#like.. is that not a literal declaration that he loved steve

[ironshieldchild]

we as a society got over the fact that tony literally gave steve HIS HEART way too quickly

[hairmetal666]

"I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington," he declares to all and sundry (Steve and Robin) in Family Video.

Steve laughs, ducks his head, hair a bountiful cascade that doesn't move an inch. He's blushing but it's not, like, a reaction to the sentiment of marriage. Steve knows Eddie is just like that, flirtatious and over-the-top and incapable of not speaking his thoughts as soon as they enter his head.

Robin roles her eyes, goes back to flipping through her magazine, something about cinema, and Eddie swipes his just rented movies off the counter.

"You think I'm joking," he twists so he's facing them, walking backwards to the door. "But I swear it, oh, beloved purveyor of movies and deleter of late fees."

"Yeah, yeah." Steve's face is pinker than before and Eddie recognizes and immediately forces himself to forget how cute it is. "But get out of here before I change my mind."

And Eddie, he loves to push his luck and also has very little filter between his brain and his mouth, so he says, "aw, don't be that way, Stevie, you love me."

Robin looks up, then, mouth a pursed twist as she tries not to laugh. "Gross, Eddie." She throws a Sour Patch at him. "Keep all that mushy stuff to when you two are alone."

It's his turn to blush, fierce and raging, and Steve whirls, squeaking, to whack Robin with a Twizzler.

Eddie points at her. "Rude, Buckley. You know I love you too."

"Again, gross." She sticks out her tongue, tinged blue from the Sour Patch.

"We really need to work on your ability to accept affection," Steve tells her.

She scowls, kicks him, makes Eddie laugh.

"I think that's my cue to leave, children." He says. He, quite literally, bows out of the store, just missing the barrage of candy thrown his way.

---

Three Months Later

Eddie stumbles into the Harrington house, kicking his boots off by the door. Steve's in the kitchen, fussing around the stove. His hair's askew and he's--

"Harrington, are you wearing an apron?" He ignores the kick in his chest at the sight. "You'll make a sweet little housewife one day."

"Shut-up," Steve says without any heat. "Try this."

He brandishes a spoon filled with red sauce in Eddie's direction, and Eddie--heart always on his sleeve--eagerly leans in to taste. He closes his eyes, savors, and it's good, truly. Perfect fresh acidity with just a burst of sweetness.

"It's amazing, baby," he says without thinking. He opens his eyes right in time to see Steve turning back to the sauce, blush high on his cheekbones.

"Thanks. You're making me nervous though, hovering." Steve hip checks him. "Go sit somewhere."

And Eddie does, jumps onto the island--the Harrington's are the kind of people who have an island--and chatters to Steve about his day, about his new campaign, about the new song he's trying to learn.

All the while, he's watching Steve cook, in his apron, with such care and thoughtfulness, with true command. Maybe it's the domesticity of the scene, maybe his raging crush, but he has this flash of the two of them in the future. In their kitchen, Steve cooking dinner, and Eddie's arms are wrapped around his waist, he's pressing kisses to his temple, complimenting all his hard work and--

Steve feeds him a bite of the finished pasta, and it's so good that he groans, full-throated, unembarrassed, and says--he says, "I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington."

He laughs, face pink, batting Eddie's shoulder. "Go sit down, man. It's time to eat."

---

Two Months After That

Eddie's working on a new campaign when the storm rolls in, wind rocking the trailer, thunder and lightning crackling in the sky. The power doesn't go out, but only just barely, the flickers making his heart pound for reasons that have nothing to do with weather.

There's a knock on the trailer door, and he opens it to find Steve Harrington standing on the porch, hair plastered to his head, clothes soaked. Robin's bike is propped against one of the awning supports. Familiar panic snaps to life in his gut.

"God, Steve, are you okay? Did something happen? That's Robin's bike, where's the Beamer? Is it--is it Vecna? Is--" He's blabbering can't stop, so he shoves his palm against his lips.

"It's not--not Upside Down stuff." He runs a hand through his soggy hair. "Can I come in, man? I--I want to tell you something."

This snaps Eddie out of his panic, and he's moving aside, saying, "Oh my god, get in here, you're soaked. Let me get towels. Do you want a change of clothes, I can--"

Steve catches him by the elbow and he full stops at the look in those big hazel eyes, fearful and sad and he doesn't know what, but his anxiety amps back up.

"I was with Robin and we were--we were talking, you know? And I told her that I like somebody, like really like them, but it was unexpected and--and--it's a guy. He's a guy but I still like girls? Robin said--she said that I'm probably bisexual. That I like guys and girls and--and everyone, I think."

It sends shockwaves through him, and he hopes it doesn't show, doesn't think it shows, but he's having trouble processing. Steve is bi and he likes someone and--Eddie stuffs down the jealousy that claws at him, knows it's more important that he's here for his friend.

"Thank you for telling me, sweetheart." He reaches out, slow in case Steve doesn't want to be hugged, but he launches himself into Eddie's arms.

Eddie holds him tight, heedless of his wet clothes, can feel his shoulders shake, and it tears Eddie's heart in two. All he can do is hold Steve and offer comfort, jealousy be damned.

"You're so brave, honey," he says once the tears taper off.

Steve gives a wet chuckle, face still buried against Eddie's neck. "I don't know about that. I think I got snot in your hair."

"It'll wash out." He laughs. "Is now the time to welcome you to the family? Apparently, we're growing exponentially."

"Does the welcome include a cake or something? I could really use cake."

And God, Steve, is so fucking cute, so sweet, so--everything Eddie has always wanted, and he--it's an accident, or at least, thoughtless--he presses a kiss to Steve's temple. More than one.

Steve pulls back fast, and Eddie lets go immediately. "Sorry, sorry. I--that was stupid. You like someone already, and I--"

His words are cut off as Steve kisses him. Steve kisses him? His brain can't process, but he kisses back. Can't not, not with Steve. Like, he doesn't know anything, head empty, but his body is with the program.

They break apart, he's breathing hard. Steve is beautifully flushed, mouth red and swollen. "You like someone," is what Eddie says.

Steve laughs. "I like you, Munson. Fucking crazy about you."

He smiles, so big it hurts, so big it grows into a delight laugh. "I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington," he says.

---

Six Years Later

They're in bed, Saturday morning, rain pattering softly on the window.

Steve places slow kisses against his naked tummy, makes him tremble, shiver with overstimulation.

"Baby," he whines. "Sweetheart."

Steve smiles up at him, something cold pressing against his ribs, then into his hand.

It's a ring, black metal, shiny and iridescent as he turns it in the light. "What--Steve?"

With one last kiss to his hip bone, Steve sits up, slips the ring onto Eddie's finger. "I'm going to marry you one day, Eddie Munson."

[steddiehyperfixation]

still into you (steddie ficlet)

Eddie wakes to the mouthwatering smell of bacon and eggs and fresh-made pancakes. He stretches lazily and heads to the kitchen to find Steve at the stove making breakfast, moving expertly between flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs and checking the bacon. A stupid kiss the cook apron is tied at the waist over his bare torso and sinful pajama shorts, and he looks just as delicious as the food he's cooking. The whole scene makes something warm and fluttery bloom bright in Eddie's chest. 

He sits at the counter and sighs dreamily, resting his chin in his hand as he watches him. “God, I have such a crush on you.” 

Steve looks over his shoulder with an amused expression that crinkles the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. “We're literally married.” 

“I know,” Eddie gushes, so in awe of this fact you'd think it was a new development even though it very much isn't. He marvels at his husband of 34 years, admires every inch of Steve's middle-aged body, every place where his time-worn skin is creased with signs of age and a life well lived and well loved. The beauty of him still knocks the wind out of Eddie, a breathless giggle bubbling up his throat. “But that doesn't mean I don't still have a massive fucking crush on you.” 

Steve huffs out a chuckle before turning his attention back to the stove, a quick duck of his head as if to hide a blush. 

Emboldened, Eddie stands and comes up to wrap his arms around him from behind. He nuzzles into Steve's neck, breathes in his salt and pepper hair and smiles into the curve of his shoulder. “I’m serious. Even after all this time, you still give me butterflies,” Eddie says, resting his hands over Steve's stomach and pressing gently to demonstrate his words, “right here, like I’m a teenager again. My aged heart still does very youthful backflips just at the sight of you, and I feel that rush of falling in love all over again, again and again, like it's the very first time.”

Eddie remembers a conversation he'd had with his uncle once, when he was much much younger and Wayne was about the age Eddie is now.  When you get older, you don't feel that type a’ love the same way anymore, Wayne had told him. It ain't the same heart-pounding, all-encompassing, get drunk off of it sort a’ giddy head-rush you get in your teens and twenties. It loses that kind a’ thrill, gets quieter. 

Eddie had found that thoroughly depressing, despite his uncle’s insistences that this was not a bad thing. Don't mean that love and attraction ain't there or that you can't feel it anymore, Wayne reassured him, it's just different is all. He'd shrugged then, his face like leather, worn and fond and bemused by his nephew’s wild youth. Old hearts get tired, Ed, he'd said. You'll get it when you get to be my age. 

Well, Eddie has gotten to be his age and he still doesn't get it. He does feel that quieter love, the kind that comes from shared routines and easy conversation and even easier silences, made up of trust and familiarity, the kind that settles into his bones like it was always meant to be there. But the thrill is still there too, as strong as ever. Steve still makes his heart race and his head spin. Eddie's stomach still flutters at his smile; his touch still sets off fireworks beneath his skin. Even now, Eddie feels a little dizzy just holding him, heartbeat faster. 

“We may get old,” Eddie continues his declaration, “but the way I feel about you never will.” He holds Steve tighter, hooking his chin over his husband's shoulder after pressing a kiss to it. “I will never get over the thrill of you, and my heart will never get tired of it.” 

“You are a dramatic old sap,” Steve says through a suppressed smile, rolling his eyes as he plates the food and turns off the stove, but then he's turning around in Eddie's arms and pulling him into a spirited kiss.

Eddie's blood feels like it's made of champagne, bubbly and fizzy and utterly intoxicated as Steve fills his senses. They kiss with the same clumsy passion they'd had at 21, too eager clashes of teeth and bruising lips. It's messy, inelegant, perfect, broken within seconds when their smiles become uncontainable. They pull apart, pink-cheeked and laughing. 

Steve grins. His eyes shine with all the same giddiness of infatuation and warmth of love as he holds Eddie's face in his hands and tells him, “I have a massive fucking crush on you too.” 

[the-winter-spider]

What I Have | B. Barnes

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: Probably the fluffiest piece ive written lol

A/N: I was listening to What I Have by Kelsea Ballerini and well here we are lol

—-

The year was 2024, over one hundred years since you were born—105, to be exact. Your life hadn’t turned out at all like you had dreamed or hoped it would.

You were supposed to marry the boy next door once the war was done. You’d picked out your wedding dress while window shopping with your best friend, even before he proposed. You made a scrapbook, meticulously curating hairstyles and makeup looks, debating over the choices as if they were the most pressing decisions in the world.

You sketched out your dream house, selecting the colors, the flowers for the front garden, and the vegetables you would surely grow in the back. You even chose the font for your new last name on the mailbox.

You had each of your children’s names picked out—three, to be exact. Two boys and one girl, you had hoped. Everything was a dream, but it seemed so close, so possible, as if it should have been a reality. You should be dead by now, having lived a full life, with your children who should have been walking the earth with their children, your grandchildren.

But everything went wrong. Literally, everything possible went wrong.

Bucky fell off a train and died. He actually fell off a train, and they declared him dead. In reality, he had lost his arm, survived the fall because Hydra had already experimented on him. They brainwashed him, like something out of a twisted fairy tale, turning him into a deadly assassin. Your beautiful, blue-eyed Bucky, your sweet Bucky, became a killer. A Bucky you would never see again, because even though he was still here, and you were so thankful for that, he would never be your Bucky again.

And then there was Steve. Of course, Steve found him, because of course! And let’s not forget that your best friend, Steve, who was once smaller than you, was injected with a serum that not only tripled his size but turned him into a superhero because, yes, apparently those needed to exist. Of course, he went off to war, driven by a need for revenge for his best friend, your fiancé Bucky. And of course, he had to be noble, going down for the cause, leading everyone to believe he was dead. But of course, he wasn’t. They found him, frozen but alive, because he was Captain America, and that’s just what happens.

And then there was you, consumed by grief, first losing the love of your life and then your best friend. You begged, on your knees, begged Howard Stark to use you as his test subject for cryogenic testing. You couldn’t bear to be here without your boys. He hesitated because he loved Steve, and he knew Steve wouldn’t want this for you. But when you threatened that if he didn’t, you would take your own life, he relented. So, of course, it worked because it was Howard, and he was a Stark. But decades passed, and the year he was supposed to wake you up, The Winter Soldier murdered him. So, as usual, you stayed frozen, but alive, until Howard’s son, Tony, found you in his father’s hidden lab.

You woke up to a world that was not your own, a century too late for the life you were supposed to live. The world had moved on, but you hadn’t. Your friends were legends now, mythologized beyond recognition. And you, well, you were the ghost of what could have been.

The years that followed were a blur of new faces, new battles, and new griefs. You tried to adapt, to find a place in this future that had no room for you. But every corner of this brave new world reminded you of the past, of the life that slipped through your fingers.

And then one day, while sifting through old boxes in Tony’s lab, you found something. It was an old, faded book, as soon as you saw the brown cover you heart dropped you knew what it was, it waa your scrapbook. The cover had an old faded photo of you, Bucky, and Steve, taken on a sunny day before the world went mad. You barely recognized the girl in the photo, with her bright smile and unbroken heart. But there she was, a relic of a time that now felt like a dream.

You realised then that maybe you didn’t belong in this world. Maybe you never did. But as long as you were here, you could try—try to make sense of the pieces left behind, to find some small measure of peace in the chaos.

And that’s exactly what you did. Even though you didn’t have the life you had once dreamed of, you still had them. And in what world does all that trauma happen, and you still end up alive with your boys?

You picked up the dusty book, holding it close to your heart, as you navigated through the compound, following the sound of laughter coming from the living room. You paused just outside the doorway, soaking in the warmth of his laugh—a sound you feared you might never hear again after Bucky began recovering from his trauma. But here it was, filling the room, and even though it wasn’t the same Bucky you knew decades ago, his laugh was unchanged, and it made your heart swell.

Rounding the corner, you saw Steve clutching his chest in joy, playfully shoving Sam, who was grinning widely.

Bucky’s eyes immediately found yours; he could always find you in any room. “Hi, doll,” he said, getting up to kiss your cheek and taking your hand to lead you to the couch.

“Hi, Buck. Hi, Stevie, Sammy,” you greeted them, settling in beside Bucky.

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Bucky glanced down at the book in your arms. “What’s that?”

Steve’s smile faded into something more serious as he noticed the book, instantly recognizing it. “Is that what I think it is?”

You nodded, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “Stark… he kept it. I haven’t opened it yet. I thought… I thought we could do it together.”

“What is it?” Sam asked, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s my life,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “There are a few pages of what I thought it would turn out to be… but after everything happened…” You paused, taking a steadying breath. The memories of losing Bucky and Steve were still fresh, no matter how much time had passed. “I never planned or dreamed of anything else. It just felt silly without you boys. So, I just filled it with photographs.”

“Photographs of who?” Sam asked, leaning forward.

“Everyone,” you replied softly, glancing between Bucky and Steve. “Peggy and Mrs. Rogers,” you said, meeting Steve’s gaze. You saw the emotion in his eyes at the mention of his mother. “Becca and Winnie, Mr. Barnes,” you continued, feeling Bucky tense slightly at the mention of his mother and sister, their faces now distant memories. “I even have Howard and the Commandos.” You smiled a little. “But mostly, it’s us—all of us.”

Bucky reached out, gently taking the book from your hands. His fingers brushed the worn cover, the room fell silent as the weight of the past settled around you all.

“Let’s open it together,” Steve suggested, his voice thick with emotion. He moved closer, his presence a steady anchor as you all gathered around the book. Sam stayed distant, letting the three of you have your moment but still staying there.

Bucky opened the cover, and the first page revealed a photograph of you, Bucky, and Steve, taken in a simpler time. The three of you looked so young, so hopeful. You felt Bucky’s hand tighten around yours as he stared at the image, memories rushing back. It was a photo from your 16th birthday, the day he had gifted you the book.

“I gave this to you,” Bucky said quietly, the realization settling over him.

You nodded. “For my birthday. You wrote…” You trailed off, pointing to the top left corner of the front of the book.

He read the words aloud, his voice filled with emotion. “Happy 16th birthday to my best girl. I hope you fill these pages with your hopes and dreams. I can only hope that somewhere in amongst them, I’ll be a part of it. With all the love, Bucky.”

Sam smiled, leaning back in his seat. “Who knew you were such a romantic, Buck?”

You watched as Bucky’s cheeks flushed a light shade of red at the comment, and you gave his knee a gentle squeeze, feeling the warmth of the old affection between you.

“For y/n, he was crazy,” Steve chimed in, grinning. “You should have seen him—head over heels is an understatement. Try obses—”

Before Steve could finish, Bucky reached behind you and gave him a playful shove. “Can it, Rogers,” he muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Steve just laughed, catching himself before he toppled over. “You know it’s true.”

You chuckled, resting your head against Bucky’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Bucky’s hand found yours again, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. “Neither would I.”

As you all shared a quiet moment, the weight of the years seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of old memories and the comfort of the present. Bucky turned the page, revealing more photographs—snapshots of moments that had once seemed so ordinary but now felt like treasures.

The pages turned slowly, revealing a life that could have been—a wedding dress sketched out, a house with a picket fence, names of children that never came to be. And then, the photographs—snapshots of moments frozen in time. Peggy’s bright smile, Mrs. Rogers’ kind eyes, the mischievous grins of Becca and Winnie, Howard’s confident stance, the Commandos’ camaraderie. But the most frequent faces were your own, Bucky’s, and Steve’s, from a time when the world was both simpler and infinitely more complex.

Each image told a story. There was one of you and Steve dancing at a neighbourhood block party, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand. Another showed Bucky in his military uniform, giving you a wink as he prepared to head off to basic training. Then there were pictures of Steve and Bucky goofing around, each trying to outdo the other in some silly stunt, and you caught in the middle, rolling your eyes but smiling all the same.

There were pictures of Bucky and you around the campfire on the night before everything changed—before he fell off the train. Bucky paused on that photo, his eyes lingering on it. “That was the night before…” he said softly.

You nodded, squeezing his hand, understanding the weight of those words.

“Night before what?” Sam asked, his voice gentle.

“Before I fell,” Bucky replied, those three words carrying a lifetime of pain and loss. The room grew still, the significance of that moment hanging heavy in the air. Sam didn’t say anything more, sensing the depth of emotion in Bucky’s words.

Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on the photo, his voice quiet as he continued. “It was the last time I felt so much joy… I feel it now, but it was different then.”

Steve nodded in agreement, his expression solemn. “I get it, Buck.”

“Me too,” you added, your voice trembling slightly. “I keep thinking about what was supposed to be, what should have been.” You paused, wiping a tear from your eye. “I don’t understand why it all happened the way it did—why I didn’t get the life I thought I was going to.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky whispered, his hand gently reaching out to wipe away your tears, his touch as tender as it had always been.

The room fell into a reverent silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts, the weight of your shared history settling over you like a heavy blanket. Finally, Sam spoke, his voice soft and full of understanding. “You’ve lived a hell of a life.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you wiped away a stray tear. “It wasn’t what I planned,” you admitted, your voice thick with emotion. “But I wouldn’t trade it. Not if it meant losing this—losing you… both of you.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “We didn’t get the life we dreamed of, but we got each other. And that’s enough.”

Steve leaned back, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “We’ve been through so much, but we’re still here. Together.”

Sam smiled, the warmth in his expression offering a quiet reassurance. “That’s what matters in the end. Not what you lost, but what you’ve kept.”

“Till the end of the line,” Steve spoke, the words heavy with emotion and depth.

“Till the end of the line,” Bucky echoed, pulling you closer to his side.

You glanced around the room at the faces of the people who had become your family—the ones who had stood by you through the darkest of times.

As the pages of the scrapbook turned, the photographs shifted from black-and-white to colour, reflecting the passage of time. The images grew fewer as the years became harder, but each one was more precious because of it.

Finally, you reached the last page, where an empty space awaited a new photograph. You looked up at Bucky and Steve, both of them gazing at the book with a mix of nostalgia and gratitude.

“You should take a new photo,” Sam suggested, his voice soft but certain. “One to mark this moment.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that melted away the years. “Yeah, we should.”

Steve grinned. “I’ll get the camera.”

As Steve stood to retrieve a camera, you leaned into Bucky, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand. This was the life you had, and it was more than enough. The empty space in the book was no longer a reminder of what was lost, but a promise of what was yet to come—a new chapter, filled with love, laughter, and the people who mattered most.

Sam took the camera from Steve, ready to take the picture. But just as he was about to snap the shot, you paused. “Wait!”

“What? You don’t have food in your teeth, but your hair…” Sam teased with a smirk.

“Well, I was going to say I want you in the picture too, but…” You trailed off

“No, no! I’m sorry, you’re beautiful… perfect—”

“Sam, watch it, that’s my girl,” Bucky warned, a protective edge to his voice.

Sam rolled his eyes, chuckling. “The whole world knows that, Buck.” He placed the camera on the tripod and took a seat beside Steve. “You sure you want me in this?”

“Of course, Sammy! You’re one of us now,” you insisted, smiling warmly at him.

Sam’s expression softened, and he nodded, touched by your words. As the camera clicked, capturing the four of you together, you knew that this was the memory that would fill that final page—the proof that even after everything, you still had your boys, old and new, and they still had you.

The book might never hold the life you once dreamed of, but it would hold the life you had lived—the one you had fought for, the one you had loved.

And that was more than enough.

[sotwk]

Cinderella Moment (Steve Rogers x fem!Reader) Part 1 of 2

One night at a charity gala with Captain Steve Rogers has all the makings of a fairytale, but instead it all goes horribly awry.

Word count: 3.2k Genre tags: first meetings, platonic hinting at romantic interest, angst, family issues, hurt/comfort, post-Blip, Steve never left Rating: Teen Content Warnings: emotional abuse, public humiliation, vulgar language, brief, minor assault To Read on AO3: LINK

Cinderella Moment

Steve Rogers x FemReader

PART ONE

Oh, this is hell. I'm literally walking into hell.

However, when the photographers stationed by the venue entrance began snapping away, you were ready with your thousand-watt smiles and elegant head tilts, angled precisely to capture the best view of your face. After all, over a decade of experience had turned you into a pro, and it was your long history of successful performances that landed you back in this situation in the first place.

But your five-year hiatus from society--and from existing--had made your instincts a little rusty and your patience a lot thinner. As you started to move further onto the lobby, to begin your descent down the grand staircase to the party below, Madeline seized your forearm, her crimson-clawed fingers making you wince. 

“What are you doing?! Wait.” your stepmother hissed. “Harlan should be here in a moment to walk us both down. Bad enough that your father canceled at the last minute and left us to arrive here by ourselves! And what a poorly organized event! We paid a fortune for your escort, and he couldn't even be made to do the job right?!”

That's because they respect him enough not to treat him like a performing monkey, you thought wryly, while still keeping that jaw-aching smile steady on your lips. A luxury that your own family could never seem to afford you, despite the obscene wealth the clan has held for four generations.

But you obeyed like the good monkey you were, and held still to wait for an escort to lead you into the event as a proper lady should. You brushed your hands over the shimmering, billowy skirt of your gown with fond wistfulness. You loved this dress almost as much as you loathed to be there; it was a positive you could focus on and take refuge in, at least. Madeline had, if nothing else, great taste and connections with every designer and fashion house in the world. Ever since she married your father, you've been the best-dressed doll at every function they dispatched you to. 

This particular gown, a Zac Posen original, was exceptional. They went hard on it. It was designed to turn heads, as Madeline intended. “We can't let him completely overshadow you,” she declared at the fitting appointment. “Everyone's eyes can't be on just him the whole evening. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Well, don’t you look stunning!” Your Uncle Harlan descended on you suddenly with a booming laugh and scratchy kiss to the cheek. You could tell he was already a few drinks in. He lived for a good gala more than anyone in your family and never had to be persuaded to make an appearance. “Such beauty will get a little tardiness forgiven and forgotten any time. Don't you agree, Captain Rogers?”

Harlan stepped aside to greet your stepmother, and fully revealed the man lingering behind him. You blinked at the legend come to life, instantly recognizable and eerily so much like his pictures from your elementary school textbooks, even while wearing a pristine black tuxedo in lieu of his iconic stars and stripes. Suddenly you felt just an extra touch of gratitude towards Madeline for putting such intense effort into your look for the evening. 

“Captain Rogers.” Cameras clicked at furious speed from every direction as you faced your date. Smiles up. Time to start collecting returns on what your grandfather paid seven figures for. “What an honor to meet you, sir.”

“It’s just Steve,” he said, giving the hand you offered a polite shake. “And the pleasure is all mine. Thank you for…” He paused and cleared his throat, giving away his own status as a fellow puppet in this play (as if you didn’t already know it), and finished lamely, “Thank you for coming.” 

Dismissing the awkward moment, you reminded him of your name, and that you didn’t want to go by “Miss” either.  

Steve was familiar enough with the drill to take your hand on his arm and guide you smoothly down the staircase, even managing not to tread on the most voluminous skirt you’d ever worn in your life. A sea of cell phone cameras joined the quest to capture the moment, and you tried not to think about videos of you being possessed by a hundred strangers only to be released and shared with a million other strangers. 

It’s nothing new, you told yourself. Been here, done this.

Except you haven’t. Your usual escorts of dynasty heirs and startup founders paid to get their pictures published on antiquated society pages when they couldn’t buy their way into a viral video. Captain America attending a function like this was an extremely rare occurrence, guaranteeing a social media frenzy his fans would feed on for weeks if not months. You were just there to creep along the edges of the Captain’s spotlight, and by extension, so was your family who paid for the privilege. 

Madeline would be able to rest assured that her own investment in the affair paid off. You could feel constant stares on the spectacle you and your showstopper gown made, stealing a fair share of attention from the illustrious guest of honor. 

From the moment you hit the floor and joined the crowd milling about for cocktail hour, you and Steve fell into the pattern together like a team. Get approached, exchange introductions. Steve receives effusive adulation and expressions of gratitude, you get a compliment thrown your way, pictures are taken. Next deep-pocket donor steps up, repeat. It all came back to you very quickly. 

It took longer than you expected for your grandfather to find you. As with all his engagements, he liked to arrive early and leave early, which he claimed was his strategy for packing in an inhuman amount of work into a single day, everyday. And when you saw him, your face lit up with the first genuine smile you'd worn all evening.

“Ah yes, yes. We've been introduced. And had ourselves a good talk earlier.”  Acknowledging Steve with a nod, Grandpa Harry squeezed you tightly around the shoulders and pressed a kiss on your coiffed hair. “It was only right that the Captain be briefed about the priceless treasure being entrusted to him this evening. What did I tell you Steve, is she not the most beautiful woman you've ever had at your arm?”

“Very beautiful,” Steve agreed politely. Because what else was he supposed to say?

“The best and brightest star among all my grandchildren.” Your grandfather patted your cheek with such tenderness, that for a second you could almost believe that his affection for you was his primary motivation behind buying you the world’s most expensive date. Misguided as that intention might still be.

“He sure loves you,” Steve remarked, when your grandfather strolled off to resume his own social rounds. “That's really nice.” He chuckled. “A little open about his favoritism maybe, but still nice.”

“It just comes with the territory. I'm the third out of his fourteen grandkids, but the oldest girl.” You gestured at the floral-design wreath of small but very real diamond clusters that crowned your updo, a hint of irony in your smirk. “Seniority got me the rank of ‘princess’, I suppose.”

“I think you carry the title really well.” This time, you couldn't help the warmth that spread through you at that compliment. You could just tell that Steve didn't have it in him to peddle flattery, even with the effortless charm he wielded. And since sincerity was an out-of-place stranger in this environment, its sudden presence caught you off-guard. 

“Uneasy lies the head,” you murmured. And in that single unguarded moment, the mask slipped off, exposing the raw weariness behind your glamorously painted eyes. You cleared your throat of its hoarseness and batted away your vulnerability. “It really is such a thrill to have you here, Captain. And an honor for me, personally.”

He wasn't buying it, though. He was past all this bullshit now (if he ever was taken by it), including yours. But he looked at you in silence for the longest second before saying gently, “I'm glad you're here with me. I didn't want to come either, but I think we can make a fun evening of it together.”

You gave another delicate ahem, raising your clutch bag over your mouth, very casually, very ladylike, a diversion tactic while you fought off your blush and regained your footing. It became uncomfortably clear to you that you’d never been anywhere with a man like Steve Rogers before. Which meant you didn’t know how to even be around someone so observant, whose eyes bore straight through you, rooting around for candor that just didn’t exist. But the words he offered--Fun. Together.--coaxed your anxiety back down, and it didn’t even take much effort to mount the smile back on your lips.

“Do you dance, Steve?” The band saved you by choosing that moment to strike up a slightly more upbeat tune with a louder volume, signalling the gala’s transition from cocktails to dinner. You slid your hand into the curve of Steve’s arm once more as you followed the crowd’s movement towards the ballroom doors.

This prompted his turn to blush; what should have looked silly on a grown man was sweet on him, you couldn’t help but notice. “Not a lot, I’m afraid.” He lifted his free hand to rest it over yours, its firm, gentle weight pressing your fingers against the muscles of his forearm and setting a thousand butterflies loose in your stomach. “But for you, I'll give it the old college try.”

Your assigned companions at the dinner table were the people you expected to sit with--all family members--and for once you were happy with the arrangement. Your grandfather never brought a date to these events, no one to replace your grandmother since she passed. One chair was automatically vacant, in her honor, so it was acceptable. But two empty seats at a table for eight was a huge no-no, so Madeline grabbed one of her very willing girlfriends to be bumped up to the table of honor and stand in for your father. Harlan and the second wife he'd married during the Blip made up the third couple. Whether by coincidence or design, you were Steve's only choice for decent company at that table. 

And as you thanked him for helping you with your seat--both of you repressing chuckles at the work it took to arrange your billowing skirt just right so you could sit close enough to the table without knocking things over--you realized you'd made up your mind. You were going to have fun this evening. Because all it took to have fun with someone like Steve Rogers was to not even think about it. Just be there with him. 

Even avoiding the topics you were conditioned to never touch at soirees (and that list was even longer for a controversial figure like Captain America), there was plenty to talk about. Dodgers vs Yankees--to which team should his allegiance now lie? Dominick's food truck for the city's best hot dogs, which he promised to try at your endorsement. Big band music--his eyes lit up at your professed love for “Sweet Georgia Brown”, and you gave him Ella Fitzgerald’s live version as another recommendation. The things you bonded with your grandfather over were suddenly proving useful in connecting you with, well, technically another old man. 

The only time you and Steve stopped talking was when the speeches started, and all attention was focused on the stage where foundation members trotted up one by one to remind everyone of the charity's mission--health services and support for US veterans--and thank a laundry list of esteemed partners and contributors. The spotlight was directed to your family's table several times, to acknowledge your grandfather for opening his deep pockets, and Captain Rogers for lending his face. Both were met with enthusiastic applause and plenty more camera action. 

“Can I ask you something?” You leaned towards Steve while a duo of waiters circled around the table to switch out the soup course for the salmon entrees. 

“Anything,” Steve said amiably, putting down his fork to give you his full attention. 

“What made you agree to participate in this event?” You gestured around you. “Something about this charity in particular?”

“The timing was right, first of all, meaning I actually had the time to do it. Secondly, I've met a lot of people who've directly received aid from the foundation. I've heard only good things about the work it does. But most importantly, I said yes because I was asked.” Steve shook his head and chuckled. “I don't know why people assume I get called on a lot for things like this, like they confuse me for Stark.”

“And the part where they auctioned off a date with you?”

“I found it strange,” Steve admitted. “But I wanted to do whatever little extra I could to help raise donations. They told me your grandfather won it with a very generous, record-breaking bid, but wouldn't say the exact amount.” 

One and a half million. You briefly considered revealing the price tag to him, knowing this man had absolutely no ego to inflate, but he chose that moment to lock eyes with you for the first time, his gaze so soft it knocked your breath away. 

“When your uncle pointed you out to me and I saw you at the top of those stairs, that was when the idea seemed absolutely crazy to me. How does it make sense that someone paid for me to spend an evening with a woman like you?”

He meant well by it, you knew he did, from the way he said “woman like you”, and from that look in his eyes, like he could hardly believe you were next to him. But you were so hopelessly flustered that you went into defensive mode, stammering, “It was my family… my grandfather's idea. I didn't ask him to… I knew nothing about it.”

You felt Steve’s hand envelop yours underneath the table, a prolonged touch hidden from prying eyes. “I thanked Harry for his donations when we were introduced earlier at the start of the evening.” He glanced across the table where your grandfather was squinting through his glasses at his phone screen. “I'll need to go back and thank him again for the other things I didn't expect to be so grateful for.”

You wiggled your fingers slightly in the cage of his hand, trying to reciprocate the touch, to somehow communicate that you too were grateful to be enjoying a much more pleasant evening than you could have ever imagined. 

But then Steve withdrew his hand when he had to turn his attention to his left, towards your uncle who chose that moment to bring up questions about the Avengers compound being rebuilt upstate (naturally of special interest to a real estate magnate). The interruption, the abrupt loss of contact, broke the spell. Snapped your senses back in place. Your fingers curled into a fist, nail extensions leaving red crescents in your palm. What the hell are you doing? You’re being ridiculous. 

Two seats away, you spotted your uncle’s new wife Jackie, whom you’d met only once, rise from the table with purse in hand. Impulse kicked in and you fumbled for your own clutch. “Ladies room…” You shook your head and waved Steve off when he started to rise to help you up, feeling your frustration with yourself in danger of spilling over to him.  “I’ll be right back,” you mumbled, and swept off in a rustle of voluminous fabric before a word could leave the surprised gape on his lips. 

Your original intention was to tag along after Jackie, and make the bathroom break seem more valid, but when she stopped to greet a familiar face at a nearby table, you kept on moving.  Struggling to weave through the ballroom while managing the circumference of your dress, you halted just in time to avoid colliding with a waiter carrying two water pitchers. 

“Oh. Excuse me,” you said, bowing your head and moving to squeeze past him. But the waiter stepped aside in the same direction, fully blocking your way. You looked up and found the most scorching, most hate-filled glare focused directly at you. You were able to take only one step back when the man lifted his hands above your head and upended both pitchers, sending a torrent of ice water splashing down on you. 

As you shrieked and gasped and sputtered blindly, you felt something hard knock solidly against your chest, with enough force to knock you to the floor. Your ankle gave a cruel twist as you went down on your stilettos, and you crashed down awkwardly, landing hard on one elbow. 

Sounds of chaos broke around you, but as you tried to lift yourself up, you saw only one thing: another waiter--female this time--swing a large silver serving bowl in your direction.  A shower of mush mixed in viscous liquid struck you right on the face, some of it entering your mouth, coating your hair and splattering all over the bare skin of your shoulders and arms. Above the cries of alarm, you most clearly heard the screeching and hooting of your attackers as they stood over you, raising their arms in celebration of their success. 

“Fuck yeah! That’s right! How does that feel, princess? Let’s get THIS viral!”

The man actually bent down towards you to make sure you’d heard him clearly, while he shouted for the rest of the room to hear. 

“Just kill yourself, you spoiled cunt! You and your entire garbage family! Useless, toxic pieces of shit!  Tell your father--!”

The rest of the words were cut off by shouting, or maybe just drowned out by the buzzing in your ears. You curled your legs up, shivering. You were cold, yet burning at the same time. The only thing you could do was to swipe the goop from your face, trying to see better, trying to breathe, trying not to think about what you tasted in your mouth. 

Suddenly you were lifted off the ground by a pair of strong arms. And there he was, the last person you wanted there, the worst person to see you in your humiliation, carrying you off. Steve, asking if you were hurt while simultaneously telling you, “It’s okay.” 

“Get her out of here, now! Go!” your grandfather’s voice boomed out, louder and angrier than you’ve ever heard it. 

You caught just a fleeting glimpse of Steve’s face when a member of your family’s security team extracted you from his arms, but the memory of his expression would haunt you for weeks. You clung on to the nameless bodyguard and buried your face into his shoulder and finally let yourself dissolve into a bigger, sobbing mess as he carried you like a package straight into a waiting car. There couldn’t have been a worse way for Steve to find out, but at least he now had the truth without you having to admit it to him. 

You were no princess. And you especially didn’t deserve to be his princess.

To be continued...

PART TWO: Work in Progress

Want more Steve? SotWK's MCU Masterlist

[steviewashere]

Okay, I'm getting on here to be a little bit pissy. I'm sorry in advance.

I am so in love with the headcanons regarding Steve's hearing, whether it be that he's hard of hearing, actively in the process of losing his hearing, deaf with a hearing aid, or just completely deaf—every version is fucking fantastic. I'm hard of hearing myself, it's fucking great that this representation is being written or drawn. I love it.

However, I'm going to hold your hand as I say this, stop using language such as "when he learns to lipread" or "eventually learns to lipread." Please stop.

He shouldn't have to learn to lip read. That shouldn't be an eventual skill he learns.

And, gonna give you a little bit of history here, it's historically ableist to require a deaf/hoh person to learn lip reading. From the late 1800s and into the late 1960s, there were literally programs across America that would force deaf children to write, speak, and lipread English—they were punished for signing to others in their schools, in public, in their dorms. And that didn't change until "Total Communication" was brought forth as a possibility, a philosophy that declared children would learn better using their preferred communication—whether it be oralism (the practice of writing, speaking, and lipreading) or via signing. However, oral schools that implemented total communication into their core programs had sign language that was structured with English grammar, this is commonly known as Exact Sign Language, or Exact English Sign Language. It's not American Sign Language.

Also, children who were approved for Coclear Implants in the early 1990s, were sent from residential deaf schools into day schools (public schools) that had a primary focus on oral teaching; pushed into day schools with little to no support, were discouraged from signing with even their parents. This was due to the fact that it was believed that signing at home would slow down their learning.

I am such a fan of deaf Steve or HoH Steve, but you have to be careful the language you're approaching his character with. If he has a sign language interpreter, then he most likely already knows sign language and will, also, most likely rely on an interpreter for communication with hearing people. If he is going deaf (maybe because of head trauma, maybe he gets into a traumatic accident, maybe he gets sick and just loses his hearing, maybe he listens to music too loudly and damages his ears that way), Steve will most likely already have the skills to write and speak in English, but lipreading is a skill that's difficult to garner.

I'll say, too, lipreading is fucking difficult because hearing people are so used to speaking (most of the time. I'm not talking about non-verbal hearing people in this conversation)—hearing people will typically talk fast, which makes lipreading muddy and indecipherable. I've been trying to learn this for years and I'm fucking over it, I can't do it. I speak and write, but I also use ASL, too.

Saying that Steve needs to lipread, that's ableist. Saying that he eventually or finally learns to lipread, that's ableist. Fuck it, I'm gonna say this, too—requiring or not giving Steve the option to decide whether or not he wants a hearing aid or implant device is also inherently ableist. Deaf people are (and should be) allowed to have a choice on having to hear. My own sibling made the decision recently to stop using the cochlear implant they've had their entire life because they weren't even given the choice to get one in the first place (and decided they were done with it), they hated the feedback the cochlear had, and it was just irritating in the sense that it would fall off, the volume control would change all on its own, and they just didn't like it. That's their choice. It's important to give a character that choice.

I let this get away from me, but I despise how people talk about his options for communication sometimes. It just rubs me the wrong way. And I think it's best we all reanalyze how we approach his characterization, especially how we can approach crafting the characterization without alienating a group of people.

*this post has been approved by my deaf sibling (who was born deaf), and obviously by me (somebody who can only hear out of one fucking ear. seriously be careful about volume control on your ear buds. and also wear ear plugs at shows. it hurts like hell to damage your ear drum.)

Here's a whole Wikipedia article about deaf education in the US (just in case you wanted another reason to hate America, but also if you're curious. definitely something everybody should learn).

[flowercrowngods]

@steddie-week

part 1 (bc this is one big 7 part story)

day 02: bittersweet & angst

1 new message

eddie The Problem munson: engagement party on saturday babyyyy 🥳🥸🕺

Steve’s been staring at the message for two days now. It's sitting in his notifications, staring at him like a painful reminder of what happened exactly seven days ago. A week. It's only been a week, and Steve somehow it feels like it was both only one day or seven months ago.

It's an almost liminal experience, walking through life without texting Eddie every second of the day – because texting him would mean opening his message. It would make this real.

And that's the last thing Steve wants.

"I'm not going," Robin declares as they're cuddling on the couch, wallowing in their misery as Mayday Parade's Oh Well, Oh Well is playing for the eighth time on repeat. "Tell me you're not going, Stevie."

"Robbie," he sighs, squeezing her tighter as she tries to wriggle out of his arms to glare at him.

"Steve."

"I can't not go."

"Yes you can." She pokes him in the ribs, but he doesn't budge. She pokes him again. "Not going to things is literally the easiest thing in the world. It's a hundred times easier than going to things. You should try it sometime, trust me. You go to too many things, and–"

"Bee," he hums to get her out of the rambling spiral before she can get lost in it.

"What I'm saying," he interrupts herself dramatically, "is that you can't do this to yourself. They're engaged. They're getting married. We're going to keep our distance until our brains and hearts and the traitorous little chemicals in our bodies catch up to reality, and then we get over them, and then we can go back and see them ever again. That's the logical thing to do, Steve. But you can't... You can't just go and get your heart broken and talk yourself into thinking it's the right thing to do. It's not."

Steve sighs into her hair and buries his face in her neck. He knows that. Technically, logically, he does.

But not going feels wrong. Wronger than anything else that's been hollowing out his chest and leaving nothing but emptiness and the ghosts of every smile, every touch, every baby, love, sweetheart, sunshine. Every imaginary future, every scenario where Eddie meant it. Meant those words, meant those smiles, meant it when he took Steve's hand to hold it.

But Eddie did mean it. Every time, he meant it; because he calls Argyle and Jeff and Gareth baby and sunshine and sweetheart, too. He takes their hands, too, leans in to kiss their cheeks and just holds them when he needs to. That's just the kind of person Eddie is. Always has been.

To go and assume he never meant it would be unfair.

To go and hope it could ever mean more when Chrissy has always been right there would just be stupid.

Well, good thing Steve has that kind of reputation with a few people anyway, so it's not even a statistical outlier, that one. It's not even worth a side note.

"I know," he rasps, his eyes beginning to sting as the next lyrics are carved into the empty space of where his heart used to be.

Oh well, oh well I can't live with myself As I'm climbing in your window to get to your bed.

And I'll be what you need, You can call me anything. Just as long as we're still friends.

Tears prickle in his eyes and he doesn't bother to hold them back. Not now, not with Robin. They've both been crying on and off all week, even though Robin took it better than him.

"I know," he sobs, wrapping his arms around her even tighter as she lets herself be held because she knows that's what he needs. "I know, I know, I know. But I have to. I can't just... I can't just stop, Bee."

"I know," she sighs, climbing out of his hold eventually to wrap her arms around him in return as he cries into her shoulder.

The world (read: his Spotify playlist) makes it worse by playing Sum 41's With Me next, ripping out even the newly carved words.

Robin holds him for the rest of the night, even as he finally opens Eddie's message and types out a reply.

—I'll come!

And especially when there's a new message immediately.

—hot 🥵❤️

He leaves Eddie on read after that.

~*~

Saturday rolls around in a haze, and suddenly Steve finds himself looking at the front door of the little house Chrissy inherited after her mother passed a few years ago. It's a nice little house. Quaint. Perfect. Everything Steve could ever dream of, actually. And she deserves it. All of this and more.

There's noise coming from the garden, where people are laughing and having a great time. A happy time, celebrating their friends and all the good things in life that come with a love well placed.

God, what is he doing here? He can't do this. There is no way.

He's just about to pull out his phone and call Robin, tell her he's coming home, or ask her to tell him everything's gonna be alright, when–

"Steve!" Chrissy hurries towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight, warm, perfect hug. God, he loves her so much. He melts right into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her middle to spin her around with a grin.

She giggles in delight and tells him to let her down again, which only makes him spin for another round, his grin turning into a genuine laugh.

"No, I hate you!" she laughs, but still doesn't step away from him when he puts her down again. Instead, she leans up and brushes a kiss to his cheek. "Hi, asshole."

"Hi."

He grins and takes her hands in his, just smiling at her for another moment before his eyes trail down to a ring he's never seen her wear before. Ah. Right.

"Oh shit! That it?"

"That's it," Chrissy says, looking down at her hand to look at the ring with a fond, happy little smile, her cheeks flushing red. It breaks Steve a little, but it also fixes something inside him to see her so truly, genuinely happy. "Pretty huh?"

"Very," Steve breathes, hiding the lump in his throat with a sound of awe.

Chrissy hugs him again for good measure and then takes his hand to drag him into the backyard the same way she just came out front, through a little gate off to the side instead of through the house.

Steve loves their backyard because it's always covered in sheerly endless colourful strings of light that are wrapped around decorative arches or poles, framing the back doors and the canopy swing set on the lawn, and just give it the most homey and comfortable atmosphere.

"Stevie!" Eddie exclaims immediately and jumps off from his chair, interrupting a conversation he's apparently been having with Argyle and Nancy to run up to him with such a giddy expression that Steve wants to cry. His heart leaps in his chest, coming back to life and saying one last goodbye at the same time.

"Hi," he says, hugging Eddie close before he can so much as think about what he's doing. But no matter how hurt he is, there will never be a world in which he won't want to hug Eddie Munson. "Sorry I'm late."

"No sorries, it's fine," Eddie murmurs into his neck, staying in the embrace endlessly, and Steve takes the chance to breathe him in. He smells so good. So, so good. It clogs his lungs and renders him unable to speak.

But who needs to speak when they have Eddie in their arms? Who needs to speak when all they have to do is never let go?

Eddie squeezes him a little tighter, and Steve wants to cry. He slowly, gently pushes away from the hug and turns towards the other guests, greeting them with a grin, a hug, or a handshake if they're not familiar.

When he gets to Wayne, the man eyes him with a look that Steve doesn't want to read too much, and his embrace is just a little longer, just a little stronger than usual.

“You look tired, son,” he says by way of greeting, and Steve can’t help but snort and shake his head a little.

“Good to see you again, too, old man.”

Wayne eyes him for one moment longer, then breaks into a small smile and pats Steve’s shoulder before stepping around him to go grab another drink.

After that, the night passes in a blur of talking to his friends, trying to understand what the hell it is that has Nancy and Argyle arguing so profusely, but with smiles on their faces. He fails. But it’s good to see them again, so he just basks in it for a while.

Or, he tries, because every second that he’s not talking or listening to someone, his eyes flick back to Eddie. Eddie, who’s lifting Chrissy from behind and smacking a loud, wet kiss to her neck, her jaw and her cheek, accompanied by her delighted squeals and laughter.

Eddie, who’s looking larger than life, a happy grin permanently plastered on his face as he reminds their guests that Chrissy was his bisexual awakening.

“I swear, she just swept me off my feet after years of thinking I was only into dudes. Knew I had to marry her, but man, I don’t know why she said yes.”

“I’m settling, honey,” Chrissy calls from the other end of the table they’re sitting around. “Only in it for that rockstar money and all.”

The whole table laughs at that.

“Hear, hear,” Eddie snorts, lifting his glass in a toast. Steve and the others lift theirs, too, even though Steve’s hand and arm and whole body feels numb and he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing.

A while later, he grabs a drink and retreats to the canopy swing, illuminated in the soft pink flow of the fairy lights wrapped around it. Eddie’s eyes land on him for a second and Steve thinks that he’ll come over and join him — but then one of Chrissy’s friends says something that distracts him and seemingly makes him fall into a monologue of sorts.

Steve watches, feeling only loss and longing as he does. Eddie is a force of nature. A spectacle. Something beautiful, something powerful, something secret that only a select few get to witness. To know. To appreciate.

Staring as he is, blind to the rest of the world, he startles a little when the swing jostles with another weight settling on it. He didn’t see Wayne coming to join him, and he’s not quite sure whether he should be grateful for the company or apprehensive of what the man who’s like a father to him might have to say.

“How are you doing, son?”

He frowns. “I’m alright.”

Wayne only hums, and Steve’s frown deepens. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him Wayne knows something. That he knows.

“Y’know,” he continues after a while, not looking at Steve but rather at his nephew and his fiancée. “I always figured it would be you.”

Steve crumbles. Yeah, me too, he wants to say, but that would be a lie. Watching the way Chrissy sits on Eddie’s lap with his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he tells her something that makes her laugh that cute, pretty, adorable laugh that Eddie then can’t help but join — that’s just something Steve would never compare to. Nothing he’d ever want to come in between.

Eddie and Chrissy are perfect. They’re happy. They fit, they match, they work. They worked so hard and treat each other so right.

They look giddy and serene at the same time, and it makes Steve’s eyes sting. Because he can never make Eddie look like that. He can never make Eddie look at him like that.

I always figured it would be you.

But he couldn’t. That bubbly kind of love, the sunshine kind of love. He knows that’s not for him. Steve’s too much for that. He would never be enough for Eddie — even if without Eddie, there’s nothing left of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wayne continues, unaware of Steve’s thought spiral. “I love that girl, I do. Always will. I think she’s too good for Eddie. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds hastily, and Steve smiles through the tears that threaten to fall again.

“They’re perfect,” he rasps, laughing wetly as Chrissy starts chasing Eddie, who’s hiding behind a very distressed Argyle, who just wants his brochachos to chill!

Maybe it’s a laugh, maybe it’s a sob. He doesn’t have it in him to find out or care.

“They are. Doesn’t mean they’re right, son.”

Steve sighs and tears his eyes away from Eddie. “Wayne.”

“I know, I know.” He lifts his hands in defence. “Shutting up.” After a long pause of holding Steve’s eyes, he asks, “Will you be okay?”

No, he thinks immediately, the lump in his throat too big to say anything. So he just shrugs and swallows. “Sure.”

Maybe. Hardly. Probably not. Definitely not.

"No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me. You’ll always have a home with an open door with me, you hear me?"

"I’m not going anywhere, wayne," Steve says, though for the first time ever he doesn't really believe that. Maybe he needs to leave. To leave Eddie behind. Get over him. Cut out his heart and leave it here, run away to heal somewhere else, come back as a new person, or just stay away forever.

The thought makes a tear spill as an empty kind of desperation spreads it’s ugly wings inside his chest, and he's too frozen to wipe it away.

"You hear me?" Wayne repeats, gentler this time, but no less urgent for it.

"Yeah," steve rasps. "Thanks."

Another tear falls as Eddie gently pulls Chrissy closer to him and kisses her in the soft glow of the fairy lights above and around them. Their friends cheer. Steve wants to cry his heart out again.

“I—“ he swallows, wiping at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I can’t do this, he wants to say. For the first time, that’s what he wants to say. “I think I’m gonna head home soon.”

“You bring your car?”

He shakes his head, feeling foggy and dazed and empty and endlessly, endlessly sad. “Was gonna, uh—“

“Let me drive you.” There’s no room for debate or argument there, and Steve wants to crumble again, but still he shakes his head.

“Wayne, no—“

“I’m taking you, son. Make sure you get home safe, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Don’t wanna keep your old man up all night, do ya?”

Steve concedes with a fond eye roll and a grateful smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They sit like that for another ten minutes — and if Steve leans into Wayne’s side a little, then that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

The car ride is quiet, but it feels weighted even as Wayne pretends not to see the way Steve keeps wiping at his cheeks as the silent tears keep falling, leaving him powerless to stop them.

I can’t do this, he keeps thinking over and over again.

“Just a little warning,” Wayne speaks up again as he pulls up to Steve’s building. “I think he’s going to ask you to be his best man, Stevie. Don’t do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”

I can’t do this.

He nods, numb again.

“I’ll do anything for him,” he breathes.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

He gets out of the car before he can find out what exactly Wayne means by that. The car stays where it is until the front door closes behind him, until he’s up in his bedroom and finds Robin already asleep.

Ten minutes later, he cuddles close to her and tries hard not to cry, but tonight’s memories have burned themselves into his mind. And he shouldn’t have gone. He knows. He knows.

I’ll do anything. I can’t do this. I’ll do anything. I can’t do this.

He can’t breathe, and Robin holds him through it, whispering sleepily to him as he cries himself to sleep, wishing for a world where he’s not absolutely and utterly in love with Eddie Munson, but failing to imagine one.

I’ll do anything. Anything but this.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen come back tomorrow for idk which prompt | read part 3 here

[fandoms-in-law]

Sweet Hate

Summary: Eddie has an unconventional way to reassure Steve he won't be silent if he gets dissatisfied in their relationship

Authors Note: Based off the McFly song 'Hate Your Guts' It seemed like a good song for a relationship that came from an enemies to lovers trope like Steddie often gets seen as.

/\

It started as a reassurance and a joke.

Steve had only been dating Eddie for a month when he explained what happened with Nancy and his fears of it happening again, of not knowing when someone he dated wasn’t as into the relationship as him.

Eddie had nodded at it all, gotten annoyed, then told Steve in many ways that he’d never do that to him, ending with, “I promise if I ever hate your guts, I’ll tell you immediately. Will you do the same?”

Steve agreed, missing the scheming glint in Eddie’s eyes.

~

They’d been having a quiet afternoon. Eddie was painting some minifigs while Steve pottered with various things around the trailer when he broke the quiet by sneezing loudly. Eddie startled enough his paintbrush almost covered the figure he’d been close to finishing.

“Bless you. I hate you. You couldn’t have held that until I wasn’t holding a brush?” He complained, stretching and leaning close to see if he could save it.

“Nope, could you wipe it off?” Steve asked, wandering over to look at it as well, only quietly adding “Just annoyed? Not actually hate?” quietly into Eddie’s shoulder once there.

Eddie grinned over his shoulder, “Just annoyed.” He reassured, “And maybe. Oh, it could be a backstory thing too.” With that he was grabbing a tissue and entirely focused on the minifig again.

~

Since the first time Eddie had done it the paid had fallen into the habit of declaring their hatred at the smallest things. For Steve if was generally in private, because he’d just go with the flow for a lot of social things, but wanted spaces to be tidy or organised which Eddie struggled with. Eddie however would declare hatred at least a couple times during each hang out and even if they spoke if it was something they’d need to work out, and knew if it was a dumb complaint, they started to get concerned looks from the kids again.

It all led up to Dust in Eddie’s doorstep one morning, upset and confused and resolute on getting answers over why the two people he’d tried so hard to make get along didn’t again.

“Why do you hate Steve?” Dustin demanded as soon as he was let into the Munson trailer.

Eddie shrugged, glancing behind him to the door hiding Steve in his room, still asleep. “I don’t hate him. I love the guy. He’s brilliant.”

“You literally always say you hate him.” The counter was annoyed and paired with a glare even as the kid fell back on the sofa as if he was the one that lived there.

He shook his head, not really sure how to explain why he did that to other people. “It’s not meant and he knows that. It’s just a thing we do.”

“I thought you were dating but you keep saying you hate him all the time.” Dustin grumbled, clearly not believing or not listening to him.

The door to his room opens and out comes Steve, yawning and smiling sleepily. “It’s sweet and I say it back. Like this, Eddie, I hate your guts. I got none of the blankets until you got up today.”

“Not sure how to solve that one Sweetheart, maybe we need separate blankets for sleeping.” Eddie mused, ignoring Dustin gaping between them.

After a moment to be stunned Dustin exclaimed, “How is it sweet to declare hatred all the time?”

“Just is.” was all the explanation given as Steve decided to help himself to breakfast.

~

After that scene the kids still frowned at them some, but seemed less concerned over it. Will once or twice tried suggesting over ways to communicate but didn’t worry if they were ignored.

Robin however had also noticed them and the only thing preventing her from speaking up sooner had been that Steve still seemed happy, almost happier than he had when he first started dating Eddie, she thought.

It still wasn’t something she could entirely ignore though, so one shift when Eddie hadn’t snuck in, she had to ask, “Steve? Are you happy?”

“Yes, why?” He replied automatically, focused on rewinding the returns that had been dropped in during the pre-work rush.

“You’re dating Eddie, but-” She broke off, unsure how to continue and hoping he’d figure out what she was talking about.

Steve turned to her, leaning against the wall now. “But?”

She huffed, just saying as quickly as she could, “He keeps saying he hates you, like everyday.”

“Nah, he loves me. It’s a sweet thing.” Steve corrected though he didn’t argue over how much it happened.

“Sweet?” She asked, confounded, “Normally I can follow your brain, but how is saying he hates you sweet?”

Steve shrugged, swapping the tapes over as the one he’d put in finished rewinding. “I worried he’d hide it from me if he wasn’t into me any more, so he started this. Every small peeve gets said so we can sort it. I just do it less around everyone.”

“But ‘I hate you’?” She asked, feeling entirely stuck on how that could be sweet in any world.

“I check if he means it if it’s too seriously said.” Steve smiles softly, looking at her imploring her to understand.

Robin smiled back, nodding and relaxing, “Okay Dingus. Just know I’m here if it stops being sweet.”

“I know.”

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly Track 6: The Aftermath

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.,

warnings: ANGST, drinking, drug use, smut, oral and fingering f receiving, p in v sex, the Harringtons make an appearance.

a/n: It has been a while my loves! I really have no excuse but I am excited to get back into the swing of things! Originally, this was meant to be one chapter but I split it in two, hopefully you don't mind! Also, I kinda rushed towards the end so it's not as neat as the rest of it--I'm sorry! I just really wanted to get this! I'm kinda itching to get to the next installment!

wc: 5.8K

MASTERLIST🎸

PLAY PREVIOUS TRACK 🎵

MURRAY: There were doubts about how well the tour would do, especially after all the scandals. But even despite assholes like Chris Palmer—or maybe because of them—the first tour had been way more of a success than anyone had ever imagined. Brenner and his team essentially had dollar signs for eyes by the end of it. They wanted the band to record the second album literally as soon as they got off the tour bus. 

Me and Hopper tried our best to advocate for the kids getting some time off, especially since tensions during the last half of the tour had run hot according to Hopper. The best we could get them was a month. 

Listen, we really, really tried our best for those kids. There were some really nasty fuckers at the label who saw them as nothing more than a product to push, a means to an end but we tried our best to keep them afloat. And sure, part of that is because they were our most lucrative artists, but we also genuinely cared for them and we wanted to help as much as we could. 

Sometimes, though, they made that really hard. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

JUNE 14th, 1984—LOS ANGELES, CA

You’re the last one at Starcourt studios. Everyone’s eyes turn at the sound of you rushing through the lobby door. Everyone looks equally as weary as you feel, having only been back in LA for effectively 48 hours. 

You’re sure you would all rather be anywhere but Starcourt except Murray and Hopper called an urgent meeting that apparently could not wait. 

As you approach the group sitting in the lobby you look around to the tired and anxious faces of your bandmates and eventually you end up meeting Steve’s eyes.

Poor Steve, who showed up at your door the day following his drunken, lovelorn, declaration full of shame and embarrassment that only hangover of an infinite caliber could accompany. He had begged you to forget the whole conversation had ever happened and you agreed readily although the damage had already been done.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

MURRAY: I chose to never have kids because I never wanted to deal with the responsibilities. So, tell me why I was out here parenting a bunch of 20 something’s who were hellbent on ruining their own lives and mine in the process? 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Here’s the deal,” Murray begins, once all the band members were settled into his office, “the label seems to want the album sooner than we thought. We can’t give you the three months off we had originally agreed on—” this announcement is met with the expected amount of jeers and complaints “—but Hopper and I fought for you all to get a month before we start recording again.”  Murray pauses expectantly but is met with silence. 

“Okay, well, you’re welcome for that, ungrateful little fucks. We will be back here in a month’s time to start,” his gaze focuses in on you and Eddie at this point, “except for the two of you. This dribble you decided to call lyrics is absolutely atrocious and I need new material. I’ve marked everything that is salvageable but the rest is scrap. “ 

Eddie immediately erupts into protests that eventually get cut off by Steve who argues for rewrites to happen together while the others take the opportunity to try to barter for more time off.

You’re far too stunned by Murray’s disparagement to weigh in. Sure, some of the pieces needed work but were they all really that bad? 

“This isn’t meant to be a team effort,” Murray says to Steve, “this is meant to be a punishment for these two for not doing a good enough job.”

“Wow these songs must be terrible,” Robin cuts in, “can we see them at least?” She asks as she makes a grab for the papers which Murray barely manages to dodge. This, once again, causes the room to descend into arguments and chaos, forcing Hopper to take over.  

“Enough!” He bellows, deep and authoritatively. “None of this is up for debate. We’re taking a month off and when we regroup, we’ll have an album’s worth of new material to record that hopefully isn’t terrible. Are we clear?” 

There were murmurs of agreement as the hand began gathering their things before your manager cut you off, “Sit your asses down, I have something else to talk to you about.” 

Hopper then spends twenty minutes reading off a list of every instance of property damage that happened over the tour and how much they cost while the rest of you squirm in your seats under his judgmental stare.  Eventually, mercifully, the meeting is ended, and you dash out of your seat in hopes of making it out without any further uncomfortable conversations but of course, luck is not on your side because before you can even stand, Murray has another request.  

“Minx, Munson, hang back for me while you?” 

You and Eddie awkwardly watch as the resort of the band file out and stand silently waiting and their voices grow more and more distant down the corridor. 

Finally, when it’s certain that it’s just the three of you, Murray speaks. 

“So how long have you two been a thing?” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

MURRAY: One look at the music they had sent in, and it was clear, there was something going on there. Listen, I don’t usually get involved in the personal lives of my artists but the was a unique circumstance.  For one, it was very obvious what and who the lyrics were about. Songs about edgy, mysterious lovers and wanting someone you can’t have don’t necessarily scream “Happy, functioning, long term relationship”. 

We couldn’t risk the press, or worse, Heart-Eyed Harrington getting wind of that. It would wreck our credibility and break the kid’s heart and that would’ve been curtains for the band. 

So, I pulled the two aside and told them they would have to rewrite their lyrics to be less transparent and also less bad.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Can you believe he said that?” You ask once the two of you are in the privacy of the studio’s parking lot. 

“Oh well, I dunno, we were definitely phoning it in towards the end. Plus, we could use more cohesion,” Eddie reasons, struggling to keep up with your angry strides. 

“No not that! I’m talking about all the other stuff,” you wave a hand fancifully in the air, “about us having feelings for one another. That’s crazy!” You let out a sharp exhale in place of a laugh. 

“Right,” Eddie trails off, “… and why would that be crazy, again?” 

“Well, for one, you hate everything I stand for, remember?” You laugh as you unlock the front door of your car. 

He peers at you from under his lashes, sunshine weaving through his hair, face stoic.

“You’re right,” he says finally, after consideration, “I do.” 

You nod in agreement and not even a little offended. 

“And that’s why it works so well,” you explain as you lower yourself into the driver's seat, “because we don’t like each other like that.  That’s what Murray doesn’t understand, it’s just sex.”  

“Right,” Eddie echoes, tersely, “it’s just sex.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

EDDIE: It wasn’t just sex for me. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

MURRAY: You would think that two Songwriters’ Hall of Fame recipients wouldn’t need to be babysat to, you know, write music but those two were an absolute nightmare to deal with. It was a struggle just to find them a place to get together to write. Her place was constantly getting hounded by paps and Munson refused even to tell HR where he lived. 

A week in, we realized they needed to get out of town which is why I ended up sending them to a property I owned in Ranch Cucamonga just so they could get out of my hair. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

JUNE 22nd, 1984—RANCHO CUCAMONGA, CA

“What is this place?” You wonder aloud as Eddie unlocks the front door of a very average-looking split-level suburban home. The house is sparse and humble, lacking all the opulence that Murray’s LA residence had in excess. 

“Probably where he meets up with his girlfriend,” Eddie shrugs.

“Murray has a wife.” 

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think we’re all the way in the Inland Empire?”

You open your mouth to argue but you’re stopped by the realization that Eddie is probably right and instead you grip your bag thingy against your body and with eyes darting around to every piece of furniture in sight, you say, “we should probably disinfect all the surfaces.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

EDDIE: It was the perfect spot: quiet, secluded. Plus, we were so grossed out at the idea of hooking up in Murray’s sex pad that we kept it PG and focused.  

MURRAY: It was not a sex pad.  

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“He has a waterbed, Nance,” you relay over the phone later that night, once you and Eddie had settled, “if that doesn’t say ‘sex pad’ I don’t know what does!” 

Nancy gags in response, “Ew, that’s disgusting!” 

You giggle at her exaggerated response, grateful that she answered the phone on the second ring. 

“How’s everything over there?” You inquire, pointer finger coiling around the telephone cord. “How’s…everyone doing?”

“By everyone, do you mean Steve?”

You kick your feet in the air from your perch on the kitchen counter. “Steve is part of everyone, isn’t he?” 

“Well, for starters, I don’t think he’s very happy that Murray sent you off with Eddie.” 

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I can see him in the pool right now. He’s doing laps—butterfly.” 

“Okay? Doesn’t he always swim though?” You were confused.  Back when you were on tour, it was not uncommon to find Steve at the hotel pool in the early mornings.

“He only swims butterfly when something is bothering him,” Nancy explains like it’s obvious. 

“Wow Nance, you sure remember a lot about your ex-boyfriend’s strokes,” you joke.

“And the two of you sure do care a lot about what the other is doing for being in a fake relationship,” she retorts.  “It is still fake, right?” 

“Yes, of course it is.” 

The front door clicks unlocked—Eddie’s back from picking up takeout and you rush to change the subject, “Speaking of relationships, how’s Jonathan?” 

Nancy, mercifully, doesn’t dwell on you and Steve and instead sighs at the mention of her boyfriend.

 “Not great.  Turns out Joyce downplayed Will’s condition while we were on tour. Jonathan’s livid, of course.” 

Even through the static, you can hear the strain in Nancy’s voice as she struggles to keep it steady. 

“Yesterday he got angry with me for trying to get him to talk to her.  Will’s about to go to surgery and it’s not for him to see the two of them fighting.

He’s just so moody and hard to be around. I’m starting to avoid him if I’m honest. Is that bad?” 

 For as long as you’ve known her, Nancy had always been like a well-shot arrow: sharp, steady, and sure of where she was going. It’s strange to hear her at a loss. 

“No, not at all,” you comfort, “things are tough right now and it sounds like you might need space. Maybe you can come by next week? Stay a few days and help us write. It’ll give you both some space.”

 Your eyes find Eddie’s across the kitchen counter where he’s unpacking steaming containers of Chinese food. You can tell he’s been listening in on your conversation because he nods along emphatically at your suggestion. 

“Are you sure?” Nancy asks.

“Yes,” you assure, “I’ve cleared it with Eddie, and he agrees.” 

“I agree!” Eddie shouts in the background and that gets a giggle out of Nancy. 

You bid goodbye to Nancy but not without asking her to seriously consider your offer. 

“Nancy might come and visit,” you announce as you start stacking your plate with food.

“Yeah, I heard,” Eddie responds, mid-noodle slurp. “But just so we’re clear, if Wheeler does come, she’s taking the waterbed.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Maybe it’s the change of scenery, or maybe it’s the above-average Chinese food (or maybe it’s the grade-A hydroponic hash that Argyle has passed along as a parting gift) but for the first time in months, you and Eddie are back in your songwriting groove.

The two of you work into the night, sifting through your existing work, parsing out what can be saved. 

You work until your eyes and fingertips burn and you have no choice but to call it a night before heading up to the guest room upstairs. 

“Night, Eds,” you call out over your shoulder as you stumble up the stairs. 

His response is muffled by your yawns. Exhausted, you cannot wait to get into your (non-water) bed and you flop belly-first onto the mattress, ready to succumb to the exhaustion of the day. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You can’t sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning for an hour and as hard as you will it, you can’t sleep. 

There’s an unfamiliar emptiness settling into the space that you can’t seem to cope with. There are no blaring police sirens or yelling partygoers around to indicate life. As far as you know, you could be the only person on the planet. You balk at the idea and decide to go downstairs in search of life. 

Eddie had decided pretty early on that he preferred sleeping on the couch than on the waterbed in Murray’s room. When he announced his decision earlier over dinner, he had paused, almost as if leaving space for you to invite him to share your bed in the guest room. There was room, after all. But you didn’t make that offer because why would you? The two of you might have been sleeping together on tour but even then, that rarely meant spending the night. Offering to share a bed with him now, with no promise of sex (which you refuse to have for a myriad of reasons including the fact that this was Murray’s sex pad), well, that would seem far too close to what Murray was accusing you of back at the studio and you would rather die than see him be right. 

That’s how Eddie ended up on the couch. He’s still awake when you descend down the stairs, strewn across the sofa joint in hand and bathed in synthetic blue light from the TV. He doesn’t see you at first but when he does, he smiles, slowly and waves a hand lazily. 

“Hey,” he greets as you land at the foot of the stairs. 

“Hey,” you greet back, padding into the kitchen and pouring yourself a glass of water. 

You linger in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, debating whether you should stay. Your initial plan was to just grab a drink and go back upstairs, but that was back when you thought Eddie was asleep.  You chew your lip in indecision. Eddie’s pretending not to watch you. 

“Can’t sleep,” you explain as you drop onto the opposite side of the couch after consideration.

 “Why not?” He asks his eyes completely removed from the TV, the old episode of “Million Dollar Man” he was watching forgotten. 

“Too quiet,” you explain, simply, “I’ve never slept in a place this quiet.” 

“Really?” 

“Well, yeah,” you grow shy under his gaze, pulling your knees to your chest and curling a throw pillow into your chest. 

“Not even when you lived in your fancy mansion on the hill?” You can tell by his tone that he doesn’t mean to poke fun with the question; he’s genuinely curious. 

“No. My parents were always having people over, there was always some party my mom would host or some actors staying with us while my dad filmed and even when there weren’t people over—which was rare—my parents would always be fighting. They would yell a lot.”

“What would they fight about? Who got to drive the Rolls Royce?” Eddie laughs nervously, he’s doing that thing where he makes jokes when he’s uncomfortable. 

“Let’s just say that my dad was not nearly as discreet as Murray is about his extra-curricular activities,” you scoot closer to reach for the joint in his hand. You refuse to be sober while sharing childhood details.  

Eddie leans closer and hands you the joint. Your fingers brush. 

“I get that,” he commiserates, “my pop wasn’t around much, but when he was, he and my ma would really get into it. Yelling, throwing plates, the whole thing.” 

“Shut up!” You exclaim, “my parents would throw plates too!” 

You’re not sure why but throws you into a fit of giggles. Eddie watches you tilting your head back as laughter rips through you.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, half laughing himself. 

“It’s just, that,” you struggle to say through the laughs, “for all the fuss you made about how opposite we are, we’re not that different after all. In the end, we’re just two kids who grew up watching their parents throw plates at one another.” 

He lets out a chuckle at this now, too, as he leans forward to place the joint on the coffee table, “Yeah, I guess you’re kinda right.” 

The two of you laugh a little longer, probably a result of your exhaustion and the joint you’ve now whittled to a nub and then you sink into a comfortable silence, full attention back on the television. 

After a while, during a commercial break, Eddie leans over and says softly, “You know, I don’t hate you, I just hate everything you stand for.” 

Your shoulders are touching as the two of you have gravitated towards the center of the and you’re so mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple moves as he speaks that it takes you a second to register what he’s said. 

“Thanks,” you respond sarcastically once his words have sunk in, “that makes me feel so good about myself.” 

His cheeks darken and he ducks his head towards his chest in embarrassment. 

“I meant that as a compliment, you know.”

“That’s a shit compliment, Eds,” you deadpan back.

He sighs, “Yeah, I know but I can never get my words out right when I’m talking to you. What I meant to say is that contrary to what you may think, I do like you and I think you’re very talented… and maybe… perhaps, I was wrong about you.” 

You lean forward as he says this, a gloating grin rising on your face. “Why, Edward, I believe that might be the kindest thing you’ve ever said about me.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The phone is ringing. 

The early morning sun is burning your closed eyelids, which is annoying but not nearly as annoying as the phone ringing. You know you should get up and answer the phone that simply won’t stop ringing but you can’t will your body to move. 

You nestle further into the warm cocoon you’ve found yourself in this morning and wait for whoever is on the other line to eventually give up. 

The phone does eventually stop ringing, just like you knew it would, but not even three seconds later, it picks up again.

You try to ignore it once more, but it is insistent. You realize you have no choice but to get up. 

You’re far too peeved to notice at first, but the warm cocoon you’ve been so hesitant to leave isn’t a nest of blankets like you had originally thought, but a pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders and a solid chest where your head once rested: Eddie. 

You blink wearily up at him. He’s completely unfazed by the ringing. Even though you know Eddie to be an annoyingly deep sleeper, you still try to gently extract yourself from his arms. 

You sit up halfway and catch a glimpse of Eddie’s expressionless face, and, in its peace, you’re reminded of his kind words last night. Suddenly, you lean down quickly and peck a kiss on his cheek. You recoil quickly in surprise scrambling off the couch and quickly pad over to the still-ringing phone. 

“Hello?” You snap. 

“Nice of you to finally pick up,” Murray replies.

“What is it, Murray?”

“I wanted to see how it was going.”

You sigh in response, letting him know exactly how little patience you have.  

“Fine. It’s going fine.”

“How’s the writing?”

 “Fine.”

“And the house?”

“Fine.”

“And the waterbed?”

“Gross and untouched. Is that all?”

“You’re no help. Get me Munson.”

You’re about to tell him that Eddie was asleep when a hand snakes around the back of your head and wraps around the receiver in your hand.

A bleary-eyed Eddie gently tugs the phone from your hand and brings it to his ear.

“You’ve got Munson,” Eddie greets through a yawn.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

EDDIE: The Rancho Cucamonga house was like a bubble where the outside world didn’t exist for us. We were finally able to focus on the songwriting without having to work around a tour or press appearances or the rest of the fucking band. We were finally just able to write, and we killed that shit.

 There was something else too, though. I’m not sure how it started… I guess that first night we bonded—shared trauma, you know? And the next morning when I woke up on the couch, she was in my arms. All that time we were fooling around, that had never happened. When I woke up and saw her asleep on my chest, I just closed my eyes and lay there, not wanting to get up. Corny, I know. Eventually, she woke up—Murray’s fault—and she kissed me, on my cheek. She probably thought I was still asleep.

After that, it was like all bets were off. We started being affectionate with each other all of a sudden. We didn’t have sex—somehow it felt like sex would ruin it. But it was like we had entered this alternate universe where we were just, I don’t know, two twenty-somethings that were in love and living together and making good fucking art.

She would do this thing when she wanted my attention and kiss me on the jaw. She would make me breakfast—Eggos, the woman has never been a chef—but it was the thought that counted. I would make her her tea every night, exactly how she liked it. I somehow knew how she liked her tea. I know it sounds so… mundane and small but all the little things added together is what makes something real.

We wouldn’t talk about it. It would’ve ruined it, we both knew.  It was like if we didn’t acknowledge it, we were giving the other person room to back out.

If you asked her how she’d describe that week we spent in the suburbs, I’m not really sure what she’d say, but if you ask me, right now, I would still say it was one of the best weeks of my life.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Nancy!” you yell across the driveway at the brunette.

The keyboardist turns and waves emphatically before handing her cab driver a few dollar bills for the fare.

You run out towards her, throwing your arms around her neck in delight.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you breathe out, as your eyes scan over her in assessment. She looked more haggard than before, the bags under her eyes were more prominent. Despite this, her smile is genuine.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she says as you lead her up the front steps while Eddie follows with her small luggage.

You immediately launch into a tour of the house while Eddie, generously, has made himself sparse to give the two of you some privacy and goes out for a smoke.

Nancy, being the gracious guest that she was, had no qualms with taking the waterbed and while you helped get her settled into her new space, she fills you in with what’s been happening in your absence.

“Robin went back home; her younger sister is about to start at Marquette. Argyle went back to Arizona for a few days and Steve went with him.”

Hearing Steve’s name was jarring but even more so was hearing that he had traveled to a whole other state without you knowing about it. That was a silly thought, you knew, after all, you hadn’t spoken to him once since you’d traveled inland. Plus, you had been living the last week in a watercolor haze with Eddie, something that only worked when you pushed Steve to the back of your mind.

“How are things with Jonathan?” You cut in, anxious to be rid of any mention of Steve from the conversation. It’s Nancy who then falters. and grows tense.

“He was very supportive of me coming here,” she divulges, lowly. “He seemed kind of guilty when I told him how this was affecting me. That’s Jonathan for you though, constantly carrying the weight of everyone’s problems on his shoulders.”

“Gee,” you let out a mirthless laugh, “I wonder who he has that in common with?”

Nancy rolls her eyes, but her shoulders relax, a tiny bit, and slowly, the information unspools out of her. She tells you about Jonathan’s family—his worrisome mother, his absent father, and his perpetually sick younger brother who was the reason behind anything he did—and about the nights spent in hospital waiting rooms, hopeful for miracle treatments to finally deliver (they never do).

You felt the weight of burden coming

Nancy rolls her eyes, but her shoulders relax, a tiny bit and slowly, she begins to unfurl.

She tells you about Jonathan’s family—his worrisome mother and his absent father and his perpetually sick younger brother that was the reason behind anything he did—and about the nights spent in hospital waiting rooms, hopeful for miracle treatments to finally deliver (they never do).

 She talks about her own family too, and the mounting pressure to be successful in the face of her parents’ disapproval after she had turned down her university full ride in favor of the band.

She also tells you about the growing tension in the band’s shared house and how she’s pretty sure everyone is sick of living with each other, but no one wants to be the first to admit it.

She’s being pulled taunt in every direction and as you listen to her unload her burdens, for the first time, you feel lucky to only have yourself to answer to.

Later, once Nancy’s heart has been borne, and you’re out on the deck with Eddie, you can’t help but share your discovery with him in between cigarette puffs.

“I dunno,” he shrugs stiffly, “I’d like to think that the right person would be worth any trouble they may bring to your life. She seems to think so too,” he motions towards the sliding glass kitchen doors towards Nancy who is currently on the phone with Jonathan, her brow once again furrowed in worry.

You tilt your head, unconvinced, “Maybe they see it that way, but for me, it just seems like a slippery slope to plate throwing.”

He laughs dryly at this, a quick exhale of smoke that frames him in a momentary halo. He’s leaning with his arms against the deck railing and the smoke mixes prettily with the spackling of stars in the night sky bringing out his fine, aristocratic features and making him look like a painting brought to life.

“Just because our folks were pieces of work that doesn’t mean you should give up on love altogether.”

The statement stuns you for a moment—you were sure that in Eddie you’d find a kindred spirit, a fellow love nihilist.

“I haven’t given up on love,” you backtrack, “ I’m just afraid, I guess.” The last part comes out small but you can’t help it.

This peaks Eddie’s interest, “Afraid? I’ve never seen you afraid of anything. What could you possibly be afraid of?”

You sigh, the conversation having veered out of your control but at this point you’re too caught up to stop it.

“I guess I’m scared that I’ll love someone so much I would lose sight of everything else I really want,” you explain. “Or worse, that I would give it all up if they asked me to,” you confide voice small, “that I would do anything they’d ask me to.”

“That’s kinda what love feels like though,” Eddie lights another cigarette, “like you’d let them do anything to you but trust them not to. Because if they really loved you, they wouldn’t make you give up something that was important to you.”

Then, before you can stop it, the question comes tumbling out, “have you ever been in love like that?”

He looks at you hard, like he’s willing you to know the answer. Finally, after what feels like an eternity he responds, “Yeah, once or twice.”

“How was that?” You croak out awkwardly. What you’re really asking is what did you let them do to you?

He laughs, a little softer this time, a little bird endeared and a little bit incredulous. “You’re asking me how it is to be in love?”

You nod, feeling a little silly.

Eddie takes another puff of his cigarette, mulling over the question carefully.

“It kinda sucks,” he eventually says, “you feel constantly exposed, like a wounded animal. And you hate everything that isn’t them. And you would do anything for them, which is terrifying. And you spend the whole time wondering how it will end—because of course, you never feel worthy of them—and then when it does, it’s like a dull knife. But that’s okay because it’s all worth it and I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

You sit with his answer, rolling it back and forth in your mind like a marble on concrete. He watches you, expectantly, once again with that willing expression on his face. You’re trying to read his mind but you’re not sure you can.

Eventually, you say aloud the only thing you can think of, “You should put that in a song.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Having Nancy around is great.

For one, she’s a great songwriting collaborator. Her skill with the piano is unmatched and she has a propensity for ballads that neither you nor Eddie seem to possess.

Also, having her around helps curb whatever was happening with you and Eddie.  Things did not stop, however, they didn’t go further than where they were and you’re certain that if Nancy hadn’t With Nancy around to keep you focused, you’re churning out songs—good quality songs—faster than ever.

Murray asks to see what you have halfway through your stay and you fax him the best of what you’ve written. It’s a struggle between the three of you to get the ancient fax machine in Murray’s home office to actually work but the 30 minutes of cursing on the phone with ‘Murray’s secretary is worth it when later that evening the producers gives you a call to tell you that you’ve finally hit the mark.

“It was like pulling teeth, but you got there. Thank Wheeler for me,” he says over the line and it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a direct compliment from him. He mentions something about sharing the songs with a few others to help with the arrangements and then hangs up without saying a proper goodbye but you barely register that because you’re too relieved.

“He likes it!” you announce and the three of you whoop in celebration. Eddie picks you up and spins you around landing a kiss on your temple that you’re hoping Nancy, by some miracle, missed.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

NANCY: I saw when he kissed her that night, but that was nowhere near the first weird exchange I caught between them that week.

Nothing big, just little couple things, you know? The little minutia that two people in a relationship do like making each other coffee and gentle touches and talking soft and careful to each other.

The type of things Jonathan and I used to do before things got bad.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What’s going on between you and Eddie?”

Nancy’s tone isn’t accusatory when she asks, just curious.

It’s the night before you are slated to go back to LA and the two of you are on a sunset walk around the neighborhood, it was all very domestic, and you had been enjoying it immensely until Nancy’s curiosity got the best of her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you respond, airily, “nothing’s going on.”

She cuts you a look that says you know better than to lie to her and you deflate and come clean.

After she bore you all her troubles on the night of her arrival, you feel like you owe her some honesty in return.

So you tell her everything from the beginning.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

NANCY: Frankly, for the entirety of our first tour, I thought something was going on between her and Steve, so when she told me that she and Eddie had been sleeping together during the tour, well that totally took me by surprise.

The craziest part was that they had never talked about it. Well, maybe it’s not that crazy, neither of them is really known for being upfront about their feelings.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“So are you two in a relationship?”

“No, I don’t think so?”

“So what, you just sleep together and are affectionate with one another and take care of each other? That’s a relationship.” Before you can argue back, Nancy jumps into the next question, “What about Steve? I honestly thought you two had something going on.”

“Steve is great. He’s kind and easy to be around, and so is Steve. But he doesn’t see me for who I am. He expects too much from me, and I know I’m going to let him down. " You feel stupid and dramatic admitting this, but you want Nancy to understand.

“Eddie knows me, he knows what to expect of me. He’s not trying to convince me to buy into this…  fairytale relationship box Steve is trying to put me in. Eddie just kind of takes whatever I can spare when it comes to affection, and he doesn’t ask for more. It’s convenient with him.”

“You both deserve more than convenience and scraps of affection,” Nancy argues.

“Listen,” she pauses on the sidewalk to look at you, eyes as big as the moon under the light of the streetlamp, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but we both know this thing is a ticking time bomb.

“You need to spend some time figuring out how you really feel and have some honest conversations with both of them before someone gets hurt.”

That’s the last thing she says before walking away.  

PLAY NEXT TRACK🎤

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[munsonsreputation]

hii! omg so i rlly love your writing its incredible. i have two requests but you can choose whichever one! the first one is an imagine w steve and the reader based off of call it what you want by taylor. orr a hurt/comfort imagine where the reader is basically comforting steve maybe aft he’s had a fight w his parents or something? again i rlly love your writing literally look forward for new writeups all the time!

at least we did one thing right

a/n: this one has been sitting in my inbox since forever and i managed to stir up this cute little thing. ciwyw is one of my favorite tracks of reputation and i can't wait to get the re-recording of this (hopefully soon!!!)

The party was in full swing, and by party you meant all of your close friends who are gathered in Steve’s living room and kitchen entertaining themselves while you and Steve hid away in his backyard like a routine.

His gaze flickered through the sliding doors, mock concern etched on his features as he mutters under his breath, “I swear to god, they better not pick the pineapple off the other slices.”

You turned your head to see what he was going on about, and sure enough the teenage boys were ravaging the kitchen like they hadn’t eaten in days. At this rate, they were like bottomless pits, and you weren’t quite sure how they were able to put away a portion of food without blinking.

Still, you snorted, swatting a hand over his thigh and garnering his attention back to you.

“They’re growing boys and their appetites are different from when they were twelve. We can order another if they’re still hungry.” You shrugged.

He shook his head, shifting to pull your legs over and across his lap.

“I ordered pineapple for you, and you should at least get to have one slice of it.” Steve insisted, though your orbs were too clouded with heart eyes to see the irritation he wore for the innocently selfish boys.

You pursed your lips into a tight smile, hooking your arm over his bicep, tugging yourself closer to him, “You’re so cute for someone who hogs all the blankets at night.”

He looked down at you, shaking his head with a mushy smile coming over him, “Hey you’re the one who likes the house freezing!”

Steve rumbles a string of laughter into the air, using his free arm that’s not being clung onto, to drape over your frame, practically wrenching your whole body onto his as you begin joining in the amusement. You give up on trying to get the upper-hand, letting yourself sit comfortably in his lap, your joined hands resting on either side of your bodies and you lean down to lay your head on his chest.

You snuggled deeper into the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne. It’s a simple pleasure of yours to be wrapped up in his arms, high above the whole scene, in your own little world like nothing else mattered.

“You’re my portable space heater, got all the warmth I need,” you declared, pressing kind kisses over his chest feeling his lips brush over your hairline.

Steve thought he must have done something right in this lifetime in order to give himself to you in a way he hadn’t given anyone else before. He doesn’t care that it’s simply you two sneaking away just to act like corny teenagers again. All of that fades into nothing when you look at him the way you do.

But before you could savor the moment, a familiar voice interrupted from above, followed by the squeak of rusty wheels gliding across the frame.

“Are you guys having fun out here without us!” Robin shouted, ringing out closer as she approached you both, but of course not without the presence of Eddie by her side.

You sat up, laughing, while Steve groaned and craned his neck to greet them. “You guys have to stop sneaking off to do whatever this is,” Eddie teased, gesturing between you both with a lighthearted smirk.

Steve grunted, “You’re just mad you don’t have a girlfriend to love on,” he shot back, pulling you down by the wrists to meet his lips in a messy kiss that left you giggling.

Eddie feigned revulsion and quickly retreated back inside, while Robin settled beside your bodies, her eyes twinkling with affection. “I still think you guys are adorable, even though this sneaking off thing is getting old.”

Robin had always been rooting for the two of you — there was just something about you both that made perfect sense, and when you finally bit the bullet, it was safe to say she was celebratory about the whole thing.

“We just don’t want to bore you guys with our public displays of affection,” you teased, sharing a knowing smile with Robin who threw her head back and laughed at all the times your friends would scold you both to cut out the lovey dovey acts.

Steve interjected, “Last time we cuddled on the couch you kicked us out of movie night…in my house!”

Robin rolled her eyes, pointing an accusing finger at him. “That’s because we could all smell the sexual tension between you guys. Seriously, just get it out of your systems before we get here.”

You slapped your hands over your flushed face, groaning behind them, “Noted. We’ll remember that for next time.” You promised, shaking your head.

Steve couldn’t contain his laughter, his eyes crinkling as he turned to his best friend with a pleading look. “Now, can you please leave and let me make out with my girlfriend in peace?”

She rose up out of the lounger with a grin, “If there’s one thing you guys did right, it’s each other… and I don’t mean sex!” With that she disappeared back inside, leaving you both to yourselves.

Steve gently pulled your hands away from your face, his soft smiling easing away any idling embarrassment that you knew was all in good fun. He brought your hands closer to his lips, spreading kisses across your knuckles that made your stomach flip with warmth.

“Well, at least did one thing right,” He murmured, raising his brows up at you as you blushed and nodded.

“We sure did.” You whispered, before cupping his cheeks and bringing yourself down to him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, closing the distance between your lips, fitting themselves together like a daydream. The jokers and the drama queens could take all the swings and call it whatever they wanted to — as long as you and Steve knew it was love.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

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[ladykailitha]

Batshit Soulmates: in Medias Res

As promised, the soulmate AU you've all been waiting for. I don't have a set schedule for this. I'll post chapters as they come. That said, I do have a backlog of chapters to put out on the regular.

Summary: Steve's never met his soulmate. Even though everyone else in his life has. Most of them are even bonded. Literal teenagers got their soulmates before Steve. He tries not to take it personally. He tries really hard not to take it personally when he finds out it's Eddie Munson when he has a bottle at his throat. He tries even harder not to take personally when everything that could go wrong, does.

*throws chapter at you and runs*

***

“I just think we should wait,” Steve huffed for what felt like the millionth time. “Give our allies more time to get to Hawkins.”

“But the longer we wait,” Nancy growled back, “the likelihood of Vecna finding someone we don’t know to haunt and kill goes up.”

“Except we know who his next victim is!” Steve yelled back. “You! And excuse me for thinking that using you as bait would be better than a fifteen year old girl!”

“Steve!” Max hissed. “What the hell?!”

Steve looked down at his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked up at Nancy and dared her to tell him he was wrong.

But Nancy was stubborn. “The batteries on her Walkman are going to die sooner, rather than later. I know this whole thing sucks, but the longer we put it off the sooner Vecna could wipe out the whole town.”

Steve looked around the room for support and got none. He sighed. No one was on his side in this. But he could feel it. If they waited just five more minutes. But it was five minutes he wasn’t going to get.

He looked down at his feet again as Nancy started listing off who would go where. His head shot up when Dustin and Eddie were told to be the distraction.

“What?” he said. “No. Eddie is my soulmate.”

Robin put her hand his shoulder. “I know, but we can’t leave Dustin alone and you need to come with Nancy and me to kill Vecna.”

Steve’s face shuttered. So the choice was to go with the girls and protect them or go with Eddie and Dustin and protect them, leaving the girls to battle Vecna by themselves?

No.

No, no, no, no.

He had to protect everyone. Why couldn’t he protect everyone?

It was killing him.

“Just go!” Eddie said. “You know you’re going to be needed when it comes to killing this bastard. They’re going to need your strength.”

Steve let out a whine that had been caught in his throat. “You’re telling me to leave you...” He didn’t understand.

Eddie pressed his fingers into his eye. “It’s not because–it’s not what you think. Honest. This is just proper strategy and you know it. Dustin and I aren’t going to be doing anything but drawing the attention of the demobats away from you and the girls.”

Steve let out another noise of distress. He knew Eddie was right. He did. It just hurt that in the five days since meeting his soulmate, they had spent a total of less than a day together. And most of that was spent getting ready for this.

“All right,” he finally agreed.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief and that made Steve’s heart hurt. They weren’t counting on him to make the right decision. They weren’t counting on him to do the smart thing. Even Eddie had sighed in relief.

Steve shut down. Maybe his mother had been right. Maybe soulmates weren’t everything they cracked up to be. Maybe it was good he was find this out now, before he got too attached.

He gave his little speech and made them promise not to be heroes.

Eddie looked down at the ground and then back up at Steve’s retreating back. He closed his eyes and opened them slowly.

“Hey, Steve?” he called out.

Steve turned around, trying to keep the hope out of his eyes.

“Make him pay.”

Steve nodded and turned back around, his heart shattering in his chest. He was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Hoping for a declaration of love. Hoping that Eddie felt something for him. But despite Eddie’s reassurances that he no longer thought that Steve was douchebag, he still couldn’t get over the fact that he had been fated to be his soulmate.

He felt the ice creep up his chest to nestle around his heart. All his life he hoped that his soulmate would be the one that’d love him unconditionally when no one else could. But he guessed that was only for children’s fairy tales.

Steve had barely taken two steps when he heard the sound of running feet and then he was being spun around. He was suddenly face to face with Eddie and he couldn’t breathe. Eddie gently took his face in his hands and kissed him on the lips.

Steve had melted. That is the only explanation for how gooey his insides had become. Eddie pulled back.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he panted. “Be safe. Come back to me, okay, Stevie?”

Steve rested his head against Eddie’s. “You, too. I can’t lose you now. Please.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie whispered. “Okay.”

Steve watched as his soulmate ran back to Dustin, his heart just as heavy, but now whole.

Robin tapped his shoulder. “Come on, Steve. Vecna needs to die so you can be together without having to always look over your shoulder.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. Nancy took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He let her lead him away from the best boy he had ever known to kill the person who was responsible for all the turmoil in their lives.

*

Shit.

Eddie looked up at the rope ladder in dismay. All around him he could hear the sounds of the demobats clawing their way through the vents. If he climbed the rope, they would break through the gate and Dustin would be a sitting duck.

They would both die.

“Get Steve on the walkie-talkie!” Eddie yelled. “Tell him the bats are about to break through this gate and I’m leading them away from you.”

“Eddie!” Dustin yelled. “Don’t!”

Eddie took a deep breath and cut the rope ladder.

“No!” Dustin yelled.

“Get Steve!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder as he strapped his makeshift spear and shield to back. He zipped up his jacket, knowing full well that armor was no good if it didn’t cover the bits that needed protecting. He took the bandanna off his hair and tied around his face.

God he hated this place.

He grabbed one of the bikes and hopped on. He just needed to give Steve, Nancy and Robin enough time to kill Vecna so that Dustin was safe.

That’s all he needed. Just two minutes.

Behind him he could hear the screech of the bats turn from the trailer to chase him. After all even a moving target out in the open is better than a sitting target in a tin can.

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he could outrun them. He wasn’t exactly in peak physical condition but he had to try.

It took him a bit to realize that subconsciously he hadn’t been running from Dustin, but to Steve. And just how fucked up was that. Which of course was when the front tire hit a small hole in the ground and he went tumbling, rolling in the dirt. His shield and spear prevented him from getting up and he thought for sure that this was the end.

But suddenly he was being righted and yanked to his feet.

“Eddie!” Steve called over the screeching of the bats.

“Steve!” Eddie called back. “Are the girls okay?”

Steve nodded. “I left Robin with the Malatov cocktails and Nancy with her shot gun. They’re kicking his ass.”

Eddie pursed his lips and nodded back. “Dustin is safe. Or as safe as I can make that kid.”

Steve closed his eyes. “He said you told him the bats were breaking in though the vents.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t want them to get to him or out into Hawkins, lynch mob aside, so I lead them away.”

Steve gave him a hug. “Well then, let’s keep their attention on us, shall we?”

“Bring it on!” Eddie yelled, pulling off his shield and spear.

Steve stood at his back, ax in one hand, nail bat in the other. He twirled them both, warming up his wrists as he stared up the sky that was now thick with bats.

And even though they had only fought together once before, they moved as one, anticipating each other’s movements and covering each other’s backs.

Steve hit a bat so hard its guts rained down upon them, spraying them with black goo. Eddie in turn protected them with his shield putting it in front of him as the bats slammed into it full force.

He could feel his feet sliding back, but Steve was there and he leaned backward, putting all his weight against Eddie to brace him up.

Eddie had been on the verge of giving up, tears streaming down his face as he fought against impossible odds. But Steve was there. And he remembered that every impossible thing he had ever thought in his life had be come possible in this one man. And he was damned if he wasn’t going to survive this too.

“I love you,” Steve whispered.

Eddie closed his eyes and whispered back. “I love you, too, Stevie.”

The bats soon realized that they couldn’t get through Eddie and turned, swirling in the sky and Eddie could feel it before it happened. They were going to attack Steve.

He pushed Steve to the ground and lifted his shield above their heads. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” Steve replied.

And then all the bats dived at once.

***

Yeah...don't expect a quick resolution to that. Just know, I'm a sucker for happy endings. ;)

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

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[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Bound by Love and War

Pairing: Steve Rogers X reader (already established) eventual Steve X reader X Bucky

Warnings: None! Just fluff🤭

Word count: 2.1k

Authors Note: I’m in love with these two, literally have me in a choke hold, enjoy!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It hadn’t been some grand declaration or movie-style romance that brought you and Steve Rogers together. It started with quiet moments after missions, both of you sitting side by side in the Avengers compound, talking in hushed tones to unwind after the chaos. Steve had always been easy to talk to, even when his status as Captain America had once made him seem untouchable. But over time, beneath that shield and that larger-than-life presence, you saw the man: Steve, not the Captain.

You remembered the first time you’d actually let your guard down around him. It was after a particularly rough mission. Your telekinetic powers had saved lives, but it had drained you. Physically, mentally, emotionally. You’d found yourself in one of the compound’s common rooms, staring out the window at the skyline, feeling the weight of the world pressing in.

Steve had quietly joined you, his presence always calm and reassuring. He didn’t speak for a long time, but his closeness grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

“I know that look,” he said after a while, his voice gentle but sure. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

You sighed, brushing away the emotions threatening to spill over. “I’m not as strong as you, Steve. Not in the way that matters.”

He had turned to you, his eyes soft and warm. “Strength isn’t about being unbreakable. It’s about being willing to let people help when you need it.” Then he reached out, hesitating for just a second before resting his hand on yours. It was such a simple gesture, but in that moment, it felt like an anchor.

That night was the start of something neither of you had fully realized at the time. More and more, you found comfort in each other’s company. The late-night talks turned into early-morning runs together, which, admittedly, were more him dragging you along until you found your rhythm. And those quiet, shared moments began to feel like home.

It wasn’t until a mission where things went sideways—where you had been cornered and Steve had fought his way to you with a desperation you’d never seen in him—that everything became clear. His eyes, wild with fear and relief when he found you, said it all. As soon as the danger was over, he had pulled you into his arms and held you tight, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“I thought I lost you,” he had whispered, his voice breaking.

You had pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, heart pounding. “I’m here, Steve. I’m not going anywhere.”

In that moment, something shifted. He had kissed you, slow and tender, like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. And maybe, just maybe, you were.

That was almost a year ago. Since then, you and Steve had built something real, something steady in the middle of the chaos that was your lives. He was everything you could’ve hoped for: kind, supportive, strong in ways that went beyond the battlefield. He didn’t just see the hero in you; he saw the person.

But there had always been Bucky.

At first, it was easy to write off the connection you felt with him as something natural. Bucky was Steve’s best friend, practically family, and over time you’d grown close to him too. He had opened up to you in ways you didn’t expect, sharing pieces of his tortured past that he still struggled to reconcile with. You admired his strength, his resilience, and the way he always fought to be better, even when he didn’t think he deserved it.

It had started as friendship. But the longer you spent around Bucky, the harder it became to ignore how your heart sped up when he was near, how your thoughts drifted to him in ways they shouldn’t. You loved Steve, there was no question about that. But the truth was, part of you had begun to love Bucky too.

And that was where things had gotten complicated.

One night, after a quiet dinner together, you and Steve had been sitting on the couch, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. There was a weight between you—something unsaid—but you could feel it pressing in. Steve had been distant, thoughtful, and you wondered if maybe he sensed it too. The growing tension, the unspoken feelings.

“I’ve noticed something,” Steve said quietly, breaking the silence. He wasn’t looking at you, but at the floor, as if gathering his thoughts.

You felt your stomach twist, nerves creeping in. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath, turning to face you. His expression was soft but serious. “I think… you have feelings for Bucky.”

Your heart dropped. This was it. The moment you had been dreading, where the truth you hadn’t wanted to admit came spilling out. You had no idea what to say, how to explain it without breaking his heart. “Steve, I—”

But before you could even finish, he held up a hand. “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain. I’ve seen it for a while now.”

You blinked, confused. “You’re not mad?”

Steve smiled softly, his hand reaching to cup your cheek. “No. How could I be? I love you. And I know you love me. But I also know that you care about Bucky. And… I care about him too.”

Your heart raced at his words. “You… you have feelings for him?”

He nodded slowly, looking as though he had come to terms with something that had been weighing on him for a long time. “I think I always have. I just didn’t realize it until recently. He means everything to me, and seeing the way he’s been with you… I guess it made me realize I’m not the only one.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. This wasn’t the conversation you had expected. And yet, here Steve was, not angry, not hurt, but understanding. Maybe even feeling the same way you did.

“So what do we do?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Steve’s thumb brushed against your skin gently. “What if we didn’t have to choose? What if we asked Bucky to be part of this? All three of us. Together.”

You stared at him, unsure if you had heard him right. Could something like that work? Could you love them both, and could Steve, and Bucky, love each other the same way? The idea felt almost impossible, but in a strange way, it made perfect sense.

“What if he says no?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Steve’s expression softened. “Then we’ll figure it out. But we won’t know unless we talk to him. And something tells me he might feel the same way.”

The sun had barely risen over the horizon, casting soft golden hues across the landscape of the Avengers compound. You stood on the training field, focusing on lifting several objects in the air with nothing but your mind. Your telekinetic powers hummed in the air around you as you moved boulders, crates, and even a few steel beams without breaking a sweat.

A familiar voice brought you out of your concentration.

"Still showing off, huh?" Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—smiled as he approached. His blue eyes sparkled as he crossed his arms, admiring your abilities.

You smirked and set the objects down carefully. "Just keeping my skills sharp, Captain."

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against your arm. The two of you had been together for a while now, navigating the chaotic world of being superheroes and partners. It hadn’t been easy, but Steve’s steady presence and unwavering sense of duty made everything seem possible.

"I’ve been thinking," Steve started, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. You raised an eyebrow at him.

"That’s never good," you teased.

He chuckled softly but then grew serious, his gaze searching yours. "No, really. I’ve been thinking about us… and about Bucky."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Bucky Barnes—Steve’s best friend, the man who’d fought through hell and back, and someone you’d grown incredibly close to. Your feelings for Bucky had grown over time, and they had become confusing, tangled in your deep love for Steve.

"You have feelings for him," Steve stated, not as an accusation but as a fact. "And I know I do too."

You blinked in surprise, taken aback by his honesty. You had thought about it before—those stolen glances between Steve and Bucky, the quiet moments they shared, the unspoken bond that felt stronger than just friendship.

"Well… we had that talk the other night but what are we going to do about it Stevie?," you asked him softly, trying to process what Steve was saying.

He sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s been on my mind for a while now. I love you, more than anything, but I also care deeply about Bucky. And I can see how you look at him."

Your face flushed as you looked down, feeling slightly guilty for the affection you had for Bucky, even though your love for Steve had never wavered.

"I don’t want to hurt you," you whispered.

"You’re not," Steve reassured, taking your hand in his. "Why don’t we talk to him about it?"

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. "What are you saying?"

Steve’s thumb traced circles on your hand, his touch soothing. "What if we invited Bucky to be part of this? The three of us, together. I mean it this time. All three of us together."

You stared at him, your mind racing. Could something like that work? You knew how much Steve meant to Bucky, and if Steve had feelings for Bucky too, maybe this wasn’t such an impossible idea. And your heart had been aching for Bucky for so long.

"What if he says no?" you asked quietly.

Steve smiled, that soft, reassuring smile that made you feel like everything would be okay. "Like I told you yesterday, we’ll figure it out but, love we won’t know unless we ask him. And knowing Buck… I don’t think he’ll say no."

Later that day, you found Bucky in the gym, his metal arm gleaming under the overhead lights as he punched a heavy bag with ferocity. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and his jaw was set in concentration.

Steve and you approached cautiously, waiting for him to finish his set. Bucky noticed you both and gave a small smile, wiping his brow.

"Hey, what’s up?" he asked, catching his breath. "Something on your mind, Stevie?"

Steve exchanged a glance with you before stepping closer to Bucky. He was nervous—you could feel it—but he pressed on.

"Buck, we need to talk to you about something," Steve began, his voice calm but firm.

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he sensed the seriousness in Steve’s tone. "Okay… what’s going on?"

You swallowed, your pulse quickening as you spoke up. "It’s about us. Steve and me… we’ve been talking. About you."

Bucky’s confusion deepened. "Me?"

Steve took a deep breath and stepped closer to his friend. "We care about you, Buck. More than just friends or teammates. And we were wondering if… if you’d want to be part of our relationship."

Bucky’s eyes widened in shock, his body going still. He looked between the two of you, clearly trying to process what had just been said. "Wait… what? You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Steve confirmed. "We love each other, but we also love you, Bucky. And we want to be with you."

Bucky stared at the two of you, his mouth slightly agape. He had been silently pining for you both for months now, his feelings buried deep beneath layers of guilt and denial. He never thought in a million years that this would be possible.

"I… I don’t know what to say," he finally muttered.

"You don’t have to say anything right now," you said gently, stepping closer to him. "We just wanted you to know how we feel. And we don’t expect you to decide anything immediately."

Bucky’s blue eyes searched yours, then Steve’s. His heart was racing. He had always felt like an outsider, someone burdened by his past, undeserving of happiness. But here you both were, offering him a place, a family, a chance at something real.

"I’ve… I’ve wanted this," Bucky confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn’t think it was possible."

Steve grinned, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, it is."

For the first time in a long time, Bucky allowed himself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

He smiled softly, feeling the weight of his fears lifting. "Okay… let’s give this a shot."

And in that moment, standing together with the people who had always been by his side, Bucky felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: home.

Hope you enjoyed! Please follow, like and Reblog💜 -Midnight’s Cafe

[eyesofshinigami]

Brave

Rating: G

CW: None

Tags: Love confessions, fluff, so much schmoop

Prompt: From @sidekick-hero "Love is what makes you brave"

WC: 1812

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 7

Steve, admittedly, has done a lot of really stupid things in the name of love.

He hid so much of himself, what he liked, and who he wanted to be to make his parents love him. He was a perfect child, always seen but never heard, the perfect little trophy for his parents to put on display. He thought that was love for a long time. That it was performative, transactional. If he just did this one thing, surely they would love him, right?

Then, Steve forced himself to fit into a mold. He slid on a mask, played a part that was really easy to hide behind. People like Tommy and Carole seemed to love him when he was mean, when he looked down his nose at people they deemed unworthy of their attention. They would laugh and clap him on the back and keep him close, even if he knew deep down that it made him a little sick. And for some reason he still can’t fathom, it made other people love him too. Well, that superficial, surface kind of love where he was still seen as an object, an achievable goal. Be friends with King Steve and you’ll get something out of.

Transactional.

It wasn’t until Nancy that Steve really began to understand what love really was. He threw his whole self into loving her. In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to go all in on something that he still didn’t really have a grasp on, but for the first time, it felt like he was being loved for love’s sake.

Until it wasn’t. Until Jonathon. Until the house. Until the world quite literally turned upside down.

Even with that falling apart, it opened up a whole new world of love for Steve. A new understanding to just what the word meant, the weight behind it when it really matters.

Love is protecting those that matter most. Love is staring down the mouth of a hell creature and still swinging even though your arms feel like jelly. Love is redirecting punches so that they don’t have to hurt. Love is diving into a murky lake into hell to help fix what someone else broke. Love is late night drives when you can’t sleep and the nightmares are too much. Love is admitting that maybe, just maybe, love looks a little different than what you expected it to.

Love is being brave.

All of these lessons, all of these people in his life that showed him that love can be so many things, if only you’re willing to give as much as take.

Which is why Steve makes a decision. It might be a bad one, but he’s learned that sometimes love means having to jump into the fray and trusting that they’ll catch you. He knows, deep down, that someone will, even if it’s not the person he really wants to.

“I’m going to do it. Tonight,” Steve declares that evening as he’s shelving movies. He’s working the late shift with Robin, but has plans to hang out with Eddie later. The very thought of it makes him flush, with happiness and nervousness in equal measure. “I’m going to tell him how I feel.”

It was a slow sort of descent, realizing that he loved Eddie. It started with their talk in the woods of the Upside Down, to pulling Eddie’s broken body out of that awful place, to helping him heal once they realized he might actually pull through. He was drawn to Eddie, drinking him in whenever they were together. He loved when Eddie was loud, or when Eddie was quiet, settled. The fact that Eddie trusted him with the different facets of himself blew Steve away. And Eddie listened when he talked. He listened when Steve talked about sports, or his newfound interest in carpentry thanks to helping Hopper fix up the cabin. He listened when Steve couldn’t sleep, or when Steve got scared about what the future was going to bring, now that it felt like maybe they could actually move on from the nightmare that is Hawkins, Indiana. Little by little, it made Steve realize that Eddie made him happy and maybe a little stupid. The good kind of stupid, the happy kind.

Robin turns to look at him, smiling softly. It’s her soft sort of smile, the one she only saves for him when he’s actually doing something for himself. “Good on you, bud. You’ve only been pining for him for months now.”

“You’ll have a pint of ice cream at the ready in case this goes south?”

“Sure, but I doubt you’ll have to worry,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Now go find something to do before you pop out of your skin. I can see you sweating from here.”

He lasts about another twenty minutes before she lets out a gusty sigh. “Okay, you’re starting to make me nervous. It’s dead in here, why don’t you just leave and head over there now?”

Steve wants to argue. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but she’s right. If he waits any longer, he might just vibrate right through the floor. Once upon a time, he was good at this, smooth and suave and so fucking fake. It was easy to talk to people he didn’t care about, but this? This thing with Eddie?

It matters a lot.

“Okay, okay. Sheesh. I know when I’m not wanted,” he jokes, clocking out and heading out the door.

“Go get your man, Harrington! I expect non-explicit details in the morning!”

He waves her off and gets into his car. The drive takes about fifteen minutes, heading to the little house that Wayne and Eddie got as compensation for their trailer being confiscated for study. Steve’s just glad that Eddie doesn’t have to live in the reminder of where everything went down.

He parks his car and sits for a long, long moment, fingers tight around the wheel and his breath coming in harsh pants. He can do this. He can do this. He can be brave.

“Steve? What are you doing out here? I thought you had work,” Eddie calls from the porch. He must have been sitting out here longer than he thought if Eddie had come to find him.

Steve takes one more big breath before he heaves himself out of the car. “I did, but Rob sent me home. It was dead and she said I was bothering her.” He smiles, trying to ease the angry butterflies he feels building in his stomach. “You good with me coming now? I guess I should have called.”

Eddie smiles, wide enough his dimples pop and Steve wants to feel them under his thumb. “Of course, Stevie. I’m still working on dinner, but you can keep me company.”

Steve eagerly follows him inside, feeling himself relax as he steps through the door. The place is always a little cluttered, a little messy; Steve loves it because it looks like people actually live here. The fact that he’s welcomed into this space makes him feel a little warm and gooey inside. “Thanks, man. What’s on the menu?” He’s babbling, he knows he’s babbling, but he can’t help it.

Eddie gives him a look but answers, “Just some spaghetti. Nothing fancy.” He heads to the stove and starts stirring a pot, the smell of it hitting Steve full force. “You okay? You seem a little off.”

He wants to brush it off, pretend it’s nothing. It would be so easy and he knows Eddie would let him. They’ve learned each other’s tells, when it’s time to push and when it’s time to leave shit alone. Just one more thing that Steve loves about Eddie.

So, no. He needs to say it. For himself, to let go of this thing that he’d been trying to hide for fear of it being yet another stupid thing he does for love. But his love for Eddie could never be that, even if Eddie says no. Eddie will still be his friend, will still love him, even if that love doesn’t look the way Steve wants. He doesn’t expect anything, doesn’t want more than Eddie can give him.

“Uh, well… actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about?”

Eddie nods and sets the spoon down, during the fire down as he turns to face Steve. “I’m all ears, Stevie.”

Steve nods, taking a deep, shaky breath. He can be brave. “Okay, so. Can you… let me just say it? Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” At Eddie’s nod, he continues, “Um, all right. So. Uh. Eddie… I’m… I like you. I like you a lot. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.” Eddie’s mouth drops and Steve has to look away, before his heart beats out of his chest and he gets sick from the way his stomach churns. “It took me a while to realize it, but I am. I just… I love you. I love everything about you. Even the weird, shitty parts that I know you don’t like, but they’re part of you, right? And I don’t… I don’t expect you to feel the same, or want me back. It would be great if you did, but like… it’s not why I told you? I told you because you deserve to know. To know that someone loves you because I can’t imagine not loving you anymore.”

There. It’s out there. Steve swallows around the lump in his throat and tries not to count the seconds as they pass. It feels like they’re beating against his ribcage, in time with his pounding heart.

Suddenly, there’s a hand cupping his cheek, gently turning his head until he’s looking at Eddie. The look on the other man’s face is soft, his eyes sparkling and the curve of his mouth small but so so kissable. “Stevie… baby…” The words are like a gut-punch, making Steve weak in the knees. “How could I not love you back, hmm?” Eddie chuckles, his thumb caressing the skin of Steve’s cheek. “Always the brave one of the two of us, aren’t you? I didn’t want to say anything because this… I didn’t want to lose this. If I was wrong, you know?”

“Me too,” Steve whispers. He’s afraid to break the bubble that’s surrounding them, like if he speaks too loud it will break and he’ll realize this was all just a dream or something. “Eddie…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, he just pulls Steve in until they’re kissing, mouths moving against each other softly as they press closer.

It’s warm. It’s sweet. It feels like coming home.

Something settles in him as they kiss, as they touch and move together in this new way. He wants to cry. He wants to laugh. He feels like he could fly.

[laythestar]

You're my sweet sweet flower

Author's Notes: If you guys like it, I can write more of Mafia!Steve being a simp for reader <3

Words: 493.

Many would think that a man like Steve Rogers would be cold with his new girlfriend.

  Mostly because he was the Head of the Mafia, they called him The Captain; the man that no one could defeat. He had connections with doctors, policemen and even people in the media like actors, models and journalists. Everyone feared Steve Rogers, because how could you predict the next step of the man that is always three steps ahead of you.

   So it was a surprise to his men when they saw Steve be so sweet, so gentle and patient with his new girlfriend. Because unlike this relationship, Rogers was always aloof with his partners, always distant and always secretive to them.

“My flower, are you sure you don’t want me to buy these heels for you? You could wear them on our next date? They match that dress that I bought for you.” Steve spoke softly, caressing your arm while the two of you were scrolling through the app where you bought your clothes.

   In the end, Steve managed to make you let him buy not only the heels, but the necklace that matched the heels, the earrings that matched the necklace and the purse that matched with the earrings. He was the leader of a Mafia, he knew how to persuade people.

   His men continued to watch both of your interactions, the only one who was used to this was Bucky, but it was because he was literally the one that brought the two of you together (It were a hard work for him but in the end he succeeded in making his best friend achieve happiness).

   It was a common thing for Steve to call you flower, they didn’t knew why he called you that, but you were called flower. He usually spent his free time on facetime just to know what you were doing, how was your vacation in Italy with your friends. If you were on your period Steve would order Bucky to buy everything you need and only Bucky was allowed to do this because no one else could know where your house was.

   On Fridays Steve always bought flowers; red tulips, because he saw that it meant a declaration of love. And usually, the flowers were accompanied with some expensive chocolate. And if he couldn’t take you on your usual dinners, because of his meeting with his men or potential allies, Steve would be so heartbroken that you shouldn’t be surprised if he cancels all of the meetings he has the next day just to spend the entire day cuddling with you.

    With all that, what the Steve Rogers’ men could see was that he was completely enamored with you, and if the hickeys on his neck could be any indication, you were also very passionate about him.

Well, at least their boss stopped being the aggressive person he was before he met you. So they consider this a win.

[medusapelagia]

17 The Halloween Campaign

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: Halloween ), @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: flower shop ) and @aug-kissed (prompt: Trail of Kisses) Rating: Teen and up Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: none Words: 1463

(let's pretend this is a late entry and not that I messed up like 5 prompts, ok? XD)

Outside the flower shop, there are two big bowls. One is full of candies, and one is full of orange and black roses. On both the bowls there’s a little sign that invites everyone to pick up one of those. 

It’s a silly tradition Steve started when he opened the shop four years ago.

He ordered way too many flowers for the shop inauguration and ended up with many he wouldn’t have been able to sell before they got ruined, so he left outside a bowl with the flowers, finding the next day a twenty-dollar bill hidden under the bowl and a phone number.

The phone number was Eddie’s, the tattoo artist who had a shop just in front of his flower shop, who told him he took the flowers to decorate the stage where they were playing the night before.

That’s how Eddie became Steve’s best friend first, and lover later on.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, staring at the two bowls, he’s wearing a white shirt with a pair of black slacks and a long cape, in his pocket there are the faux vampire fangs he keeps complaining about.

“Yeah. Are you sure the boys won’t mind if I join you?”

“You joining our Halloween campaign is the best present ever. And if the boys don’t like it they can find themselves a new DM!” Eddie declares with a wink, taking Steve’s hand and running toward the car under the heavy rain with no umbrella.

When they finally sit in the car, Steve chuckles happily. He wasn’t surprised when he found out that Eddie was a Halloween baby, his love for monsters and terrible creatures was literally written on his skin: a wyvern on his arm, a huge spider on his chest, and some other creatures Steve didn’t really recognize.

The drive to the Wheelers’ house is way too fast for Steve’s liking. He knows that the kids don’t like him. They are jealous that he stole their Dungeon Master and they don’t really like that Steve is a preppy boy who has nothing in common with Eddie. However, somehow, they match perfectly. They finish each other's sentences and they feel like they have known each other for centuries.

Things start to go wrong as soon as they enter the house. Steve is celiac and even if the kids knew it they didn’t buy anything Steve could eat. It wouldn’t be a big deal if Steve hadn’t already missed lunch to finish his costume, but he tries to ignore it, asking Dustin if there’s any fruit or something he could eat.

“Fruit? What for? We have candies! And chocolate! And pizza!”

Yeah… but none of those are certified gluten-free. Steve doesn’t point that out, nodding and sitting next to Eddie, a slice of pizza untouched at his side while his stomach gurgles are covered by the kids yelling.

Then he keeps making mistakes during the game, asking for things he’s not allowed to ask and getting low numbers every time he throws the dice. Almost an hour later Steve has somehow managed to decimate the company and the kids are glowering at him with their mouths full of candies and too much sugar in their blood.

If stares could kill, Steve would be dead by now.

Another miss is what makes everything crumble. Mike starts to yell that Steve’s useless and boring and that they are tired of having to endure his presence just because he’s Eddie’s stupid boyfriend. Lucas tries to be more diplomatic saying that Steve is nice but he can’t play D&D to save his life and Dustin adds that he’s so bad at math that every time he has to do something he takes more to do the sums than everything else.

“I… I’m sorry.” Steve says, leaving the table and running toward the car. He grabs the keys with trembling hands, but they fall under the car and he has to knee in the mud to retrieve them.

“Steve!” Eddie calls him from the door.

“Ask Gareth to drive you home. I have to go.”

“Please, don’t. The kids were horrible but we talked and…”

“No, it’s ok. I don’t have to be part of everything you do. I’m not good at this thing. They are right. Just… let me go. Please.”

Eddie stares at him sadly from the door, on foot on the step one still on the porch, “Steve, please, don’t go. Let’s talk.”

“I need space, Eddie. Sorry.”

Eddie nods quietly, and when Steve turns the car in reverse he can still see him in his vampire costume, staring at his car.

***

Steve’s bed is cold and empty, Eddie’s staying at his place like he asked him to, but he misses terribly. He’s almost sure they won’t break up because of a stupid game. Well. Half sure. After all the problem wasn’t the game but the people playing it, and those are the most important people in Eddie’s life and Steve would never want to come between them and his chosen family.

The drive toward the flower shop calms him a little bit. He doesn’t have to go to the shop, they’re close, but he can get a head started and fix a few things so tomorrow the shop will be ready to open and he will be able to sleep a little more, if he will manage to.

The two bowls are empty, as he expected, with no little notes or money hidden anywhere but he’s not disappointed, he likes to think that his flowers are now giving joy to someone else and filling the air with their sweet scent.

He has never done an inventory of all the ribbons and papers he has at the shop, so he takes the occasion to throw away the old ones and write down a list of what he should buy soon, and before he knows it it’s already lunchtime, so he gets out from the back of the shop, finding something surprising: a long trail of kisses, the Milk Chocolate with Almond ones, his favorites.

Feeling a little bit like Hansel and Gretel he follows the tray of chocolate candies that guides him to the park nearby. Sitting at a table settled with a pair of paper plates, a bottle of soda, and a Sheppard pie from Steve’s favorite gluten-free restaurant there''s Eddie.

“What’s this for?” Steve asks, holding way too many candies in his pockets.

“It’s an apology. I was a moron. I dragged you to Wheeler house and I begged you to play with us but I didn’t make you feel welcome and I didn’t even check that the kid bought something gluten-free for you. I know it’s stupid but I took for granted that they would have and I forgot that they are egoist gremlins who already had too much sugar.”

Steve smiles, sitting in front of Eddie, “It’s ok. I wasn’t good at that game.”

“I could have helped you more.”

“You were the Dragon Monster.”

“Dungeon Master.”

“I know, I’m just messing with you.”

Eddie scoops closer to Steve, “I was a moron, Steve, and I have no words to tell you how sorry I am. But I promise you that next time-”

“Eddie. Eds. Listen to me. I love you, ok? I really do. But That’s your time, not ours. It’s the time you like to spend with the kids and it’s ok. We don’t have to spend every moment together, you know that right?”

“But we play almost every holiday. I don’t want to stay away from you, I want you by my side.” Eddie whines, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Well, this means we’ll have to come up with a timetable so you could spend some holidays with the kids and some with me.”

“What if I want to spend them all with you?”

“The kids will kill me in my sleep.” Steve chuckles, “Now, can we eat? I’m starving and that pie smells so good!”

“I don’t fucking deserve you, Steve Harrington.” Eddie murmurs, before kissing him sweetly on the lips.

“Oh, and you’re going to watch the game with me and Tommy on Thanksgiving.”

“I take back what I said. You’re cruel! Making me watch the game is torture!”

“We can invite Wayne too,” Steve adds, taking a forkful of pie and winking at Eddie.

Maybe Steve won’t ever bond with the kids, but he did bond with Wayne.

“I guess I can endure it if you promise me beer, like a lot of beer.”

“Deal! Now eat before it turns cold!”

They eat the pie in the desert park, and when they finish they drive back to Steve's house to rest because none of them slept a wink without the other in his bed.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Pairing: Steve Harrington x afab!reader

W/C: ~7.2k

TW: 18+ MDNI, smut Teehee. Face riding, oral (both m and f receiving), foul foul language, mentions of depression, smoking weed, impulsive decisions, self-deprecating thoughts, self-image issues, upset Robin Buckley, mentions of the Upside Down, scars, boobs, mentions of trauma

Notes: Yall, this one got away from me but I’m not mad about how it came out at all. She’s not edited but I sure as hell enjoyed writing her. I really wanted to write a reader who isn’t afraid to sass Steve since so much of the fan fic I see is a headstrong woman becoming some shy girl when she likes Steve, and as someone who literally bullies the people she loves, well…anywho. First time writing for Steve, second time writing and posting fan fic, and first time writing smut. Constructive criticism and comments are HIGHLY appreciated since I’ve rediscovered my addiction to writing. I really hope y’all enjoy it!!!

(finally went back and slightly edited away some mistakes lol October 2, 2024)

GIF not mine

Steve Harrington was so over everything in his fucking life. He was sick of shitbag father. He was sick of his emotionless mother. He was sick of going to work every day, sick of Hawkins, sick of Indiana, sick of his life. 

He was over it—truly. 

Eyeing himself up and down and up again, Steve stood in front of his bathroom mirror, critiquing every inch of his body: his scrawny arms, his too skinny shoulders, the bags under his eyes, the scars along his abdomen, even his hair felt flat and volumeless. Steve was just over himself. 

Which is why he almost didn’t feel bad when he drove up to Indianapolis to take a train to New York City, and told no one. He did leave a note in case his parents showed up at home, but the chances of that were slim to none. He knew it stupid of him not to tell anyone where he was going, and he knew that he was going to get the scolding of his lifetime from his friends when he eventually called them from New York, but for now he simply just wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet that the train had brought him. 

He had brought his walkman with a cassette that was made for him a while ago. Currently, Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears played in his ears as the city pulled into view. He had only been there a couple of times before, but each time the sheer volume of it seemed almost overwhelming at first. It was so different from Hawkins, from Indiana as a whole really, which is why he loved coming to visit so much. He knew that you had just left two weeks ago, a month in advance so you could get settled back into city life, starting up your job. He knew you'd be back in two weeks for the long weekend, and to celebrate with the barbeque your family had been running for years, but truthfully, he just wanted a week or two with you all to himself.

So imagine his surprise when you were actually in your apartment, and not in the library a block away, where he had assumed you’d be. He waited patiently in the lobby, watching the elevator doors, hoping that the next time it opened, it would be you. And it’s true, the third time really is the charm, since you walked out of the elevator in an oversized yellow sweatshirt (that may or may not have been Steve’s), and the sleep shorts you had owned for the past couple years, declaring they were your favorite. 

Your eyes lit up at the sight of him, shock and pure joy sprang across your face as your pace immediately picked up. The slippers you decided to wear down to the lobby were more or less halfway off your feet by the time you threw yourself into Steve’s arms. 

Steve dropped the duffel bag he had hastily packed next to his feet and wrapped his arms around you, as tightly as possible. 

“Hiya sweet girl.” He whispered into your hair, kissing your head softly. “Did ya miss me?” 

You snorted into his chest. “That’s a stupid fucking question Steven, we both know you’re smarter than that…” You pulled away and placed a hand on his cheek, the smile never leaving your face. 

“Of course I missed you.” You whispered to him, as if it was a secret only meant for him to hear. “Why don’t we head upstairs, yeah? I can show you the billions of boxes I’ve acquired from moving in.”

Steve kissed your forehead before letting go of you to grab the duffel bag that was now on the ground. You moved towards the desk, and filled out the visitor log on the counter before taking Steve’s hand and bringing him towards the elevator. He squeezed your hand lightly and rubbed his thumb back and forth. 

“I forgot that fancy miss NYU needed an elevator to get alllllll the way up to her new fancy apartment.” You had been extremely lucky. Your grades and work ethic both in high school, and in your first two years of college, had paid off in scholarships and work studies, meaning that you barely even paid for your education. But this past semester, for the next consecutive school year, you had won a housing scholarship, which meant you got to move into the brand new apartment style dorms for upperclassmen for almost nothing a month. 

“Oh please.” You rolled your eyes and scoffed playfully. “It’s an elevator that barely works, and I’m only on the twelfth floor. One of the girls I was telling you about, Jenna? She lives on the twentieth floor. It’s fucking hell when the elevator stops working.” 

The elevator door opened, and a couple other students came out, passing the both of you. Steve watches as you smile and say hi to them. 

“They’re my neighbors.” You explained, pushing the button to your floor, and the doors closed. 

As soon as they did, Steve’s lips were on yours. Your back hit the elevator wall as his knee slotted between your legs. Hummed softly as your arms snaked around his neck, one hand finding a way into his hair, fingers pulling gently on it. 

“I missed you too Handsome” You sighed as Steve slowly started to kiss up your jaw. You tugged on his hair again, and he let out what could only be described a one stop short of a whine. 

The elevator dinged, and he moved away from you, grabbing your hand. 

“Lead the way, gorgeous.” 

Steve would follow you to the ends of the earth. Hell he’s followed you to hell, and back again. He’s watched the very hand he’s holding swing an ax and chop off the head of demon dogs that had taken over Hawkins. He’s seen you rip apart a demobat with your bare hands simply because it looked at him. He’s watched you comfort the kids countless times, holding them when they needed more than just words. He’s watched you try to drink and smoke away the nightmares the two of you shared for years. But he’ll gladly settle for following down the carpeted hallway, stained with things he will never want to know about, towards your apartment.

It was just you, which meant that the entire apartment was pretty bare. The walls only had a few things hanging up on them, and you didn’t even have a couch yet. There were boxes everywhere, but not as many considering you had little to nothing that you brought to New York. But, it made Steve happy to see your personality shining through, despite the vicious nature of your high school experience. 

You took his bag from his hand and pointed towards the phone. 

“How’d you know?” 

“Well, Baby, don’t take this the wrong way, but while you’re never one to run away from those you care about, you are absolutely one to run away from your feelings.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and started to protest, but you just gave him a quick kiss to silence anything he might have to say. 

“Besides, Robin called about thirty minutes before you did, freaking the fuck out. And I refuse to get the brunt end of your beating.” 

You kissed the side of his head before leaving the bedroom, to go to the bathroom, decidedly getting ready for bed now, even though it was barely 5 pm. You knew doing your nightly routine once Steve was here was almost a Sisyphean task. 

Steve had watched you leave before picking up the phone and dialing Robin’s house. It didn’t even ring twice before it was answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey Rob–”

“Steven Harrington I am going to DROWN you. What the fuck Steve we have been so worried about you, especially when you didn’t show up to drive Dustin and Lucas and Max to school, and then didn’t show up for work two days in a row. I mean Steve, you were missing for over twenty-four hours! Your car wasn’t at your house and we could hear the phone ringing in your house when one of us would call—Eddie even went and led a mini search party around Lover’s Lake. Steve we thought, we….” 

Steve pinched his nose while listening to Robin, letting her ramble before she tapered off. “Robs I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry anybody but I just need to be alone and just…”

“Where even are you Steve?” 

“....I’m uh, I’m…in New York.” 

“WHAT. Steve you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, that's like, an eighteen hour train ride, let alone–”

“Rob–”

“The drive up to Indianapolis. I mean Steve we thought you died and instead you were just going on a long distance booty call? Are you fucking insane? Do you know how many people get kidnapped on trains–”

“Robin–”

“Why couldn’t you have just told us where you were going? It’s not that hard top pick up a phone I mean literally exhibit A right now–”

“Robin! Look, I'm sorry. I know what I did was kind of fucked but...Don't call Y/n "a long distance booty call"."

"Sorry. That wasn't..."

"I know." He sighed. "I just needed to not be in Hawkins. I needed to be near her…”

Robin's eyeroll was audible.

“Look Steve, I get it. I miss her too. But you couldn’t have waited another like, two weeks like the rest of us?” 

Just then, you walked back into the room; face washed and teeth brushed. You smiled and kissed his check. 

“No Robs. I couldn’t. I’ll see you in two weeks, or something.” 

“Ste–” He hung up the phone and turned to face his girlfriend. 

“How pissed is she?” You asked, turning to face him, watching him take a few breaths. Steve moved towards the windows, and opened one of them up. 

“Extremely, but they’ll all be fine.”

“When’s the last time you slept Steve?” You walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist, kissing the spot in between his shoulder blades. He let out a grunt of disapproval, but didn’t move since he enjoyed the feeling of your lips on his back. He breathed in the city air, and it was by no means the fresh air Hawkins used to once have, but it was different and that was all that mattered. 

“Do you still have any of the rolls Eddie gave you during Spring Break?” He muttered before turning around and holding you in his arms, kissing your head. 

“Oh so you only came up here to get free drugs?” 

Steve chuckled and shook his head.

“To answer your question, yes I do. But I have some stuff from the guy who lives a couple floors up, and you cannot tell Eddie but it’s ten times better.” 

“You sneaky sneaky girl. Can’t believe the city turned you into such a deviant. Valedictorian of her high school class turned into a big city pothead. What would your mother say?” He fake scolded, giving you one of the looks he frequently gave to Dustin or any of the other kids when they did something even remotely out of the rhetorical line Steve had created. 

“If you wanted any, you could’ve said so Stevie.” 

The nickname made his heart flutter a little bit. “That’s not what I said.” 

“Yeah well now you owe me for calling me a delinquent.” 

“Actually it was deviant so now I know you don't even listen to m–” You cut him off by kissing his lips, except the smile on your face was too bright to give him a full kiss. 

“Do you want the goods or not Harrington…” 

Steve nodded and kissed your head one more time. “Yes please.” 

You pulled away from him, much to his dismay, but he watched as you went under your bed. Almost your entire body was completely under the bed, and he heard you moving a couple of things around. 

“Are you trying to get back to the Upside Down under there?” He joked as you pull yourself out from under the bed, a ziplock bag containing a couple of blunts in your hand. “Ha ha. Very funny. Hold this.” 

“Aye aye Captain.” He gave you a mock salute and took the bag from your hand while you got to work. You grabbed the towel off of the back of your door, rolled it up, and shoved it against the bottom of the door before standing up, pulling a lighter off of your desk. 

“Okay gorgeous, get that sexy ass of yours out on the fire escape.” 

“Yes ma’am” Steve smiled at you before he clambered onto the fire escape. It was these moments he so desperately craved with you. If he could sit on a fire escape and watch the sunset with you every single night, he would go back to the Upside Down and fight Vecna all over again just to have this moment with you. He sat down against the railing, and let his legs dangle off the side. It seems they weren’t the only ones with this idea, but Steve sure as hell didn’t mind once your thigh was against his. The warmth of the sun mixed with the warmth of your body was more than enough to quell whatever had been going on in his mind. Once he noticed you were staring at him, a light blush tinged his cheeks. 

“What.” He grumbled, looking down through the grate at the people below. 

“Oh nothing, just observing my very handsome boyfriend, and trying to figure out what was clouding his head so badly that he literally dropped everything and disappeared for twenty four hours because he needed to be near me.” 

“What are you getting at lady.” he grumbled, pulling one of the joints, and carefully closing it back up before he chucked it back into your room. He reached behind him and almost closed your window all the way, just enough to squeeze some fingers under to get back inside. He placed the joint in his mouth, and turned to you. You flicked the lighter on, the flame reflecting in both of your eyes before you lit the end of it. 

Steve took a deep drag. He let it fill his lungs. He needed it to push away all of those doubts from before.

After a moment, he slowly exhaled and handed you the joint, still looking forward. The view was really something, considering the fact that if he stared directly across, it was into some elderly woman’s apartment with at least three different cats. But if he turned and looked down the rest of the street, he could see so much more of the city than he ever thought he would be able to. 

You looked at him, taking your own slow inhale of the joint. You placed it on the ashtray near the window and took his hand in yours. 

“Want to tell me what’s running through that pretty head of hair?” 

Steve scoffed before looking down at you. Your eyes were swimming, drowning really, in worry. You kept looking over all of his face before settling back on his eyes. “Steve…” Your voice had gotten softer, and you rubbed your thumb against his hand. “I need you to tell me why you’re here. I promise I’m not mad. I’m actually super relieved that you’re here, if I’m being so truthfully honest Steve. But I know you–I’m actually quite proud of how well I know considering you’re basically a brick wall—Sorry, rambling. But the main point is that you just up and left Hawkins. You traveled halfway across the country for me, and I am so flattered but baby, what’s going on?” 

Steve kissed your hand, before reaching back and grabbing the joint. He took another hit of it, enjoying the ambiance of the city surrounding him. 

“Steve please talk to me.” 

He placed the joint back in the ashtray before placing his hand on your thigh. The sun was getting closer to the horizon, and the temperature was slowly starting to cool, but just enough to make it bearable. If he looked at you, he might just break. 

But you weren’t having any of it. You took your free hand and gently guided his chin, subtly forcing him to look at you. 

“Steve. I need you to tell me what’s going on or I can’t help.”

“Maybe it’s nothing you can fix.” He rasped out, taking in a gasp of breath. The tears quickly started to build up behind his lash line. And he tried so hard to keep them at bay. He didn’t need to cry in front of you, he didn’t want to cry in front of you. “Fuck. Sorry.” He quickly wiped at his eyes a couple of times, desperately trying to keep it together in front of you. 

“Don't apologize when you haven't done a single thing wrong." You quickly grabbed both of his hands and pulled them away from his face. "At least give me the chance to try and help with whatever is going on.” 

Steve bit his lip and looked away from you. “It’s so stupid. Fuck. It’s so fucking stupid. I just had this moment.” He started, “I had this moment yesterday and I was in the bathroom and I was just looking. I could see every single fucking thing wrong with me. It’s like I was making some sick fucking list or some shit. And-And I needed to get out so badly. I couldn’t stay in that house. That stupid house. I needed to leave Hawkins. If I stayed I–” He stopped himself, tears rolling down his cheeks, he finally looked at you. Steve took a couple of breaths before finally continuing, focusing on the way your thumb rubbed across his cheek, despite the light stubble adorning his chin. He looked into your eyes, which were patiently waiting for him to continue. 

You were looking at Steve as if he were the only thing worth saving in this world. And it's a look he's seen before.

“I needed you. And I just couldn’t wait two weeks for some three day visit where I was barely going to get maybe three hours alone with you. I just–Fuck.” He placed his hands on your wrists, turning his head and kissing the palm of your hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m still not sure what you're sorry about Steve.” You smiled sweetly at him, saccharine in every single way possible. He didn’t understand what he had done in the world to possibly deserve someone like you, but he was sure as hell not about to let you go. How could you just sit there and listen to him, and love him so sweetly, when he was so fucked up, inside and out. His body was marred with reminders of everything they had been through. His mind was thoroughly fucked up, and he quite literally runs away from himself and his friends and–

“Steve.” 

His eyes refocused on you. 

“Why don’t we go inside and lie down. I have a gut feeling you haven’t slept in at least twenty-four hours.” You had managed to move from sitting next to him, to kneeling, all while keeping a hand on his cheek.Your thumb was wiping away any stray tears left over. Your other hand was slowly rubbing your thumb across his thigh, it could not have been the most comfortable of positions but somehow you made it look like it was nothing. 

Steve shook his head. “No, no. I’m fine I promise, shit.” He turned away from you, getting up. 

“Steven, I am not doing this right now. You ran away from your house, and traveled halfway across the country to come see me. You haven’t slept in a couple of days, clearly. I need you to climb back through that window and change into whatever you need to for sleeping because you are not okay right now, and I’d rather be a little bitchy just to get you in my bed, then sit here while you pull away from the one person you came here to see.” 

Steve pursed his lips and looked over at you. “You’re not gonna stop until you get me in your bed are you?” his joke only landed slightly flat as you huffed at him, the ghost of a smile on your face. 

“Move it or lose it Harrington.” 

He nodded and leaned down to grab the ashtray for you, but you had beat him to it. “You’re getting slow, old man.” 

Steve rolled his eyes before opening up the window back into your room, and climbing through it. You followed him through, placing the ashtray on your dresser. You turned around to close the window and the curtains, while Steve just sat on the bed and watch you. 

“I know you’re staring at me creep.” 

“Can’t help it. Sorry.”

You huffed at his antics before turning around and making your way towards him. Laying down on your bed, you found yourself between his legs, arms wrapped around his neck, hands playing with the edges of his hair. “Steve you are far from perfect–”

“Gee thanks.” He gave you a weird look, but you continued anyway. 

“But, let me finish, you are not some fucked up…thing, that can’t be fixed. In fact, you’re not some toy or whatever that is supposed to be fixed. You’re not a shattered figurine in your moms stupid little china cabinet or a bent golf club in your dad’s honestly weirdly large putter collection. You are just someone trying their best to get by and it is enough. Being fixed means there is this ideal of perfect that you have to be, but there is not a stupid goal that you need to always be at Steve. You are absolutely amazing the way you are. You are braver than anyone I’ve ever met. You are sometimes too kind for your own good, constantly giving and giving to others when you have nothing else to give but parts of yourself. And you are one of the most selfless people on this earth. You have sacrificed so much Steve, and that doesn’t make you any less, or make you this broken…thing. It just means that you have lived a life that most people couldn’t even imagine, and you are still more than enough for the people who love and care about you.” 

Steve kissed you. 

He couldn't say much of anything to show you how much you meant to him.

“I love you.” He muttered against your lips, pulling you tighter against his body as he continued to deepen the kiss, letting his tongue sweep across your bottom lip. Hands roaming across bodies. Soft gasps for air. Neediness pouring out from the both of you.

He need to show you that you how grateful he was.

You couldn’t get enough of his lips. It had only been a few weeks since you had seen him last, kissed him last, but that was just far too long ago. You had been thinking about him while you wandered around your nearly empty apartment. Something felt like it was missing, and with Steve here, kissing you into bliss, the apartment felt full. It felt like everything was where it was supposed to be–always connected to him, giving life to one another. Your body flush against as much as his as you could, hands pushing against his neck, to try and get impossible closer to the boy who holds your heart in his chest with his own. 

“I love you too Steve.” You manage out once the both of you part for more than  a semblance of breath. He smiled at that and kissed your jaw softly. “I missed you so much babygirl.” 

A soft hum left your mouth, enjoying the warmth of his lips as they slowly moved towards your ear, your neck. His hands had made their way to your hips, fingers gently pushing into the soft flesh.

“You have no idea how much I missed having you in my bed every morning.” Lips finding the soft spot behind your ear. “In my car.” He nipped at your ear, earning him a soft exhale that fell from your lips. “On my couch. In the pool.” He started to slowly kiss down your neck, sucking a bit harder in certain spots he had spent so many hours memorizing. “Mostly. I missed coming home, and getting to fall asleep in the same bed as you.” He sucked on the soft spot of your neck, right above your collarbone, and a soft moan tumbled from your lips as he did. You felt the smirk on his lips, but it was quickly replaced with Steve marking your neck, a hickey that would take too much concealer to hide.

“Fuck Steve.” Your body was glued to his, a slow heat rising through your veins. You shifted slightly, trying to squeeze your legs together, get some friction down where you needed it the most. “Please baby.” 

Steve blew softly on the mark he just left before kissing back up your neck to your lips. “Please, what, babygirl.” 

“Stop being such a tease.” You grumbled, running your hand through his hair, before grabbing some of it and gently tugging, eliciting a throaty moan from Steve’s pretty lips. He fucking loved when you did that. “When am I not?” He bit his lip as the two of you looked at each other. 

You shoved his chest just enough to get him sitting back down on the bed, so that you could climb up and straddle the boy. “If you want to be a tease, than I can do the same thing.” You whispered in his ear, earning a strangled sound coming from Steve’s throat. 

You slowly rolled your hips, feeling the bulge in his jeans grow larger at the contact. “I can tell how much you missed me Stevie.” There was that fucking nickname again. It had him preening as you rolled your hips again. His hands immediately went to your waist, pushing you down and helping you grind against him. 

Your lips made their way to his neck, to his collarbone. “Baby take your shirt off.” You muttered at him, stopping your movements for a second to help him pull it up and over his body. Your hands immediately found their way to his chest, lips crashing back to his, desperate to get your hands all over his body as if you were touch starved, maybe you were. And Steve would completely agree with you. His was just not touching you enough. 

One of his hands made it around your waist to your back still guiding the way your clit rubbed against the bulge in his jeans. His other hand went in between the two and he slid it under your shorts. 

Your breath hitched and your hips stuttered, losing their rhythm a bit as Steve rolled his middle finger around your clit. He smirked as you closed your eyes and let out a moan, grinding your hips a little harder, starting to ride his fingers, his hand. 

“Stevie please.” You mumbled, resting your forehead on his shoulder, letting out another moan as he pushed your underwear to the side, letting the rest of his fingers ghost over your throbbing clit. 

“What Babygirl. What do you need? Tell me what you want." He whispered in your ear, slowly pushing two of his fingers further south to feel just how wet you were for him. 

“Oh baby…” 

You whined at his words. 

“I want you t-to touch me Stevie.” You moaned into his ear as he shoved his fingers further down. Your hips jolted as he ran his fingers up your pussy, letting him feel just how wet you were. He brought his hand out from under both of you and you whined again, this time in protest at the loss of his hand. 

“Is this all for me, sweet girl.” He squeezed your waist, making you sit up slowly and look at him, grinding a little more desperate now that he pulled his hand away. You watched as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, tasting you. Your jaw opened slightly, and your eyes darkened as he moaned, tasting just how good and sweet you were. 

“Fuck Steve. Stop being such a fucking tease.” You barely managed out before you shoved his chest hard enough that he fell backwards onto his elbows on your bed. He looked up at you, eyes blown wide with the thought of fucking you sensless. “Get all the way on the bed Steve.” 

Steve, with little to no hesitation scrambled back onto the bed so he was fully laying down across it. His elbows reach your pillows as he barely holds himself up, watching as you eyed the strained denim where his dick was practically screaming to be touched. 

Once you had decided he moved far enough away, You took off the yellow crew neck revealing the lack of bra underneath. Steve groaned as your nipples pebbled from the contact to the air, regardless of how warm it was in the apartment. He moved to sit up but you just shoved his chest, and he fell back on his elbows. Your body rolled slightly, unhappy at the loss of contact from Steve, but you wanted something, and you knew that if you asked Steve to get you the moon, he would steal a couple extra stars just in case, which is why you wanted to suck him off before you asked him. 

“Baby I wanna taste you.” 

Steve’s eyes closed and his breathing became staggered. “U-Uh yea baby, what..um. Whatever you want.” 

“I want you to watch me. But..” His heart started beating faster as he felt you palm him over his jeans. He let out a breathy moan. “You can’t touch me.” 

Steve’s eyes flew open and as you pulled any of the hair that had fallen in your face, out of it. “W-What. Y/n..”

You kept your hand slowly palming at his bulge as you moved up along his body to kiss hip lips. Your tits ghosted over his chest making him shiver at the faint contact, and making your breath hitch at the way the contact felt on your nipples. “If you don’t touch me baby, You get a prize.” You kissed him softly, a contrast to the way you had been talking to him before. You were asking him to trust you. He kissed back and nodded. “Y-yeah, baby.” He managed out before leaning up on his elbows again, to watch you. 

You let your hands rake down his chest, your touch leaving chills down his body, and made his dick jump, causing goosebumps all over his body. 

“Fuck gorgeous.” 

You smirked up at him before kissing the little line of his V that was peeking out from above his jeans, using one of your hands to pop the button. You managed to pull off his jeans and boxers in one pull, something you bragged about to your friends whenever they asked about your sex life, but that was neither here nor there. 

You both watched as his dick sprang free, hitting his stomach. The movement caused Steve to whine a bit. “Baby I’ve got you cumming before I’ve even touched you.” You muttered to him, spitting into your hand before grabbing him. 

Steve lifted his hips into your hands, unable to stop himself. “Fuck babygirl.” He exhaled, watching as you licked the precum dripping down his dick. You moved your other hand down to his balls and squeezed them gently in your hand, watching as he tilted his head back and moaned. 

“You like that Stevie?” You smirked as he bucked his hips up, trying to resist the urge to fuck himself with your hand. You paused, waiting for him to make eye contact again. Once he managed to gain some semblance of his mind back, he titled his head up, chest rapidly rising and falling, looking into your eyes. The sheer control you had over him just made you hotter than possible. 

Slowly, you started moving your hand up and down, watching as he squirmed,  trying not to rush you. Eventually, you moved one of your hands up your body and slowly started palming at your own tits. Slowly rolling your nipple between your thumb and pointer finger, moaning at the feeling. Steve was about to lose his fucking mind. 

You were getting off watching yourself fuck him. 

You smirked at him once he realized what you were doing. “Tell me what to touch next baby.” 

Steve moaned loudly, and tilted his head back for a moment, trying to focus on anything other than the feeling of your hand on his dick and your hand on your tits, pleasuring yourself. 

“Tell me where to touch next Steve.” 

He managed to look back up at you, his hips slowly quickening as you continued to touch your chest. “W-Where do you–fuck princess–where do you want to be-be touched.” His eyes couldn’t leave your form as you licked your lips and slowly kissed down his dick, before slowly licking all the way up it again. 

“I wanna see how wet you are.” He managed out before he moaned again. “B-baby I’m not….” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not gonna last much longer if you..” 

“I know Stevie.” You cooed as you continued to move your hand up and down his length. “But you’re such a good boy, you’re doing so good for me.” 

Steve’s jaw dropped and his chest was rising and falling faster and faster. You were moving just slow enough, teasing just enough, to keep him on the edge. 

You let go of him, making him panic and open his eyes. “Baby please, fuck I’m so close pl—” But the words froze in his throat once he watched as you slowly trailed that same hand down your own body and rub your clit with your thumb, letting out a moan, just for him. His mouth went dry as you slowly stuck two fingers into that pretty little cunt of yours, moaning slightly as you did, before pulling them out, covered in your pretty little wetness, just for him. 

The sound that left Steves mouth was not human, as he watched you slather yourself around his dick, just to then slowly put him in your mouth, letting him almost bottom out in your throat. 

“Oh my god.” He moaned out. “Fuck, baby, fuck I’m gonna–” He cut himself off with a moan as you slowly started to bob on his dick, choking slightly everytime you took him all the way in. You squeezed his thigh softly to let him know it was okay before you moved your hand back to his balls, squeezing them every time he bottomed out in your mouth. The sight alone was enough to make him cum right then and there, but what did him in was the way you kept twisting your tongue around the tip, just making him sensitive enough. You felt his dick twitching as he fucked up into your mouth. 

“Baby I–I–, Fuck Baby I’m gonna cu–” His orgasm hit him like a fucking freight train as he came in your mouth. Steve moaned your name loudly in between the rest of the moans he could barely contain. You felt the cum dripping down the back of your throat as you held his hips down, still moving your head, letting him let it all out into your mouth. 

Once he had been pushed to the brink of overstimulation, and his dick started to soften, you sat up and slowly crawled over him, raking your eyes over the wreckage you caused. His hands found quickly wrapped around your body and pulled you flush against him. Steve was sure you could hear his heart beating out of his chest. You slowly raked one of your hands through his hair. 

You slowly kissed his jaw, waiting for him to come to. 

Steve eventually was able to open his eyes, and look down at you. “What’s my prize you fucking deviant.” He managed out, voice still wrecked from the sheer amount of sound that came out while he fucked your mouth. His hands were slowly roaming over your body, touching every inch of you. 

You laughed softly and kissed his jaw again as he squeezed your ass with his hand. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you kissed his lips softly. 

“You’re fucking beautiful.” he mumbled against your lips, listening as you sighed so prettily. 

“Baby if you’re too fucked out, I can save your prize for tomorrow morning.” You whispered against his lips, slowly rubbing your thumb across his pecs, humming as he squeezed your ass again. 

“No fucking way because if that’s what I got to earn a prize, then I want the fucking prize.” Pressing you against him, watching as you still squeezed your legs together. 

“I want to ride you...”

Steve looked at you, almost cautiously, “Anything you want gorgeo-”

“—Your face.”  

A quiet ‘oh’ left his mouth, while a blush spread across your face. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now princess.” His hand reach down and tilted your chin up, forcing you to look back at him. 

“If you’re sure then who am I to deny such a fucking prize.” He licked his lips, lust blown eyes met yours as you let out the breathe you were holding. 

Steve watched as you nodded and lightly tapped against his chest, signaling for him to lay back down. You maneuvered out of your pajama shorts and underwear, tossing them across the room–finding them was a later problem. 

Your legs straddled over Steve’s chest, and his hands slowly slid up your thighs, letting his thumbs rub against the soft doughy flesh. Everytime he moved his thumbs up closer and closer, your hips would start to roll ever so slightly. 

“Steve…” You sighed out as he kissed up your thigh, before switching to the other one whenever he got too close. Except this time, you couldn’t reprimand him for teasing you, since you were his prize, and he could fuck you seven ways to heaven if he wanted. 

Frustration was starting to build up as he kept ghosting his lips over your cunt. Steve watched as your thighs started to shake, your chest heaving up and down, and your hair messily framing the most hypnotizing eyes, watching his every move, begging him to touch her. 

Steve could spend the rest of his life worshiping you–your thighs wrapped around his face, kissing up your stomach to reach your lips, leaving hickies spread across your chest like stars. So when he hooked his arms under your thighs, and pulled you down towards his mouth, he felt as if he was in heaven, hearing the yell of excitement leave your lips, quickly replaced with a moan as he slowly licked up your entire cunt. Flicking his tongue around your lip, and feeling your whole body react. 

Your hands shot out and clung to the headboard as Steve used his tongue to slowly draw figure eights across your clit. 

“Oh my god. Fuck. Steve—Baby please–” You let out a load moan when Steve shoved his tongue up into you, his nose brushing your clit. 

Your hips were moving as you began to ride his face. Steve just continued to lap up into you, moaning once he realized you were fucking yourself on his face. 

The vibrations ran straight through your body and to your tits. “Fuc-Fuck Stevie Baby.” 

Your moans only made his tongue move faster, before he brought one of his hands down and started rubbing your clit with his thumb. 

Your orgasm was quickly building in the pit of your stomach. You felt it grow as he moaned again when your thighs started to squeeze his head.

Moans and swears and gasps continued to fall from your mouth as you rode his mouth. 

Steve was completely drunk on you, lapping up your wetness as if he was a man starved. The noises you were making were beyond pornographic as he continued to fuck you with his tongue. 

“Fuck—Steve, fuck baby. I’m–Can I come Stevie fuck.” 

His brain short circuted for a moment as you continued to beg him to let you cum all over his face, make a mess of his lips and chin and chest. 

He looked up at you, eyes connecting with his. Just as you did, Steve quickly shifted your hips and sucked on your clit, while rolling it around with his tongue.

It was too much. 

You screamed his name as you came all of his face, hips spasming and he continued, pinning you down with his arms, not letting you move away from his mouth. You were the prettiest sight to see, cumming over him, like a goddess. 

He shifted slightly and started to fuck up into you with his tongue again, forcing you to start riding his mouth again, nose hitting your clit causing you to moan his name over and over again. Before the first orgasm was even over, the pressure of another one forced its way through your body.

One of your hands flew down into Steve’s hair, yanking on it roughly, causing him to moan into you. Your mouth opened but no sound came out as you gushed into Steve's mouth, pushing through your second orgasm, and him gladly drinking it up. 

This time, it was too much and your hips jerked away from his face, and onto his chest, soaking it. 

The two of you were panting as your body seized and shuddered, letting the pleasure roll over and over and over until it was bearable enough to look down at steve. 

His face glistened with your cum, dripping down his lips—it was the hottest sight you had ever seen. 

Neither of you said anything as you sat on his chest, body still shifting everytime another wave of your orgasm hit you, leaking down his chest. 

He just slowly placed kisses along your thighs, watching you come down from the intense high, thumb gently rubbing against your hip. 

“Don’t look at me..” You manage out quietly, a soft laugh following it. 

Steve kissed your thigh again. “Want me to let go of your legs baby?” 

“Not yet.” was his answer, and he complied, just watching as you slowly finished coming down. 

“Mmmkay.” You whispered and slowly lifted yourself off of his chest, and moved your leg around so you could lay down next to Steve. 

Steve sat up quickly, and kissed you, fervently but softly, letting your body relax. His lips didn't leave yours as he slowly finished laying you down. 

Eventually steve broke off the kisses and got off the bed to wipe you off his chest. 

The second your head hit the pillow, your eyes were closing and sleep was edging closer and closer.

Steve watched as your breaths started to even out and kissed your forehead before wandering off and locating the bathroom. He smiled as he switched on the lights, and the mirror in front of him lit up. He dug through one of the boxes, eventually finding a towel and using it to clean up your messy adventure, but looking at himself in the mirror.

Maybe everything was just the way it was supposed to be, maybe he was fucked up and flawed and his body was wrecked with scars, but—

“Steve?” He heard your voice carry through the apartment, pulling him from his moment.

You watched as he walked back into the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” You had made your way under the covers of your bed, eyes narrowing at his prolonged abscence from your bed.

“I’m okay babygirl. How are you doin’?” He slipped under the covers and pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped snuggly around your back.

Your lips kissed his neck softly before you rested your forehead on his collar.

“If you're just going to keep running to the city to see me." You muttered. "You should move in.”

Steve is sure he misheard you, but when you look up at him with those eyes, he knows you’re dead serious.

Maybe everything was perfectly fine, maybe he was perfectly okay.

“I’d love nothing more babygirl.” He whispered, kissing your forehead, watching as you smiled contently, starting to drift off to sleep.

And suddenly, it was quiet, except for the soft inhale and exhale of your breath. But this time, instead of everything wrong, all he could think about was how right everything was.

And for the first time, in a long time, Steve Harrington was looking forward to what his everything could be.