazy, hot and humid (because they also left the heat on; Eddie was cold when he arrived.), and they both feel heavy as they laugh at something. Neither of them knows what exactly they’re laughing at, but it doesn’t really matter. Every little thing seems to set them off all over again; Eddie snorts at one point and claps a hand over his face, and Steve falls against him, giggling with his eyes squeezed shut. And then Steve’s head falls back and hits the post of his bed, and another laugh bursts out of Eddie. 

They feel stupid here together, laughing at everything and nothing, passing Eddie’s bong back and forth, blowing smoke into each other’s faces. Falling against each other, into each other, legs locked as they sprawl across the ground like tired cats in a sunbeam. When they lay down, their hair catches on the worn carpet of Steve’s bedroom, and the strands tangle together, the colors barely differentiable in the dim light of the lamps. 

And Eddie always likes to look at him, but he can’t stop himself when he’s high like this. He lets his head fall to the side of the bed, rolling to look at Steve. To gaze at him. And Steve looks back. They’re both still smiling, laughing, and Steve is beautiful. His eyes are shining and squinting under his smile, and his cheeks are rosy, and his hair is messy, and Eddie can feel himself falling in love. 

He already knew he was. He’s known for a while. 

He’s kept it under wraps, of course. Can’t risk losing this because of that.  

But the wraps seem to unravel as he looks at him. 

And Eddie isn’t even thinking as he reaches out to touch him; he feels far away even under Eddie’s fingertips, soft like he’s made of a dream. Eddie traces a line over his warm cheek, connects two moles like he’s connecting stars in the sky, putting together constellations that no one has named yet. 

Eddie would recognize the pattern of Steve’s moles if they were in the sky. If he looked up in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, if he could see every star in the universe. He’d find Steve’s skin, his left cheek and his chest and his back. 

Eddie blinks, his fingertips lingering on the two moles on his cheek. Hiding them behind his finger. Uncovering them. Looking like he’s expecting them to start glowing. And he realizes neither of them has said anything in a long while, and neither of them is laughing anymore. Steve is just looking back at him, eyes shining beautifully, smiling even though his mouth isn’t smiling. 

“What are you thinking?” Steve asks quietly, whispering like he’s going to wake something up. Like if he speaks too loudly, the sun will rise too soon, and they’ll run out of time. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie breathes. He can’t pull his hand away, still touching Steve’s face. Steve is still letting him, and even in Eddie’s cloud-filled mind, he can’t help but think that he needs to savour this before Steve makes him stop. Before Steve decides that Eddie is weird, creepy. “Just…” 

His eyes blearily find Steve’s neck. Trace lines between his moles. Recognize the stars. And Steve’s skin looks so fucking warm it’s like he has the sun under it all, like his blood cells are glowing and heating him from the inside out. Eddie’s fingers move on their own accord, like he has no control over them, and he thinks maybe they got a little too high tonight, but Steve doesn’t protest and his expression doesn’t change as Eddie’s hand slips to his neck and presses against his pulse. Eddie likes Steve’s pulse. He thinks maybe it’s a weird thing to like about someone, but it’s beautiful. Like a song coming from the Earth’s core. 

“I think…” Eddie says softly, eyes trained on Steve’s throat because he can’t stop thinking about biting it in the least weird way possible. “...If I was, like, cursed. To, like, lose all memories,” he says choppily, words finding their out of his mouth before he can run them through his head. Before he can get a gist of what they actually sound like. “And then I was just… sent into the world without direction. I would look for you.”

Steve blinks at him, confusion shining in his eyes as his lips twitch into a smile. 

“But if you lost all your memories you wouldn’t remember me,” he whispers. 

Eddie loves it when he whispers. His voice is always low, but during nights like this, it’s like Steve fucking knows how his whispers affect Eddie. They get right under his skin, creep along his veins and the contours of his muscles until they find the crown of his head, and they fall down his spine like it’s a waterfall. They make him shiver. 

“I’d still look for you,” he whispers back, eyes locked on Steve’s. It didn’t take him long after Everything to realize his eyes are greenish. Hazel. Specked with gold and diamonds. His hand finally falls because he wasn’t actually trying to hold it up and his body seems to forget what it’s doing. It lands on the ground between them, and Steve glances at it slowly. Then he looks back at Eddie, and he seems to get it. 

“And I’d find you,” Eddie adds. 

Steve hums quietly. 

“What if I was… on the other side of the world?” he asks softly. “Or something. Far away.”

Eddie doesn’t think about it. He has his answer. 

“I’d still find you. Nothing could stop me.”

Steve’s eyes are shining more now like he’s going to cry. Eddie didn’t want to make him cry. But fuck, he’s still so pretty. 

“What if…” Steve pauses, blinking slowly at Eddie for a moment, eyes glistening. “What if I didn’t exist?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow for a split second as the question turns over in his head. It doesn’t make any sense. Like a math problem that’s missing too many variables to be solved. Eddie blinks at him. 

“That’s… not possible,” he says. Whispers. 

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look perplexed. 

“What do you mean?”

Their faces are so close now, resting against the side of the bed. Knees bent toward the ceiling and the stars they can’t see, hands resting on the carpet that’s worn thin enough to see the shapes of the floorboards under it. Fingers centimeters from touching. Eddie can feel his warmth. 

“You…” Eddie exhales, pausing. Thinking. He forgets that Steve doesn’t witness his own existence the way other people do. The way Eddie does. Something he wonders if anyone thinks of him the way he thinks of Steve. If he’d be able to tell. “You’re fucking everywhere, Stevie.”

Steve blinks at him again. 

“Everywhere how?” he breathes. Listening like Eddie is telling him a story, like he’s recounting some fairy tale about whimsy and magic. 

“Even if you… Even if you weren’t you you’d still…” He exhales again, shifting a little closer, turning his body slightly to face him more. Steve’s eyes look like they’re about to fall shut. “Even if you weren’t— if you weren’t human or something, you… I’d find you everywhere. I’d find… your eyes in the trees, and your smile in the sun, and your laughter in the wind, and your sould is— is at the center of the fucking Earth, and—” He cuts off because his eyes are suddenly stinging and his throat feels tight and he can’t really breathe, but he can’t stop talking. 

“And I’m so fucking high right now, but Steve, I— I think I love you.”

And he’s crying now, tears spilling down his cheeks. On one side they fall straight down his face, over his jaw and down his neck. On the other, they soak into the blanket they’re resting on, darkening the fabric. Steve’s lips are parted as if in awe, like Eddie is something amazing, something incredible when he’s really just a crying, desperate mess, high out of his mind, high enough that he really just confessed his love— 

And Steve is kissing him. 

Eddie’s eyes close. His tears are getting on Steve’s face. Their lips are chapped. Eddie’s heart is beating too fast. His ass is sore from sitting on the floor. Steve’s hair is falling in their faces and it tickles. 

Eddie gasps when Steve pulls away. 

Both their eyes are wide, staring at each other in shock, but Eddie isn’t breathing. Steve’s hand is touching his face, his palm warm as it presses to Eddie’s cheek, fingers tucked behind his ear, fitting just right. 

Steve exhales. Moves a little closer. Pulls so gently that Eddie barely feels it but is helpless as he falls forward enough that their foreheads touch. And Steve’s voice does that thing again where it crawls under Eddie’s skin as he whispers to him. 

“I think I love you too.”

Eddie’s eyes close. 

More tears slip down his cheeks and he can’t stop, hands trembling as the words turn over his in his head like earlier, except now they don’t tumble out of order and become rough and confused. They find their way, smoothed down by the edges of Eddie’s skull like glass in the sea. 

And then he’s sobbing. Eyes squeezing shut, shoulders shaking, breaths sharp, and Steve is kissing him again even though he can’t reciprocate, so gentle and soft and careful that Eddie fucking aches with it. Steve’s lips press to his over and over and over again, kissing and kissing and kissing, patient and kind and sweet. 

His hands are warm even though the fabric of Eddie’s clothes as he touches his waist, fingers spreading over his waist and pulling so he’s moving Eddie to his lap. Eddie can’t see through his tears but it doesn’t seem to matter as Steve touches his face, wipes his tears away tenderly, holds his cheeks and presses their foreheads together and whispers something Eddie can’t hear but he can feel. 

His arms find their way around Steve’s neck, and he still feels so far away, and Eddie can’t wait until the high dies down so he can feel him. He closes his eyes, exhaling as Steve’s arms wrap around his waist and tug him closer so their chests press together. 

All of his muscles ache. He lets out a soft noise that he’s never made before, and Steve hums back, a hand pressing into the small of his back firmly like he owns him, and Eddie keens. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, squeezes his eyes shut, and he takes a deep breath. Steve smells faintly like the cologne he always wears, the one that comes in the dark bottle he keeps on top of his dresser. Masculine and earthy and so Steve that Eddie can’t imagine him using any other cologne. But he also smells like weed. (The whole room does. Probably the whole apartment at this point.)

Eddie squeezes Steve, legs tight around his hips. Steve groans weakly, and one of his hands slips under Eddie’s shirt to slide across his skin. He’s so fucking warm. 

Eddie’s breath is hot on the side of Steve’s neck as they clutch at one another, fingertips digging and pressing into soft skin, leaving bruises and crescent moons in their paths, and when Steve chokes out his name, slurred and weak but here and desperate, Eddie can only open his mouth against his skin. And Steve’s hand finds the back of Eddie’s head, fingers pushing into his already-tangled curls, catching knots and pulling too hard to feel good as Eddie traces his veins with his tongue. 

Eddie’s tears mix with his drool on Steve’s bare skin. He can’t stop crying. Not when Steve keeps whispering to him, all these sweet words, calling Eddie all these sweet names like baby and honey and his name. Not when Steve keeps kissing him like this: soft and tender and loving. Like Eddie deserves it. 

And Steve stays like this when Eddie comes, when his vision goes white for a few moments, when he falls lax against Steve’s body, their skin tacky with each other’s sweat. 

When Eddie comes back to himself, he still feels high. Steve still looks high. Red-rimmed eyes, cheeks flushed with warmth, hair wild from Eddie’s hands. Except his lips are red and swollen from kisses and his neck is spotted with red and purple bruises from Eddie’s mouth, and he’s so beautiful Eddie’s chest hurts. And he’s glad that he doesn’t have to go looking for Steve in this universe. He’s glad that Steve is right in front of him, arms and legs wrapped around his tired body, firm in spite of the weed, that Steve is smiling and leaning in to kiss him once more. 

♡ buy me a coffee ♡ taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist (comment to be added)

[underoossss]

So This Is Love - S.H

pairing: Cinderella!steve harrington x f!reader

warnings: some angst at some point (also the gif has nothing to do with the story lol)

word count: 5k+

an: i had a dream where steve harrington was cinderella and i obviously had to write it down. i loved playing with the story and changing many things to fit steve’s background that we know from the series. i hope you enjoy this! Let me know💘

Masterlist

-----

Birdsong drifts into the bedroom through the open window and a cool spring breeze accompanies it. The telltale sign that it’s time for Steve to wake up and seize the day. The routine is simple, wake up and stretch, make the bed, look out the window and down to the garden before going to the bathing chamber to get ready for a long day ahead. There are two canaries perched on Steve’s open window when he approaches; they don’t even move when he sits on the windowsill next to them. Call Steve out of his mind but he feels as if those birds know him, they come to visit him every single day after all. Besides, Steve doesn’t have many friends, if these two birds want to befriend him who is he to deny them.

“Hey guys.” Steve says as he sits, looking out to the garden below. The sun has barely risen in the distance and the sky is blue with a yellowish sunbeam trying to peak through the horizon. The flowers below seem to sleep still, the roses closed up until later when the sunlight hits them. A quick glance up confirms a cloudless day. “I don’t think there’ll be any rain today, what do you think?”

One bird chirps, but it doesn’t sound like an affirmation or denial so Steve shrugs. “I guess you don’t really know.” He stands up and stretches his arms above his head, followed by a yawn. “Well, I gotta get going. See you later!”

Steve grabs some clothes from his closet and takes them with him to the bathing chamber –trousers, shirt, and vest over his forearm. Closing the door behind him, he sets about undressing and bathing, making sure his hair and body are clean before towelling himself dry. Clean and dressed up for the day ahead, Steve steps in front of the mirror and pats his hair down with a towel. He makes sure most of it is dry before combing through it and setting it in place with hair cream. He takes a good look at himself in the mirror, tries to give himself a pep-talk but finds that he can’t; he can only sigh and head downstairs. What use is it to lie to himself anyways? You got this, it’s going to be a great day, you’ll see! You won’t even disappoint your parents! Lies. It’s better to treat himself with honesty.

As usual, no one greets him good day when he goes downstairs; his father too busy pretending he doesn’t exist and his mother busying herself with a magazine while she drinks her morning coffee. Still, he says good morning and heads into the kitchen. They might not love or want anything to do with him, but he’s still polite. The deal is, Steve didn’t qualify to join the knighthood by 5 points. Everyone in his family has done it, his father, both grandfathers did too, all of his friends from school, but not him. A real shame for the Harrington name, his father had said when he found out, from this day on you stop being a Harrington to both of us. His mother had agreed and that’s that. Steve is a stranger in his own home, banned from attending any events or showing his face around the nobility. As far as people know, Lord Harrington has no children.

Two years is enough time to put all these things to the back of his mind, but Steve’s self-esteem… well it suffered a tough blow. He focuses on his breakfast and early morning chores to ignore his parents’ judgemental presence. Steve mops the big and cold house, dusts the pictures and portraits hanging from the wall and takes out the trash. By the time he’s done, he’s itching to leave the house; he wonders how it’s possible for a manor to feel like a matchbox –it’s walls moving inward until Steve feels claustrophobic enough to scream. He grabs his coat and keys and walks out of the house as fast as his feet can take him, only slowing down when he’s down the gravel road that leads into the village.

It's a short 20-minute walk that Steve doesn’t mind, it’s enough time to forget about what he left behind at home and focus on the workday ahead.

Lady Francis, Steve’s neighbor owns a store in the village’s centre. Her son, who ran the store with her, passed away three years ago and Steve’s been helping her out ever since. He tries to use as little family money as possible and Lady Francis pays him well, it’s mutually beneficial. She gets help, he saves money up for the day he can leave his house. The store’s a two-story building made out of brick and painted cream and blue. Inside, there are fruits, flowers, herbs, candles, and porcelain tea sets; all Lady Francis’ except for the porcelain sets, which are antiquities she brings from her travels.

Steve opens the door, flips the store’s sign to open and hangs his coat in the backroom. He takes a small clipboard from the office’s desk and starts running inventory of the various items in the store. He stops as soon as he starts though, because right that second there’s a commotion in the village. Steve puts the clipboard down and steps out of the store, trying to catch a glimpse at what’s happening down the road.  

----

“We already discussed this last week. There are better ways to use the palace’s money than to throw a ball, you Majesty.” Shiny silk fabric wrinkles as you cross your arms across your chest and look at the King sitting on his throne in front of you. All around the palace, people are cleaning and decorating every hallway and the main ballroom with a large assortment of flowers. “I specifically said I did not want this, father, and you went ahead and invited people to come tonight. Without telling me, might I add.”

“You have to see it from your stepmother’s point of view.” The King tells you on the brink of exasperation. “Whether you like it or not, you must marry, and this ball will bring potential suitors from neighboring Kingdoms as well as our own.”

“I am 23 years old!” You exclaim and throw your hands up. “Why do you want me to marry?”  

“Your sisters married at 19.” A squeaky voice says to your right, and you glance in that direction with a glare. Your stepmother gives you the fake smile she uses with your father, a stark contrast to the deathly looks she sends your way whenever you’re alone. “I’d say your opportunity is slipping away from you, dear.”

“Just because my stepsisters did, doesn’t mean I should be married too.” You shift your glare into a sweet smile, even faker than hers. “I said I don’t want a ball. It’s a waste of resources, there are other things we can do for our people.”

“Everyone has already been invited.” The King shrugs. “Your stepmother is right, my darling. I’m getting older and you need someone to take care of you when I’m gone, to be by your side when you take my place.”

You hear two huffs come from the throne room’s doorway behind you, which can only mean two things, two horrible things. Your stepsisters Linda and Vilma arrived. Great.

“As if someone would want such a piece of work.” Vilma snorts unkindly, moving past you to stand next to their mother.

“I’d start adopting cats if I were you.” Linda says next when she joins her twin sister.

Leave it to them to make spinster jokes at your expense only because they’re married and you’re not. Their envy makes them act that way, is what you remind yourself every time they say something cruel or side with their mother to convince your father to do something you don’t agree with. They resent you, that much you know, for even though they’re older than you, they are not princesses and won’t ever be. A stepchild doesn’t receive a title or anything for that matter. You wish you could say you’re sorry for them but given how brutally unkind the two of them are to you… you’re not. As if the world taking your mother away from you wasn’t enough, your father had to become infatuated and marry a despicable woman.

It takes great effort, but you hold back an eyeroll, choosing to smile at them instead. “I think there are good odds that I’ll find someone. The two of you got married after all.”

Your stepfamily sneers at the same time and it’s so comical you bite your tongue to avoid laughing. “You little–” Linda starts to say but your father, tired of your bickering, speaks up.

“Enough!” His voice echoes around the room. “The ball will take place, and as the princess of this kingdom you’re to find a husband. That’s my final word.” The King’s eyes look at you seriously, but you can see that his decision comes from the fear shining in his eyes.

“As you wish.” You nod and put your hands on your hips in defeat before an idea sparks your mind. “However, I have my own request if I’m to be forced to attend this ball.”

“Alright.” Your father nods, urging you to go on.

“I want to invite the village so they can enjoy it as well. And…” You smile as you pause for some dramatic tension. “I want to go to the village to invite them myself.”

“Invite them? Absolutely not.” Your stepmother huffs with an eyeroll.

“You’re not to go to the village.” The King reminds you with the raise of an eyebrow, ignoring your stepmother’s words. “We’ve spoken about this.”

“It’s my ball, no?” You raise your own eyebrow, a perfect mirror to his. “I can invite whoever I want, and I want to do it personally. If I can’t do that then you won’t see me tonight, it is a big palace after all.”

Your father drags a hand over his face as he sighs. Stubborn, just like your mother, he always says when you don’t see eye to eye. You’ve proved him right yet again. “Alright, go to the village. But just this once!”

The smile that takes over your face is triumphant as you glance over at your stepmother and raise your chin.

----

 “Steve!” His friend and co-worker Robin –who’s late as always– emerges from the crowd and runs towards him. “The princess is going to have a ball! She’s coming this way and she’s inviting everyone.”

“How do you know?” Steve asks, skeptical. He’s never seen the princess before. Not in town because she never walks around the village, and not at any event because he is never allowed to attend.

“That’s what the commotion is about!” Robin throws her stuff inside the store, behind the front door and stands by the window with Steve. Her feet bounce eagerly in place as she strains her neck to look down the road. “I can’t wait to see her. She’s so pretty, Steve.”

Steve nods and shrugs. “So you’ve told me. You know I’ve never got the chance to meet her.”

“As if I could talk to her, dingus.” Robin rolls her eyes, eyes still trained on the road. “I just stare dreamily from a distance. You’ll get it when you see her.”

Just then, as if summoned by Robin’s words, you walk down the road. The crowd that’s gathered by each side makes way for you and two guards who walk some feet behind you. You’re smiling and greeting everyone as you walk by, stopping every now and then to ask a question or make short conversation with someone. There are flowers gathered in the crook of your arm, red roses and some pink ones Steve doesn’t know the name of. Steve can’t even hear what you’re saying, too focused on standing upright as his world seems to turn upside down. Robin’s words don’t come close to describe you, he thinks, because you look as if you’ve walked straight out of his dreams. Everything about you looks ethereal to him, from your hair to your smile; the way your purplish-blue dress fits you and highlights your beautiful complexion leaves him breathless.

“Of course, you’re all invited!” You’re saying your voice a beautiful melody to Steve’s ears. “Wear your best garments and be ready to dance.”

He's sure he looks just as foolish as he feels when you walk by Lady Francis’ store and he has to shake himself out of his trance. A second later you turn your head and meet his eyes and Steve’s stomach feels like a wasp’s nest.

“Hi.” You smile after a moment, stepping closer to the store. “Those periwinkles in your window are beautiful.”

Steve glances at the flowers and then at you as he fumbles for an answer. “H–Hi! I, uhh, I didn’t know they were periwinkles. The owner of the store put them there… I think?”

“They are beautiful aren’t they, your highness?” Robin is quick to intervene. She gestures at your dress with one hand while elbowing Steve’s arm with the other. “They also match your dress perfectly.”

Steve is quick to turn around and pluck out a few flowers before handing them to you. “Yeah, they match your dress.” He says, feeling his cheeks warm up when he steps closer to you. “A–A gift for you.”

Your eyes light up and a soft smile takes over your features. “Thank you… I didn’t catch your name, sorry.”

“Steve.” He says, then motions towards his friend. “This is Robin.”

You give the two of them your name before your eyes drift to your flowers, then down the road. “Well, thank you Steve and enjoy the rest of the day. I hope to see you at the ball tonight, you too Robin.”

Steve smiles and nods his head. “Yeah, for sure. Bye!”

“Bye!” Robin says too and you walk away continuing your visit down the street. A few seconds later you spare Steve one last glance he’s sure he’ll never forget.

Steve spends the rest of the day on edge; his mind goes over the different ways he can ask his parents for permission to attend the ball. Maybe he can offer to do the cooking in the house, or the ironing. Either way there has to be something he can bargain for this one chance to see you again. It’s stupid to hold out hope, after all Steve knows his parents and their feelings towards him, but it’s impossible to put of the spark that’s been lit inside his chest.

He goes over his words as he makes his way home at the end of the day, rehearsing everything from tone to delivery so he has a better chance of going. His hands are sweaty and his chest constricts with nerves at what he’s going to do, but it’s what it’ll take to attend –and Steve wishes for nothing more. His parents are making their way upstairs when he arrives home. He rushes towards them and stand at the bottom of the staircase when he calls for them.

“Mother, Father… may I speak with you?” He keeps his voice from faltering and tightens his hands into fists behind his back. He can’t lose his nerve, not even when his father looks down at him with his classic cold stare.

“Go on.” His father tells him, looking away bored already.

“There’s going to be a ball tonight; the princess came into the village today and invited everyone.” He starts, concealing his enthusiasm the right amount. “I wanted to–”

“Yes, the palace sent an invitation two weeks ago.” His father interrupts him and raises one eyebrow in curiosity. “Surely you’re not going to waste my time and ask for permission to go?”

“Father, the princess asked–”

With one raised hand Steve’s father interrupts again. “You already know the answer but I’ll repeat myself so we’re clear.”

Steve’s shoulders deflate and there’s a growing tightness in his throat all of a sudden.

“You’re not going to this or any ball.” His father speaks lowly, and his words feel like a slap across Steve’s face. “You’re forbidden, you hear me? I don’t want people asking questions. Don’t waste my time again.”

“If people see you there, Steve,” His mother speaks up, a worried tone in her voice, “We’ll be forced to talk about your failures. Don’t embarrass us further.”

With that the two of them continue their ascend upstairs and go to their respective rooms, leaving a defeated Steve behind.

He makes his way to his room shortly after, with a flurry of emotions stirring up in his chest at the unfairness of it all. A groan leaves his lips as he slams the door to his room with enough force to shake the lamp hanging from the ceiling. It is so unfair. Steve’s done nothing but try to prove himself to his parents but it’s like he’s invisible to them. Worse, they want to make him invisible for everyone else. He tries to take deep breaths but struggles to do so, a mixture of anger and frustration making his breaths catch. It takes three steps for him to reach the window and pull it open. He takes another breath then, of the fresh air flowing into the room, and looks down at the garden below. That’s where he spots them, periwinkles. He would have never recognized them or know their name if it wasn’t for today. Or you.

And just like that his mind goes back to you, and your encounter in the morning. She’s so pretty, Robin had said. Pretty hadn’t even come close to describe you, it’s not the word he’d use but he’s also not very good with words, so he’ll settle for beautiful. Steve grins like a fool at the memory, even if he made himself a fool in front of you. You’d invited him to the ball –the whole town really– but you’d smiled that dreamy smile of your and said ‘I hope to see you there.’ Steve feels like it was a personal invitation to him, there had been something between the two of you, otherwise his chest wouldn’t flutter at the memory of it all. But now… well it’s almost impossible for him to see you again, no matter how much he wants to.

Steve grunts and falls back on his bed, covering his face with his hands. He can’t even sneak out of the house to talk to you just for a moment. His parents are going to the ball and would spot him immediately if he showed his face, no matter how short a time it is. What is the point of Steve going if he has to hide all the time?

“There has to be a way.” He mumbles to himself, hands moving from his face to his hair. “I just wish it could be easy… I wish I could just go.”

Something begins to tickle his nose then, like dust falling on him, and Steve is sure he hears the whisper of his name from somewhere near him. It startles him in the quiet room making him sit up quickly and grab whatever is near him –in this case an empty water carafe from his nightstand. It takes him a moment, but Steve spots a tiny creature in front of him. Is that a fairy? He thinks. He thought they weren’t real, but here she is, tiny and shining in periwinkle light.

“Don’t hurt me! I’m here to help you!” The small fairy exclaims, voice squeaky and almost imperceptible as she holds her hands up.

Once Steve knows he’s not in fact losing his mind, and that the fairy in front of him is actually talking to him, his emotions shift towards confusion. “Help me?”

The fairy smiles, revealing lilac-coloured teeth that seem to shiny as much as her exterior. “Yes, so you can go to the ball and see the princess.”

Steve is incredulous; this fairy wants to help him attend the ball? Why?  “Why?”

“You gave her periwinkles today.” The fairy explains with a smile, as if her answer makes everything clear.

It doesn’t, not really. So Steve furrows his brows —confused.

“I’m the periwinkle fairy?” The small creature explains again, gesturing towards the color of her shining light. “I saw that you really like this girl, and if the princess is going to be in a courtship, it should be with a nice young man like you.”

Steve’s mouth opens and falls closed a couple of times. What are the odds that there’s a fairy tied to the flowers he gave you, the flowers you like. Could it be possible that Steve’s luck is turning around? “So, when I wished…”

“I heard you.” The fairy nods and smiles once more, procuring a wand. “Now…. you’re already late, so do you want my help or not?”

“Yes!” He nods his head enthusiastically and stands up. “But how can you help me?”

“You won’t be recognized by anyone else but the princess with a very special spell,” The fairy says and flies closer to his face. “Close your eyes.”

Steve does and feels the tickling sensation on his nose as the fairy taps her wand against it to give him some of her magic. When he opens them again, he sees she’s taken his nicest white-tie clothes and magically changed them to look polished and regal. The once faded grey now seems to shine like velvet, with tiny embroideries along the neckline and sleeves. The black pants are perfectly ironed, without a lint in sight, and his boots are clean and polished. Steve can’t remember the last time he wore clothes these nice.  

Steve’s voice is soft when he speaks, wonder shining in his eyes. He feels grateful beyond words. “Thank you. Thank you for this.”

“You can go until 12am.” The fairy tells him as she lays the clothes on his bed. “The spell will wear off them, and your parents will recognize you, Lord Steve.”

Steve holds up his hand. “Please, Steve is fine.”

The fairy laughs softly and nods. “Alright Steve, now hurry!”

Right! He’s already late. Steve grabs the clothes and changes in the bathing chamber quickly after brushing his teeth and combing his hair. He slips his boots on and runs down the stairs and out of the house faster than he’s ever done, until he’s at the stables. Once there he takes his saddle and his horse –Beam– and races out of the front gates towards the castle.

 Even though Steve took a shortcut to get to the palace, there’s no one else outside when he runs to the door. They open for him and he steps inside in a rush, where he takes a second to catch his breath before continuing down the hall. Steve gives himself a peptalk as he looks around the room, he is dressed his best, he is at the ball, and he’ll get to talk to you soon.

He’s too distracted by the shining chandeliers hanging from the hallway’s ceiling that he doesn’t realize he’s going to run into someone until it happens.

“I’m so sorry.” Steve begins to say, steadying the person in front of him until he realizes it’s you. “Your highness.”

You keep him from bowing with a gentle hand on his shoulder and a smile. There it is, that smile. “Hi Steve.”

“H-Hi!” He runs a hand through his hair, looking for the right words to compliment you as his eyes take you in. “You look really beautiful.”

Beautiful. There it is, the only word that comes to Steve mind but doesn’t begin to cover your beauty. You’re in a deep blue gown, its big skirt flowing around you like the ocean and shimmering like the night sky. It’s got beautiful tiny jewels scattered all around the bodice and skirt, and Steve thinks you’re a work of art standing in front of him. Surely you can’t be real?

“Thank you.” You smile, looking down. “You look very handsome yourself.

Steve can’t help but smile at your compliment, before he remembers the ball. “Thank you, I hope I’m not too late?”

Your laugh follows his question, and it’s not unkind, it’s amused. “Not at all, I’m running late myself. My stepsister ruined my other dress.”

“I can’t help but be glad they did.” Steve says, surprising himself.

You smile at him shyly but meet his eyes nonetheless. “I guess you’re right.”

“If Robin is here.” Steve whispers conspiratorially with a step closer to you, “I’m sure we can take some light revenge on them.”

Steve’s heart soars when you giggle and nod. “I think we should.”

A door opens suddenly, not too far away from the top of you and two men step outside. “There you are princess, everyone is waiting for you.”

You nod at them before you look at Steve nervously, face loosing its natural color. “Would you like to dance the first song with me? I’d feel much better walking in there with someone I know.”

Steve is speechless for a moment but he nods, with your pretty eyes looking up at him how can he say no. He’s not much of a dancer but he’d make a fool of himself over and over again if it meant more time with you. He smiles, trying to ease your nerves. “Of course.”

You take Steve’s outstretched hand into yours, relishing in the comfort it brings once he squeezes it in reassurance. A feeling of breathlessness settles over you and not as a result of the nerves you feel. It seems to happen every time you look at Steve; it’s like his heart is reflected in his eyes, a quick glimpse at it if you know where to look. The only thing that snaps you out of your trance is the sparks that fly when you step closer to him on your way to the ballroom. Sparks that make your fingers tingle, the sensation travelling all the way up you arm and down to your stomach.

Everyone bows in front of you when you step into the ballroom, a sea of people that keep their eyes trained on your every move. It’s overwhelming, it always is, and your grip on Steve’s hand tightens as the two of you descend the stairs.  

“I won’t let you fall.” Steve whispers next to your ear. “I promise.”

You chuckle and feel your shoulders relax, you’re not sure why but you trust Steve. More than you trust most people. He leads you to the middle of the ballroom, every step controlled and known by heart. His mother must have taken him to dance lessons, you presume as you offer him a courtesy when he bows in front of you. Steve asks for your permission to hold your waist with a glance down with his eyes. You nod your head and let him pull you closer by the waist, a shaky breath escaping you at the proximity.

Everyone is looking at the two of you, but for once you don’t mind. Not one bit. If it were another time, if you were accompanied by someone else, you’d feel the weight of every pair of eyes. It would be suffocating, but you look at the brown eyes in front of you and find that breathing has never been easier.

“I must warn you.” You smile as you gaze up at him. “I’m not that good of a dancer.”

Steve chuckles at your words, his hand a comforting weight on your waist. “Good, because I’m not very good either.”

“Lord help us.” You giggle and it makes Steve smile.

It turns out, that the two of you are perfect together.

The moment the music starts your steps synchronize perfectly, with Steve leading the waltz and your body following the path he traces for both of you. When the melody from the violins and cellos swells around you, Steve twirls you around, his fingers hanging on to yours as he holds you hand over your head. You spin and smile, always going back to his arms that are ready to hold you —your faces remain close together, noses close to brushing, and eyes never straying from the other’s. Even as you turn and the music envelops you, your eyes remain fixed on Steve’s brown ones and the warmth in them.

Guests join you on the dance floor but it’s like they’re not there, only you and Steve moving to the rhythm of the music as if you’ve done it thousands of times. Steve’s hands are gentle but secure on your waist, especially when you jump and he lifts you briefly in the air. The two of you smile incredulously at each other. How is it possible to be so incredibly connected to someone else just hours after you first meeting?

“Princess.” Steve says over the music, his eyes showing you his heart once again.

The smile that’s already on your face only grows. “Yes?”

The handsome man in front of you shakes his head. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

The chandeliers in the ceiling paint constellations in his brown eyes, make his brown waves shine, and cause your heart to flutter in your chest. You squeeze the hand that holds yours as the music comes to an end. “Me too, Steve.”

Everyone applauds the band, and it brings you back to the present and the ball around you. You can feel the King’s gaze on you, as well as your stepmother’s and stepsisters. It creates an immediate urge for you to get away, and lead Steve far away from your stepfamily’s unkind looks. He’s in your orbit now, whatever hatred they have over you falls on him as well; Steve doesn’t deserve it. Not after the wonderful dance you’ve just hand.

“Would you like to see the gardens?” You ask him.

Your question brings a smile to his face as he gives you a nod and offers his arm. “Won’t they miss you?”

You look at the dancing folk, all of them entertained by the music and the array of food on the sides of the room. You sigh happily, glad that the villagers are enjoying themselves. “I’m sure they’ll be more than fine without me.”

The two of you walk side by side as you guide Steve to the garden, your hand over his arm where it’s linked to yours. Once you step outside you can’t help but smile at the beautiful night that greets you. The roses are blooming under the moonlight, their white petals glowing with its light. You point to different flowers around the garden as you stroll around the gravel path, answering Steve’s questions about your favourite ones. You walk around the fountain in the middle garden, listening to the trickling water as you get to know each other more.

At some point, you hear music playing again, from inside the palace, and Steve offers you his hand to lead another waltz. A laugh bubbles up from within you as you give him your hand and begin to dance with him, feeling silly but also very young and alive. When was the last time you felt like that?  The conversation continues between the two of you as you dance, words joining your steps. You learn that Steve is an only child and one year older than you; he doesn’t live in the village but it’s where he works. You share with him too, mentioning how it’s just you and your dad in the castle since your mother passed. You comment on your father remarrying years ago and you being unsure of your feelings about that it.  

“I haven’t seen you at any other events at the palace.” You tell Steve, linking your arm with his when the song is over.

Steve sighs and scratches his chin with his free hand. “I know, it’s just my parents… we quarrel often, and I end up suffering the consequences.”

“They don’t let you attend?” You turn your face to glance at him.

“Nope,” Steve smiles; it’s not the happy one you’ve seen all night, this one’s sad almost disappointed. “I’m not deserving of the Harrington name apparently.”

You furrow your eyebrows while you go over his words. You’ve seen Lord Harrington before, and you see the resemblance in Steve’s face, but it’s impossible to believe that such a cold man could have such a wonderful son. It’s not impossible though, to believe that they’re as cruel as Steve paints them to be. You’ve experienced many of your own quarrels with you stepmother.

“I don’t think it’s the same, but if it’s any consolation…” You tell him with what you hope is a comforting look. “My stepmother and stepsisters convinced my father not to let me visit the village.”

Steve’s face whips towards you. “What? Why?”

You shrug, trying to dismiss the hurt that comes from the thought of them. “I think they just want to make my life miserable, but I don’t think they’re succeeding.” A smile makes its way to your face as you glance a Steve.  

“Oh really?” Steve smiles back, looking at you. “Why is that?”  

You smile at him and look away feeling sheepish before you even speak. “The one day I finally convince my father to let me visit the village, I meet you. Then at the ball they forced me to attend, I get to see you again.”

Steve shakes his head, and scratches his chin flustered. It makes you smile, knowing you’re not the only one nervous tonight. “How do you know it’s not bad luck?” He chuckles, then looks up, eyes wide, like he wasn’t supposed to say it out loud.

“I think it’s quite the opposite.” You shrug and move your hold from his arm to his hand, hoping to give him comfort. It’s hard to fight the frown that wants to take over your face, what has he been told by his family? “Don’t think lowly of yourself only because other people think so, Steve. We are all more than other people’s opinions you know.”

A moment of silence passes between the two of you, before you spot the path ahead and show it to Steve. Your eyes light up even as your stomach flips when you look at the boy next to you. “Come on, you have to see this!”

Steve watches you go down a hidden path between some trees; it’s barely visible, he wouldn’t have known it was there if you hadn’t just disappeared through it. He is quick to follow, worried you’ll hurt yourself, or sprain your ankle as you run over the grass. As he passes in between the trees, he finds an even bigger one right in front of him. It must be 200 years old with how much it’s grown but there’s a low branch that you’ve just reached. You hold yourself up with one hand as you take of your shoes –they’re covered in jewels, just like your dress and they glint in the moonlight that sneaks through the tree’s leaves.

“I can take those for you.” Steve offers with a smile, which you return. He leaves the shoes on the ground and kneels down so you can use his knee as a step to climb the tree. By the dexterity with which you get on the branch and then another, Steve knows you must do this every day. It makes him smile, yet another thing he now knows about you, something to like you even more.

“Come on, Steve!” You call for him and he chuckles.

Steve grabs your shoes and begins to climb after you, wanting to stay close to you in case something happens. “Be careful, you can trip on your dress!” He tells you as he makes his way to you.

There is a small tree house two branches off the ground, hidden perfectly from view from the castle and the grass below. In front of him there’s a small balcony, where you stand, overlooking the countryside and the small village below. It’s breathtaking, and Steve knows right away this must be where you escape to in the castle.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it!” You smile, voice bringing Steve’s gaze back to you where it stays.

Steve feels speechless once again, looking at you so close to him, your eyes reflecting the small light coming from the village. “Yes.” He says, but his eyes are scanning your face instead of the view. Beautiful not only on the outside but on the inside as well. He still can’t forget your words from earlier, they resonate inside his mind like a foreign reminder that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself.

“You’ve worked with Lady Francis for long?” You ask him after a few moments of comfortable silence

“Yeah,” Steve nods, placing his hands on the wooden handrail in front of him. “I mean a couple of years; She’s needed the help since she lost her boy.”

You nod your head as he speaks, moving so you’re looking at him directly. “That’s very kind of you. She’s a lovely person, I’ve met her a couple of times.”

Steve shrugs, he’s never considered it something to call attention to. To him it’s… “Tt’s the right thing to do.” He says, then decides to ask you something too –more than eager to know you more. “What about you? Do you know when your next visit to the village will be?”

You frown and Steve feels the urge to do whatever is necessary to make you happy.  “I’m not sure, my stepmother and sisters…they convinced my father to give me an ultimatum a few months ago.”

“Ultimatum?” Steve furrows his brows, whatever you’re about to say next doesn’t sound good.

“My father claims he is getting older and worries about me being alone.” You sigh and turn back to look down at the village. Steve doesn’t miss the longing in your eyes. “He says I need someone to take care of me, even though I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

Steve puts two and two together right away. “So he wants you to…”

“To get married, yes.” You nod, swallowing hard and shaking your head. “Right away, and I’m truly afraid I’ll be forced to be with someone that’s not right for me instead of someone I know or someone I like.” Your eyes meet his and for a moment he feels like you’re talking about him –it makes his next breath catch on his throat. Would they really make you marry someone you don’t even know?

Indignation floods Steve in the blink of an eye, at your agency being stripped away from you and the fact you worry about this at all.

“I–” Steve begins to say but voices coming from the garden make the two of you quiet down.

“Guards.” You whisper, standing behind Steve to keep yourself out of sight should they find the path.

“I can’t believe we lost the princess, AGAIN!” One voice says, clearly frustrated.

“Well, keep looking. The King wants to see her back at the ballroom at once.” Another one replies, and a moment later only the sound of retreating footsteps can be heard.

You frown, voice soft but forlorn. “They’ll come again, maybe we should be getting back.”

Steve only nods and climbs down the tree first, so he can help you descend the last branch safely. Once back on the grass, Steve puts your shoes on the ground and holds out his arms for you. “Jump,” He says, “I’ll catch you.”

You don’t hesitate, jumping into his arms a second later. Steve is swift to catch you; you’re safe and unscathed, making Steve’s worry of you falling fade away.

It is then he notices your faces are barely 3 inches apart –Steve can even feel your breath mingling with his, just as it did when you waltzed in the palace. His heart hammers like crazy on his chest, he’s sure you feel it.

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper, and he nods putting you back down on the ground.

“Here, I’ll help you.” Steve offers, kneeling on the grass to help you with your shoes.

He’s glad you can’t see his face, which feels scalding hot as you lift part of your dress’ skirt so he can tie your shoes back into place. It’s just an ankle, Steve reminds himself, calm down. He moves to tie the second shoes for you, but just then the palace’s clock strikes the last minute till midnight.

Steve stands up quickly. “Oh no.”

Your face is nothing but confusion as you look at him. “What?”

“I have to go right now. But I’ll find a way to see you again.” Steve says in a rush as reaches for both your hands. “There has to be a way.”

You nod, pretty eyes looking worriedly at him and still confused. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes.” Steve is quick to reassure you. “Thank you, for everything tonight.”

Before he can overthink it, he leans in and kisses your cheek. “Goodnight, princess.”  Then he kisses your right hand and starts to run. He needs to find his horse so he can be home before his parents, he can’t imagine the mess he’d be in if they found out.  Steve risks one glance over his shoulder and sees you stand there, bathed in moonlight. There has to be a way.

----

Steve sleeps like a baby all night; he hid his clothes back in his closet, sure that the magic would disappear from them eventually, and went straight to bed. He woke up in a good mood, better than any other day just from the memory of the night before. He is sure not to show it around the house though, the last thing he needs is his parents suspecting something. Steve acts downright miserable as he descends the stairs and grabs some breakfast from the kitchen. His frown remains on his face until he’s put enough distance between himself and the house to smile freely, a skip to his step as he walks down the road to the village. He forgets his umbrella, having looked at the grey sky in the morning, but he doesn’t dare return to the house. He can’t hide his smile again, even though there’s one nagging thought in the back of his mind.

Was all of it real? Would he even see you again? Should he forget about it, save himself the disappointment?

For once, Robin is at the store before him. She smiles knowingly when she spots his happy demeanour. “You little shit.” She says, with a shake of her head. “You little shit!”

“What?” Steve asks, side stepping her to go through the store’s front door.

“You were there last night!” Robin lowers her voice to a whisper. “You were the mysterious man that danced with the princess.”

Steve is so surprised he can’t hide the surprise on his face; he imagined Robin was giving him shit for something else he did. Never this.

“I fucking knew it!” She grabs his shirt sleeve and drags him to the backroom. “How did you do it?”

“How did you know!” Steve asks instead. Did the spell wear off at some point? Did the fairy lie to him?

“The princess, obviously.” Robin tells him with an eyeroll, sitting on the desk nearby. “She came up to me last night. She told me you said I could help with a little revenge, and I said, ‘Steve said that?’ Then she said ‘yes, I told him earlier how my stepsisters ruined my other dress’ Which by the way I’m thankful for, did you see that navy dress on her?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and begins to speak in between a smile. “Of course, I did, I–” He stops when his mind catches up to Robin’s words.

Fuck, he forgot to tell you he wasn’t supposed to be there. On the other hand, how weird would that have been? I got my face magic-ed so no one recognizes me. Yeah, no, Steve knows you’re an intelligent woman, so you probably figured it out on your own.

“What did you do?” He asks, shaking his thoughts away.

“Oh!” Robin’s eyes light up. “We accidentally knocked some punch over; I think you can imagine the rest.”

Steve laughs, imagining the two of you pulling a prank on your stepsisters. From what Steve heard about them from you, they had it coming. His laughter though, stops as soon as it starts and his stomach drops. What if… “Did you see my parents talk to the Princess?” He asks Robin.

“What?” Robin’s own giggles are cut short by the random question, then her eyebrows furrow as she tries to recall the night before. “No, I don’t think so. She danced a couple of songs with her father and swerved every prince that came to Indiana to dance with her.”

Steve lets out a breath. “Okay that’s good. They can’t know I was there.”

“You’re really going to make me ask.”

“Ask what?” Steve shrugs, knowing exactly what she means but stalling for time. There is no sane way to tell her about the fairy’s visit.

Robin groans, looking up at the ceiling before meeting Steve’s eyes with a curious gaze. “How did you manage to go and not be recognized?”

“You won’t believe me.” He shakes his head and looks away as his hands settle on his hips. Up until he talked to Robin, he was going to convince himself he dreamed all of it. The fairy, the ball, you, your conversation. Everything. But knowing Robin saw the two of you dance and hear about him from you, is all he needs to know that it was real. If it was real, he can’t forget it. He got really lucky last night, for some unknown reason.

“’Course I’ll believe you, try me.” Robin pushes her chin up, daring Steve to tell her the truth.

Steve does. He tells her about asking for permission but being forbidden from attending the ball. How he locked himself in his room, wished he could go, and a fairy appeared out of nowhere. Steve explains how the fairy gave him some of her magic to make him unrecognizable to everyone except the princess, which of course makes Robin laugh out loud.

He rolls his eyes, even though this is the reaction he expected her to have. Robin laughs for another minute before she puts her hands up, claiming she believes him.

“I do!” She says. “It sounds more possible than what I had in mind?”

“Which was?” Steve asks curiously.

“A very realistic mask.” Robin shrugs, and Steve shakes his head with a chuckle.

After a moment of silence, Steve speaks up again. “Robin, she’s…”

“Perfect?” His friend prompts, batting her eyelashes mockingly.

“Yes.” Steve sighs, wishing she wouldn’t interrupt so much. “But–”

“And you’re crushing hard on her, I saw the two of you dance, I’d say go for it.”

“What?” Now Steve is really lost. He was going to tell her about the predicament you’re in; being forced to marry thank to your stepmother’s manipulation. Just thinking about it makes Steve clench his hands into fists. And he thought his life was unfair.

“Ask her out and court her dingus!” Robin flicks him on the nose, bringing him back to the present. “You didn’t see the way she looked at you, but I did.”

“I can’t.” Steve shakes his head in frustration, pressing his fists on the wooden table in front of him.

“Why?” Robin looks at him as if he grew another head. “Of course, you can.”

“Don’t you remember? My father is head of the house and has to make the courtship official.” Steve can’t keep the defeat out of his voice. “You know he’d never approve.”

His friend shrugs and offers a quick solution. “Forge his approval then!”

Robin’s answer catches Steve by surprise and shocked laughter bursts out of him. He shakes his head after a moment, back to reality. “Forge it so when I court the princess and he finds out he can go to the palace and say it’s all a fraud? The King could ban me from seeing his daughter because I’m a liar apart from a disappointment!”

“Steve.” Robin sighs, a frown pulls her lips downwards. “You’re overthinking this too much. How about we wait until the princess comes back to town and ask her personally.”

Steve groans and throws his hands up in exasperation before turning around and walking towards the backroom where he will stay until the end of the shift. It’s not like what Robin said isn’t feasible, he can do it –he’d love to offer you his hand in courtship really. But you’re not coming to town any time soon, the only time your family allowed it was before the ball. With no other event in sight, the chances of Steve seeing you again are close to zero. The worst part, and what’s eating at Steve inside, is that he promised to see you again; he was so full of fondness and adoration, so completely gone for you that he didn’t think past that moment. All he had known was that he hated to leave you in the garden and wanted to see you again as soon as possible. He didn’t realize he’d need an invitation to the palace to see you, too caught up in the moment to think that you visiting the town would be difficult to the say the least. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Steve’s sour mood follows him all afternoon –he manages a small smile towards Robin when he says goodbye but that’s all. Grey clouds still loom overhead while he walks home, taking the long way back to avoid walking in on dinner time. The last thing he needs is to sit through unbearable silence and disappointed staring from his parents across the table. But as Steve’s luck usually goes, things don’t go as he planned them to. Even the sky seems to foresee what’s in store, as droplets of rainwater begin falling down onto Steve like tears coming from the clouds above.

The house is quiet when he arrives and only a couple of candles have been lit in the hallway leading to the staircase. It’s odd and it’s a bit worrying, and that is saying something in Steve’s house. Foolishly, he grabs the umbrella he forgot that morning and goes up the stairs to his room –call him paranoid, but he’d rather have something in hand if necessary. There is no one in the upstairs hall, or the library, but two frightening figures stand by the window in his room. His mother and father, look out the window silently and don’t turn around until he speaks up.

“Mom?” Steve is more than confused as he furrows his eyebrows and looks between the two of them. “Is something wrong?”

“Can you explain why you had this in your closet?” His mother replies, pointing a finger at his bed.

His clothes from last night, exactly as they were when the fairy changed them. They never changed back as he hoped they would, and now his parents know.

“Uh… I don’t… I mean–” Steve fumbles for an excuse.

“I thought I was clear when I said you couldn’t go to the ball.” His father speaks up, turning around slowly and pinning him down with a cold stare. “You disobeyed my direct order and danced with the princess risking embarrassing us further. I don’t even want to know how you fooled us.”

Steve feels unable to speak as he stares into his father’s eyes; a kind of darkness makes a fleeting appearance in them, and it makes Steve fear the worst. “Very well, you give me no choice.” His father’s eyes leave him for a moment as he scans the room with distaste. “You’re forbidden to leave the house… no, your room, except for chores.”

“What?” Steve drops the umbrella he was holding, and it clatters on the ground. He can’t even remember to control his reaction in front of his parents as his eyebrows furrow in anger. “You can’t do that! I have a job; I need to go to town!”

“I can and I will.” His father’s voice echoes in room as it increases in volume; his eyes burn with disappointment and annoyance. “Forget your mediocre job, forget about the princess. You’re not leaving this house again until I send you away for good. You hear me?”

Steve’s mother remains silent and doesn’t spare him much of a glance as she follows her husband out of the room. The door closes with a loud slam and the doorknob moves briefly as the lock is put in place from the outside. Thunder booms in the sky and Steve flinches; his entire body shakes in anger. He clenches his fists by his sides but just as quickly as the anger enters his body, it leaves. Steve’s shoulders hunch in defeat and soon begin to shake, he can’t help it anymore, he allows himself to cry.

----

You knew that Steve’s promise would be hard to keep. It was a given that considering you’re not allowed into town; he would have to be the one to visit you at the palace. But without an invitation, that was near impossible to happen. From that knowledge, you’ve sent many –to his home and Lady Francis’ store– but there’s been no answer. The ones sent to Lord Harrington’s house have been returned, unopened and with a note claiming there is no Steve Harrington living with them. The same didn’t happen with the ones sent to his workplace —those never returned. You hoped Robin would give them to Steve and that he’d come to the palace the next day, with that smile of his –the one you can’t stop thinking about– fully in display as he goes through the gates.

No such luck.

With no response from Steve and refusing your father’s attempts to marry you off to some of the princes that attended the ball… life at the palace had become almost unbearable. It was full of fighting, spinster jokes from your stepsisters and threats from your stepmother. You’d resorted to avoiding the family altogether, spending your time alone remembering the night of the ball and regretting it soon after.

How is it that you can miss someone so much after seeing them in two separate occasions? You imagine because this someone is Steve, and you’re convinced he’s the person you’ve always dreamed of finding. He’s kind, funny, gentle, caring, not to mention how handsome he it. You can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much you try. It's been that way for two weeks, with him invading your mind and you trying to avoid it to spare yourself the pain.

Something must have happened. You’re sure of it. Steve wouldn’t leave you hanging, he’d at least try to send a response out for you. It unsettles something in your stomach to think about him in trouble for attending the ball. What if his father, Lord Harrington Senior, did something to him. Did he realize Steve went to the ball? What if Steve’s hurt? Or worse, just as lonely as you are right now.

If this is about the ball and the magical moments you shared together, you had to do something and try to fix it. You refuse to let that night become a bad memory for both of you, a what if that never came to be. You both deserve more, you want more, and if it’s in your hands to propose it then you will.

You take determined steps towards the King’s meeting chamber, accepting his latest invitation to dialogue, and ready to fight for what you want. The guards open the chamber’s door for you, revealing the room’s white marbled floor and the paintings of past Kings and Queens that hang from the wall. Your father sits on his chair, your stepmother stands by the right-side window and several of the King’s advisors talk quietly in different corners. You walk until you stand in front of him, a big oak table between the two of you.

“Father.” You greet him as a start, staring into his eyes that are a mirror to yours. “I’m here to speak on the matter your insistence of me marrying.”

“You’ve accepted Prince Reese’s proposal then.” He smiles happily, motioning you to sit down in front of him. You don’t.

“I haven’t accepted anyone’s proposal.” You say firmly. “I refuse any further attempt to marry me off to any of these Princes.”

The King raises an eyebrow, a mannerism the two of you got from your mother. “I was very clear when we spoke about this last time, my darling.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t agree to anything last time, father. You imposed something onto me without asking for my opinion first.”

“There will be no more discussion about this.” Your father stands up, disgruntled with your continuous debate.

“Yes there will be.” You raise your chin with determination. “I’m going to court Lord Steve Harrington. I wish to get to know him.”

The king shakes his head, eyebrows meeting in the middle. “Regardless of his title, his father hasn’t been around to announce any proposal.”

“I’m asking him.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes and remain serene instead.

“You can’t.” Your father clutches his chair’s headrest, patience growing thin.

“I have agency!”

“No, you don’t!” His words make you flinch, but you refuse to take a step back, you won’t give him any more ground to stand on. “You need to get married, as soon as possible.”

You take a deep breath willing yourself to keep a calm posture, but a single voice speaks up and throws that willingness out of the window.

“Listen to your father, my dear.” Your stepmother says with a condescending look and a fake sweet voice.

Your gaze moves to hers with a glare before you close your eyes and scream. “OUT! EVERYONE OUT, PLEASE. RIGHT NOW!”

You look around the room, daring your father’s loathsome advisors to question you but they soon scatter out of the room. “I wish to speak to my father alone.” You say, looking into the King’s eyes but clearly addressing your stepmother that still lingers to your left.

A huff and the clicking of heels soon follow, until it’s only you and the man in front of you in the room. The King and the Princess. One sad and scared since the Queen he loved so dearly passed, the other scared the opportunity for a love like her parents’ is slipping through her fingers.

You walk around the table with a sigh and approach your father until you take his hands into yours. “Father, weren’t you and mother best friends before you married?”

“That’s different my dear.” He sighs, a frown tugging at his lips as it always does at the memory of the person he loved most in the world. “We knew each other for a long time; it was natural for us to fall in love and get married.”

You sigh just like him and squeeze his hands. “I would already know Steve, father, had the circumstances been different. He’s worked at Lady Francis’ for 3 years, but I haven’t seen him because I haven’t been allowed into town.”

Your gaze moves back to your father’s eyes, hoping he can see your feelings in them. “I ask you, please father, I beg you to see things my way. I’m scared you’ll marry me off to some stranger when I want to get to know Steve. I really think he’s the one. You saw me that night, when was the last time I smiled so much?”

The King lets go of your hands and puts them behind his back; he turns and takes a few steps, deep in thought. “Too long.” He says finally, eyebrows meeting in the middle of his face, the crease that’s already there getting deeper. “Go to town and bring him to the palace so I can meet him properly.”

A gasp escapes you just as a smile takes over your face. You walk towards your father and hug him tightly, feeling a weigh lift off your shoulders. “Thank you, your Majesty.” Is all you say before turning around and running out of the room, your dress floating behind you as you do.

You’re at the palace’s gates in no time, out of breath but beaming as the guards open the metal doors for you. Two others trail behind you, struggling to catch up as you make a run for it to town. You can tell the villagers are surprised to see you –their princess running through the streets is not a common sight for them. “Good morning!” You tell the people you pass. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

They don’t have time to answer as you rush past them and keep running until you spot Lady Francis’ shop, its cream and blue exterior a welcoming sight. Your smile is beaming as you walk through the open door and look around the shop. “Hello?”

There’s rustling coming from the second floor followed by hurried steps and a familiar voice. “Princess Y/N?” Robin’s head pops up from the second-floor railing. You strain your neck to look up at her, and smile.

“Hi Robin.” Your hand comes up in a small wave. “Is Steve around?”

Robin’s surprised look turns sad, it’s confirmation enough that something had indeed happened just like you imagined. How bad, you’re still unsure. “What happened to him? Is he okay?”

“I– I don’t know, he hasn’t been back in two weeks.” Robin descends the stairs until she’s standing in front of you, she tries to bow but you stop her with a shake of your head. “His parents have trapped him in his own house. I tried to give him the invitations you sent here but Lord Harrington –Steve’s dad– only yelled at me.”

“No.” You whisper and shake your head. Bringing a hand up to your hair you go over Robin’s words, your gaze down at the ground as you pace. “Did you tell him the invitations were from the Palace?”

Robin nods enthusiastically, her short hair bouncing as she does. “Yes, but he didn’t care!”

“Hm… We must help him, there’s got to be something we can do. My father wants to meet him.” You talk both to yourself and to Robin, hoping that voicing your thoughts will help you come up with something when suddenly, just like lightning, your eyes widen with clarity. “My father wants to meet him.”

Robin looks at you blankly for a moment, “I don’t think the King does house calls though?”

You keep your gaze on her, urging her to catch on to what you have in mind. “But they don’t have to know it’s not the real King, that’s visiting them… do they?”

Robin’s face lights up, a smile taking over her features, making her freckles stand out. “We bring a fake King! Demand to see Steve and the two of you live happily ever after”

You laugh and nod at her enthusiasm, feeling it cursing though your own body as well.  “We’ll need to raid my father’s closet and convince a few guards.” You tell Robin who matches your mischievous smile just like she did at the ball. “Are you in?”

---

Steve is tired when he walks back to his room –or prison, depending on your perspective– after a long day of chores around the house. He doesn’t complain about doing work around the house, not usually, but it seems as if his parents are taking all their frustrations out on him. His chores have doubled, the house seems to become a mess overnight, and every day without fail, someone yells at him for whatever mistake he makes. It’s exhausting, and it’s got no end in sight. Steve doesn’t know how much more he’ll be able to take.

His only refuge is going back to his room at the end of the day. He takes long baths after dinner where tries to forget each day so that by the time he’s in the safe comfort of his bed he can sleep peacefully. Thinking about the ball helps; Steve remembers the way he danced with you, the smile in both of your faces, and how right it felt. But sometimes, when Steve’s had a really bad day, he chastises himself for attending. If he hadn’t, well he wouldn’t be thinking of you day and night. He wouldn’t make up stupid scenarios in his head where he’s able to leave the house, ask to be your boyfriend, and keep you safe from anything or anyone that tries to hurt you. He wouldn’t be in this mess.

But as things usually go for him, he is in the middle of a mess of his own doing –no freedom, no princess, nothing.

Steve thinks he hears horses galloping in the distance as he makes his way to his bed, ready to lie down for a while before he takes a bath. It’s probably a caller for my father, he thinks as he sinks into the mattress and closes his eyes at the comfort. He lets out a long exhale and tries to release the tension on his shoulders when an incessant tapping comes from the window. Peeking one eye open, Steve looks to his right to find his two small canary friends — they stopped visiting since he got grounded as his window was locked that very same night. To say Steve is happy to see them would be understating the truth, so he gets off the bed as fast as he can and rushes to where they peck the window.

“Hey, you two.” Steve smiles despite the long and hard day he had. “How have you been?”

The canaries keep tapping the window with their small beaks, and Steve furrows his brows. They’re holding something, and they want Steve to see it. Crouching so that his eyes are levelled with the window’s lower edge, Steve catches a glimpse of periwinkle lilies clutched in their feet. “Those look like the ones I gave the princess.” Steve tells them, standing back up.

The birds begin flying around the window excitedly, their winds flapping as fast as they can manage. When Steve keeps standing there, confused, they tap the window again right in front of his face. Are they pointing at me? Steve wonders before his mind catches up to what they’re trying to say.

The horses he heard, the lilies and Steve. The princess is here to see Steve. “The princess is here to see me!” Steve exclaims and the birds fly again, chirping happily.

He laughs, and looks around the room, looking for a way to open the window –he has a very good reason to wreck it if needed. But before he can do any damage, he remembers the small window in the bathing chamber. It’s a tight fit but he can manage. “I know what to do.” He tells the canaries and takes off to the adjacent room.

Once in the bathing chamber, Steve moves the furniture around and begins to climb onto the dresser until he’s able to look out the small window. He is very high up from the ground, but hopefully, the vines covering the back of the house are sturdy enough to handle his weigh. He tries to be careful, but his priority is speed; there’s no way he’s going to risk missing you after his father tells you whatever lie he’s come up with. So Steve squeezes out of the window, facing upwards so that his hands can grab onto the vines and he can pull the rest of his body out. He begins to climb down as fast as he can, getting leaves and green stains on his clothes but he doesn’t mind. He jumps once he’s closer to the ground and runs towards the house’s main entrance, hiding behind some bushes when he hears his father’s voice.

“I don’t know a Steve Harrington.” His father says haltingly, probably looking down his nose as he speaks. “You’re in the wrong house.”

“I’ve talked to the villagers, and close friends of yours.” Your voice is calm but confident when you speak up; it soothes Steve like a healing balm. You’re here. “My father and I have been assured he lives here, and I doubt everyone decided to lie us.”

“Call the boy!” A strange voice says next, confusing Steve. Did the King come to see him too?

“My apologies.” Steve’s father says, not meaning it from the tone of his voice. “What I meant to say was, there’s no Steve Harrington living here anymore.”

Steve scoffs in disbelief and stands up; passing on an opportunity to expose his father as a liar? Not a chance. He steps out of his hiding place and walk to the front entrance where everyone has gathered.

You notice the movement right away and Steve feels all the air leave his lungs when your eyes meet his. It’s like the sky knows what’s happening right away, for the clouds part and a single ray of sunshine bathes you in light. The lavender coloured dress you wear looks beautiful on you, its embroidered sleeves and hem shimmering with the light. You look ethereal as you smile at him, and Steve is speechless. How did he become this lucky? To have met you, to see you again when it seemed more than unlikely, to have your affection.

If he’s this lucky, there’s no way he’s going to let this chance go. Before he knows it, his feet move him towards you, and he takes your hands once he’s close enough.

“Princess.” Steve says, sounding as breathless as he feels. He bows his head briefly before his eyes return to yours. “Hi.”

“Hi, Steve.” You smile, face instantly lighting up. You take a step closer to him, until your faces are inches apart, and you lean up to press your forehead against his. “I found you.”

Steve closes his eyes and sighs; he leans down and moves his face slightly to brush his nose against yours. “Yes, I’m here.”

“I summon you to the castle young man!” The strange voice speaks up once more, making Steve take a step back and look at its source.

Behind the princess stand six horses, all of them with riders except for yours that remains empty; next to it is a weird-looking man, with a slightly skewed mustache, big hat, and a turquoise coat that looks too big for him. That’s the King? He doesn’t look like he did at the night of the ball. Steve looks at him quizzically before looking back at you, ready to ask a question. You smile at him again though and raise your eyebrows subtly enough for him to know that this is your doing.

“Don’t you dare go without my permission, Steve Harrington!” Steve’s father warns, voice booming across the front yard. Steve finds that it doesn’t make him flinch like it used to, and he is able to turn around and face his father with confidence and no fear.

“You’re not even properly dressed!” His mother exclaims a second later, glancing down at his stained clothing.

Steve looks down too, assessing the dirt marks and splashes of green the vines left behind. He couldn’t go to meet your father like this, could he? He looks nothing like the man he danced with you two weeks ago, at least not with the clothes he’s currently wearing. He’s about to speak up, tell you he’s not properly dressed and look for a solution when the solution presents itself.

A twinkling periwinkle light floats out from the garden and circles Steve twice; it leaves sparkling dust behind, and in a matter of seconds Steve’s clothes change. You gasp as you see the magical transformation. Steve’s work trousers have changed into well-tailored dark grey ones and his stained shirt has been replaced for a crisp and clean white one and a navy blue embroidered coat. Even his boots have been shined and his hair combed back into place, just like the night of the ball. He’ll be sure to have lots of periwinkle flowers at lady Francis’ shop from now on, as a thank you.

“Actually, father.” Steve smiles, looking into his father’s eyes. “I can leave without your permission, and I don’t think I’m coming back.”

“We don’t want your things here either!” His father says, turning around and heading back to the house, completely unfazed by Steve’s words.

“I’ll be back for them.” Steve calls out as he shrugs. “Right now, the King wants to talk to me.”

The front door closes with a loud slam and with it a big weight lifts from Steve’s shoulders; he finds that even breathing feels easier out of the house.

You take his hand a moment later, your fingers fitting perfectly intertwined with his as you look up at him softly. “What you just did was very brave, Steve. Are you okay?”

“More than okay, my Princess.” Steve smiles and presses his forehead against yours briefly. “Let’s go.”

You smile and nod before you get on your horse and wait for Steve to retrieve his. Once everyone is ready, all seven horses leave the Harrington residence, their footfalls leaving a trail of dust behind them. The King reveals himself then, taking off his moustache and hat to show that it was Robin on the horse all along. The three of you laugh with disbelief but most of all, with pure happiness. Steve catches your eyes a moment later, feeling his cheeks and hurt from the emotion that is consumes him from within. Never in a million years he would have believed this could happen to him, that the girl of his dreams would come to rescue him. Still, there’s something in the back of his mind that he needs to address.

“Can I talk to you alone?” Steve asks you, hating the open-ended question that makes your smile falter —no wonder imagining the worst. “It’s nothing bad I promise!”

You nod your head and gallop ahead to talk to one of the guards leading the way back to the palace. Soon enough, all of you are stopping near a clear water spring by the edge of the forest. The horses drink, the guards rest and Robin sits by the edge of the spring while the two of you move further away.

“I’m sorry.” Steve says, once you’re alone. Looking at you with the remorse he feels. “I’m so sorry. I told you I’d look for a way, but I wasn’t able to leave the house.” He sees the way you smile softly, the small breath you let out as you look at him with so much care, he can barely bare it.

Steve moves closer to you and gently holds your face in his hands, your skin is soft beneath his touch. “I’m very sorry, Y/N.” He whispers.

Your hands move to cover his, much smaller and gentle in their touch. Steve feels your thumbs caress the back of his hands as you speak softly. “Don’t be sorry, Steve.” You whisper, “I understand. I’ve been doing some work on my side too.”

Steve furrows his brows. “What kind of work?”

“You’re the kindest, most wonderful, caring and unbearably attractive person I know. I can’t even find the words that’ll do you justice.” Your smile is blinding as you beam up at him and take his hands into yours. “If your dad won’t allow you to propose a courtship, then I will propose it to you Steve Harrington. I’d love nothing more than get to know you, and let you get to know me. So, um.. w-what do you say?”

Steve feels his eyes roam your face as his mind catches up and makes sense of your words and what you’re proposing. You look up at him, pretty eyes shining with expectation and worry as you hold his hand between the two of you. Steve smiles. As if him saying no could be possible. With a soft shake of his head, Steve leans in and kisses you, letting out a low sound of content and melting with a single kiss. He feels you sigh against his lips and lets go of your hands to hold you face instead; his face moves to the right, allowing for a more comfortable angle as his lips slowly brush against yours until you’re too breathless to continue.

“Yes.” Steve says, his forehead pressing against yours. He’s pretty sure you’re not allowed to kiss, but none of you seem to care. “Of course I accept, princess. I’ll prove myself worthy of you.”

Steve feels the moment you shake your head. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me Steve.” You whisper.

Overwhelmed with your words, Steve ducks his head and brushes his nose against the side of yours. He places a kiss to the corner of your mouth and whispers your name. “I really, really like you. You don’t know how much.”

You move to look up into Steve’s eyes and place a hand on his cheek. “I really like you too, Steve.”

Steve smiles, and you do too, both of you feeling immersed in your own little world; basking in the happiness the day has brought. It is only when one of your horses whines in the distance that Steve speaks up. “We should get going, you said your father is waiting.”

You look around you before smiling at Steve again. “Just one more.” You tell him, bringing his face closer to yours and kissing him again.

Steve can’t help but smile against your lips as he places his hands on your waist and kisses you back. This is all he ever wanted but never thought he could have —his princess, happiness, his freedom. Both of your eyes are closed, completely absorbed in the moment, and too focused on each other to notice the way the breeze picks up and plucks periwinkle leaves from their flowers; they swirl around you as you let your affection take over for just a moment. A moment that unbeknownst to you, will turn into another, and another, until the happily ever after both you and Steve have longed for finally arrives. The two of you hand in hand, living a loving, happy, and fulfilling life the kingdom will remember for centuries to come.

[madaboutmunson]

Eddie x OC/Reader Masterlist

Fics under the cut

Creep (12 parts)

Pairing: Reader x Eddie Munson

Summary: You meet Eddie Munson under the trying circumstances of high school, an event you can't fully recall, and the fallout of being the only one who can piece things back together.

Warnings: Violence, death, fluff, amnesia, implied sexual intimacy, bullying, angst

Author Notes: First ever fanfic I've written (feedback welcome)

Thanks to everyone who read, liked reblogged and let me know how the story made them feel.

I am beyond thrilled that even 1 other person read and enjoyed this. What a wonderful community, thank you 💚💚

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Fire (17 Parts)

A story about falling in love against the odds, in the weird world of Hawkins.

This is mostly a fun, fluff type story, even your parents like Eddie, but there are some instances of threat and gore towards the end.

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The Eddie Munson Tape Dates (with Sunbeam and Moonbeam universe from Fire)

In the fanfic Fire (above) Eddie has a box of tapes and each one is a date he's planned out for you. I decided to write a few up. In the end all of them. The first of which is directly from Fire

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Let Me Call You Sweetheart (2 parts)

Let Me Call You Sweetheart Part 1 (11 Chapters)

Synopsis: You and the rest of Unholy Angel, set your sights on winning the upcoming Battle of the Bands, but first Mr Harrington (your Boss) has pulled some strings so that you get to be some of the first to ride a promotional simulator for Dustin Henderson's Epic Game series The Curse of Hawkins. Your home life isn't great, your friends are your everything, but seeing a beautiful guitar in a second hand store, pulls on the thread causing your unravelling.

Warnings for the entire story: Darkfic, out of character Eddie Munson, alternative universe, present day, Death, abuse (emotional, mental and physical, harassment, violence, torture, imprisonment, coersion, unrequited love, drugs, alcohol, illness, blood, gore, food disorder, mental illness, vampirism, hypnotism, weirdness, the upside down, bats, monsters

Let Me Call You Sweetheart Part 2 - Everlong (8 Chapters)

Summary: Second part of Let Me Call You Sweetheart Series

After the infamous carnage that happened at battle of the bands you are forced to rehabilitate, but it's not just your mind set that is changing, so are your feelings towards one Vampiric Eddie Munson

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The Reflex

Little Romance/fun/angst series set in 1984 Hawkins

Characters: Original Character, Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, mild bullying, frog dissection (not detailed or gory) , dancing, music, romance, kissing, angst

Notes: This Fic has two different endings...readers choice 💚

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Don't Stand So Close To Me

Pairings: OC x Eddie Munson

Warnings: Please see per chapter

Summary: Lyra has only been a student at Hawkins High for 6 months due to being expelled from her private school, due to an affair with the headteacher's son.

Lyra had hoped to escape her past, but unfortunately that was not to be.

Lyra who had developed a thing for instructors finds herself feeling more than a the usual amount of flustered when the same guy has to help them several times in one week.

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'scuse me, Darlin' A case of mistaken Wayne-entity. Where reader moves to the trailer park, falls for Eddie but thinks Wayne is just another townie judging Eddie harshly AO3 Link

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Bad For Business: Level Three

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.5K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter. “What do you mean, it just stopped working?” 

Standing under the broken aircon unit was not how you wanted this shift to go. Especially on the hottest day of the year. 

Especially with Jason Carver and Steve Harrington. 

It was hotter than ever inside the empty arcade, the rows and rows of machines doing nothing more than pumping heat into the room from their whirring fans. The jumpy, happy tune from Mario Bros. was starting to make your eye twitch and you hadn’t seen a customer the entire time you’d been working. Normal people were at the community pool, the richest of Hawkins relaxing under their own air conditioning, on their floats in their private swimming pools. 

“I don’t know!” Jason fumed, rounding on Steve with more anger than necessary, seeing how he was the one to cause the ancient thing to die. There was a broken off broom handle sticking out of the vent. “I just tried to get the thing to aim towards the desk more!”

You were standing too near Steve, bare arms brushing, pressed close behind the desk as the boy swore, skin glistening and doing everything he could to not look at you. You’d taken your stupid staff shirt off an hour ago, a too thin camisole thing underneath, cropped and letting everyone know that you definitely weren’t wearing a proper bra. 

Your skin was flushed, a little damp, your hair sticking to your neck and sweat beading at your chest, clinging to the space between your vest and your shorts. Steve definitely wasn’t looking. 

“You impaled it,” you muttered, staring up at the sputtering fan. “You absolute fucking moron.”

It was the straw that broke the sweaty camel's back, because Jason’s nostrils flared and he dropped the second half of the broken broom onto the floor. He held up his hands in defeat, face red with heat and anger. “I’m out. I’m done,” he told you before rounding on Steve. “Sort this shit yourself, Harrington. And maybe teach your girl some manners whilst you're at it.”

No one spoke as he stormed through the empty arcade, the lights flashing on the machines no one played. The door opened for just a second as Jason slipped out, a bright flash of blue sky and sunbeams over the black walls, the neon signs and ultraviolet light. There wasn’t any breeze, no wind that came in, nothing to soothe the heat that lingered heavily in the air. 

“She isn’t my girl!” Steve shouted the same time you yelled feebly, “I’m not his girl, jerk.”

But the door had already slammed shut and Jason’s car could be heard ripping out of the parking lot. An almost silence followed, the hum of the machines, the stuttering of the barely alive aircon unit, Steve’s strained sigh. And then, a click. 

Deafening, final, ending in darkness.

The lights went out, the sickly yellow overhead fluorescents, the flashing neons on the machines, the screens and even the green numbers that usually flashed on the cash register. With no windows in the old unit, well, you couldn’t see shit. 

“You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” Steve muttered and he cursed when he moved, bumping into you as you both tried to find the edge of the desk and the same time. “Fuck, you’re on my foot—”

“That’s ‘cause you’re in my way,” you huffed, arguing weakly, an edge to your voice that sounded a little like panic but you weren’t going to tell Steve that. You weren’t a fan of the dark, especially the kind that made your own hand invisible in front of your face, the kind of dark that made you doubt your own vision. “Move, Harrington.”

“Move where?” Steve growled back, his hip bumping against your own, the edges of knuckles grazing against your ribs, against too much bare skin. It was suddenly so much warmer. “I can’t see shit, princess, what am I supposed to do?”

You tripped over something, a cable, a part of an old machine that Murray liked to keep, who knows, but it sent you into Steve’s side with a noise of objection. You swore, grabbing at anything you could, cringing when it happened to be Steve’s arms. He’d long rolled his shirt sleeves up, the cotton folded up to his shoulders, the lines of muscles there slick with sweat, more distracting than ever now you could feel them. 

“Christ,” the boy chastised, “you’ve got as much grace as a baby giraffe, here—“ Steve didn’t finish his sentence, he just reached out to grab at you, hands on your waist, fingers skimming over the hand of your shorts as he righted you. 

You were still holding his shoulders and you were close enough that you could see the outline of his features, the faint slope of his nose, the line of his jaw, even in the dark. Neither of you said anything, not right away. And then you were both pushing back, hands leaving each other, hips and elbows and ribs bumping into cabinets and stray stools. 

“Where’s the fuse box?” Steve asked and he sounded further away now, like he was moving towards the office door, wherever it was. Something clattered to the floor and you heard him curse and then kick it. “Murray’s gotta have a flashlight somewhere, right? Probably stashed with his not so secret weed that he ‘confiscates’ from the kids,” he snorted. 

Another thump, a small bang and then Steve’s hands found the office door, a pleased and triumphant sound leaving his lips as the hinges squeaked. The noise suddenly pushed you into action, a nervous anxiety gripping you as you tried to take a step forward, squeaking when your foot landed on a stack of papers that slid under your sneakers. 

“Harrington!” You yelped, stumbling forward clumsily. “Steve? Jesus Christ, Steve!” 

The door squeaked again, and although you couldn’t see him, a burst of cologne and sunscreen filled the space in front of you. Hands found yours, fumbling, awkward, as clammy with sticky warmth as yours were. 

Suddenly the heat was cloying, suffocating. You felt tightly wound, head scrambled, throat dry. “What’re you doing?” 

“Helping you, dummy.” Steve snorted, beginning to lead you around the desk, your free hand skimming along the wall, skating over the frayed edges of old posters and forgotten thumbtacks. “Unless you wanna stay here and amuse yourself. Argue with the wall or somethin’, you’re good at that.”

“Shut up.” There wasn’t much heat behind it, your words nowhere near as harsh as they’d usually be, ‘cause you were clinging to Steve’s hand as he led you back to the door. “Asshole.”

The office was just as dark as the rest of the arcade, the old computer on Murray’s desk as dead as the rest of the machines. You let go of Steve’s hand when you found the edge of the lunch table, the legs wobbling as you made contact with it and you could feel Steve behind you, around you, the sound of drawers opening and closing filling the quiet room. 

“The fuck is this flashlight?” You heard him murmur, and then, “shit, wait, yes!”

A beam of light flooded the small room, orange-yellow and a little weak but it made your eyes water and squint and the sudden burst of colour. Steve must’ve reacted the same, hissing as his eyes stung, both of you stumbling. 

Shoulders bumped, elbows knocked, hands brushed. Again. 

You were closer than you’d realised, toes almost touching and Steve was all tight jeans and bare arms, lines of muscle you usually didn’t pay attention to wrapping around strong forearms. His hair was a mess, wilder than usual, sticking to his forehead and over his eyes, cheeks pink from the heat. 

You watched him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes flickering down to roam all too obviously over your frame. Tight shirt, cropped, slick skin, peach flavoured lip balm that he’d watched you reapply in the tiny mirror by the lockers that morning. Silence stretched on, a yawning, all consuming thing that seemed thicker than the heat, warmer than the summer outside. 

You licked your lips, salt on your Cupids bow and you watched Steve’s gaze follow the movement. The flashlight fell, bouncing on the worn carpet and the beam flickered across the wall, Steve’s trainers, your bare legs. Steve’s head knocked against your own as you both bent to pick it up, swearing softly and the boy winced, knowing he hurt you more than you hurt him. 

“Shit,” his voice was quiet, low and a little rough. “Sorry.”

You were still too close, knelt on the floor with the boy, heads dipped together and you were desperate to shrug off the unfamiliar feeling of softness, the genuine apology from Steve making your chest stutter and still. 

You let Steve grab the flashlight, muttering a “whatever,” in order to brush off the moment. You watched him stand, turning quickly when he flashed the beam back down to see you still on your knees before him, tits pushed together in your stupid little vest top, a bead of sweat rolling down your neck and into the dip between them. 

He wasn’t looking. He wasn’t looking. 

So he left you in the dark as he pushed away the leftover coats that the rest of the staff had left since winter, pulling at the handle of the fuse box, letting clatter noisily against the wall. “C’mere for a second,” he said gruffly, not looking at you at all. “Hold this, yeah?”

“Manners are free, Harrington,” you tutted, “don’t be a bitch.”

Steve still wasn’t facing you, but you were pretty sure he was rolling his eyes. “You wanna stay stuck in the dark? In this heat?” He asked, he handed you the flashlight. “Least you can do is hold this, princess, don’t break a nail now, god forbid.”

You snatched the light from him, shouldering into his space just to piss him off, too close and too warm, cologne and sunscreen and chlorine scent hair from an early morning swim, peach scented chapstick and sweat. You hated it. You hated that you didn’t hate it all. 

“Come on, sparky,” you nudged Steve, an elbow to his side, the flashlight pointed at the circuit board, showing rows and rows of switches and wires. “Fix it. Don’t break a nail, sweetheart.”

Steve glared at you, brows stitched together and his brown eyes honeycomb in the light. He looked like he wanted to argue, to snap back at you and bite, but instead he pressed his lips together and turned back to the fuses. 

His fingers lingered over the switches, pausing to read the peeling and faded labels under each one, hesitating before he flicked the plastic. Some did nothing, the arcade remaining in darkness, in silence. Steve mumbled under his breath, a grumble that made you want to laugh but you kept your lips pressed together, the light still held aloft for him. 

You were silent as you watched him push at each one, plastic flicking up and down, doing nothing. You grimaced as Steve started to play with some of the wires, pushing them back into the board with a little more force than made you comfortable, as if he knew what he was doing, as if was suddenly an expert in hard wiring and electrics. 

“You’re gonna blow us up,” you warned, slapping at his hand when he kept prodding at things he didn’t know about. “Steve, Jesus, stop it!”

The boy tsked, budging up closer to you, only to try to shoulder you out of the way, shaking his hand loose from your attempt to grab him. It was a childish scuffle, one you’d definitely had before with Steve, over stolen bags of chips, the last can of soda, the set of keys that worked properly. But this time it was in the dark, skin still slick and the air too heavy and he was so fucking close, hands sliding over the bare skin on your stomach, your sides, his hair tickling your cheek as he poked at your ribs, trying to make you give in. 

And then, all at once, Steve’s hand pushed at yours and the flashlight fell again, the beam flickering off just as something in the fuse box sparked and popped. 

You yelped and Steve swore, both of you clambering backwards, away from the possibility of a full on fire, grabbing at each other like that would help. There was a beat of silence, one second, two second, three, just the sound of you and Steve breathing a little heavy - and then the lights came back on. 

You blinked, squinting into the too bright strip lights and it maybe took you both too long that you were still clinging to each other, your fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, Steve’s wide, warm hand pressed to your lower back, his frame slightly in front of yours… like he was trying to block you from any danger. 

He sprang away from you when your eyes met, your nose scrunched as you tried your best to act annoyed, like your heart wasn’t rattling in your chest, like you couldn’t smell Steve’s cologne on your own skin. You pushed back just as hard, ass bumping with the table, forgotten lunch boxes falling to the floor. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, ducking to hide your warm cheeks.

Steve scoffed, running a hand through his hair and looking anywhere but at you. “What’re you even talkin’ about? I fixed it, didn’t I?”

“That was a fluke,” you laughed, more haughtily than you’d ever sounded but god, you were still too warm and you could feel the leftover pressure of Steve’s hand on your back. “You pressed some buttons and hoped for the best, get real.”

Steve glared, snapping the fuse box shut and leaning against it, arms crossed. “S’real cute coming from the girl who didn’t want me to leave her alone in the dark.”

You weren’t sure how you ended up toe to toe again, how you’d managed to cross the small office, chin lifted defiantly, cheeks warm. “No one would wanna be left in the dark!” You tried to reason, words feeling clumsy in your mouth because Steve was smirking, looking far too amused. “It’s not like I wanted to be beside you. I would’ve followed Jason, Jesus, don’t flatter yourself, Harrington.”

Steve just shrugged, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek to stop his grin. He sighed all dramatically and poked a finger to your cheek, laughing when you huffed and slapped it away. “Keep telling yourself that, princess.”

“You’re so full of yourself. I would’ve been fine without you.”

Closer still, toes touching, noses too close, the heat still clinging to you both. 

“I saved your ass,” Steve teased. “Admit it.”

“No you didn’t, asshole.” You were unreasonably annoyed about how relaxed Steve was, cocky and lazy as he leaned against the desk.

The boy grinned. “Yeah? Wanna fight about it?”

The sound of the games resetting saved you from replying, the electronic cacophony of alarms and theme songs breaking up whatever was about to happen. You left Steve in the office and spent the rest of your shift with your T-shirt back on, sticky skin and unable to look him in the eye. 

[rosewaterandivy]

keep the windows open wide

🎵🎵 I like the way that your hair tangles, the way your suntan’s only on one side 🎵🎵

Summary: Summer roadtrippin' with Steve.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem reader

WC: 2K

Warnings: the usual - prose idolatry and feelings (my blog is NSFW 18+, minors DNI), self-edited, waxing poetic about summer Steve.

A/N: Inspired by “When We Drive” by Death Cab for Cutie & reading poetry, as per usual. Reblogs, feedback, & likes are appreciated - reposting is not. Enjoy! 💜

divider by @newlips

There’s something poetic about a midsummer drive in an ancient car from god knows when. Indigo blue with the paint peeling off. Dry snakeskin ridged cellophane on rolled down windows, crinkling a static refrain as it flaps violently against the glass pane.

The air conditioning occasionally works, so you make do with dry summer breeze sweeping through. Blessedly, if it pleases, surging down the neckline of your shirts, cooling your backs for only a second. A small ice chest is under your foot, full of popsicles and Gatorades. The trash bag is shoved in the backseat behind Steve, overflowing with crushed plastic and stained wood sticks.

“You alright?”

A dull pang behind your eye. You shove the sunglasses further up on your nose, hoping the dark lenses will be enough to dampen the bright summer sun blazing through. With one hand, you scrounge around for your bag in the footwell. Steve reaches over, popping open the cooler to rifle around.

Piercing the foil, you pop the pill into your mouth and swallow. He tears open a packet with his teeth. “Here.”

A small smile as you take it from his slack grip. Electric blue like the way he shocks you with his touch. The sugared ice slides right down your throat and soothes the fever in your fingertips. A warm hand falls to your thigh giving a light squeeze. 

Steve has already returned to his side, staring at the road ahead, eyes catching the mile marker signs. 

_

You end up stopping at dusk. 

Not long after taking some maxalt for your migraine, Steve suggested that you try to lay down for a nap in the backseat. “S’okay honey, I got the wheel.” 

Clambering over the console and settling yourself against the bench seats proved to be a momentary relief. The issue, as it happened, was the being in motion bit. The nausea crept in slowly enough that you could alert Steve.

“We gotta stop.”

“Like, right now?”

He reaches an arm behind him to seek you out, warm hand against the damp of your limbs. As if he has to feel for himself to ensure you’re right where he left you. 

“Gettin’ dizzy,” You rasp, arm thrown over your eyes. 

Steve hums a patient tune, squeezes your forearm, fingers lingering against your skin and you watch as the sunbeams drape his chest like a mantle.

“Jus’ that place, there,” You sit up and blearily point at what you hope is a motel sign.

Steve turns off the highway and into the parking lot with a sigh. Killing the engine, he turns toward you, looming over your prone state in the backseat.

“The It’ll Do Motel?”

“Sure.”

“But,” He sputters, eyes taking in the sign that’s seen better days, perishing the thought at what else in the motel had seen better days— 

“It won’t do,” frustrated.

“I don’t think we’re in a position to be picky here Harrington.”

Another beleaguered sigh as he runs his hand through his hair, the muffled shutting of the car door. You close your eyes, curling up against the seat cushions while attempting to take steady breaths in and out. 

_

“Just your luck,” The motel clerk greets him with a bright smile. “We’ve got one room left for tonight, and it’s all yours.”

Steve takes the key from the woman’s hand and signs the guest check-in form. Thanks her for the help as he turns to leave, the buzz of the neon sign clicking on to display ‘No Vacancy.’

He returns to the car to see you passed out in the backseat and is careful when easing into gear to park in front of your room for the night. 

“C’mon champ,” He says, nudging you awake. 

You scrunch your nose and sit up feeling like an eyesore next to Steve. Tummy quivering at the sudden motion, you brace yourself against the car door. Steve’s there in an instant, hands wrapping around your arms, steadying you.

It’s unfair how effortlessly handsome he looks. Hair windswept and annoyingly perfect, bronzed skin, the barest hint of five o’clock shadow against his jaw and cheeks—

“Hey.”

He’s peering up at you from his crouched position outside of the door, eyes finding you through the hazy blue of the evening. You turn and blink, looking back down. “Hey.”

Your breath rushes out like a current as Steve stands, reaching in slow-motion, or what feels like it as your blood thumps in your ears. The collar of your ratty Hawkins Phys. Ed. shirt soft against the column of your neck. He’s close. Nose nearly touching your cheek, hair centimeters away from your jaw.

The wind gusts by, lifts tendrils of your locks onto exposed collar, pulling forth a shudder. Under the chill of the night air, your goosebumps prickle awake, stinging your chest with apprehension.

“You gonna make it?”

Steve places his hand on your chin, a light stroke of his thumb and pointer, and it feels like a firework. Scorching hot, igniting every nerve ending. He doesn’t wait for either protest or approval. Instead, he slides back into the growing darkness, extending only his hand. The surface glistens like a beacon, slivers bouncing light over his eyes. 

A brief nod, the pain behind your eye flaring up again momentarily as you slowly stand. He’s there, as he’s always been, a guide in the darkness and always close enough to touch. You lean against him while he opens the door, key jangling against the metal of the doorknob. 

Ushers you inside the dark cool of the room with ease, a hand to your lower back as he closes and locks the door. Barely able to make out that there’s one bed in the room, you mumble,

“Don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

He quiets your worries with a low purr.

“Y’sure? I’d be fine on the couch.”

A press of his stubble to your neck and then a soft sigh. You don’t quite know what it means, this affection. Transient poetry, at least. Requited love, if only.

“S’fine,” You get out before collapsing on the bed, tugging Steve down with you. Sleep coming swiftly thereafter.

_

Steve doesn’t sleep as easily as you, too wound up from the drive— he can still feel the phantom wheels turning beneath him despite it all. Didn’t want to chance the sound or light from the TV waking you, so he contented himself drawing lackadaisical patterns onto the exposed skin of your side.

Shirt rucked up from tossing in your sleep, seeking out the warmth of his body, not satisfied until your fingers found purchase against his waist, head tucked against his chest— the sound of his heartbeat lulling you toward blessed oblivion.

Chilled from the A/C blasting through the room, your hands somehow slipped beneath the worn cotton of his shirt, splayed against the dip of his low back in an effort to warm them. You were an absolute menace in sleep, desperate to seek out any shred comfort and warmth even in your unconscious state. 

Steve didn’t mind it, in fact, he was more than happy to oblige.

The imprint of your body is a solid comfort against his. Has to remind himself to just act normal. Because you’re friends on a roadtrip, a desperate attempt to escape the summer heat and drudgery of Hawkins. It shouldn’t matter that his heart flutters in his chest with each breath you take, that he’s trying so hard to keep his eyes and hands to himself.

But it does matter, because it’s you.

He can’t remember where he’d picked it up, but once upon a time Steve had heard something that stuck with him and it was something like this: that falling in love was like falling asleep, slowly at first and then all at once.

And he hadn’t realized he was falling until he was in the middle of it.

As close to you as he’s ever been.

And you, blissfully unaware and lost in dreams— snuffling against his chest every so often and turning to burrow in even further, as if you possibly could. Steve would let you, without question— you could cleave and carve into the cage of his ribs, make yourself a home there if it meant he got to keep you.

Just for a while, at least.

It’s with this thought that he finally succumbs to sleep.

_

Morning broke over the treescape early, shone white and livid into your tired eyes. Steve found the two of you tangled in the sheets, fingers entwined and you snuffling into the pillow. He squeezed your hand, pulled you up with him, and let you shower first.

The axels squeak as you pull back onto the highway, leaving the sleepy motel behind in the early morning light. Steve’s riding shotgun, sunglasses lazily thrown on and balancing precariously on his nose— he’s leaning back against the seat, facing the window. 

Before leaving town for good, you spot a drive-thru that’s not too crowded and get in line. The intercom sputters to life— the cashier greeting you lazily all the while trying to remain hospitable. Steve’s shoulder brushes against your cheek as he clambers over the consol to place the order, his shirt smells like the sage and cedar of his cologne run through with a bit of detergent.

He rattles off your order like it’s nothing, route memory at this point—two hash browns, one black coffee, a bacon egg and cheese biscuit. Adds a sprite on as well, because you’ll inevitably want one later. The attendant rattles back the order to Steve’s satisfaction and the car lurches forward. He’s retreated back to his side now, save for the hand on your leg. 

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, Steve is tactile like that; always has to have contact with some part of you— hands, fingers, thighs, so you think nothing of it. The static of the radio crackles through the car as he fiddles with the dial until catching on a nearby station. 

“Shit yeah,” he says, settling back into the seat. Sings along with the Eagles, “Come on baby, don’t say maybe, I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.” 

Steve sings along to the radio while you follow the sloping curves of the Rocky Mountains. It makes your heart swell because damn, how’d you get so lucky?

He only gets louder as the song comes to an end, turning to serenade you through the mountain pass— you grin, trying desperately to focus on the road while his fingers tap idly against your thigh.

“Here Stevie,” you say linking your fingers through his, and place both entwined hands on his thigh. 

He chuckles, bringing the back of your hand to his lips for a kiss. Warmth floods your chest at the motion, the intimacy of it— so much for not getting distracted, dealing with Steve Harrington and his wiley ways. 

Steve lets your hands drop back to rest on his leg, eyes twinkling with some secret knowledge.

“What?”

“You called me Stevie.”

“Did I?”

“Uh huh,” He smiles, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “S’nice.”

“That so? Might happen again,” you tease, pastel hues breaking along the treeline as the car chugs up the slope.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

You hum in response. He turns toward you, glasses pushed up into his riot of hair— bedhead run rampant only mildly contained between the plastic arms of his sunglasses. Eyes unguarded, flecks of golden patina surveying you steadily. 

Gold like his summer skin under the sun. Gold like the laughter that bubbles from your mouth as he sings along to the radio and points out every kind of wildlife he sees. Gold like how you’ll miss him, miss this— carefree summers by his side, seeing where the road takes you.

In your head and heart you know, like you’ve always known, that it’s always back to him. Steve knows too, but for now is content to watch, waiting for your permission.

The road stretches out long before you, as the sun bursts above the horizon heralding a new day.

[spicysix]

your sweater (up over your head) | 2/6

5.8k words | prev | next | masterlist | ao3 warnings: heavy making out, sex between underage characters (not described in detail), use of 'fag' and 'fairy' as homophobic slurs, bullying. tommy hagan is his own trigger warning. steve being a douchebag. if you're uncomfortable with the slurs and bullying scene, you can skip from "When summer ends and school finally begins" to "Steve goes straight to their hickory tree after school". author's note: happy stonathan saturday! steve's still just a prince here, but the crowning of the King will come, unfortunately. steve's car is a 1983 bmw 733i and started being produced as of september 1982. let's just pretend steve got one of the very first models okay? lmao

They come back from Illinois and Steve’s father introduces him to the Hagans’ son, Thomas, and demands Steve to be that kid’s new best friend. The Hagans are the Harringtons’ closest business partners in Hawkins. Steve’s father is very strict, but Steve kind of understands because he wants Steve to take his place in the family’s business, and Steve wants to make his father proud so he hangs out with Thomas — Tommy, he likes it better.

Even if it bothers Steve that his father never wanted to meet Jonathan, even after Steve talked about him almost every day since they moved to Hawkins. But Steve was getting used to not being listened by his parents anymore.

Tommy is a little mean, but mostly in a funny way. When Steve tells him about Jonathan, he mocks him — “why are you hanging out with children, Harrington?” — but Steve takes it as just a joke, especially because it’s just one year of difference. And thinks that when Tommy gets to know Jonathan next school year, he’ll know how great Jonathan is.

Steve doesn’t tell Tommy about the kisses. He doesn’t know if Tommy can be trusted with that information, or if he’s gonna throw that word at Steve like his old classmates did with Matty Boswell.

The end of the school year is brutal and again Steve barely has time to go to the woods behind his backyard. On the days he’s able to go, his and Jonathan’s paths never cross — he must be busy as well.

But as summer comes back around, they meet again. Summer is theirs.

They meet under the hickory tree and they hug tightly, Jonathan’s arms wrap around Steve’s waist and it feels really good. He missed Jonathan every day, thought about him every day. He takes Jonathan’s face between his hands and looks at him closely. He’s grown. Still scrawny, but he’s taller and his bowl cut is growing to better frame his face. The sunbeams still paint him golden.

Steve kisses him and his pink lips are still soft.

They sit under the hickory tree and they still have so much to talk about. They’re both thrilled for Jonathan to finally join High School, when they’ll be able to see each other every day. Jonathan has new favorite bands and songs, and he shows them to Steve, makes him a mixtape that Steve listens to almost every night.

Once a week Steve hangs out with Tommy because otherwise his father will be pissed. Steve’s gotta have the contacts. Tommy asks what Steve does during the rest of the summer, and he says he’s busy helping his mom with some house renovations or with his dad at his home office.

Steve doesn’t know why he lies.

Not a full lie, actually, he says he still meets Jonathan now and then, just doesn’t tell Tommy that it’s basically every day. Or what they do besides talking and listening to music.

Jonathan’s dad, who took out all his peace of mind last year, leaves that summer. Jonathan says he goes to Indianapolis, and that he even tried to convince Jonathan to go too. As if he’d want to. He’s very happy now that his house wasn’t filled with screams from his parents and he doesn’t have to distract his younger brother from all the fights.

That also means he has more time to go to their forest, and so they spend more mornings together besides all the afternoons.

They venture and explore further.

Steve learns how to give open mouthed kisses in ways that make Jonathan sigh and whimper (and if Steve’s lucky, Jonathan moans), and Jonathan figures out that if he pulls Steve’s shirts collars down, he can give him hickeys that will remain covered. Steve discovers the softness of Jonathan’s stomach skin and Jonathan counts the moles on Steve’s arms.

The butterflies never cease to party, and Jonathan’s lips get more pink with time.

Memorizing each other’s arms and torsos is adventurous and Steve feels brave as he did one year before when he starts pulling Jonathan to his lap as he sits against the hickory tree. Their movements feel like a dance and Steve goes higher than ever before as they pant and Jonathan buries his face on Steve’s neck. They pull each others’ hair and when Steve gets home that night his shorts go straight to the washer machine after only one use, and the problem is not the mud on the back of the legs.

Steve spends the morning and afternoon of his birthday with Jonathan, who makes him another mixtape and brings him a cake that his mom helps him make. It’s Steve’s favorite flavor, and they eat it all in just one sitting, and they kiss a lot later and Jonathan tastes of strawberry and Steve thinks he’s delicious.

When Steve gets home, Tommy swings by and takes him to a party. There’s so many people there, and they wish Steve a happy birthday and they hug him and it all feels good. They play truth or dare as if they were twelve again, and Steve has to kiss a girl on a dare and she’s a good kisser and her lipgloss is strawberry flavored, but Steve can only think about how much better it tasted on Jonathan’s mouth. Tommy and Steve take multiple shots through the night, and it all tastes horrible, but he feels dizzy in a nice way and the headache the next day is not much of a bother when he thinks of how much fun he had.

He doesn’t tell Jonathan about the strawberry lipgloss girl. He doesn’t know why.

Steve goes to the public pool one day with Tommy and other friends of his, and when they go to the restrooms to wash out all the chlorine, they leave empty shower stalls in between each of them as if a double set of walls is more reassuring against the perils of another naked man.

Steve thinks about how he wanted Jonathan to be there, wearing nothing but short tight trunks, the golden spots on his hair shining under the sun and his pale skin all wet.

Steve manages to stay quiet, but his shower takes longer than the rest of them.

When he finally exits the lockers, one of Tommy’s friends — Bryan, Steve thinks — mocks him. “What took you so long, Harrington? All the naked boys got you too excited?” he cackles, and so do Tommy and his other friends, and Steve rolls his eyes, but his shoulders are tense and he doesn’t feel brave.

No, not all the naked boys. Just a particular one.

Steve doesn’t answer that.

“As if you rat-looking asses would get anyone excited. Not even if I was a girl, dickweed,” he says instead and they all cackle again and Steve feels safe enough.

He decides then and there that we would probably never trust Tommy — much less Bryan, or anyone else — with the information of what he does with Jonathan under the hickory tree. He knows that they would be the type of people to scream nasty words at Matty Boswell for not kissing Sharon Blake. They would scream nasty words at Steve.

They go to the pool other times and Steve likes it enough to try and join the swimming team as well when school starts back. He tells his parents and they smile, “good job, Steven” this and “you’ll get a great sports scholarship to college, Steven” that. Steve’s not thinking about colleges or scholarships, he just likes swimming and playing basketball. But he doesn’t say anything, just smiles back and thanks them.

When he tells Jonathan, he smirks, puts his hands on Steve’s belly under his tee and says, “I’ll be there to see you all wet on tiny swim trunks,” and Steve laughs because he understands the desire.

They make out and Steve soars high again and it’s another pair of shorts straight to the washer machine.

When summer ends and school finally begins, Steve barely sleeps the night before the first day. He’ll finally see Jonathan every day, maybe they’ll have some classes together, they’ll get to eat lunch at the same table. He’s excited to introduce Jonathan to Tommy, and even though they have nothing in common maybe they can get to like each other. Steve and Jonathan had nothing in common as well, but they were doing just fine. Tommy can come around.

Except that when he gets to school’s first day in his brand new car — his father gave it to him for his sixteenth birthday and because he was so proud of Steve’s sports accomplishments — Tommy and Jonathan already know each other, apparently. Steve has a smile on his face when he sees them talking, but his smile falters as he leaves the car and comes close enough to actually hear the conversation.

“You penniless little fag. Not even your daddy could stand being in the same house as two fairies, of course,” Tommy’s voice is like an angry dog’s bark, and Steve’s heart constricts at the sound of it.

It’s that word again.

He feels like puking.

“What’s going on?” he asks once he’s close enough. Both Tommy and Jonathan look at him, and both smile — Tommy’s smile is wide and poisonous, and Jonathan’s is small and genuine. Steve doesn’t know who he should look at.

More students are coming in, and they are stopping and staring at the commotion right in front of the school’s entrance. Steve wonders why there’s no adult around. There should be an adult around, maybe they could stop this, disperse the crowd. Steve doesn���t think he can do it alone.

“Harrington, you gotta be kidding me that this was your little summer friend,” Tommy spats out again. “Can’t be seen with these people, dude, you’ll get their sickness.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Jonathan bites back, and Steve’s never seen him that pissed.

“C’mon, Harrington,” Tommy says at last and Bryan spits into the floor next to Jonathan’s shoe before they walk towards the school’s entrance.

“Jonathan?” Steve asks, coming closer to his friend. Jonathan’s hands are balled into fists on his sides, and his cheeks are pink, but not in that beautiful blush that Steve likes to provoke on him. Steve looks at where Tommy and Bryan are still walking.

“It’s okay, Steve. We can talk later,” Jonathan says, and Steve looks at him again.

He assesses Jonathan’s features, his face, his shoulders, his arms. He doesn’t seem hurt. Steve wants to touch him, bring him into a hug. He doesn’t know why doesn’t do it.

“LET’S GO, Harrington, the fuck you’re still doing there?” Tommy yells, and Steve looks at him again. He’s still smirking as if he had won the fight.

“Go, Steve. We can talk later,” Jonathan repeats and Steve looks at him again.

His chest feels tight, and his stomach is swirling but it’s not his well-known butterflies partying, not anymore. He’s so nervous. He wants to puke.

He goes after Tommy.

Steve goes straight to their hickory tree after school, he doesn’t even enter his house. Just parks the Bimmer in the driveway, contours the property and goes right into the forest. He’s silently praying and hoping that Jonathan will do the same.

He does, but not exactly.

Steve’s there for at least an hour, maybe two, waiting until Jonathan finally shows up. He’s not smiling as he sees Steve, he’s got a scowl that Steve knows matches his fierceness, but doesn’t match his sweetness. Jonathan is fierce, and he is brave and he puts up the scowl to berate the world. He lets it down in their forest, under their hickory tree, and all he shows Steve is sweetness.

He’s got a scowl facing Steve now. It feels wrong.

Steve runs to him, but holds himself at the last second, afraid that hugging Jonathan will make it worst somehow. They just stop in front of each other and stare.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve says after a while, and he’s getting misty eyed and he hates it.

“You didn’t do anything,” Jonathan answers, but that’s not an apology either.

“I didn’t stop him. I didn’t tell him to stop, he was being horrible, he called you-” Steve stops himself, the taste of the word on the tip of his tongue making him nauseous again. “How did he even know?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Jonathan asks and for a second his scowl seems to soften.

“Of course not! He’s mean sometimes, and it’s mostly in a funny way, but I know I couldn’t trust him with this,” with us, he wants to say. “Bryan’s even worst. They teased me one day at the pool, and I just knew. I don’t wanna put us in danger, I know this is…”

He doesn’t wanna say ‘wrong’. It doesn’t feel wrong, it never did, to have Jonathan in his arms, or to hold his face gently, or to kiss his soft lips. It could never feel wrong, but he knows that’s how the world sees it anyway.

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Jonathan starts walking towards their hickory tree and Steve follows. They sit with their backs against it, as they always do, but their pinkies are not intertwined this time.

Steve’s chest is still tight, and his stomach is still swirling, and he still wants to cry. He doesn’t, because it’s not fair. He’s not the one who’s been bullied, and Tommy and Bryan didn’t even talk to him about it through the rest of the day — he says that to Jonathan. They didn’t tease him, didn’t associate Steve with Jonathan, didn’t make the connection that if Jonathan was… that, it meant Steve already was too. They had no idea. Nothing happened to him, it all happened to Jonathan, and yet Jonathan has the scowl of fierceness and Steve’s the one who wants to cry like a coward.

Jonathan rests his head against Steve’s shoulder at some point, and he holds his hand in between them and it almost feels right. The air is still tense, though, and it’s not the same. Steve’s so scared that it won’t ever be the same again.

“Maybe we don’t… talk at school,” Jonathan’s voice is small when he says it after a lot of time in silence, and it doesn’t seem fierce at all.

“But that’s not what I want. It’s not what we planned,” Steve answers, and he’s misty-eyed again, and he hates it.

“It’s for the best. I don’t wanna get you in trouble, and I know your dad will be pissed if he hears about all this. We’ll still have the forest.”

Steve just hums, not trusting that his voice won’t break if he tries to say anything. Jonathan is right, and he’s smarter than Steve so that must be the right thing to do, to follow what he says. Steve’s father will get pissed, he remembers the disgust in his voice when he said that word that time long ago. He remembers how his father pressures him so hard to hang out with Tommy. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though. Actually, because it’s all true, maybe it hurts even more.

Plus, it won’t bring Jonathan into danger as well. That’s the priority, actually, not Steve’s problems with his dad. God, that’s what Steve should be thinking about, not being selfish.

 They stay silent for the rest of what feels like another hour, and the sun’s not setting yet when Jonathan gets up. Steve follows.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Steve asks, taking Jonathan’s hand.

“Yeah, I’ll try to come if I don’t have much homework.”

“You’re a nerd,” Steve teases, and Jonathan swings their linked arms to the sides, back and forth. Steve’s butterflies wake up and party, even if a little lazily.

“You’re a dork,” Jonathan smiles, that tiny smile of his that blows Steve’s mind every time it’s directed at him.

“You still like me, though,” he says, not super certain of it, but he makes it sounds confident.

Jonathan leans in and kisses him. Their hands are still swinging in between them, Steve’s butterflies are still partying, and it almost feels like nothing bad had ever happened.

“I still like you, yeah,” Jonathan answers before giving Steve a final peck on the lips.

They part ways, and Steve walks a good bunch of steps before he looks back, as he always does. Jonathan is looking right back at him, as he always is. He’s not smiling, but he is looking.

They wave at each other and Steve goes home.

He cries himself to sleep.

Jonathan doesn’t show up the next day, or the next one. He shows up only on Friday and explains how he had a lot of homework, yes, but he was also taking care of his little brother. His mom was working double the time now that his dad had left, and with school back he was responsible for little Will more than he had to be during summer. That makes their meetings a little harder, and they go back to how it was the year before — once a week, twice if they’re lucky, they get to sit under their hickory tree and talk, listen to music, or kiss each other until their lips are numb. He gets a few more pants dirty, he gets some more of Jonathan’s pants ruined.

Sophomore year, of course, is tougher than freshman. Steve is having an even harder time keeping up with everything. It takes all of his time, the classes, the basketball, the swimming team. When he gets home he tries to do at least some homework, but it’s already hard to focus at school and it only gets worst when he’s alone. His friends are no help, and he doesn’t want to spend his free and only time with Jonathan, studying.

There’s that: his friends. And Jonathan. Separately.

Tommy feels powerful for having grown up a lot during last summer. He likes that he’s buffer, bigger, stronger. He likes that he’s not the youngest anymore, that he’s not at the bottom of the food chain. Bryan hypes him up with it, too, being the basketball team captain’s favorite, and he and Tommy feel unstoppable together.

They bully other kids a lot.

Steve doesn’t let them go near Jonathan.

He tries to stop them from going anywhere near anyone, to be honest. But it’s hard to go against two of them, so if he can only stop them once, he does it when they try to set Jonathan as their target. Tommy looks up to Steve a lot, maybe because Steve’s father is technically Tommy’s father’s boss. And Bryan and Tommy share a single brain cell. So, Steve feels somehow powerful too when he tells Tommy-Bryan to do something, and they follow Steve’s words as a command.

Sometimes he has to drag their attention elsewhere. To someone else. He feels like shit for it. But when he meets Jonathan for another week in their forest and he’s not sporting a sour mood, a scowl on his face or a bruised eye, Steve feels like maybe it’s worth it.

That’s his routine through September. Steve tries studying throughout the week, sees Jonathan on Fridays and hangs out with Tommy on Saturdays. At first, they hang out at each other’s houses, or at Bryan’s (Steve hates it. He hates Bryan). They steal some of their parents’ beers, they tease each other for their porn magazines (Tommy’s and Bryan’s. Steve doesn’t have any), they bitch about school and teachers and colleagues, they have sleepovers and it’s cool.

October changes that.

As the basketball team captain’s favorite, Bryan starts getting invited to parties, and he drags Tommy and Steve with him.

That’s his routine through October. Steve tries studying throughout the week, sees Jonathan on Fridays and goes to parties with Tommy on Saturdays. They get crazier and crazier every time, stuff Steve’s never seen before, and they’re nothing like that almost innocent party on his birthday during summer. There’s drinks much stronger than beer or vodka, there’s drugs sometimes, there’s games more malicious than truth or dare.

Steve gets dragged into a closet for seven minutes in heaven on Halloween. He doesn’t remember the girl’s name. He remembers he was dressed as Perseus and she was dressed as Andromeda, both from Clash Of The Titans. He remembers she tasted of strawberry, and he found it funny that every girl at school apparently had the same lipgloss. She was such a good kisser, not that Steve had a lot to compare, but she was better than what he had felt so far. She licked Steve’s neck and she scratched his tummy under his sweater, and she loosened his belt before kneeling and doing something no one else had ever done before. Her mouth was warm and wet and Steve was embarrassed at how fast the seven minutes passed by.

When he meets Jonathan next Friday, Steve doesn’t tell him about the girl. Jonathan knows Steve goes to parties, and Steve tells him all about the rest of the stuff, but he doesn’t mention the girl. He feels guilty, because she was a better kisser, and she did something with him that he hadn’t done with Jonathan yet. And mostly because he wants to do it again.

She didn’t make his butterflies party, because they partied for Jonathan only, but his stomach still felt dizzy as it does when you’re about to fall on a roller-coaster. He and Jonathan never gave a name to what they have, and he doesn’t know if a blowjob that lasted three minutes inside a closet is considered cheating, but he feels as guilty as if it is.

So he doesn’t tell Jonathan about it. And he retreats.

He misses a few of their meetings on purpose because he feels that if Jonathan even looks at him a certain way, he’ll talk. So he goes to more parties, and he kisses more girls, and he feels more guilty. But Tommy’s happy that they hang out more, and he’s much nicer when he’s happy. Steve learns very fast how to please, both Tommy’s need for antics and the girls he keeps being dragged into lockers with. And it’s thrilling, and it feels so good, until he remembers Jonathan and then it doesn’t.

November comes around and Steve’s guilt is just as big as his ego. He, Tommy and Bryan are the talk of the school because they are the baby sophomores that bring joy to every party, and the basketball team captain loves them and puts them all under his wing. Steve loves to sit with them in the cafeteria, he loves the little flirty notes left on his locker and the charged looks at the hallways, he loves when girls older than him playfully fight for his attention, he loves when he first marks a tree pointer at a basketball game and the cheerleaders scream his name.

What was at first a conscious guilty retreat turns into unconscious forgetfulness. Steve misses a few other meetings with Jonathan at the forest, not because he forces himself not to go, but because he actually gets caught up with other people who drag him to other places, and he forgets he should’ve gone to their forest that day.

He almost misses Jonathan’s birthday again because of it, and this time it would have been entirely his fault.

He reaches their hickory tree as the sun is almost setting — their cue to leave on regular days. He’s been too caught up with Tommy after swim practice, deciding who would drive who to Tina Douglas’ party the next day, and he might have crossed the speed limit going back to his house when he noticed what time it was. Afraid that Jonathan had left already, tired of waiting for him. And Steve wouldn’t have blamed him.

But he is still there, arms crossed and the scowl on his face that made Steve’s chest ache.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Steve says as he approaches Jonathan, who rolls his eyes.

“You missed the last two Fridays already,” he notes and Steve doesn’t even remember that it had been that long since they last saw each other.

“I know,” he lies. “I’m really sorry. There’s a swimming competition at the end of the month and coach is on our necks about it.” That isn’t a complete lie. It isn’t the truth about why he is late that day, though.

“It’s almost winter,” Jonathan says, and they’re still standing up and Jonathan’s arms are still crossed. And that feels wrong.

“Still fall even if it’s a cold one,” Steve corrects. “And the pool is heated, you would know if you came to see me like you promised you would,” Steve touches Jonathan’s elbow through all their layers. It’s getting harder to have their meetings out in the cold forest.

“Don’t think Hagan’s gonna be happy to see me there. Gonna call me some more slurs probably,” he answers and Steve feels guilty for bringing it up.

There’s a pregnant silence.

“Happy birthday.” Steve cuts it after a while, and he takes a step and touches Jonathan’s arm again. He smiles this time, and Steve’s butterflies wings flutter. “I have a gift for you, but it’s at my place. Maybe I can bring it to yours?”

Jonathan thinks about it while searching for something on Steve’s face, and maybe he finds it because his smile doesn’t falter as he does it, before answering:

“Yeah, sure.”

Steve’s grin is huge. “Do I have to go in through your window, or…?” he asks, and Jonathan chuckles.

“No, knock on the front door like a normal person. My mom probably won’t be there. She has the closing shift at the store. If you don’t run late again, maybe you won’t catch her.”

“And Will?” Steve’s happy that he won’t have to meet Jonathan’s mother, but the prospect of meeting his little brother is just as scary.

“Sleepover at his friend’s house,” he answers, and the smirk on his lips is nothing of sweetness and innocence, and Steve’s butterflies are going insane.

He grabs Jonathan’s face, and the kiss he plants on his lips is fast and hard and nothing sweet and innocent. They’re both red as they part, Jonathan’s lips glistening with spit and Steve is feeling burning hot in the middle of the coldest night of the month.

“I’ll be right there,” he says before a final peck, and Jonathan laughs, and Steve almost runs to his house. He can hear Jonathan’s laughter behind him, but he doesn’t look back.

He takes a quick shower, styles his hair as fast as he can, puts on his favorite yellow sweater and a nice cologne. He grabs Jonathan’s gift — special edition cassettes of his favorite bands — and tells his mother in the kitchen that he’s going to a friend’s birthday. Thankfully his father is locked up in his home office, otherwise Steve would probably have to tell him whose birthday he’s going to, and that wouldn’t be a nice conversation.

Sky’s dark by the time he leaves his house so he takes the car and the actual roads to get to the Byers’ house. He knows where it is at this point, Jonathan had led him to it through the forest once and Steve’s sense of direction is very good. It doesn’t take him more than five minutes to get there and he adjusts his hair one more time in the rearview mirror before leaving the car and knocking on the door.

“Hi,” Jonathan greets him, and he also bathed and cleaned up nice, and he’s wearing sweatpants that make Steve’s brain go a little fuzzy. “I like the sweater.” Steve wants him to take it off.

“Happy birthday again,” Steve hands him the gift, not neatly wrapped, as Jonathan steps aside to let him in.

He closes the door and nods towards the hallway, and Steve follows him to his room. There are posters of bands and movies that Steve already knew were Jonathan’s favorites, and a big stereo for him to listen to his cassettes. A little bookshelf on the other wall, but Steve doesn’t have the time to look at it before he hears Jonathan opening his gift behind him.

He turns around and notices immediately that Jonathan had closed the door before setting the box on his desk and opening it. He picks up a few cassettes and goes through them with a tiny smile on his lips. Steve approaches him from behind.

“I wasn’t sure which ones you already have, but… You can have them doubled, I guess,” he says with a low voice, a tentative touch to Jonathan’s hip, and doesn’t miss the way he shudders.

That’s his favorite thing about the whole thing, he came to learn: the way people react to him. The way Jonathan just shuddered, or the way he sighs against Steve’s lips when they make out. The way he whimpers and, if Steve’s lucky, moans, when he’s on Steve’s lap. The way girls cry out and beg him to go faster when he’s got his fingers inside their skirts. The way they all grab his hair and bury their faces in Steve’s neck when they reach their highs.

“This is great. Thank you,” Jonathan says. He picks one by The Who and starts it on the stereo before turning around to face Steve. “I love them.”

He’s staring deeply into Steve’s eyes and Steve feels like there’s more he doesn’t say. He feels it inside his chest too, that nonrhythmic beat, the crazy party inside his belly and he doesn’t hold himself back before grabbing Jonathan’s face and clashing their lips together again. It’s fast, and it’s desperate, and they push and pull at each other until they’re on Jonathan’s bed.

Steve kinda loses track of it all after that.

He loses track of what’s him and what’s Jonathan, who’s touching who and where, who’s making which sounds. They finally see each other, all of each other for the first time, and Jonathan’s heater is on but Steve doesn’t think that it’s what’s keeping the cold away. He kisses and licks and bites at every inch he can reach, he imitates on Jonathan what that girl he can’t remember the name did to him inside that closet, but he takes his time — longer than just seven minutes to take Jonathan to heaven. He lets Jonathan do the same to him and once they’re finished and sweaty and dirty and tired, they cuddle as if nothing bad had ever happened.

Steve doesn’t even remember the tension he had to cut through earlier in the forest. He doesn’t remember the girl’s name, he doesn’t remember Tina’s party tomorrow or the plans he did with Tommy. He doesn’t remember how this almost didn’t happen, that it wouldn’t have happened if he had arrived a few minutes late, and he doesn’t remember the guilt that had been eating him up the last month.

He only thinks of Jonathan.

Jonathan, who wraps his arm around Steve’s middle and sleeps with his face tucked into Steve’s neck. And Steve feels hazy. His butterflies take so long to calm down that he thinks they never will, but once they do he falls asleep too.

He only dreams of Jonathan.

Steve wakes up the next day with the sun hitting his face. Of course they had forgotten to close the drapes last night, they had more important things to do.

They’re still cuddling, but they turned around a bit and now Steve’s spooning Jonathan. The bed is small, so Jonathan’s arm is hanging from the edge of the bed and touching the ground.

The same sunbeam that had awakened him is touching Jonathan’s hair and painting it golden. Steve feels like he could stay in that moment forever.

But Jonathan’s clock is saying it’s almost ten, and Steve has to go back home before Joyce decides to wake her son up. So he leaves a trail of kisses on Jonathan’s naked shoulder and he mumbles and groans and Steve giggles until Jonathan wakes up.

He turns around, not leaving Steve’s embrace. “Morning,” he whispers, tucking his face to Steve’s neck again.

“Morning.” Steve lets his fingers run loosely across Jonathan’s back. “I gotta go, don’t wanna risk your mom coming in and waking us up.”

“Yeah, she’s not great at knocking,” Jonathan complains and they giggle again. “Thanks for stopping by yesterday, I had a great time.”

Steve can feel the heat of Jonathan’s breath and Jonathan’s cheeks against his own skin. He’s blushing. Steve can’t stop smiling, his face is hurting.

They get up and get dressed slowly, trying to stretch out the time they still have left together. Steve leaves through the window, the way he joked about coming in yesterday, and Jonathan leans against the stool.

“We should try the gift thing again this winter break,” he says and Steve nods.

“Do you think I can sneak in here more often? It’ll get harder to meet in the forest, it’s cold as fuck,” he says, rocking back and forth on his heels. Jonathan chuckles.

“We have to be very quiet.”

“I can be very quiet.” He winks and Jonathan smirks.

Steve holds himself up, hands right on top of Jonathan’s, their pinkies intertwining. They kiss slowly and gently, but there’s a new heat in it that makes Steve feel like he’s on a roller coaster again. That thrill of it. He swears he’s about to fly away, the only things keeping him on the ground are Jonathan’s pinky and Jonathan’s lips.

“Dork,” Jonathan says as they separate.

“I like you too.” Steve likes him so much.

Steve finally wills his feet to walk him towards the street, and seeing his car there makes him realize that Joyce probably knows he was there, if she came in from work and saw it parked in front of her house. His cheeks burn for a second, but he still can’t tear the smile off of his lips.

He’s almost reaching the Bimmer when he looks back, as he always does. Jonathan is draped over the window, barely visible on the side of his house, but he’s looking right back at Steve, as he always is.

They smile and they wave at each other and Steve goes on.

He doesn’t know that’s the last time he’ll see Jonathan this year. His butterflies are still partying, oblivious.

[honeyoru]

resonance (steve harrington x superpower! reader) chapter two

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The sound of the television woke you up with a jolt. The static-filled warble added to the migraine you had been blessed with this morning, it seemed. 

You’d been placed on a couch in a decently-sized, albeit weathered, cabin. Based on the array of shadows you saw streaming in from outside, it was located somewhere in the forest. 

Weird, you thought, peering blearily at the strange amount of vintage-looking decor around the space, wondering if you were in some new Airbnb. I’ve never seen a cabin in these woods before. You’d walked to and from the lab for years now without stumbling upon anyone. 

A wave of hunger overcame you at the smell of bacon that was wafting in from the kitchen. Ignoring the pang you felt at the thought of food, you wondered if you’d be able to split before anyone noticed you had woken up. Overstaying your welcome wasn’t in your nature, and as a thank you to the man and his kid (who you assumed was who brought you here) for not killing you in your sleep, it was probably time to leave. 

You were still required to visit the lab today and Melissa wasn’t the type to excuse tardiness, especially not from you.

Sitting up, you pushed a thick blanket off your legs, overhearing what sounded like a man and woman arguing quietly in the kitchen. 

Must be the guy’s wife, you thought. Wondering why he brought a random teen into their home.

You noticed your backpack placed neatly beside the TV, which drew your attention away from the hushed conversation. The old, vintage-looking set making you pause with what was showing on the screen. 

It looked like a retro Coke commercial was playing, the graphics every bit as aged as the furniture itself.  

Strange.  

You slowly stood up, wincing at the pain, presumably the aftermath of last night. You felt like you had gotten hit by a truck and then thrown off a cliff. What did that guy do to me?

Sparing another glance at the TV, you couldn’t help but think of how accurate it looked to the 1980s. Must be a new nostalgic campaign they’re running. You wrinkled your nose at the terrible pixelated visuals. Well, they really nailed it. 

Trying to stretch out your sore muscles, you groaned, your body practically pulsing. The couch, apparently another genuine relic of the past, groaned with you as you left it.

“That you, kid?” A male voice called out from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you answered after clearing your throat, padding into the room in your socks.

Smirking a little at the thought of the screech you knew your mother would emit if she saw you in yesterday's clothes, you were greeted by the sight of the two people from earlier as well as a petite, wide-eyed woman, who smiled hesitantly at you.

The girl sat at the table with a massive plate of waffles, staring at you unblinkingly. “You’re awake.”

“I am,” you replied, a little uneasy at her stare. “Surprised I’m not dead, to be honest. Feels like it."

“You had one hell of a morning, I’m surprised you're walking.” The guy poured a cup of coffee into a weathered-looking mug and snorted. “Coffee?” He gestured to the old Sunbeam coffee machine in the corner. “Might be too late in the day for it, though.”

Jesus, they really like vintage stuff, don’t they?

He handed you a Hawkins Sheriff’s Office mug with a faded “1982” on it.

Quirking an eyebrow at the cabin’s theming, you thanked him quietly and poured a cup, dumping an unhealthy amount of sugar into it. He pointed to the empty seat at the small round table, across from the girl. “Feel free to sit.”

“So,” the woman began once you’d sat down slowly with a wince, coughing slightly and grabbing her own mug from where she leaned against the counter. “What’s your name?”

You told her, pulling the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your wrists. The girl had been staring at them intensely which made you nervous. It was obvious she was searching for something you didn’t have. 

“I’m sorry for intruding,” you tried to smile. “Your husband and daughter must have been quite startled to find me.”

She blinked twice, glancing at the man before sputtering. “Oh! Oh no,” she laughed awkwardly. “They’re not, I’m not, that is—”

“Not my wife,” the other adult said, rolling his eyes and coughing (you noticed his ears were turning red). “Not her mother.”

"Oh." You apologized with a burning face, internally screaming at the tension you’d just created. 

“Don’t worry about it. You have a very beautiful name. I’m Joyce,” she said, smiling. “This is Jim Hopper,” she pointed at the man before chuckling. “Although, we all call him Hopper—”

“— Call me Hopper—” Hopper interrupted stoically.

“—Call him Hopper,” Joyce shot him a glare. “And this is El.”

You looked at the girl, El, whose wide eyes made you uneasy again. “El,” you repeated with a soft smile. “That’s pretty.”

Her lips turned up a little. “It’s short for Eleven.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Like the number?”

She nodded, pulling up the sleeve of her sweater to show you something, a tattoo, you realized. 

011

What the fuck?  “Uh,” you glanced at the adults before looking back at her wrist. “Is that real?” 

At her nod, you sat up straighter with your eyebrows furrowed, unsure how to respond. You knew how to mind your business but it seemed like a child with a number branded on her wrist wasn’t something you should really gloss over.

“So you don’t recognize it?” Joyce asked thoughtfully. 

Recognize it? You couldn’t help the dumbfounded stare you shot at her. “No, I don’t.” Confusion flooded you at their frustrated reactions; should you recognize it? “Why would I?” 

A small voice answered. “They thought you might be like me.”

El’s eyes met yours and God you wished she’d blink every once in a while. “What do you mean?”

"No!" Hopper shuffled panicked towards the table, arms up in an attempt to stop her. “Kid, don’t —”

She ignored him, adjusting in her chair and moving the bottle of maple syrup in between you. With a well-focused stare and ignoring your confused expression, she glared at it. 

A gasp escaped you when the bottle shot off the table, hurtling straight towards Joyce. You reacted before you could think, thrusting out your hand and pulling it back with your mind. 

Silence filled the cabin when you caught it. 

You and El stared at each other, your eyes equally as large. Hers in curiosity, yours in fear. 

“Like you,” you stated, turning to eye the other two people in the room. Hopper was rubbing his face while Joyce had her hand over her mouth. 

“So, you’re like me,” you finally said to El. “You’ve got better control than I did when I was your age.”

She shrugged and picked up her fork, focused on shoveling Eggos into her mouth again. “I’m strong.” 

“Where’d you learn?”

“Papa.” She shuddered in a way that had you instantly regret asking. “At the lab.”

The coffee you had just taken a sip of was promptly shot out of your nose across the plastic table. “Sorry, do you mean Hawkins Lab?” 

El nodded, causing you to gape stupidly at her. "No." You shook your head, wiping your face with a napkin. “That’s not possible.” No one younger than you had attended in years.

Joyce knelt down next to you. “Why do you say that?” 

“Because I would have seen her before,” you insisted. “And I’m the youngest person there.”

"How old are you?" El asked.

"I'll turn seventeen in December."

“Wait a minute,” Hopper said, his demeanor somehow growing even tenser. “So you are from there? From the lab?” 

“I mean, I’m from Hawkins,” you laughed, nervous about why he suddenly went still. “But I go to the lab when I’m not in school, yeah. That’s where I was heading home from last night.”

Dumbfounded couldn’t even describe what was currently on his face. It’d be funny if the atmosphere wasn’t so stiff. “You’re saying you’re from Hawkins?”

Unable to contain your annoyance at his tone, you straightened. “I’m sorry, how are you confused? I was born and raised in Hawkins.” You sort of hoped Joyce would jump in, maybe to agree that he was being weird, but she remained silent, biting her nails aggressively. “Is this some kind of joke? Because I don’t understand—”

“—No, no, no,” he firmly said, getting closer and pointing at your face. “You see, I’ve lived here for quite some time, been Chief of Police for five years now, and I can guarantee I’ve never seen you before.”

Narrowing your eyes, you flickered your gaze between his finger and his eyes. “You, Chief of Police?” you scoffed, your irritation evident (Mother would have scolded you) “You’re not Chief of Police.”

“Oh really?” Hopper shot you an incredulous look, waving his hands around rather dramatically. “Then please tell me, who is?”

“Uh, duh!” You glared at him like it was obvious. “Steve Harrington.”

All three of them gasped. Hopper looked downright offended. “What the hell did you just say?”

“Chief Harrington?” you repeated, eyeing them all. “He’s been the chief for like, twenty-something years now. If you’ve really lived here for longer than like, a week, how wouldn’t you know that?”

“Because it’s not true!” He yelled, finally fed up. “Joyce!” He pointed at her, then back at you in frustration. “Joyce, you know that’s not true!”

"Obviously I know that Hopper!” she shook her head exasperatedly. “Something is really wrong here.”

“Steve Harrington,” Hopper laughed in disbelief. “You're saying the rich kid I just busted for a party last week is a cop?”

You paused from your glaring contest with the grumpy man. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetie, Steve Harrington,” she shook her head again, clearly baffled. “He’s still in high school. Definitely not Chief of Police.” 

Your jaw dropped. “What ?” The man had visited your school for career day just last month. 

Joyce continued, looking at Hopper and back to you. “To be completely honest, it's hard for me to believe that you're from Hawkins, too. I’ve lived here my entire life, I would recognize you. You're around my oldest’s age.”

“I’m being pranked, right?” You laughed in disbelief, looking around the kitchen for any hidden cameras. Pushing a loaf of bread out of the way, you peered at the coffee pot. “Is this some kind of test for Melissa? I’ve lived here my whole life, too. And I’ve never seen any of you before!”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!” you nodded, unable to find any blinking red lights. Your gaze swept to the fridge. “Us Hendersons have been in Hawkins for decades.” 

If you thought they were confused before, that had them downright stunned. “Did you just say Hendersons?”

“What, now you’re gonna tell me I’m not a Henderson?” you scoffed and threw your hands up at their silence, looking at them. “Great! Does anyone want to tell me why you think I’m not a Henderson?”

“It’s just… that’s not possible!” Hopper sputtered, looking absolutely bewildered. “I’ve known the Hendersons for years, and while you sure as shit seem to have their audacity, there’s no way you’re one of them.” 

You huffed and looked around again, doing a double take and freezing when your eyes landed on the calendar hanging on the side of the fridge.

October 1984. 

“Uh,” a choked sound fell out of your mouth. Feeling dizzy, you headed to the window, peering outside.

“Let’s start with how you ended up in the forest,” Joyce interrupted from behind you, pushing Hopper back. “What were you doing before you got there?”

“I’m really not being pranked?” you said weakly. “Didn’t they just reboot Punk’d?”

“What’s that?” Hopper asked gruffly. 

You placed your head in your hands, trying to ground yourself before your panic blew the windows off the cabin. “Yesterday, I was in the forest, walking home from the lab,” you said breathlessly, mind whirring. You turned around. “Is that calendar correct?”

“You said ‘last night’ earlier,” Hopper snapped his fingers, looking at Joyce. They didn’t seem to notice you were struggling to remain calm. “But we found you there this morning, after the boom.”

The boom? “No,” you shook your head, making a mental note to ask about that later after you inevitably had a meltdown. “No, I know for certain I was walking home in the afternoon yesterday. The calendar,” you repeated, walking over and grabbing it urgently. “Is this correct?”

“What?” Joyce frowned, distracted by the sudden question. “Yeah, October 1984, that's the right month. So you were walking home, then what?” 

“Then,” you stopped, still staring at the calendar before you froze, remembering just why it was that you felt like roadkill. The blood drained from your face. “Oh shit.”

“What?” Hopper said, in a demanding tone you assumed he used often. “What happened?”

You wondered if Henry was here, watching you silently like before. Maybe he was enjoying this chaos he had thrown you into. “I’ve got a theory,” you whispered. “But you won’t believe me.”

He glanced at the girl, then to Joyce. “Try us.”

--------

It was nearly five in the afternoon when silence fell upon the group once more. 

You sighed, the events from last night, no, this morning catching up to you once more. I need another nap. 

Hopper and Joyce had each chain-smoked enough cigarettes to warrant opening the windows in between their flurry of questions. 

“So this man, the one who you said spoke to you,” Joyce started, looking at El. “Was he a doctor or something?”

“No way,” you shuddered. “I had only heard his voice once before, I would've recognized it if he worked at the lab.”

“So you're saying you think he has… powers,” she gestured broadly. “And he sent you back forty years to…” Joyce trailed off. 

“To help him end the world or something, he was vague but he definitely said that part,” you finished, nodding. “It’d explain how we don’t know each other. Not to mention your taste in interior design,” you wrinkled your nose. 

The Chief took another drag of a cigarette, looking increasingly more stressed. 

“And,” you hesitated, nervous about explaining just how you had traveled to their time. “I also think he tricked me, in order to send me back.”

“He tricked you?” Joyce repeated, clearly confused. 

“I’m able to do more than,” you glanced at El. “Than what you saw earlier, than the psionic powers. I can, well,” you sighed. There was no easy way to say it. “I can teleport too. It’s how I ended up here.”

El sat up in her seat next to you on the couch. “Prove it,” she said, speaking for the first time since you’d moved to the living room.

You turned to her. “Really?” you asked incredulously. The girl looked a little too excited in a conversation about the world ending.

"Yeah." Hopper nodded. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Do it.”

Rolling your eyes and muttering something about being a circus animal, you inhaled before popping over to him, appearing right next to his chair.

“Jesus!” He shouted, jerking backwards.

You sat down again with a huff. “Before last night, I thought I could only teleport to places I’ve been to. When we were talking, he showed me a place I liked to go to, in the forest. The same place you found me at, but I didn’t realize it wasn’t my memory.”

“So you think he, what?” Joyce said, waving her cigarette. “Planted it?”

“He showed me a memory of the same place, but it must have been a different year. This year,” you confirmed before deflating. “I panicked when I broke free from him so I went to the first place I could think of.”

“Which was the memory he had shown you, but it wasn't yours,” Hopper said slowly. “That’s one hell of a trick. So you can, what, time travel too?”

“I've never done that before” you bit your nails. “Teleporting across time, that is.”

“Do you think you could go back?” 

Gesturing to your body, you scoffed. “With how I feel now? Hell no. I've never had my eyes bleed from using my powers before. Besides,” you groaned, trying to stretch out your arms. “Aren’t I morally obligated to stop whatever that shitbag is planning? Not sure how I’ll help though…” 

You thought back to what he had said before you escaped. 

“You’re not thinking of the big picture. But you’ll see. Give it some time.”

“Whatever his plan is,” you said seriously. “I fit into it, somehow. And I don't think it's happening any time soon. ”

“Well, I don't know any Henry's in town,” Hopper muttered.  “I wonder where the ass is hiding.”  

“A guy planning for the end of the world,” Joyce flicked the cigarette with a wry grin. “He sounds like one of the boys’ comic book villains,” she snorted. “Been there already with the supernatural stuff, gotta say I’m not too keen on doin it again.”

“Your family,” Hopper said to you, concerned. “Won’t they care that you disappeared—”

“—Hopper,” Joyce blew a plume of smoke, aware of the way you had just grown still and let your gaze drift to the floor. “You said that boom… it happened before you found her?”

“We thought something exploded,” he nodded. “And El felt… well shit,” the man sighed, looking at you. “I guess she felt you. It was like a sonic boom or something.”

“Like something new entered the... atmosphere,” the girl agreed, looking proud of saying the word. “It felt strong.”

“This Henry wanted you to come here,” Hopper looked at you. “To this year. So he must have let you break free on purpose.” 

“And here I was thinking I was just really badass,” you muttered before blinking. “Wait,” you laughed in disbelief. “You really believe me? This all sounds insane.”

“Kid, we’re not lying, we've seen stranger things just in the past year,” Hopper laughed. “Like you said, it explains why we don’t know each other, and why you think the Harrington boy is Chief of Police, which,” he snorted. “is probably the most insane thing you've said all day.”

“It makes sense for the lab, too,” Joyce added. “There are doctors there now, treating my son, supposed to be anyway,” she explained to you before sparing a glance at the man. “And if you were going to the lab for training, well,” she scoffed. “Then we definitely can’t be from the same year.”

You stood up and walked over to the window, your arms crossed protectively over yourself. “In my time, the lab operates more like a private business, of sorts, not similar to whatever is happening, or what’s happened, here.” You weren’t entirely sure what El had gone through, but it definitely didn’t seem good.

Joyce rubbed her eyes. “How so?”

Running a hand through your hair, you couldn’t help the nervous feeling that swept through you. You turned back to face them. “It’s not exactly legal.”

“Neither is the one here,” Hopper laughed, falling quiet at your expression. “What is it?”

“They get paid a lot for providing certain… services,” you said, not wanting to explain in front of the girl. “For the government.”

He glanced at El. “What, are you like an assassin or somethin?”

“They have those,” you said sheepishly. “But I’m not a killer, not exactly, anyways,” you stated before wincing. “Not that what I do, what I did, is any better in the grand scheme of things,” you said guiltily. “But I don’t kill, that was my one stipulation when I agreed to start working for the lab.”

Joyce gasped quietly. “You chose to go there?” 

"Kind of." Swallowing, you nodded. “They gave me an offer I wasn't able to really refuse.” 

Hopper had grown deadly calm, his eyes narrowed. “And what was that?”

You steeled your gaze, that was something you refused to feel any regret about. “I didn’t know how to control my abilities when I was younger. I was offered training. I was only twelve when the lab officials came to my house after the neighbors called the cops on me,” you explained. “I blew the windows out by accident for like, the third time.” You still remembered the fight you’d had with your dad that caused it.

Swallowing, you continued. “It felt like I finally had something, someone, that could help me get control over these powers that I felt controlled me, not to mention,” you laughed without humor. “I was only twelve years old for Christ’s sake. I would've gone with anyone who said they could do that, morally just organization or not. It might have been wrong, but it’s not like my mother cared as long as she wasn’t the one who had to deal with me. Secondly,” you looked at Hopper, unwilling to break your gaze. “They offered money. A lot of money. Enough to move us into another tax bracket and take care of the bills when my father left. And lastly,” you trailed off, wondering why Hopper and Joyce seemed so disturbed by that particular sentence. Maybe they know my Dad.

“Lastly,” you repeated. “It meant I rarely had to be home. My mom likes, liked?” you asked, unsure of the proper tenses you should be using before shaking your head. “She liked the money, sure. But she preferred me being out of the house even more. I made her uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” Joyce said, her eyes sharp. 

“Well, yeah,” you coughed awkwardly, wishing you didn't have to talk about her at all. “She wasn’t really Mother of the Year or anything, but to be fair, my parents weren't exactly prepared to have a kid who could move shit with their mind. It was hard on them, and so my dad left,” you cleared your throat, feeling guilty all over again. “And then my mom got stuck with me until Melissa showed up.”

“Melissa?”

“Melissa Brenner, the director of the lab,” you supplied, continuing even after you clocked the way all three pairs of eyes went wide. “People with our,” you gestured to El, “special skill set aren't really appreciated in my time, not that there’s a lot of us who are open about it. Our powers,” you paused, scoffing. “It’s not exactly something you want to share with your neighbors, you know? So they find us if we've got powerful abilities, make us an offer they know we won't say no to, and then we get experimented on and put through enough training until Melissa deems us advanced enough for missions. That woman is batshit crazy, though,” you laughed, genuinely amused at the thought of her discovering your disappearance. “She’s probably tearing through my home as we speak trying to find me,” you snorted.

“Melissa Brenner?” Hopper asked quietly. 

You turned to look at him, surprised at the question. “Yeah, that's her name. Granddaughter of the guy who started the lab. He was ah… what was his name again?” you muttered to yourself. “Marvin or something.”

“Martin.”

You snapped your fingers. “That's right! I only had to look at his portrait every day when I entered, you think I’d remember it,” you said, rolling your eyes before pausing. “How do you know his name? You know him?”

He looked at Joyce, who looked at El, who closed her eyes with a pained expression. 

“Papa.”

------------

You were, quite frankly, horrified at what they had just told you.

After hearing about the hell Martin Brenner had put little El through, you supposed Hopper and Joyce considered you close enough to fill you in on what had happened the year prior. Closer than most, even, since you were now one of four people who knew El was alive. 

“What, too crazy?” Hopper chuckled, guffawing at your blank stare.

You'd experienced a lot of fucked-up things during your time working for Melissa. Shit, with the stuff you've done you knew there'd always be a piece of you that wished you’d never said yes to her all those years ago. Still, you’d bet seeing the alternate dimension hellscape they described would make all of that seem like a day at Disneyland. How none of them seemed utterly traumatized was beyond you, quite frankly. 

“I’d say that’s a good stopping point for now. Chili sound okay?” Hopper asked you, finally getting up and heading towards the kitchen.

“Shit, I gotta run,” Joyce said, checking her watch and jumping to her feet. “The boys are expecting me home for dinner.” 

“Oh,” you breathed, suddenly aware that it was nearing sunset. “I should get going too.”

That made them both freeze. “And where is that?”

“Uh,” you weren’t sure. “I can probably find a motel or something. Maybe find whatever family members of mine are here, they seem to have a stellar reputation.”

“No chance in hell,” Hopper put a hand on his hip. “If you show up to the Hendersons claiming to be one of their own out of the blue it’ll just raise questions. Besides, you think we're just gonna kick you out?”

“I don’t have a timeline on when this dude wants to end the world," you frowned. "He sounded like this is a long-term goal he's been planning for a while. Even if I knew how to get back to my time, I'm not really in a rush.” you smiled slowly, the thought just occurring to you.

Mom is probably relieved I’m gone.

“My contract with the lab was for another decade at least, and now…” trailing off, you weren't quite sure what you'd do now. 

“Now you're here,” Joyce finished with a warm grin. 

“Even so,” you smiled back. “I don't want to burden you any more than I already have. You already saved my life once.” 

“All the more reason to keep an eye on you,” Hopper shrugged. “I’ve already got one girl with superpowers staying here, why not another? You’ll be safe here.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“For now? Nothing, you’re hurt.” Hopper raised an eyebrow. “Once you’re better and we know your little sonic boom didn’t catch the eye of the lab or the government we can talk more, but until then, you should stay inside.”

Joyce pulled a jacket on, eyes kind as she went to hug El goodbye. “You’re not a burden, sweetie,” she stated firmly, moving to pull you into a hug as well. “I’m a hugger, sorry!” she said when she felt you stiffen.

“It’s… fine,” you said finally, scolding yourself for looking pathetic. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged. 

“I’ll be back later this week,” she waved. “Work has me putting in overtime to make up for taking Will to the lab so often. Get better and be good!”

After she had carefully stepped over Hopper’s array of tripwires and alarms set in the yard, you and El talked a bit more. 

“I watch TV,” she said quietly when you asked her what she does for fun. “And do homework.”

“You think homework is fun?” you snorted. She nodded eagerly, jumping off the couch to retrieve a worn-out workbook. 

You frowned, combing through the pages of sentence structure lessons that she had already completed. “What about your friends from last year?” you asked, remembering the flurry of kids they told you were involved. “You don’t like to hang out with them?”

She scowled. “They think I’m dead.” 

“What?” you were stunned. “Why ?” 

“Hopper,” she mumbled.  “Says it’s not safe. The bad men, still looking for me. That’s why I can’t go outside.”

“Hold on,” you shut the book, setting it down on the coffee table. “You’re not allowed to go outside, like ever ?” She shook her head.  “El,” you said. “How long have you been inside?”

“Three hundred and four days.” 

You gaped. Jesus. You understood to some extent, Hopper wanted to make sure the government didn’t know she was alive, but you didn’t know how you’d do if you had to stay in the cabin with just Hopper for company for that long. She must be lonely.

“Well,” you said. “I’m here now, until I can figure out what the hell I should do anyways. We can hang out together, I’ll even help with your homework,” you nudged her. 

She smiled. “I’d like that.” 

At the sound of Hopper’s voice calling the two of you to dinner, you allowed her to slowly pull you up. 

You mused over the insanity of the day while spooning chili into your mouth. One thing’s for sure, you thought. Even knowing what I do, I’d still rather be stuck in 1984 than back home.