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solarmorrigan · 2 months

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Silly idea I talked about ages ago with @azure7539arts, inspired by a similar event my workplace hosts every year. Would minors be allowed to participate in such an event? Probably not! But then again, it was the 80s, who can say for sure. Anyway, it's my birthday and I'll post nonsense if I want to <3

“I need you to buy me.”

Eddie looks up from his notebook, effectively jarred from his campaign-plotting fugue state by Steve’s declaration.

Steve is standing at the other end of the dining table, staring at him expectantly.

“Y’know, this is the part where someone usually follows up their completely bonkers demand with an explanation,” Eddie says slowly.

“At the charity auction,” Steve clarifies. “I need you to bid on me, and I need you to win.”

Ah, yes, that weird Rent-an-Athlete charity auction the school runs every year; anyone on any Hawkins High sports team could volunteer to be “auctioned” off in order to raise money for said sports team, to spend a day at the beck and call of the highest bidder (within reason, supposedly). It’s generally restricted to students, but occasionally, prominent alumni are invited to participate – and Steve certainly fits the bill, especially after the story the government spun about his heroism in the face of “serial killer” Henry Creel last spring.

“And what, deny all those pretty girls a chance to get at you?” Eddie asks drily (he’d never turned up at previous auctions himself, but you could hardly avoid gossip in a school their size; it had usually been some cheerleader bidding with daddy’s money who won a date– that is, a day with Steve Harrington).

“It wasn’t always a girl who won,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “One time it was Mrs. Dalton – you know, the lady on the school board who lives on my block? I just spent the day doing yard work for her. She gave me lemonade. That was pretty cool.”

“Right,” Eddie drawls. “And I’m sure she definitely didn’t sit outside and stare at your ass while you were working.”

“She did not– she– I mean she was on the porch, but, like– she wouldn’t have– she’s, like, seventy, Eddie,” Steve splutters, and it’s all Eddie can do not to laugh.

“Older gals have needs, too, Steve,” Eddie says, giving in to a smirk. “So she was checking you out from the porch, huh?”

Steve goes red. “Shut up, that isn’t the point. I’m trying to ask for your help.”

“Right, right, your absolutely reasonable request for me to buy you at market. Why, again?” Eddie asks.

“The kids are planning to bid on me,” Steve says gravely.

Eddie blinks at him. “Okay?” he says, when no further explanation is forthcoming. “You basically do most of what they ask, anyway, so…?”

“Okay, believe it or not, I actually say no to at least half of what they ask me to do. I would literally never get anything done if I gave in to all their demands.” Steve jabs a finger at Eddie, who holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, this is all Henderson’s fault.”

“It usually is,” Eddie agrees, nodding sagely.

“He decided that he was going to bid on me and then use that day to finally make me play your nerd game with you–” Eddie snorts, and Steve shoots him a look, “but Wheeler doesn’t want me to play, so he said he was going to bid against Dustin and make me do anything but sit in on a session with you guys.”

“So let Wheeler win.” Eddie shrugs.

“No! I can’t let fuckin’ Mike win, he’ll probably make me do something even more ridiculous!” Steve exclaims. "He’ll make me play chauffeur for him and El on a date, or something, and he’ll probably include the stupid hat.”

“Wait, I thought El broke up with him,” Eddie breaks in.

“No, they’re on again,” Steve says absently, shaking his head. “Which is why Max has been in a bad mood lately.”

Eddie bites back the reflexive need to ask “How can you tell?”, going instead with, “I thought she and Sinclair were on again.”

“No, they are. That’s why no one’s been actively murdered,” Steve says.

“How do you keep track of all of this?” Eddie asks, squinting at Steve.

“It’s a natural skill. And we’re getting off track,” Steve says quickly. “Normally, I wouldn’t be that worried, because Dustin regularly blows his savings on weird science gadgets or whatever, but then Lucas and Will started taking sides.”

“This is getting very involved,” Eddie says.

“So you see why I’m stressed!” Steve insists, smacking a hand to his forehead (personally, Eddie thinks Steve is stressed for many other reasons, but he figures pointing that out just now won’t be appreciated). “Lucas is on Dustin’s side, and that kid does odd jobs like nobody’s goddamn business; he actually has shit saved up. And usually I’d have faith in him being more, like, sensible than to spend it all on this, but the little shit is really fucking competitive.”

“Wonder who he got that from?” Eddie mutters.

“Okay, we do remember that I’m not actually biologically related to any of these idiots, right?” Steve snaps.

“Well now we’re just getting into nature versus nurture–”

“Eddie.”

“Right, sorry, continue.”

“Well, Will took Mike’s side–”

“Shocking.”

“Right? But anyway, I don’t know if the kid has much saved up, but between him and Wheeler, they might be able to win.” Steve sighs, looking far more world-weary than Eddie feels the situation really warrants.

“You know you don’t actually have to do what they ask you to, right?” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “If an auction winner complains to the school that the person they bid on didn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they can get their money back. It’s a whole…” he waves his hand vaguely, “thing. Happened once when I was a sophomore; Deacon McNab. Lost a good chunk of change for the football team, and they vandalized the shit out of his car.”

“Ah, right. Forgot we went to school with literal psychopaths,” Eddie hums.

“So, I just need you to bid on me and win, so I’m not stuck wasting a Saturday on whatever the hell the kids are going to try to make me do. Or not do. Or– whatever,” Steve says.

“Okay, not that I don’t understand your predicament here, but I think you’re forgetting something kind of important, Steve,” Eddie drawls.

Steve’s brows draw together in question. “What?”

“I’m fucking poor.”

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean– no, I will give you the money, you don’t have to spend a dime, man, I just need you to get me out of this.”

“Why not have Buckley do it?” Eddie asks.

“That was Plan A, but she actually has a date that night, and it’s kind of a big deal, so I don’t want her to cancel,” Steve says. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be busy.”

“Wow, rude,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve sighs.

“Fine, sorry, I just really hoped you wouldn’t be busy.” Steve gives him the most lethal set of puppy dog eyes Eddie has ever seen, as if there had been any chance from the beginning that he’d be able to say no. “Please?”

Just for show, Eddie lets out a long sigh, falling against his chair and letting his head flop over the backrest like he’s deflating.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Steve groans, sounding so genuinely relieved that Eddie almost feels bad about how quickly his thoughts dip into the realms of the inappropriate. “Oh my god, I owe you.”

Eddie glances back up at Steve, tongue darting out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. “You know I’m not as easy to appease as a couple of fifteen-year-olds, right?”

Steve’s eyes drop for just a second—maybe down to Eddie’s lips, maybe not; who can say?—before he looks back up, cocking an eyebrow at Eddie. “I think I can handle it.”

Slowly, Eddie grins. “We’ll see.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve & the party #stranger things #solar wrote #this is very silly but I had fun writing it so I hope it's a fun short read #obviously Eddie does win the auction (surprisingly stiff competition; he may or may not end up throwing in a little of his own money #even though none of the kids are the top bidders at that point)#and then you can choose your own ending:#either Eddie chickens out and just asks Steve to play roadie for the band on their next gig night #but it works out in his favor anyway because he gets to spend the night watching Steve lifting and carrying and being supportive #while Steve gets to watch the band perform and is lowkey starstruck by Eddie and they smooch about it at the end of the night #OR; Eddie demands the same treatment Steve gave those cheerleaders who won a date with him back in the day #he's sort of joking but Steve takes him very seriously and takes him on a date so sweet and fun that Eddie is almost mad about #being swept off his feet by it #and at the end of the night Steve walks Eddie to his door and Eddie asks if the treatment ends here #or if Steve did anything... else for those girls #Steve; eyebrows raised: Are you asking if I slept with those girls for money?#Eddie; blanching: WAIT SHIT NO-#Steve: Nah I'm kidding. Come inside and fuck me #and Eddie does

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steventhusiast · 4 months

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STWG prompt 2/6/24

prompt: coming out

pairing/character(s): steddie, Dustin, Lucas, Mike

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Eddie fucked up. Big time.

See, he's truly embraced his freak status at Hawkins High. Meaning he doesn't exactly shy away from his queerness. He doesn't confirm it, not for people he's not friends with. It's just useful. Being gay is the kind of 'freak' that makes the popular kids steer clear from him, just in case they, you know, catch the queer from him.

But with his fellow freaks? They know he's gay.

In fact, they know he has a boyfriend.

He never shares who said boyfriend is, or the fact that he used to be nicknamed The Hair, because Steve doesn't want anyone to know. He's.. private about his sexuality, to say the least. And Eddie gets it. Hawkins is in the middle of nowhere, it's not exactly gay-friendly like some parts of bigger cities. So his friends don't know who his boyfriend is.

They won't until well after Steve's come out to his own friends, which he hasn't said he's ready for yet. Eddie's letting him go at his own pace, he doesn't even bring it up to him. He doesn't want Steve to feel pressured. Steve doesn't have a Wayne there to support him through everything, after all.

Anyway, despite him being anonymous, Eddie always gives everyone an update on his boyfriend before they start the session of DnD each week. It's kind of a bit for everyone involved at this point.

And in the first session that Eddie's newest fresh sheep attend, he refuses to shy away from it. Either they'll be bigots (unlikely) or they'll be fine with it! It's a risk he's willing to take for his pride.

So he gives the update.

"How's your boyfriend, Ed?" Gareth asks with a teasing grin, and Eddie's closest friends lean toward him with giggles.

"Well, my sweetheart has had a great week. Remember that job I told you he'd applied for?"

"Assistant basketball coach for a kids team?" Jeff checks, and Eddie points at him like he's just scored a point.

"That's the one! He got the job! It's a bit of a drive but it sure as shit beats the minimum wage bullshit he was doing before. I swear, his manager actually hates his guts for no reason."

The existing Hellfire members all cheer at the news, whilst one of the new recruits, Henderson, makes an inquisitive noise and chuckles.

"That's crazy, because my friend Steve called me yesterday with super similar news! Small world, huh?" He says it so casually, looking down straight after to fiddle with his dice.

But Eddie feels like the world stops, his hands freezing in the middle of unfolding his dungeon master screen. Fuck. Henderson is one of Steve's kids.

Maybe no one has actually caught on yet. A sneaky glance to his friends reveals nothing but confused frowns on their faces.

"You guys might have known Steve, actually. Steve Harrington? Used to be a mega asshole through most of high school." Wheeler says in a way that somehow sounds simultaneously fond and like he despises Steve.

"He's great now, though! Like, totally reformed. Such a mom." Sinclair adds on.

Eddie nods passively at their words, and feels Gareth, Jeff and Paul's eyes on him. Right, he's still frozen in shock. He forces himself to relax, and finally finishes setting up the DM screen.

"Haha, what a coincidence." He manages, clearing his throat in the middle to clear up an unfortunate voice crack.

That voice crack gets all three of the kids to tilt their heads at him, and then their eyes light up like they've just won the lottery.

Shit shit shit. Hopefully they haven't put two and two together.

Somehow, he manages to make it through the session without revealing anything else, but as he draws it to a close his heart starts beating faster. He doesn't know how he didn't put it together before that these kids are Steve's kids. Steve is literally going to be late to their date night because he has to pick them up from an afterschool activitiy.

What other club meets up on a Friday but Hellfire?

He shakes his head and starts speeding through packing up his stuff. He's going through in his head ways to apologise to Steve in case the kids have figured it out, heart beating out of his chest as he zips his backpack up and leaves the room. The group of newbies run out after him, though.

"Eddie, wait up!" Henderson shouts after him, and he winces but stops.

"What's up?" He says with what he hopes is a smile but is probably a grimace.

"It's so funny how you're Steve's secret boyfriend." Henderson says with a giggle after he's checked no one else has left the drama room yet.

Wait, what? Eddie frowns at him, mouth open. Before he can question anything Sinclair nods along in agreement.

"We've been guessing for weeks now. You can't tell him we found out through you, I want to win our bet."

"If we figure out who his boyfriend is by the end of the month he's taking us to that tabletop RPG store in Indy." Wheeler adds on.

Eddie gapes at them for another second.

"Wait, Steve- he came out to you? When?" He manages, and the three boys tilt their heads at him.

"Like, since a month ago?" Sinclair guesses after a moment of thought, and Eddie lets out a quiet 'huh'.

"What, do you guys not talk about that shit?" Henderson asks, and Eddie shakes his head slowly, thinking back on if he had been told and had just forgotten.

Then it clicks. Just under a month ago, Steve had started to bring up the topic of coming out, and Eddie had gently insisted he didn't mind if Steve never came out and that he loves him anyway and he doesn't want him to feel pressured. And Steve had smiled fondly and let it go.

Had Steve been trying to tell him he came out to his kids?

He lets his head drop and takes a few deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate. Thank fuck. He hasn't just accidentally outed his boyfriend.

"He's actually waiting for us in his car. I would say come with, but..."

"We're serious about this bet."

Eddie nods, and waves his hand in their general direction.

"Yeah, of course. Sure. You- you go win that bet. Jesus christ."

He hears them walk away and lets out an incredulous laugh to himself before he hears the drama room door swing open again, the chatter of Jeff, Gareth and Paul cutting off when they see the state he's in.

"You good, man?" Paul asks, and Eddie just lets out a sigh.

"Totally fine. Just thinking about wooing my sweetheart." He says, like they've walked into a joke he's set up.

They all groan, but continue walking toward the school's exit, and Eddie stays there, recovering from that shitshow.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #so rambly #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble

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upsidedownwithsteve · 3 months

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29 for Steve?

29. kisses when they’re mad

Steve was scowling, an over the top, dramatic kind of expression. It made his lips look soft and pouty, his brows furrowed enough for a little stitch to appear between them.

The kids hadn’t shut up the entire way home from the arcade, first complaining about Steve picking them up a whole six minutes earlier than agreed despite the impending storm, and then, the clambered into the car with enough noise for Steve to yell more than once. Consistent arguing about who was going to be dropped home first, who had actually won the last Dig Dug game and why was Steve so grouchy? Didn’t he have better music in the car? What did he mean he wasn’t going to take them for milkshakes?

By the time the car was empty and he’d returned you both to his empty home, he was barely talking. You knew he wasn’t mad at you, he just had a headache, something you understood considering you too been trapped in the car with six kids who all thought they knew best.

It wasn’t your fault that Steve looked just as pretty when he was mad as he did when he was smiling. He was quiet, still sullen as he slouched in the corner of his sofa, aimlessly flicking through the TV channels as he tried to find something to watch. He wasn’t ignoring you, not really, he had one leg bent on the cushions, his knee knocking yours but it wasn’t enough, you’d decided.

Not when he was looking like that.

So you clambered over to his side of the couch, not very gracefully, but you draped yourself over his lap, knees knocking until you were comfy and Steve’s lips quirked up just slightly. Just a little.

He wasn’t watching the television anymore.

“So moody,” you told him, voice soft and playful as you took his jaw in one hand, your fingers and thumb pushing into the stubble on his cheeks. His lips popped, pretty and pink and ready to be kissed. “What have I gotta do to cheer you up?”

Steve made a noise, huffy and rough and before he could roll his eyes, you swiped your thumb over his lower lip, a fleeting touch that made him forget why he was mad at all, if not just for a second.

But then, “you could tell Henderson that he needs to use something called an inside voi—”

You moved in, confident, bringing your lips to Steve’s in a kiss that still gave you both butterflies. It was slow enough that you could feel the sharp inhale of his surprise against your mouth, the low gasp as he let you press your bottom lip between his own. It was fast enough that he chased you as you pulled away.

“Still mad?” You asked, your voice nothing more than a low drawl, a murmur against his cheek as you stamped another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Or did Mike spilling his slurpee on your seats ruin the whole day?”

Steve huffed, sighing at the reminder even though his hands had found your thighs, bare under your dress and warm, wrapping roughly around the fat there as he held you close. As if you had any intention of moving from his lap.

“M’gonna have to pay someone to get that stain out,” Steve told you, petulant and with raised brows. “It’s bright red, as if those kids need fuckin’ E numbers—”

Another kiss, this one longer and a little rougher, your nose pressed to Steve’s cheek and he grunted at the surprise of it, his words lost between your lips and you swallowed his sounds and complaints. You traced the seam of his lips with your tongue, coaxing for only a second until he parted them for you happily, sighing against you as he leant back, letting you take the lead.

It was easy to push him into the couch cushions, his head falling back as you followed, your hands holding his jaw so you could kiss him deeper, longer, lazier. He was making pretty sounds now, no more huffs of annoyance, his eyes closed and no longer rolling, and when you tried to pull away, he pulled you back, shaking his head in disagreement as your mouth met his once again.

By the time his hands had moved to your ass, tracing the line of your thighs and moving upupup under your skirt to find the line of your underwear that curved over you, you were positive he wasn’t mad anymore.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve baby blurb

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munsonluhvr · 3 months

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✶ SISTER, SISTER - older!steve harrington x college student!henderson!reader

“I didn’t know you had a sister, Henderson!” Steve whisper-shouted to his younger friend as he bent at the waist. The pair crept down the hallway of Dustin Henderson’s house, the floor creaking against their weight.

Steve had a straight view of you as you sit in a kitchen chair, one of your legs hiked up on the chair. You teeter in your seat, bending low to spoon cereal into your mouth as you flip the page of your paperback. You are oblivious to your younger brother and his older friend passing by the kitchen doorway. Steve, however, thinks you’re the prettiest girl his eyes ever laid on.

“That’s because she’s annoying!” Dustin yells just as he and Steve pass by you. You look up, startled, and meet the gaze of your brother and his good-looking friend. Your eyebrows raise when you notice the boys in the doorway, then scowl when what your brother said registers in your mind.

“Are you sure you aren’t the annoying one, Dustin? I certainly think so.” You hum back, glancing back at your bowl of cereal. Your brother’s nameless friend snickers, glancing between you and Dustin. “Yeah, yeah,” Dustin says, flapping his hand at you. “We’re going upstairs, don’t bother us.”

You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to your book and afternoon snack. You hear your brother shuffle down the hallway towards the stairs that lead to his bedroom, but you notice in your peripheral vision that a figure still lingers in the doorway. “I’m Steve Harrington by the way,” your brother’s friend says. You look up in time to see him shove his hands into his pockets, tilting his head so that a strand of his hair dangles in front of his face. He had boyish looks, and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

“Y/n,” you say with a small smile. Steve Harrington. So, this was your little brother’s idol. You get a better look at Steve, tilting your head, your eyes grazing his figure. He was well put together, clearly comes from money by the way his pants and shirt are pressed to perfection. Though, you hold back the urge to laugh, Dustin’s experimentation with his curly hair for the winter dance making sense now that you look at Steve and his head full of hair, almost in the same style as Dustin had. ‘This is how Steve does his hair and he gets major girls,’ Dustin had informed you when you attempted to tell him his hair was perhaps too extravagant for a middle school dance.

“Do you go to Hawkins’s High?” Steve asks, his eyes grazing your figure too. You’re in an oversized t-shirt and your shorts are hidden underneath. Your legs are bare, your hair is a mess as if you just woke up, yet you’re radiant, your eye’s sparkling against the kitchen lighting. Steve can feel a bubble of nerves coursing through his stomach.

You shake your head. “No, I graduated. I’m at Indiana University now.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, his nervousness increasing. So, you’re older than him – Steve’s interest in you increases a couple of notches. “Oh,” Steve says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out weak. “What year are you?”

You shrug casually, glancing back at Steve. “I’m only a freshman.”

Steve nods silently, then opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He wants to ask you endless questions, get to know you more. He feels as if he just won the jackpot, uncovering the deeply hidden treasure of discovering his close friend’s gorgeous older sister. Steve makes a mental note to flick Dustin on the side of his head for not introducing him to his sister sooner.

After a few seconds, Steve comes up with the idea to ask you out. Maybe you’d be interested in going out on a date or just hanging out casually. It was the summer after all, and you were home for college - you wouldn’t have anything going on anyway. “Would you-“ Steve begins to say but Dustin’s voice rings through the house’s hallways.

“Steve! Stop flirting with my sister and get up here!” Dustin yells from down the hallway, his tone expressing annoyance.

Steve smiles sheepishly in your direction, a pink tint creeping across the apples of his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. He runs a hand through his wild, brown hair and steps back from the entrance of the kitchen. “Guess I should go.”

You hum, amused by the boys unwillingness to depart from the kitchen and away from you. You were flattered as Steve made it clear he had an instant crush on you. “I suppose so. Dustin will come in here if you wait any longer.”

Steve laughs, offering a wave. “I’ll see you around then.” And he slips down the hallway towards Dustin’s room.

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb

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ikarakie · 2 years

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one of the known, undisputed rules of riding in steve harrington's car: passenger seat gets music privileges.

if you brought your own tape, and won the usually vicious battle for shotgun, there was a 100% chance that the drive would be backed with music of your choice. hell, there was even a small collection growing in steve's glove box of music that wasn’t his, because people left them behind either on accident or on purpose. no one really knew what steve liked to listen to- maybe minus robin- but he always seemed happy with whatever the passenger put in.

until one day, when dustin and lucas and mike climbed into his car. dustin had won passenger seat privileges, after a rather tense game of rock, paper, scissors, and instantly reached for the tape player.

steve smacked his hand down. "paws off, henderson." he scolded, not unkindly. all three kids stared at him like he'd grown a third limb as he pulled out of the wheeler's driveway. electric guitar played at a semi-low volume.

"what the hell?!" dustin squawked. "why can't i change the tape?" steve rolled his eyes, fingers tapping along to the rhythm of the beat on the wheel. none of the kids recognised the song, and it certainly didn't seem the kind of thing steve harrington would willingly listen to.

"is it so surprising i want to listen to my own tape in my car?" steve asks. dustin shouts an affronted, 'YES!' to which steve just shakes his head and continues driving.

the man on the track sings over heavy drums and guitar, talking about how he needed someone to 'show me the things that make true happiness' and 'he must be blind.' then, there's a guitar solo that steve smiles at.

"who are you?" mike asked, suspicious. "what did you do with our steve?"

"oh, shut up, wheeler." steve meets his eye in the rearview mirror. "next one to complain loses tape privileges for their next three turns."

that does shut them up. they make idle conversation over a couple more songs before they pull up to their destination. mostly threatening each other over high scores and making bets. steve waves them off with the usual 'don't be stupid' lecture and pulls out of the arcade parking lot, the bass of whatever the next track had been audible even through his closed doors and windows.

after that, steve retains ownership of his stereo every now and then, always playing some form of heavy metal. it just becomes the norm, though never fails to confound whoever's in the car. (because, seriously? polo shirt wearing steve harrington and heavy metal?)

they only ever hear anyone else listen to it after they join hellfire. eddie invites them to his trailer to create their characters together, and when they walk in one of the songs from that dumb tape is playing from a record in the corner.

"woah! you like this music too?" lucas asks. eddie nods excitedly.

"yeah, man! you a fan?" his smile dims a little when lucas shakes his head, but dustin is quick to jump in.

"our friend steve is always listening to a dumb mixtape with this sorta stuff on it." he explains, missing how eddie's eyes light up and his smile turns a little bashful. "he used to let us play whatever we want, but ever since he got that tape he makes us listen to it sometimes when he drives us around."

"well," eddie sighs, fiddling with one of his chunky silver rings. "seems this steve knows someone with very good taste in music." there's a warm look in his eyes before he claps his hands and diverts their attention to the character sheets he printed out.

later that night, steve gets a call.

"you told me you only listened to that tape once." the voice on the other end drawls. it's low and teasing, but it's undercut with obvious wonder and fondness. steve doesn't even bother pretending to be confused.

"well, it's good." (it makes me think of you) he replies, like it pains him. eddie giggles, and steve eyes the tape in question. sat on his bedside table, 'for my stevie' scrawled across it in eddie's neatest handwriting. shitty little hearts drawn around his name and an even shittier skull at the end. "how'd you know?"

"recognised my mötörhead record." eddie coos, "told me how you revoke their music privileges to listen to it." a pause. "you're so fucking cute."

steve can't help the dorky smile that spreads over his face. the way he twirls the phone cord like a fucking lovesick loser. he cracks a joke about making eddie a mixtape featuring the likes of duran duran and tears for fears, which makes him fake retch. they chat for a little while longer, whispering 'i love you's through the phones like it was their first time saying it.

the tape stays firmly in the bmw's music rotation.

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superblysubpar · 3 months

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<- part six | part eight -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: No more bets.

the song: Read Your Mind by Sabrina Carpenter

also for your listening pleasure: Girl Can't Help It by Journey, Open Your Heart by Madonna, U Got The Look by Prince, and The Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh

5,328 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / brief descriptions of scars-previous head injury / SPICE/SMUT - really just some dirty talk and a teensiet tiniest start to oral (reader receiving) | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

His hand was in yours, and then it wasn’t.

“Well, well, well,” a voice sneered in front of you as you blinked at the boy who just dropped your hand at the sound of it. “What do we have here, Stevie?”

A group of boys around your age leaned against a falling apart fence just outside of the ride, eyes surveying you up and down, then looking at Steve Harrington standing next to you. The leader of the pack a face full of freckles and a grin that made your stomach unsettled when he pointed it at you and took a step forward.

“I’m Tommy, and you,” he grinned wider, like if he showed off more teeth, he’d placate you into thinking you enjoyed his company, “Well, you must be new to Hawkins. Think I’d remember a face like yours.”

“Knock it off Hagan,” Steve grit out of his teeth, a fist clenched at his side.

“I’m…I’ll…” you stuttered out at the boy named Tommy, backing away and looking at Steve as you did. “It was…I’ll see you around?”

You scrambled away from the boys as Steve took a step towards you, but Tommy’s voice rang out, making his head turn.

“Does Harrington have a little girlfriend? Gonna share all the juicy details with us, Stevie?”

“What? No!” He answered too quickly, cheeks pink, no longer looking at you. “She’s just some stupid girl, I got stuck with her on the ferris wheel…”

You didn’t stick around to hear more, swiping at your wet cheeks with the back of your hand.

Glittery green and gold smeared across it, freshly smudgable after Steve Harrington held your hand until it was over.

A house on Cornwallis Street - Sunday

Your hands shifted on the steering wheel, even though the car was in park. Clammy and shaking as you rubbed them on your denim shorts and took a deep breath. With your window rolled down you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Journey coming from the backyard, the large splash that followed the shout of ‘Don’t you dare Henderson!’. Peals of laughter and the distinct smell of something grilling only added to elements encouraging you to join them.

But you were still sitting in your car.

You didn’t question it, when after the party last night, Eddie didn’t drive you home, but to the shop, dangling your keys in front of a shocked face as he proclaimed it was finally fixed.

“But…I didn’t pay you, I thought you couldn’t…”

Eddie had waved you off and smiled, “I’ve been working a lot.” He dropped the keys in your lap and grinned wider, “Besides, Harringon’ll be paying me three hundred bucks tomorrow.”

You looked down at your thighs, thinking about who’s hands had just been pushing them apart a few minutes ago as Eddie quietly probed, “Right?”

“Of course.” You nodded, telling yourself that technically you and Eddie had won the bet.

Nobody had slept with anyone.

Which is what you tell yourself again as you take another deep, bravery seeking breath and step out of your car.

Each step on the sidewalk then up the driveway is a little easier, your chest feeling a little lighter as the laughter and music only gets louder.

But then you see the sign.

The same color of the suit you have in your bag.

The same color he told you he can’t concentrate when you wear it.

Bright, bold, outlining four white letters.

SOLD.

You’re still looking at it when the door swings open, Robin greeting you, dripping wet from the pool and a slice of watermelon in her hand.

“Finally! I’m outnumbered, and Max is too busy canoodling with Lucas and I need more girl power!”

She grabs your arm and pulls you into the Harrington’s foyer as a louder call of, “I told you, as soon as Lucas apologizes for what he did-“

“And I told you, that I cannot apologize for something if I don’t know what I’m apologizing for!”

The pair walk out of a room on one side of the foyer as they argue, Max mumbling under her breath as they exit your sights and into the den.

“You know exactly what you did.”

Robin rolls her eyes and points up the stairs, “This downstairs bathroom is all packed up and,” she makes quotes with her fingers around the watermelon as she recites, “ ‘It’s cleaned and if any of you idiots fuck it up, you’re dead’ , but there’s one by Steve’s room, change and come help me seek vengeance on the boys!”

She’s gone as fast as she arrived, the silence of the house now overpowering, but at least it gives you space to take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts.

Steve’s moving.

Why didn’t he tell you?

Your fingers glide on the wood banister as you climb the stairs, something sitting heavy in your gut from the more important question that’s gnawing at you.

Why does it matter that he didn’t?

Once you find the bathroom, your fingers tug on red nylon and strings. The suit you rummaged around for in your drawer this morning pointing out the glaringly obvious answer. It matters he didn’t tell you because-

It was a good suit, that was the only reason why it was picked for today.

Not because of where you were wearing it.

Not because of the boy who lived there.

Because he definitely still does live there, at least for the time being.

It’s easy to spot his room when you exit the bathroom, bare feet padding across hard woods as you tug the hem of your white tshirt over your hips a little lower. Worried you shouldn’t be walking around the house so uncovered despite the fact that you’re about to be even more so outside in the pool, when you catch your reflection in the mirror above his dresser.

The room is in shambles, half packed you assume. Boxes open, and only half filled, litter the floor, the white plaid wallpapered walls bare, whatever hung on the nails left behind now packed away. Your fingers linger on the top of the dresser, thumb catching on his watch, a Polaroid of him and Robin, the worn brown leather of his wallet. A tight squeeze pulls at something in your chest when the slip of paper with the name ‘Brit’ and a heart shifts beneath it.

You can’t help but wonder if he called that number that night like he said he would.

Wonder if he took her out to a movie, held her hand, let everyone know that Steve Harrington was on a date with her.

Your bag drops on his bed that’s unmade with sheets that match the walls as you wonder if she was here too. As you wonder how many other girls have been in this room, this bed.

A loud shout outside, just below his window makes you jump, pulling you out of the spiral of doubt you’ve fallen into and down the stairs.

The cream carpet is plush beneath your bare feet, the framed photos are gone, the desk as well, so nothing stands between you and the sliding glass doors out to the pool.

It’s a different view than the last time you were here. The bright turquoise littered with even brighter inflatables and swimsuits. It’s warm, it’s light, it’s loud, as bodies splash in it and compete with the radio playing top hits for the loudest thing. Eddie’s shaking his curls out back and forth all over Robin who’s shrieking and running past him.

The thought of stepping outside and arriving late has you turning into the kitchen, searching for something your hands can fiddle with before joining the party.

Which is how Steve Harrington’s lungs finally give out, and he dies.

He knows he’s not actually dying, but he’s sure that the process has to feel eerily similar to this.

He rounded the corner to find his fridge door opened, the glow of the interior light silhouetting around your curves hidden under a white shirt making his breath stutter in his chest. And as you bend at the waist, red fabric cut high and only climbing higher, reveals the perfect swell of your ass and his lungs fail to function, like one’s collapsing because he’s been shot, or he’s taking on water and they don’t know to expel the air anymore.

“Jesus Christ.”

It slips out of him much like the yelp the words startle out of you, the shoot up of your body involuntary, causing your head to smack into the top of the fridge and a litany of curses to tumble out of your lips.

Steve rushes over as you hold your head and spin, blinking and looking dizzy.

“Shit, shit, sorry.” He’s across the room in seconds, hands cupping your cheeks and tilting you gently while his eyes focus on your forehead, inspecting. He frowns and moves to the left slightly, towards the sink, though he leaves one of his hands in contact with your skin.

The furrow of his brow deepens as he dampens a towel and you try to breathe out of your nose and in with your mouth so you don’t focus on how his normal smell is stronger with his shirt off and mixed with sunscreen and chlorine that clings to his skin. Skin that shines with a sheen from each, that’s somehow not gross, but tantalizing. So much of that skin on display revealing more freckles than you can fathom counting. Skin that looks more tan from the dark chest hair curled against it or the swim trunks that sit low on his hips.

Steve looks at you with raised eyebrows and you realize he’s asked a question and you absolutely didn’t hear it.

“Um,” you swallow, your tongue taking up too much room in your mouth, “Wh-what?”

Steve’s lips twitch as he stands fully in front of you again, damp cloth raised as he whispers, “Something distracting you, honey?”

Your throat has something stuck in it, and no amount of clearing it seems to fix the problem. You focus on the freckle just to the left of his lips instead of his smug eyes as you admit, “Can’t concentrate when you wear that color.”

The reward of his low laugh and smile has you wondering if someone hand sculpted his lips and cupid’s bow.

“I’ll be sure to wear it every chance I get just to torture you then,” he murmurs while fingers adjust your chin into the light. Your back rests against the center island, legs sandwiched between his spread ones so he can raise the cloth to your skin, apologizing with his eyes as he tacks on, “Only fair, since you woke up and decided evil today.”

The damp material of his swim trunks sends a shiver up your spine when it hits your thighs, and your hands grab his waist in a wince when the cloth makes contact with your still fairly fresh head wound. You’re in a staring contest with a gold chain around his neck as you fib, “This is the only swimsuit I own. Just happens to be red.”

Steve finishes with your forehead, but two fingers curl under your chin and lift so you have to look at him as he speaks through a smirk.

“You’re pretty cute when you lie.”

“Come on Steve,” you whisper, fingers curling into his hips without thought, “You’re better than cheesy lines and rookie moves like this. Besides, the bet’s over. We can go back to hating each other now.”

He shakes his head, nose bumping yours as he does and he exhales, “Never hated you.”

Your swallow is loud as he leans closer, one hand on your hip and fingers playing with the so to speak fire of the strings holding your suit together as you offer, “Despised?”

Another shake of his head, another step closer so your lower halves are pressed together and your eyelashes are fluttering. Your head falls back with a gasp as his mouth trails along your jaw, hot breath and wet lips against it as you stutter out, “De-detest?”

He responds into your skin, just below your ear, something that sounds like the word, “Never.”

His name leaves you breathlessly as his tongue lightly licks down the side of your neck, lips following in a delicate brush.

“Steve-”

He hums into your collar, nose dragging around the curve of it while your hands grip his sides. “Stop saying my name like that honey, or I’m gonna get down on my knees and make you say it much,” he nips at your earlobe, “Much, louder.”

The space between your legs throbs, thighs push even tighter together at the thought of Steve’s mouth there.

“Steve,” you scold, cheeks warm, body even more so in all the places it touches his.

“Baby,” he groans, nose knocking your cheek, “What did I just say?”

He starts to lower himself, hands drifting so too, on the outside of your thighs. Brushing bare skin and aching to push it further, cup your ass and roll your hips against his. Especially when your fingers hold his jaw in place so he has to look at you. Only slightly distracted by how kissable your lips are as they say, “You’re moving.”

Steve shakes his head no and you laugh again and he wonders how many more times he can make that sound come out of you.

“Harrington, there’s literally a sold sign in your front yard.”

He leans in closer, unable to resist the chance to taste your lips again, to feel their lingering sting against them all day. He’s got this insane thought that he wishes you were wearing lipstick, so it could be smeared against him, marking up his mouth and neck, shit, even his dick, so everyone knows he’s yours, it’s yours.

“You worried I’m gonna be too far away?” He somehow manages to ask through the fog of images of your lips surrounding his cock, big eyes blinking at him as you-

“I’m actually worried it isn’t far enough,” you swallow around the tight feeling in your chest.

His forehead knocks yours, hands squeeze your waist and then climb higher on your curves as he tsks, “Even cuter. You gotta quit lying baby.” But he relents some of the upperhand, the thought of you being worried about him leaving making him admit, “I’m crashing at Robin’s for a bit. And we’re trying to save up for a place together.”

“Oh,” you nod, distracted by the way his nose traces the bridge of yours, how his eyelashes flutter and the freckles on his cheeks stand out more from a morning in the sun as he does. “Th-that’s good.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his lips rising in a smile making them brush yours.

“Mhm,” you hum, “So you can take Brit on that date still.”

“Who?” He blinks, cheeks turning pink as your fingers scrape up his stomach and through his chest hair.

“Brit,” your eyebrows raise, “Smells like peaches, and giggles and dots her eyes with hearts? The picture perfect girl to take out around town and proudly hold hands with?”

“Again,” Steve leans the few centimeters closer, whispering against your lips, “Who?”

You push at his chest, as much as it pains you to do so, needing the distance from the intoxicating mouth that smells like mint and lemonade. But

Steve remains strong in his position, fingers curl around your ear and hold your neck in place gently as he speaks like each word might spook you into running.

“I’m staying in Hawkins. I have no idea who you’re talking about. The bet is over. Can you stop being so stubborn and let me kiss you like I’ve been wanting to since we were twelve?”

Your heart rumbles low and slow, like thunder rolling in, it cracks in your chest like lightening hit it. Every ounce of your body is buzzing, like the strike tore your body in two. One part that can’t believe you’re hearing him say it and another that wants to run even though you know it doesn’t strike the same place twice. The fear of being caught in the storm with no way out has you stalling.

“Ask me nicely.”

Steve laughs, and you wonder how you never noticed how much you like making that sound bubble out of him.

Or how much you like the way he licks his lips before he says something important.

“Please,” he murmurs against your mouth, “Can I kiss you?”

Your lips part the same time a shriek calls from the den, “Steve! The food is burning!”

He curses under his breath, hand grabbing yours as he pulls you through the kitchen and into the den.

His frown only grows as the smell of burning food does when the two of you exit the sliding door. He tugs you with him across the warm pavement of the patio, the cool summer breeze has goosebumps arriving on your legs as he shouts at the curly haired boy fanning a smoking grill.

“Henderson! You had one fucking job, man! These aren’t just burning they’re-“

“Scorched,” Lucas supplies around a cough, smacking the air with his hat.

“Torched,” Mike pipes up, squinting and pinching his nose closed.

“Dead,” El delivers morosely.

Will snorts and covers his mouth and Max mutters under her breath, “Imbeciles.”

But then she’s smiling at you.

Then they’re all smiling at you, even Eddie and Robin who stand just beyond them, staring at Steve and yours intertwined hands.

The attention on it makes your hand feel too heavy in his and you go to slip it out, but Steve only squeezes it tighter, waving his other at them, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Now get lost, or I’m not making more and you can eat these disgusting things.”

The “kids” take off and Steve turns to you, thumb swiping over the back of your hand, cheeks pink and swallowing loudly. “Um, about my really nicely asked question that was rudely-“

“Yes.”

The just as interrupted response stuns him as much as it does you. But when he smiles, and takes your cheeks in both of his hands, and leans in slowly, you’re sure the answer was the right one, the storm clouds dissipate, the threat of another crack gone.

This kiss, is like rain.

The good kind of rain. Slow. Steady. Steve’s lips capture yours sure, calmly, breathing out just as the pair of his mold around your top one. He holds them through an exhale against your cheek as your hands fall to his chest naturally. You can feel the thud of his heart beneath your palm as his mouth parts to do it again, deeper, stronger. Each beat against your skin the rain hitting a window until it’s so natural, so steady, it’s a simple background noise.

It’s only when loud whoops and whistles break the calm that you hear yours in your ears and feel his heart again, the calm disrupted. Your cheeks warm beneath his palms as he kisses you again, a chaste and over too quick peck around a smile.

That pesky thing is still stuck in your throat, suddenly unsure how limbs and words and human things work anymore. You stumble a step back and trip on a pool noodle when your stomach flutters with a swarm of butterflies intent on trying to escape. He catches your waist before you fall as you gesture to the water, “Alright, well, that pool’s not gonna swim in itself.”

Steve smiles, but he narrows his eyes, squeezing at the outside of your thighs, “Honey, I thought we were done being mean to each other.”

Your eyes blink at him, confused, butterflies constructing a roller-coaster in your stomach now as well, as you ask, “How is me swimming being mean?”

“Kissing me like that then parading around in a little red bikini?” He swallows as his fingers play with the strings of said suit, whispering, “Mean. Incorrigible, baby.”

This feels surreal, his hands on you, calling you baby while your friends are only a few feet away and absolutely watching. Even more so when you whisper, “Big brain word.”

Steve taps your chin, lifting it as he asks, “What’s my prize?”

Looking into Steve’s, Buttercup’s description of Westley’s eyes being like the sea after a storm can’t help but float through your mind. But Steve’s are a lot more like the forest after one. Wet and darkened earth soaking up all it was just given, richer in color and waiting to be explored.

“What do you want?”

Steve grins, his mouth parts, but then you’re both being drenched with water, two buckets dumped over your heads as you shout in protest against the cold.

Robin and Max yell something about the fire in the kitchen being too hot and they needed to put it out as they run away from you both with laughter.

You peel off the white shirt that clings to your body now as you mumble something about payback. Steve groans at the reveal of your body in only the suit. It’s easy to look over your shoulder as you walk away from him and ask, “Tell me later?”

Even easier to shove a grinning Eddie towards the pool as you walk past and mumble, “Shut up.”

He grips at your shoulder as he flails, pulling you in with him, your double splash drowning out your shriek and the beginning of Madonna’s Open Your Heart booming out of the stereo.

When you resurface, swiping water from your eyes and laughing, you turn to find Steve again and aren’t surprised when he’s already looking at you. Your arms rest on the ledge when you swim up to the side and mock his voice, calling up to him.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

He sticks his tongue out at you as you laugh and swim away, but he can’t help but wonder where he packed his Polaroid, and if he can get you alone long enough to snap several his eyes only photos.

He’s still thinking it, later, as the sun inches closer to the other side of the sky, and you’re relaxed on a lounger next to Robin.

Eyes hidden from him behind sunglasses, hands resting on your stomach, brushing back and forth over your skin as you roll your neck.

Prince’s U Got The Look fills the now much quieter backyard, the kids all having disappeared under the excuse of getting movie snacks and a video rental from Keith an hour ago. Robin’s voice interrupts the lyrics with, “How much you wanna bet they’re at the arcade and they aren’t coming back with the snacks?”

You groan and sit up, “No more bets. But,” a sigh leaves you, “Yeah. I’ll go order a pizza? Steve’s got a billion contraband rental’s downstairs too. I’m sure there’s something halfway decent in there.”

“Ha-ha,” he says dryly, watching you stretch has him sinking lower in the pool so only his eyes show. He squeezes them shut when your top slips just a smidge higher as your arms raise, the curve of each breast peeking out from the bottom and giving him a heart attack.

He’s certain that’s exactly what’s happening when he opens them to find you slipping your white shirt on. Only it’s not your white shirt.

It’s his.

Steve watches the collar linger on your nose, then slip over your chin as you smile at him and hook your thumb over your shoulder, “I’m - phone…pizza.” Stumbling over your words and shuffling towards the house quickly.

He waits exactly sixty seconds before he’s swimming towards the ladder and climbing out. Eddie’s voice taunts from the tube he’s floating in, with his arms behind his head, even with closed eyes he looks smug, “And where are you going?”

“To…help. With the calling for pizza.” He towels off quickly, Robin snorts and Eddie makes a booing sound.

Robin calls from her lounger, “Don’t say we never did anything for you, Dingus!”

Steve slides the glass door on their snickering, the house quiet and much cooler than the Summer outside. He glances in the kitchen, the hallway, searching for you, when he hears a creak upstairs.

He finds you in his room, in his shirt still, sunglasses pushed onto the top of your head as you sift through a bag and pull out a pair of denim shorts.

“Hi,” he whispers, when you look up at him.

“Hey,” you smile, voice quiet too, “Why are we whispering?”

“I-“ he starts quiet and clears his throat, returning to a normal volume, “I don’t know. Guess I thought if I spoke too loud I might wake up from this great dream.”

The grin spreads on your lips and you shake your head, “Wow. That’s bad, even for you, Steve.”

He takes a few steps towards you as you continue to shake your head with a smile, only stopping when he asks, “Say my name again? Please?”

Steve takes the shorts from your hands, dropping them on the ground as you murmur, gently, “Steve.”

His tongue darts over his bottom lip before he says, “Can I tell you what I want for a prize now?”

You’re only able to manage a small, “Mhm,” between pressed together lips as your hands sweat and your stomach burns, and your chest constricts while his fingers toy with the strings of your swimsuit bottoms.

He kisses you, slowly, licking out over the seam of your lips until you open for him. His hands guide you backwards gently until he’s climbing over your body on his bed and Prince’s voice fades into Chris de Burgh’s.

His body presses against yours, weight heavy and making your eyelids flutter as his hand cups your cheek, then traces your shoulder, the curve of your breast down to your hip. Your stomach burns with want, fingers dig into his hair as he releases your lips and kisses your chin, your chest through his shirt. He only travels lower, pushing it up and kissing your stomach, along the seam of your suit. Your legs rise on either side of his head, fingers leaving his hair to curl into his sheets that surround you and fill the space with a cedar and mint haze.

“St-steve,” you hiccup as he nips at the inside of your thigh.

He moans, palms pressing you open wider, mouth leaving a wet and hot trail of kisses and breaths up each leg. This wasn’t the plan, he wanted to take it slow, but he can’t help it anymore. He speaks into your stomach, kissing your skin between every few words.

“Baby, please, can I taste you?” His fingers tug on the strings of your suit and his vision blurs when you make a sound that sounds like a whine and roll your hips, searching. He’s gone fully blind as you tug on his hair again, drunk off of you without a single taste.

“Yeah? Gonna let me put my mouth on you?” He noses at your cunt through the suit, dragging it up against the fabric, babbling anything that comes to his mind without a filter. “That what you want, honey? To come all over my tongue?”

Your palms press to the bed as you sit up, fingers tugging at the mess of brown waves between your thighs when his tongue licks over your suit.

Your mouth parts in a gasp, eyes fluttering from the barely there friction, the minimal release of the tension you’ve felt since the kitchen downstairs hours ago.

Steve looks up at the sound and nearly comes in his shorts, the image of your dazed eyes and pouting lips, the heave of your chest under his shirt having him really thinking about where his camera is again.

“Oh,” his voice falls into a teasing lilt, playing with his food before he eats it, “Look at you. You’re already fucked dumb and I haven’t done a thing.”

Your body is engulfed in flames at the taunting words, somehow turned on and irritated in the same sentence.

A Steve Harrington special skill, you think.

He curses the words almost immediately after they leave him, thinking he’s pushed it too far too fast but then you’re saying his name like that again, saying the word please so softly, so sincerely, his vision goes white and scratchy like the tape of all of his abilities to think clearly was just ejected from his brain.

Steve sits up with a groan, backing away from the bed with the shake of his head.

“You’re trouble,” he rasps, breathing heavily from across the room, back against his dresser.

“What’s wrong?” The mood shift jarring and making your legs close, your arms cross over your chest in a hug, wondering what you did.

“This,” he says then immediately waves his hands, “No, not like that! I-“ he cuts himself off with another groan, a hand swipes through his hair only making it messier. You clench around nothing at the wild hair, the pink cheeks, the dark chest hair and tan skin as he paces.

“I wanna-“ he starts.

“Harrington! Quit making out up there and bring down some of what I gave you! I’m tapped and the pizza guy’s here.”

Steve curses and he spins on his dresser, grabbing his wallet.

His wallet.

Bring down some of what I gave you.

His shoulders hunch as he swears again, “Those…brats. I swear to god I’m gonna kill them.”

He spins to find you yanking your shorts on, muttering, “I cannot believe I fucking fell for this.”

“Fell for…what are you talking about?” Steve steps closer and you back up quickly, waving your hand at him.

“Save it.”

He watches you storm out of the room, confused, and then looks down at the wallet and quickly rushes out after you, “No, no, no, honey it’s not-“

“Don’t,” you spin on the stairs, voice icy, “Call me honey.”

Steve takes another step down, pleading with his eyes as Eddie, Robin, and a stranger stand in the foyer, blinking up at the two of you. “Eddie didn’t give me money for that. He…” his hand swipes through his hair again, tongue over his lip as he lowers his voice, “Can we please go somewhere else to talk about this?”

Your arms cross and Steve sighs.

“He gave me money…for a different bet. Sort of bet. Bet is a bad word for it.”

Something rumbles in your chest once more, though no storm was forecasted, you should have known there was bound to be more.

Steve’s lips pout as he waves his hand while explaining in a ramble, “After the bet started, I told them how much I actually liked you. And they agreed to help me. And if I got you to actually give me a chance, with their help of course, Eddie’d pay for a real date and Robin would cover our shifts when we went.”

The explanation should be sweet, but all you can focus on is that Steve didn’t just have the guts to tell you right away. That your friends all helped manipulate you and lied. You start to wonder if the power even went out, if Eddie knew Steve would be at that party, if Robin put In Your Eyes on on purpose, the diner, your car being busted - all of it.

What was real between you and Steve, and what was made with movie magic?

The storm cracks in your chest, letting the first drops fall down your cheeks.

“I have to get out of here.”

The calls of your name and his steps behind you on the stairs ignored as your vision blurs.

Leaving a boy standing in a yard on Cornwallis street while you disappear without your shoes again.

BICFTF TAGLIST: don'thatemedon'thatemedon'thateme there's still two chapters left! As always, thank you for your support!

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