#steve is riddled with guilt

[cadeswinston]

evie loves steve, steve loves soda, soda loves sandy.

[munsonluhvr]

NOT SO WELL HIDDEN SECRET

steddie x reader fic, sfw! when dustin catches you kissing Eddie, when you're supposed to be in a relationship with Steve, the three of you are forced to tell your friend the truth about your secret poly relationship. word count - 2.4k

It had been going so well. Somehow, you, Steve and Eddie managed to keep your throuple relationship a secret, hiding it from all of Hawkins and your friends. Through the several months since you and Steve, who have been dating for several years, added Eddie to your relationship, you kept it between the three of you, meeting up in the dark of the night. Steve’s parents constantly being gone all the time and Eddie’s uncle working at night made the perfect environment to foster your new relationship dynamic. There had only been one instance where you were sure your relationship had been exposed; it was only a matter of time really. 

You sat at Benny’s Burgers with Steve, Eddie, and Dustin Henderson; the unknowing fourth wheel. It was quiet at Benny’s, the brutal murder of the owner causing people to abandoned the once popular spot, but you and your friends enjoyed the quietness of the restaurant, feeling as if you had rented out the place just for you to go. 

Dustin had laughed so hard at a joke Eddie had made that he spit out his soda that he sipped through the red and white stripped straw. You, Eddie, and Steve laughed in response, your cheeks starting to burn from smiling so hard. “It’s been so long since we’ve all gone out together,” Dustin says through his laughs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve hung out with any of you, actually.” 

“Life gets busy, Henderson.” Steve says, his body tensing. Steve already knew where the conversation was headed. 

Dustin scoffs, placing his cup on the tabletop. “You’re telling me. You three are busy all the time. Whenever Eddie is busy, so is y/n and Steve; whenever y/n is busy, so is Eddie and Steve; whenever Steve is busy, so is y/n and Eddie,” Dustin says almost to himself. “Are you guys hanging without me?” 

You look down at the burger that’s wrapped in its paper that rests in your lap, your stomach twinging. You hated to lie to your friends, especially to Dustin. Your friendship meant with him meant something to you and you knew for a fact that Steve and Eddie felt strongly about Dustin, wanting to always be there for him and protect him. The four of you had forged a special relationship, and it helped that Mike and Eleven, Lucas and Max were in their own worlds in relationships. Now, you , Steve and Eddie had, in some way, left Dustin to fend for himself. 

You shook your head. “I’ve just been really busy with school committee and debate.” 

Eddie follows your lead. “My uncle has had me strapped to the house to help him with some repairs; it’s like one thing after another.” 

You, Eddie, and Dustin look to Steve to hear his excuse. Steve’s eyes grow wide. “Yeah, I’ve been picking more shifts up at work at Scoops Ahoy and Robin has been taking up all my time bitching about some girl she likes..” Steve says, looking to you for approval. 

Dustin hums, biting into his burger. “Excuses,” Dustin mumbles, shaking his head. Across the table, Steve shifts uncomfortably and beside you, Eddie shakes his head. The guilt riddled all three of you. 

You look at Dustin, trying to be sympathetic towards his feelings. Dustin’s face, however, clearly expresses his suspicion but you know your little lies buy you a little more time for you, Steve, and Eddie to pull together an explanation for your secret relationship. 

Later that night, back in Steve’s grand living room, the three of you experience your first argument. 

“I didn’t like lying to him,” Eddie exclaims, laying against the arm of Steve’s family couch. You look at Eddie from where you sit on the other end of the couch. “None of us did, Eddie. You think Steve and I wanted to lie to Dustin?” 

Steve paces across his living room, his hands planted on his hips. “We just have to figure out how to introduce our relationship to people, it’s been several months, and this relationship isn’t ending anytime soon.” Steve says but realizes his assumption. “Wait- right? This relationship isn’t ending anytime soon?”

You nod, rolling your eyes, and Eddie glances at Steve, an annoyed look on his face. “No, it’s not ending anytime soon,” You and Eddie say at the same time, sharing a glance.

“Okay, then we have to do it soon, everybody should know.” Steve says, standing in one spot, his arms crossed.  “It’s about time.”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. “It’s just complicated, our relationship is still niche, its the 80s, not many people will understand it.” 

Eddie grunts, sitting upright. “Not much else will impact my reputation, I’m already Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson.” 

You place your hand on Eddie’s knee. “We’ll figure it out, overtime, let’s just try to avoid Dustin's questions about our absence, like change the subject, so we don’t have to lie to him.” 

Steve and Eddie hum in response, easing their shoulders down. Promising to figure out how to reveal your relationship to Hawkins brought some hope; it’d be nice to not have to meet at night, hiding behind Eddie and Steve’s front doors. As it has been said before – it was only a matter of time. 

Dustin watches from the front of Hawkins High as Steve’s station wagon pulls into the parking lot, you in the passenger seat. Initially, Dustin was waiting for Lucas to get to school, but he becomes entranced by watching you and Steve that he no longer scans the parking lot in search of his friend. 

Dustin watches as you open the passenger door to Steve’s car, leaning through the open window to place a long, deep kiss on Steve’s mouth; Steve’s uniform giving away that he’s clearly headed to work a shift at Scoops Ahoy, dropping you off at school as a courtesy. “Gross,” Dustin mumbles, watching you and Steve’s mouths entangle with each other. Dustin watches Steve mumble ‘I’ll pick you up after school’ against your lips. Dustin remembers when Steve would pick him up after school, taking him wherever he wanted to go. 

 A car behind Steve honks, pulling you and Steve apart. You wave to Steve, looking over your shoulder as you walk into the school. As Steve pulls away from the school, and away from you, Lucas slides up to Dustin, instantly rambling about how Max is mad at him for the second time that week. 

It’s early, school not beginning for thirty more minutes, but you had been dropped off at school early, hoping to say hello to Eddie before his early Hellfire meeting and before the school day starts. If you had been more thoughtful, you would have realized that a Hellfire meeting needs Hellfire members, and that two of them were trailing behind you in the hallway, headed to the same classroom. 

You reach the classroom where the Hellfire club meets, slipping in the room without looking over your shoulder. Dustin frowns noticing you slip into the classroom, ignoring Lucas who still rambles beside him. “They do hang out without me,” Dustin thinks to himself, a flame of anger sparking inside him. 

“I’m going to the bathroom before the meeting starts” Lucas says, breaking off from Dustin suddenly. Dustin ignores Lucas, opening the door to crack it open. Dustin peers in, about to yell, make a big deal about how all three of you sat and Benny’s and lied to his face, but he’s stopped by what he sees. Your arms are thrown around Eddie’s neck, your bodies pressed together. Eddie’s arms are wrapped around your waist, one of his hands tucked into your pants pockets.

Dustin’s jaw slacks, not believing what his eyes are seeing. You lean on your tip toes, pushing your lips into Eddie’s, his mouth happily obliging to be pressed against yours. Dustin continues to watch,  seeing how you and Eddie’s mouth pull away, Eddie leaning down to whisper something into your ear that makes you laugh, your cheeks tinting pink. 

Dustin feels conflicted, but most of all he has hatred towards you and Eddie. Dustin knows that Eddie knows you and Steve are in a relationship, you had been for a year before Eddie joined the friend group – How could Eddie help you cheat on Steve? Dustin feels sick, letting the door close shut gently. He leans against the tiled wall, his mind racing with too many thoughts. 

Seconds later, you push the door open, entering back into the hallway. You notice Dustin leaning against the wall, his face contorted painfully. Your heart beats rapidly; you had totally forgot that Dustin, or any of the other Hellfire members would be headed to the room at the same time. 

“Dustin?” you say, watching as his eyes flick to you. “Are you okay,? You look sick.” 

Dustin clears his throat, pushing himself off the wall. His eyes flick across the hallway, looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah, a little. Were you visiting Eddie before school starts?” 

You frown, nodding as you tilt your head to the side. “Yeah, I brought him lunch, you know how he always forgets to pack it himself. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dustin nods, “Uh-huh.” 

You reach out, pinching his face between your fingers. “If you start to feel unwell, go to the nurse.” And you walk off, trying to act calm as you sense Dustin may be catching on. 

By the end of the day, Dustin is fuming. The eight hours in school proving to be a toxic environment for thoughts to brew. It had been almost impossible for Dustin to look at Eddie for the entire Hellfire meeting, Lucas noticing and asking him if he was all right. Eddie, too, noticed, wrapping his arm around Dustin sympathetically as he ushered the Hellfire members out of the classroom. At lunch, Dustin almost threw up watching you and Eddie laugh across the lunch table, jokes flying between you two with ease. How dare you flirt so casually, Dustin thinks, and Steve isn’t even here to put a stop to it. 

Dustin had made himself sick, thinking about different scenarios on how he would have to tell Steve what he saw in the Hellfire meeting room, it would surely break Steve’s heart and break up the small group that you, Eddie, Dustin, and Steve had created. While Dustin’s other friends had been pairing up, becoming too busy to spend time with Dustin, you, Steve, and Eddie, Dustin’s older friends, had taken him in, providing him a safe refuge. Now you and Eddie had ruined it all, now Dustin would have to ruin it too; it would all be done once he told Steve. 

When Dustin walks out of Hawkins High after school has concluded, he sees Steve already parked in front of the school, leaning up against his car as he talks to several kids who Dustin knew were Steve’s friends while he went to school at Hawkins. Though Steve had graduated, he would always be ‘King Steve.’ 

“Steve,” Dustin says, approaching Steve and the other kids that crowd around Steve’s car. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.” Steve frowns, but nods, saying goodbye to the few that he had been talking to while waiting for you to come out of school. 

“What’s up, Henderson? You don’t look too good.” Steve says, placing a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. 

“I saw something bad today and I’m afraid to tell you because you’re going to be really upset, especially at y/n and Eddie, and it’s going to ruin everything-“ Dustin rambles, his voice cracking. 

“Woah, woah,” Steve says, interrupting Dustin. “What did you see?” 

“I saw Eddie and y/n kiss in the Hellfire meeting room, this morning.” Dustin says, his eyes wide like saucers. 

Steve sighs, looking up and over Dustin. In his eyesight, Steve sees you and Eddie standing against the outside of the high school, talking to one of your debate friends. “Come with me,”  Steve says grabbing ahold of Dustin’s forearms. Dustin squeals, reluctantly following Steve across the parking lot. 

“Excuse us,” Steve says to your friend once he and Dustin approach where you and Eddie were standing. Steve grabs your forearm, pulling both you and Dustin to the side of the school, hidden by the trees that line the side of the building. Eddie follows behind you three, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. 

“Go,” Steve says to Dustin. “Tell y/n and Eddie what you saw this morning.” 

Dustin narrows his eyes at you and Eddie, his arms crossing against his chest. “I saw you two making out, almost having sex if I do say so myself.” Your jaw slacks, glancing at Eddie. 

“We were not-“ You start to object but you know it’s no use. You sigh. “Dustin we have to tell you something.” 

You glance at Eddie, then Steve, both look at you, gesturing towards your young friend. You sigh once more. “We’re in a relationship. All of us. Eddie, Steve, and I are dating; it’s called a throuple or polyamory.” At first, Dustin says nothing, his eyes pinging from you, to Steve, to Eddie. 

Dustin’s jaw slacks, the realization kicking in. 

“A relationship? You’re gay?” Dustin says to Steve and Eddie. Both Steve and Eddie mumble nonsense. “I think it’s called bisexual; I don’t know what we are honestly.” Steve says, shaking his head, using his arms while talking.

“So,” Dustin says, his eyes still flicking to the three of you. “You know that Eddie and y/n kiss? Do you three have sex together?” Dustin exclaims, his eyes growing bigger and bigger. With a groan, Eddie buries his face into his hands, shaking his head. 

“Dustin,” you interject, shaking your head. “That is not the point. The point is that Steve knows that Eddie and I kiss and hangout with each other when he isn’t there and he’s okay with it. And that our relationship is something we’ve hidden from you and we’re sorry – it’s still new and we don’t know how everyone will react when we are more open about whatever this is between the three of us.” 

“So, nobody else knows?” Dustin asks, his arms unraveling from in front of him. 

“Nobody, just you. Can we keep it a secret until we figure out how to tell the others?” You ask, hoping Dustin will comply. “You’ll tell them all eventually, right?” Dustin asks. 

Steve nods. “Of course, Henderson.” 

Dustin hesitates, still confused by the whiplash of thinking you were cheating on Steve with Eddie to learning that Steve knows and you three are in a relationship with each other. Finally, Dustin nods. “Okay,” Dustin asks, a little relief hitting him that he still has his friend group. “But can we go back to hanging out with each other all the time?” 

[scarlet-bitch]

Sunday Mornings

2k Steve X fem!reader, Angst/Fluff, 90's AU, no y/n

A/N: a different take on that s4 scene with Steve and Nance. Songs I loosely pulled inspo from: 'Never My Love' - The Association, the first verse of 'Sunday Morning' - The Velvet Underground, & the epilogue lyrics are 'Our House' - Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young *EDIT: my music was on shuffle and Make It With You - Bread came on and idk how I missed that for the epilogue lyrics!!! So I updated that. Feedback/likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading & as always, I hope you enjoy! XO, Scarlet 💋

Your favorite way to spend Sunday was a lazy morning in bed—preferably in Steve's—with your limbs intertwined and your head on his chest. Content in the silence, you'd often daydream about your future together. But today, instead of your own dreams, your mind replayed what you’d overheard Steve share with your friends—a life you couldn’t envision for yourself. One that's had you riddled with anxiety ever since.

“Y’know,” Steve said, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts, “when I was shopping with Robin yesterday, something caught my eye.”

You looked up at him. “Oh yeah? What was it?”

“A ring,” he replied, brushing his thumb over your left ring finger. “I couldn’t help but imagine it here.”

Your heart raced at the implication. This should have been a sweet moment—the first real conversation where the man you loved expressed his intentions to marry you. Instead, it felt like a nightmare. You had been meaning to bring up what you overheard, but it never seemed like the right time. Now, you realized you had no choice.

"I'm sorry” he said, his brow furrowing with concern as he noticed the look of panic on your face. "Was that too much?"

“No,” you whispered, as the nausea rose within you. “Not at all. Truly, there's nothing more I want than to be your wife."

“That’s all I want too, pretty girl. So sure of it, almost bought the ring.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. You felt him smile into the kiss, and you wanted to revel in the moment, kiss him back with the same ferocity but your guilt was eating you from the inside.

Pulling away, you saw Steve lean in again, only to pause as his eyes flickered open taking in the sight of you. “Aww honey, you're crying?" He chuckled softly, moving his hand to caress your cheek.

Fuck. He'd mistaken them for tears of joy, rather than anguish they were born from—the words you'd struggled to voice.

You took his wrist, gently removing his hand from your face as you repositioned yourself to sit up in bed. Your fingers gripping the comforter for some sense of control.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Okay.” He sat up now, confusion washing over him as his eyes searched yours for any indication of what you were about to say. You could almost see him rifling through possible scenarios in his mind.

“I’ve been selfish,” you admitted, tears stinging your eyes. “I thought there was time. We've only been together for two years, I thought things could change. I'd feel different-”

“Hey, slow down. I need you to take a deep breath."

He was right. You were nearly hyperventilating, words jumbling together. You shook your head, trying to calm yourself, but the pit in your stomach taunted you. You couldn't help but think this was beginning of the end.

“A few weeks ago, that night Robin, Vickie and I were over, when I passed out on the couch during the movie. I kept going in and out of sleep when you were all chatting, and I overheard you talking about your dream life. Something like six kids, summer trips in a Winnebago across the countryside. Right?”

Steve looked perplexed, as if trying to connect the dots. “Yeah, that’s a dream I have, but it’s a long way off. Did that scare you? There are a lot of steps still-"

“Steve, it didn’t scare me. It’s just… I don’t,” your voice quivered, the trail of hot tears now streaming down your cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to bring it up, but I didn’t want to ruin everything. I thought if anyone could change my mind, it would be you. But-”

“About what?" He cut you off. "Honey, what are you talking about?”

“I don’t think I want kids, Steve,” you blurted out.

His face fell, and his eyes widened. It looked as if all the air had been expelled from his lungs. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Your words began to tumble out of your mouth faster than you could think them through. "We’ve never really talked about it. If I’d known how much you wanted kids, I wouldn’t have waited so long to tell you." You paused, your heart pounding. “Hearing you talk about a big family has pained me for weeks. I know, without a doubt, you’d be an amazing father. I just don’t think it will be to my children.”

“But you’d be a great mom,” he said, desperation clear in his voice. You weren't sure if he was trying to convince you or if it was just a fact he believed.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to be... I've tried to will the desire into existence, but I just don’t have it.”

Steve’s eyes glistened as he processed your words. You noticed his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek—a gesture he always made when he was getting emotional. You wanted to take everything back, wished you could turn back time and not say a fucking word. But he deserved to know, even if it meant you'd lose him.

The silence was deafening—the only sound in your ears was the thump of your heart, racing so rapidly you thought it might burst through your chest. A few minutes passed, but it felt like hours. You weren’t sure how much more of the quiet you could take.

"Say something, please," you urged.

Steve focused his eyes back on you. "Sorry, I never imagined us not having kids together, y'know? So I'm processing."

"I'm so sorry, Steve. One day it may change, but I'm not hopeful." A sob caught in your throat. "And it's not fair to either of us to prolong the inevitable on the hope that I’ll change my mind.”

"W-wait, what? Are you saying you want to end this?” He ran a hand through his hair, a deep sigh escaping him. He shrugged his shoulders, raising a brow as he added, "I'm confused how this conversation went from talking about marriage to breaking up?"

“Isn’t that where this is headed?"

“That's what you think?"

"Isn't that our only option, Steve? Kids are something you want out of life, and I’m fairly certain I don’t—how can there be a future for us?”

"We both want each other! We’ll figure the rest out eventually.”

“And when ‘eventually’ comes, and I still feel the same, what then? When years from now you realize something is missing in your life, and I'm be the reason for it—you'll resent me."

“No, I won't. How can you say that?” He leaned in closer. “Maybe it won't be exactly what I pictured, but this doesn't change anything for me."

“You say that now, but you don't know how you'll feel down the line!" You raised your hands, in an effort to emphasize your point.

“If I don't know how I'll feel, how can you be so certain I'll resent you then?"

“I could hear it in your voice, Steve. You sounded so happy describing that life. A life I can't guarantee. So it doesn’t matter how much I want this or how much I love you. You deserve someone who you can share those dreams with!"

Steve moved his hands to cradle your face, hazel orbs piercing yours. "Oh honey... don't you realize, in every scenario of my dream life, you’re there. Fuck... you're the most important part.”

You swallowed thickly, your heart fluttering at the sentiment, tears still trickling down your cheeks. You wanted to accept what he was saying, but fear gripped you. The thought of losing him, of him one day loathing you, was unbearable to fathom. "What if you change your mind?"

"Never, my love." He gently brushed away your tears with his thumbs, shaking his head softly. "Listen, we can talk about this as long as we need to. Come back to it as much as you'd like. But please hear me when I say, if kids aren’t in your future, they’re not in mine. You're my future—you always have been.”

"Baby, you know that dreams, they're for those who sleep / Life, it's for us to keep / And if I chose the one I'd like to help me through / I'd like to make it with you... I really think that we could make it, girl."

Despite your affinity for lazy Sundays in bed, this particular morning found you in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while laughter echoed from the dining room.

"I hope you boys are ready to eat!" you called as you plated the pancakes.

"You hungry, bud?" You heard Steve ask.

"Mhmm!"

"Alright, then let's put the crayons away."

After a few minutes, Steve waltzed into the kitchen, grabbing the plate of pancakes from you. "Smells amazing, baby." He pressed a kiss to your cheek before heading back to the dining room.

A few minutes later, you joined Steve and the doe eyed little boy at the table, enjoying breakfast together.

As you finished up, Steve was prompting a burst of giggles from the child, as he made Mrs. Butterworth talk.

"You're so silly, Uncle Steve!"

"He really is, isn't he, Jamie?" you said, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"I think Mom's here!" Steve said, standing up to answer the door.

As Chrissy stepped inside, Steve pulled her into a hug. "Oh my, it smells incredible in here!”

“Had to feed my handsome little man,” you replied, nodding toward Jamie, who was bouncing eagerly in his seat.

Chrissy approached the table, ruffling Jamie’s hair. “Did you have a fun at your sleepover?”

“Yeah!”

“Did you thank your aunt and uncle?” she prompted.

“Sank you!” he beamed.

"Seriously, you guys, Eddie and I owe you one."

"Anytime," you said, handing her the Tupperware you'd prepared in the kitchen. "I packed some breakfast for you and Eddie too."

"You’re the absolute best," she replied, pulling you into a warm hug as Jamie and Steve exchanged their goodbyes.

Jamie then came barreling towards you, as you knelt down for a hug. "See you, bud!"

"Ready to go see Daddy?" Chrissy said as she ushered Jamie toward the door. "Thank you both so much."

"You'll always have a sitter with us, never hesitate to ask," Steve said.

"Love you both!" Chrissy called back, you and Steve echoing her words, before closing the door behind them.

As you turned toward Steve, he had a wide grin on his face. "Well, that was... a lot." He laughed.

"A lot of fun, though," you added.

"Sure was." He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. "Bit of an odd start, but I think we can still manage a lazy Sunday. What'dya say?"

"Always."

Steve placed a kiss on your forehead, lacing his hand with yours, as you followed him through the hall of your shared home. The story of your love adorned the walls—from your first date to your wedding photos to your trips across the countryside. Today, you paid extra attention to them all, playing back all the memories in your mind.

When you reached your room, the soft morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a glow on your sheets. Steve bounced onto the bed, and as you stood at the edge, laughing, he pulled you down beside him, peppering your face with kisses and murmurs of "I love you."

As you nuzzled into the warmth of his chest, you noted the rhythm of his heartbeat. It calmed you, as his fingertips danced softly across your skin. His touch was intricate and delicate while he hummed a soft tune. You lay there, basking in the bliss of it all. After a few moments, you couldn’t help but ask, "Steve, what are ya thinkin' about?"

"That I couldn't have dreamt up a better life than this," he said, matter of factly.

And honestly, you couldn't agree more.

[flowercrowngods]

⚔️ bard!eddie/knight!steve part 2 (~6k)

After the confrontation with Lord Harrington, Eddie is riddled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. At a lavish banquet, he finds his world turned on its head once more and he begins to understand just who his love really is.

⚔️ read part 1 here (~4k)

Eddie spends a maudlin few days wallowing in newly found misery and dramatically bemoaning the lack of inspiration and muse, to which his uncle merely instructs him to help him in the smithy, claiming that physical exertion would help with the wretched guilt. 

Eddie is loath to let go of his feelings just yet, though, hoping they would turn into self-righteous anger at the Lord after all. But he has no such luck. Night after night of pondering the Lord’s words and the hurt expression Eddie was met with not even a fortnight ago leave not a shred of doubt as to who is at fault. For years, unwittingly or not. 

But wit is not what will get him out of this mess, no. It can only be cleared by sincerity and vulnerability — something that Eddie has sworn to never show this town again, only worsening his predicament.

It tears away at him for days upon days, leaving him unable to sing, unable to play, unable even to sleep, cooped up though he is in the room of his childhood. It is a time he longs for with an aching heart, if only to take back his promise to never be vulnerable within these walls again, if only to be sure he doesn’t betray himself more than he betrayed Lord Harrington and both of their hearts. 

Time, seemingly done with Eddie’s mental back and forth, eventually pulls the floor from beneath his feet one night when he finds a written invitation from Princess Chrissy to attend her banquet tomorrow night as both highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. 

At the banquet, Eddie knows, he will see Lord Harrington again, and there will be no way to avoid him any longer. He imagines there will be more scalding glances, more sharp words from a sharper tongue, and more of his honour questioned. 

And the Lord would very well be in his right to do so. 

With a deep sigh and an even deeper pit in his stomach, Eddie goes on his pitiful journey to find some rest beneath the sheets. 

~*~*~

It is always a lavish affair when Princess Chrissy decides there is something to celebrate, and despite his nerves and a horrible anxiety that has been his steady but unwelcome companion all day, Eddie finds himself smiling at the view of the ballroom. 

It occurs to him how far he has come as he takes it all in, his eyes surely wide as saucers at the display of grandeur and opulence before him. Men and women alike dressed in finest fabrics and the brightest of colours, servants bustling about with wine and delicacies for the Princess and her guests. 

Years ago, the people of Hawkins took it upon themselves to chase him out of the city, and not even the Princess’s grace and friendship were enough to make him stay where clearly he was not wanted. And now here he is — highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. He cannot help but feel vindicated and proud, having spited Hawkins and her people like this; he has sailed with pirates and travelled with adventurers, learned from master craftsmen and sung for emperors. 

All of it to show this city that he is more. That he is better. 

And yet, he reminds himself with a heavy heart, he cannot sing today, and Hawkins will be the victor once more.

Eddie reaches for a goblet of wine offered to him by a most curteous girl flashing him a shy but charming smile, and it is almost enough to improve his mood, almost enough yet for him to gain the courage to approach the Princess about his predicament. He follows the servant with his eyes as he brings the wine to his lips, stalling the inevitable just a second longer, when suddenly they fall on a familiar, tragically glorious figure clad in the deep blue colours of his family. 

Lord Harrington, tinged in hues of gold more than anything else as the light of the flames dancing along the walls and ceiling alike catches in his hair in a way that Eddie has heard will make kings succumb to madness, is laughing along to the excited gesturing of a woman Eddie cannot seem to recognise. But it is not she who has caught his eye. It is Lord Harrington, standing there with a look so impossibly gentle and a dress so regal that it makes Eddie’s legs weak and his heart ache. 

Where is that pompous air that Eddie remembers so well? When was it replaced with elegance and beauty so blinding, accompanied so wonderfully with that smile on his lips? And how can a man who has been wronged so endlessly still smile like this, look like this, hold himself like this? Like the world is but an old friend he likes to carry on his shoulders so it can have a better look at what is ahead. 

Like the kindest songs must always have been about him, wittingly or not. Like he is more, so much more than what Eddie thought him to be. Like he is exactly who Eddie needs him to be. Wants him to be. Has dreamed him to be. 

And still, despite the fondness in his eyes and the lavish joy displayed by everyone in the opulent room, Lord Harrington has a steady hand on the sword by his hip. It is only for display of his rank as a knight and as a Lord, likely blunt and too light for proper defence, let alone offensive strikes against a sudden enemy. 

But Harrington’s hand is woven around the hilt. Clinging to it, as though reassured by its presence. As though anxious were he not to feel it by his side, cold metal and leather resting against his palm. 

His words echo in Eddie’s head again. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.

Stealing a man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.

Can he not flee? Can he not lay down that feeling of horror even on a night like this? Need he cling to his sword, any sword, like that, even unconsciously? Did he forgt about the sword on his hip before the Knightmærs? Was it Eddie who made him cling, who kept him from forgetting, even for one night, that dangers tend not to lurk in the well-lit corners of a golden ballroom?

The guilt threatens to devour him wholly, and Eddie might just let it if only some of the weight were taken from Lord Harrington’s shoulders. Desperately, Eddie tears his gaze away from the Lord’s hand and back up again, travelling over ocean blue and sunset gold, drinking him in more hungrily than the wine in his hand. 

As though summoned by Eddie’s pathetically beating heart, Lord Harrington chooses that exact moment to look up and away from his partner, and by some cruel twist of fate, out of the hundreds of eyes in this room, he meets Eddie’s. The gentleness fades, the smile paling into something tinged with regret, and it takes every ounce of strength Eddie has not to cross the room and fall to his knees to beg forgiveness. 

He swallows and lifts the goblet to his lips once more, his breath hitching as Lord Harrington mirrors him, and they both take a slow, excruciating sip, their gazes never once wavering. 

I will not sing tonight, Eddie promises, wondering if it is at all possible that Lord Harrington has the gift of clairvoyance and knows exactly what Eddie is thinking. I will do right by you, even if it is too late. Even if it costs everything. 

In the end it is Lord Harrington who looks away first, his attention caught once more by his companion, and Eddie withers as he sees the gentleness returning to his gaze. He is not quick enough in tearing away his eyes, however, because Harrington’s companion, another bard, he assumes fom the look of her, turns towards him just a second later — and if looks could kill, Eddie would find himself dead six times over. 

Fate does not possess the grace to let him die on the spot, however, the daggers in the bard’s eyes not sharp enough to end his life, but more than sufficient to snuff out any sense of bravery he could have possessed to approach Harrington anytime soon. Eddie finds himself almost grateful for the admittedly rather lame excuse that only comes to prove his cowardice, but he decides not to dwell on it for now. 

Or he tries, as he downs the wine in one go and lets his eyes travel in search for familiar, friendly faces, and finding the Princess already approaching him with a smile so bright and warm it alleviates the anxiety thrumming through him. 

“Eddie!” she says, smiling even wider when he remembers to bow before her — something they had to practice a lot when they were children and she would sneak away from her lessons and appearances to play with him instead. It feels like a lifetime ago; she is the prettiest person he knows — always has been, but she kept the spark of glee even as an adult. It makes him weak in the knees with happiness, having her friendship so deeply ingrained in his soul even after all this time. 

Her eyes travel over his doublet made of silk so deeply red it appears black if the light plays a trick on your eyes. It is one of his finest possessions, and it takes everything within him not to preen in front of her. 

��And to think of the way you scoffed so offhandedly when I told you ages ago that silk would suit you. You have grown to be so very handsome, my dearest friend, I can hardly take my eyes off you lest I have to fear your untimely disappearance once more.” 

Eddie smiles, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, entirely aware that he had not yet enough wine to solely blame it on that. 

“I am here to stay for the time being, Your Highness, so fret not. If only to show Hawkins how right you were, my dear, for I do look fabulous in silk.” 

Chrissy laughs, a joyful sound echoing through the hall and pulling many a pair of eyes toward them, but Eddie pays them no mind even as nervousness makes an eerie reappearance in the forefront of his mind. 

“I cannot wait to hear you play tonight,” the Princess continues, unaware of Eddie’s dilemma. There must be something in his face, though, for she reaches out to take hold of his hand. “You will, right? Tell me you will, Eddie. What reason have you to look so filled with gloom?” 

Eddie turns his hand to hold onto hers, propriety be damned even as he hears a gasp or two followed by scandalised whispering. For Hawkins, everything he does is scandalous, even merely existing. Holding the Princess’s hand is but another item on the list. 

“Forgive me, my Princess, but I cannot play tonight.” 

“But—“ 

“It is the Knightmærs that you long to hear, and it was always a dream to fill these halls with song sprung from my own feather, believe me. But it seems I am a fraud, and I need to do right by someone first before I will ever take to my lute again.” After a moment of silence he adds, “If you should like me to leave, I understand. But I will not sing.” 

The Princess looks at him for a long time, reading something that might be written behind his eyes, but she keeps a hold of his hand. 

“He sought you out, then.”   

Eddie’s heart falls as he grasps the meaning of her words. She knows about Lord Harrington and his involuntary ties to Eddie’s renown. Everyone in this room might know, might have heard of his deeds, might have seen his wounds as he returned from the battlefield that seems to follow his every step, while Eddie was out in the world living a lavish life with the title he earned from another man’s tales of valour and agony. 

“He did,” Eddie whispers. “And I need to make things right. He never deserved that.” 

She frowns, a crease appearing between her brows that does nothing to hide her gentleness and beauty. “Never deserved that? But Eddie, you made a hero of him! You wove battles he fought out of he goodness of his heart and the bravery in his bones, wove them into tales grand enough to outlast even the passing of time itself! I know many a knight who would kill to be made into that kind of a hero.” 

Even as she speaks, Eddie shakes his head, vehement to contradict her and make her see what he himself took so long to understand. 

“It is not I who turned that man into a hero, my Princess, that was his own doing. What I did was turn him into a legend, turn him into something untouchable by real emotion when he… seems to be so full of them! I took his story, all of his stories, and made them my own, stole the words out of the deepest dungeons of his heart and wrote epic ballads about pain that is strong enough to bring the bravest man to his knees with sorrow and— I took from him what was only his to give. The right to grieve. The right to be his own person. The right to his story, his pain, his own consequences to come from actions he was forced into.” 

Eddie swallows, beginning to understand, really, the scope of his actions as he speaks the words for the first time, and his throat rapidly closes up on him. 

“I took all of that and made it my own, and in the end it was only I who gained something. And worst of all, he never complained to me. Never exploded in my face or, or exposed me for the fraud that I am. In fact, it was I who confronted him about disappearing whenever I would sing my Knightmærs, because I found myself with hurt pride and—“ 

A breath, forced into his lungs to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling. 

“That man,” Eddie finishes with unsteady voice but iron conviction. “He deserves the world. He deserves better. He is a hero and he deserves to have a choice, but he is too good to make it. So I am making it for him.” 

He tears his wandering gaze away from the silhouette that seems to always pull him in, no matter how hard he tries to stray, and lays them on the Princess.

“I am not playing tonight.” 

Chrissy, too, has tears in her eyes after his speech, and she reaches up to cradle his face with both of her hands. Warmth floods Eddie where before he was bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to lean into her hold. Not when people are watching them. Gentleness like that is reserved for quiet, dark corners on stormy days long since past. 

“Oh, Eddie,” she says, her laugh a little wet. “See how much you have grown. You are the best person I know; always have been. You are forgiven, my dearest, loveliest friend. I shall not make you play, and I shall not stand it if people disapprove of it.” 

Relief washes over him, his body still trembling ever so slightly from his passionate outburst and fear of rejection, and he smiles as he casts his eyes down. 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

She hums and wipes at the wetness beneath his eyes before retrieving her hands. 

“Anything for you, Eddie. Anything in my power.” She turns to leave and Eddie has not the strength to ask her to stay, not when he knows she has royal etiquette to follow. But before leaving him to his heart still heavy with guilt, she speaks again, “It will be fine. I know it will.” 

God, I hope so. 

Eddie doesn’t dare to look and see if Lord Harrington and his bard were in earshot just now. Instead, he turns swiftly and retreats to one of the lavish balconies to clear his head with some fresh air. He finds it blissfully empty as he takes a trembling breath. 

It will be fine. I know it will. 

Eddie breathes, crisp air flooding his lungs that he does not feel all that deserving of, but he is grateful for it nonetheless. He cannot blink away the image of Lord Harrington’s downturned eyes, the smile that adorned his lips but a moment before fading in the face of Eddie’s presence. He cannot keep his heart from racing, hammering away rapidly at his ribcage, mimicking a spooked bird’s fluttering wings. Aiming to get out. Out, out, out, away from its hold and back where it belongs. Back to the man dressed in the blues of his family, the colour of his name, like armour against any sorts of attempts dared by lowly boys who think themselves to be bards of great renown.

It aches, his heart. And with every beat against his chest, the pain only carries further until it reaches his eyes with stinging force. It is a pain of guilt and sorrow, mixing with a longing so deep that it cuts him in half, torn though he is. 

Just one more breath and the air will be enough to tear him apart down the middle, right through his heart that is long past saving. The feelings he has been harbouring for years for a love unknown have not disappeared with Lord Harrington’s accusations. Instead, they merely gained a face and a name, turned into something real. Shifted, just so, to make room for the reality of Lord Harrington and every tidbit of information Eddie can learn about him, even when he tries not to listen, even when he tries to let go of misguided emotion for a man whose heart he has broken and abused already. 

But everyone talks about him. Now that Eddie knows where to look, he sees the respect for Lord Harrington in everyone’s faces. Sees the gratitude, sees the fondness, sees the reverence. 

Eddie closes his eyes against it, but it only serves to make the images more vivid. Lord Harrington positively gleaming in that ballroom, shining as golden as the sun right before she bids the day farewell, looking so fondly upon his friend. His bard. His companion. Looking so regretfully upon Eddie. Looking until he could no longer bear it. 

He needs to leave. It is sudden, that urge, filling the cracks of his being and glueing him back together with that all too familiar feeling that he’d thought himself to have moved past on the same day that he left Hawkins all those years ago. But it is back now, getting stronger by the second, urging him to leave, leave, leave. 

He will talk to Lord Harrington and beg for his forgiveness later. Tomorrow, surely, or the day after. In a fortnight at the latest, or in a month. But for now, he has to leave. Needs to leave. Must. 

On unsteady feet, and with an unsteadier heart yet, Eddie turns abruptly and all but stumbles his way back through the large doors and into the ballroom, which has filled with even more guests and even more servants and even more people who will steal the air from right beneath his nose. 

It leaves him frazzled and shaking, and his heart falls anew when he realises that he needs to cross the room to leave. 

As if pulled in by string or higher power, Eddie finds Lord Harrington immediately, the man’s broad back turned toward him. His hand still rests on his sword as he watches his friend — the bard with daggers in her eyes — approach the dais, lute in one hand and flute in the other. It’s a thin one, and made not of wood but of some kind of metal, and Eddie feels a flash of jealousy at her blatant display of talent and proficiency in more instruments than one. Even greater jealousy still when Lord Harrington keeps his attention on her — oh, and how well Eddie is acquainted with his attention, heavy and intense and leaving him hungry for more. Starving. 

He yearns for it. Longs to approach the stage and join the other bard as she begins to play, if only to be in the vicinity of that attention. That affection. All that gentle intensity. 

But he can’t. 

So he turns, twisting away from the mirage he so longs to touch, feeling phantom tingles on his palms where he imagines strongly enough. Entangled in the web of guilt, longing and imagination, though, he twists a little too far and nearly falls over his feet in his haste to get away. And then he quite factually runs into a figure he’d hoped to never see again, much less share the same breath as them. 

Before Eddie can utter an apology and continue on his way out of the ballroom and back to the safety of his childhood bedroom where the ceiling is a little closer to him and the air won’t feel quite as stuffy, Jason Carver’s voice cuts through the room and his patience alike. 

“Munson,” Carver sneers, somehow managing to look down on Eddie even though they are of the same height. “So the rumours are proven true at last! I did not think you possessed the gall to show your face here again. But you seem to be a lot stupider than you let on — and you do let on a lot.” 

The throng of people around Carver make themselves known with a vile chuckle at Eddie’s expense, and if he were a stronger man, if he were a more vicious man tonight and not hung up on guilt and longing, he’d have a snide comment on the tip of his tongue. 

As it is, though, he stands no chance but to let Carver speak on. He seems to have climbed in rank, moved on from being a simple guardsman to someone wearing white silk and a decorative sword on his hip. It is more imposing than Harrington’s, the hand around the handle more like a threat to Eddie than anything else. Especially accompanied by that sneer. That godawful, entirely too punchable curl of his lips. 

“Though the good Princess proves her taste in music and people once more, servicing her people and not letting you play on an occasion such as this. What a shame it would be for all of Hawkins to have your… talent… be showcased like that. What humiliation for you. I’m glad she chose a bard who can sing. And play. And entertain Her Majesty’s guests accordingly.” 

Carver’s words cut deep, and there seems to be no end to them. It shows on his face, Eddie knows, but he can’t… Suddenly he’s young again, suddenly he knows no longer who he is, who he wants to be in this world and how we will get there. Suddenly the urge to run away is no longer gluing him together but tearing him apart, tearing him in every possible direction just to get away from Carver and his lackeys, until he will shred himself into a million pieces. 

And still he has no words to retort the venom leaving Carver’s lips. He is shaking, fuming, something boiling inside him, and yet he has no words. 

Just as Carver opens his mouth to spit yet more lies about Eddie and his craft that leave his ears ringing, something behind Eddie makes Carver’s big mouth snap shut with a loud clack. 

Before Eddie can regain control over his mind and body to turn around and see what happened, a familiar voice fills the silence so blatantly left by Jason Carver. 

“Such vile words from someone who knows neither talent nor skill himself, and who displays an utter lack of craftsmanship and tact.” 

Lord Harrington speaks in such condescending tones with Carver that it makes Eddie freeze all over again, not daring to move lest he pull that condescension toward himself. And still he aches to turn around and drink him in. 

He stands so close. Eddie can almost breathe him in, and it’s almost enough. 

Before him, Jason flushes an angry red, unprepared to be confronted thusly by Lord Harrington, who outranks him in both title and popularity — and, perchance more importantly, in eloquence and intelligence. 

Carver’s mouth remains firmly shut, but Lord Harrington is not done yet, it seems, as he moves from behind Eddie to his side, the hand on his sword so dangerously close to Eddie’s hip. It takes all his might not to sway and lean to the side just briefly, just to feel the warmth of his hand through his clothes. 

“You know, Carver, I found myself pondering whether upon the arrival of Eddie the Bard you would find yourself starving for his attention once more, the same way that you did when you and your band chased him away.” 

The blood freezes in Eddie’s veins and yet he feels flushed with heat, especially when people turn toward them with curious and scandalised eyes.

Lord Harrington is not perturbed, however. “And here you are indeed, yearning for his words directed at you, aching for his attention, and wishing at least one of his songs were dedicated to you, written in your honour. Unfortunately still, you wouldn’t know honour if it spat you in the face. And you have miscalculated, good man, for you are irrelevant to a muse such as his, and too much of a coward for heroic tales of valour and sacrifice. The only thing you know to sacrifice is my patience. You are of no greater importance to this world, this kingdom, and  even this very moment, Jason, than an overgrown roach in a dead man’s kitchen.” 

The noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is not as embarrassing as the one Carver makes, and covered, too, by several gasps sounding around them. Lord Harrington has drawn quite the crowd — and for once he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, smirking as he is, regarding Carver like he means every last word of what he just said. 

It makes Eddie weak in the knees. 

And Lord Harrington takes yet another step forwards, placing himself between Eddie and Carver, shielding him not only from the man’s words and presence, but directing the attention of those around them away from Eddie. Pulling it towards his own person and Jason’s form, trembling with anger and humiliation. 

Eddie blinks, heart racing again, his mind running faster than a spooked race horse. Why would Harrington come to his rescue? Why would he pull all the attention toward himself when he should be rejoicing in seeing Eddie humiliated and beaten with his own weapon of choice? Why, when all the good Lord should want is to see Eddie fall from grace and from his high horse alike? 

Jason is sputtering some kind of response, but Eddie is transfixed by ocean blue and sunset gold so close to him that he could melt into him if only he had the right. So transfixed, indeed, that he doesn’t hear what Jason has to say. It is only when Lord Harrington speaks again that the world returns to him. 

“Leave the bard alone, Carver, you humiliate yourself with the way you’re leeching off his attention like a schoolboy with his first bout of attraction.” And then, closing the gap between them and speaking into Carver’s ear, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, Lord Harrington says, “Leave him alone. Speak of him again anything but praise, and I will have you emasculated per royal decree, and I shall see to it myself.” 

Where before his face was flushed red, all the colour now leaves Carver’s face as he blanches and swallows heavily. He looks between Harrington and Eddie, confusion and fear so clear on his features that Eddie would grin if he weren’t so shaken by the Lord’s actions and words. 

Carver takes flight the very moment Lord Harrington steps back, and suddenly Eddie finds himself alone with him. 

And words have not yet returned to him, especially when Harrington turns and lets down the smirking mask of condescension and instead regards him with an expression of worry and gentleness. 

“Are you all right?”

Eddie blinks, all but feeling the confusion and wonderment spill out of his big, dumb eyes, unable to hide it from Harrington and his golden skin. 

This is the man who has slain the man possessed by the Devil himself and took in his younger sister to live with him and get an education. This is the man who protected the Princess and this whole kingdom so many times, slaying foes and beasts alike and returning home a hero who refused his own celebrations. This is the man who would be King if the world were anything like Eddie wants it to be. 

The man who smiles so fondly, so gently, upon the people dear to him. The man who opens his estate in the winter to those whose houses stand no chance against the cold bitterness of the season, and thus defeats both lonesomeness and bleakness in one graceful gesture of kindness and compassion.

And still, this is the man who had his life twisted and glorified in song and poetry, the man who had the floor pulled from beneath his feet when his pain was made into something desirable. The man who stands in a ballroom filled with joyous laughter, wine, and dance, and keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who was wronged so endlessly by the ingenious bard who claimed to love him. 

And yet. He stakes his claim. He stakes his claim on Eddie. Protects him. Rather publicly, too, and now everyone knows of a connection between them that doesn’t exist, a connection that Eddie snuffed out before it had the chance to spark because he was so obsessed with the notion of grandeur and drama and love. A love that would survive it all. A love that would slay beasts and brothers possessed, a love that would be immortalised in song and poem, a love that… 

Would look at him the way Lord Harrington does. 

But it’s not love. Eddie knows nothing about love. How could he, when he hurt the man so? How could he, when he cannot find even the simplest apology, when he cannot utter a single word with the way his throat is closing up on him so rapidly in the face of that tenderness. 

“Eddie,” Harrington gathers him out of his reverie, a hand on his forearm. “Would you step outside with me?”

Another claim staked right through Eddie’s fluttering heart. He cannot bear it. Stands frozen to the ground.

“You need not have done that,” he says at last, his voice no louder than a whisper. It makes the Lord lean in closer, as though he has difficulty to hear Eddie otherwise, though he’d like to imagine that Harrington is just as drawn in by Eddie, and is powerless against it. 

The man smiles, though there is no fondness in it, and Eddie wants to recoil. 

“Jason wouldn’t know talent if it spat in his face. Which,” he adds as an afterthought, “is not a suggestion.” 

Despite himself, Eddie smiles genuinely, feeling a bit of the ever-present tension lift from his shoulders. “Do my ears deceive me, or am I right in my understanding that you think I have talent, milord?” 

The smile fades a little, leaving behind some hidden trace of genuineness that weighs so heavy in the air between them even as Harrington inclines his head politely. As though Eddie deserves politeness. As though he were of a higher standing than he is. And higher yet than Lord Harrington himself. 

“I would have to call myself both fool and liar to claim otherwise,” he says, his tone shifted to match his posture. Reverent, almost. Eddie wants him to straighten those shoulders and look down on him again, to do everything in his power to stop the wild beating of his heart that still cuts the words right from his tongue. “You have a way with words that is yet to be matched.” 

He looks up again when Eddie says nothing, and their eyes meet. Lord Harrington’s beauty is unmatched, and Eddie finds himself willing to look at him forever. Wanting. Longing. 

Whatever spell the Lord found himself to be under until just a second ago, it shatters now, dissipates into thin air as his expression shutters. And where before it was Eddie’s words that dealt nothing but damage, now it is his silence, for Lord Harrington steps away from him with a regretful expression and inclines his head once more. 

“Forgive me, I overstepped. I am aware of your opinion of me, believe me, I just… I simply… Forgive me. Please. Good night.” 

He turns, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as though he were drowning in the ocean blue of his family name and the sword were keeping him afloat. Not a trace of pompous air emanates from him, and Eddie finally feels himself tearing in two as in that gold-sparked moment his knight and Lord Harrington become one right before Eddie’s eyes. 

And the bard is helpless when he calls out, “My Lord.” Nothing, as Lord Harrington steps away from him. “Steve.” 

He stops. 

And so does time. 

But Eddie didn’t think this far ahead, knows not what to say, how to make sense of the words trapped inside him that leave his hands trembling and his legs shaking, words that he needs to bring in the right order yet, lest he ruins everything again. 

There is only the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart against his ribcage and the eyes of their unwilling audience turned towards them. The eyes of people who want to see Eddie fail. Who want to see him flail and fall and crawl back into the winter’s night months after his birth, left outside his uncle’s doorstep as his father lost his life over years of debt he had no means to pay off. 

“I…” 

Words fail him. When he needs them most, when he needs them not as a weapon nor as a caress, they deceive him. And Eddie watches as his time runs out, like sand pouring between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it. 

He watches, desperately, as Lord Harrington tears himself away. As he weaves through the groups of people, reaching for a goblet of wine as he does, and downs it in one go before he reaches his bard where she is standing off to the side for a short break. He watches as she takes the Lord’s hands in hers and pulls him into a quiet corner and then through a large door onto one of the balconies. 

He watches until his vision blurs with tears unshed. He watches until he can no longer stand it, and flees from the ballroom as more of a coward than ever before. 

tagging: @itsall-taken @pukner @mugloversonly @devondespresso @hellion-child @fairytalesreality @maya-custodios-dionach @awkwardgravity1 @bubblemixer @paperbackribs @the-redthread @stevesbipanic @gregre369 @chaoticvictorianspirit @cuoredimuschio thank you for reading, i hope this was okay 🤍

[romanoffsbish]

In Your Corner

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Request | WC: 3,885

It had been supposed to be another great year that had come to a close for you. Every year, without fail Tony would throw you a party, but this year he was preoccupied with his family. He hadn't even had the time to send you a text.

That hurt, but you new infants were a lot of work so you gave him and Pepper that pass, but as you entered the communal kitchen you found yourself disappointed again. You'd been used to waking up to the smell of a homemade breakfast made by your best friend, but this year Wanda was off to Cannes with Vis for an impromptu trip, she too had forgotten to text.

The remainder of the team had seemingly also forgotten, each one just hanging around the compound and your lover was off on a mission so you couldn't fault her for the lack of text.

——

So, there you sat, on your shared floor with a pint of whatever frostbitten ice cream was left in your freezer as you watched Friends reruns and cried into your couch cushions as Rachel and Ross fought over the terms of a "break".

The show continued on, laugh tracks sounding off, even when it wasn't really that funny but your focus had since shifted to your dry phone. When you realized no one would remember now as it'd already reached noon you settled into the loneliness and slipped off into a nap.

—

Natasha was stressed to the max on a quinjet, pacing back and forth as Clint flew them home. She'd been gone for two weeks now, and she told Fury that there was no way she'd miss your birthday. It was too important to her that the two of you at least have time to celebrate.

Your life was the most important thing to her, so of course the day of your birth was as well.

So he sent in some agents to replace them as the bulk of the work had been completed and all that was really left was the clean up. There was no reason to extend what had already been extended from a weekend away to two weeks.

When they landed she rushed off the jet and went straight to the common area. She was softly panting from the exertion, but her breathing slowed to nothing as she surveyed the room. Steve and Bucky sat on opposite ends of the couches reading, while Sam and Peter were on the ground, the former one cursing as they played a round of Mario Kart.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Clint's eyes widened as he walked in as Natasha growled. The men in the room looked to her confused, the youngest of them all was the first to speak. "We're having a chill day Mrs. Romanoff."

"Wrong answer," Clint tossed out before rushing out of the room to debrief with Hill as he promised Natasha he'd do for her sake.

"Now why would you be doing that Parker?"

"Natasha, we don't have the energy for your riddles, so speak your peace," Bruce boldly piped up from the corner he'd been sat in.

"Banner, I suggest you leave now," she gritted, her fists bunched up, and the scientist lost all of his bite when he remembered the Hulk wasn't going to be on his side. He soon left with his head down and metaphorical tail tucked.

Which was the best gift your wife could honestly offer: his disappearance. He'd been nothing but bitter since you two got together.

"What's wrong Nat?" Bucky asked, much softer and genuine. Of all people here he'd be granted a pass as he'd not been here in the years prior.

"I'm just wondering where the decorations are, and why my wife isn't here surrounded by the people who she celebrates joyously every year."

Expressions of guilt, and trepidation overtook the entirety of the limited team members faces.

"Friday, where's Y/N?" Natasha asked, only adding salt to the wounded men as she replied: "Asleep upstairs on your couch, it appears she had cried herself to sleep about a half hour ago. Shall I wake her for you Agent Romanoff?"

"No, please do let me know if she wakes up." Friday agreed, and she shifted her attention back to the men who'd all stood to their feet.

Natasha's heart had sank at the notion of you feeling the way you did, as if you were easily overlooked, and not valued, so she knew she needed to fix the mess everyone had made.

"Peter, swing to the bakery at once and return with a tray of those cupcakes." The young boy looked defeated, your wife didn’t hold this against him, on account that he was a kid, but she didn’t waver with her glare and that got him to scramble to activate his suit and leave.

“Wilson, Rogers, and Barnes, go decorate the garden, leave behind your generous gifts, then stay out of sight for the rest of the day."

The redhead then shot off texts to everyone else to scold them just in case they too forgot. Then she took off to the gym lockers so she could freshen up without having to enter your shared floor and risk waking you up just yet.

After she changed from her suit into a pair of shorts and a muscle tee she set off to collect you for a day of last minute, but proper plans. The guys had just finished their part, and left to Wilson's apartment so she could fix the day.

As she entered your shared space she was greeted by an obnoxious laugh track, your melted ice cream and your sleeping form.

Natasha took a minute to survey the scene, and after a moment of admiring you her heart effectively broke as she eventually saw the dampened fabric of your couch. If not for her desire to celebrate your birth she'd be stealthily bringing an end to all that made you this sad.

With a quiet, determined step she moved about your shared floor, cleaning up the mess you'd been accumulating ever since she left. Then she settled a kiss to your cheek as she shut off the TV before venturing off down the hallway to run you a warm tub full of water. After she set the place up with a sprinkling of gifts, and a whole lot of love she’d set off to collect you.

To her luck you'd just groggily sat up, she found it funny that the silence is what woke you up as you'd just been snoring through Friends only a half an hour prior. "Natty?"

"Good morning sleepy head," she teased as she moved out of the hallway and into your sight. There was a dullness to your gaze as you tiredly surveyed her, not subtle at all as you looked her over for wounds, then again to check her out.

Natasha smirked, and began to approach you, she settled down beside you and cupped your cheek. There was a glimmer of hope in your gaze, and she spoke fast, making sure not to crush it. "Happy Birthday moya lyubov'."

"You remembered?" You sobbed, a bit dramatic you'd realize later, because of course she did, but in the moment you felt relieved. "Oh detka, how could I ever forget such an important day, hm? It's my most treasured."

Her lips pressed to your cheeks, catching the tears that slipped through your lashes, then they traversed the expanse of your face until they finally landed on your own as she pulled your body into her lap in one swift motion.

"Why's my pretty girl up here alone on her most special of days, hm?" Natasha knew, but she wanted to try and get your perspective and see the best possible way to change it. "Because everybody forgot Natty," you hiccuped as you burrowed into her neck. "Except for Friday."

Natasha hummed, her body slowly rocked yours in an attempt to hopefully soothe you as her own blood boiled with pure contempt.

"My sources say there was a cosmic fluke on Wanda's behalf, because she adores you so."

Natasha prayed for her sake this was true, because though she'd lose in a fight with the unfair advantage of powers, she wouldn't refrain from smacking her around anyways.

"The rest were simply forgetful idiots, but they felt terrible and have started the apology train," she decided to be honest, forgoing her initial plan to lie to protect your feelings. The men didn't deserve such shielding, they instead deserved to stew in their guilt for eternity.

"I-I don't mean to be dramatic Natty," you sniffled, "But I never forget anyone, why would they forget me? I just want the same in return."

"I understand detka, it's fair to expect," she agreed with a soft tone, "I just want you to know I would never forget, I only didn't text because I was racing home to surprise you."

"I know you would never forget honey, some years it's you who has to remind me," you giggled, and it instantly brought a smile to your lovers face to see you already perking up.

"Well, in the spirit of such a monumental occasion I have ran a tub for you, and set out a new outfit for you to slip into for our plans."

Your head whipped back from its place on her shoulder, face instantly lighting up, "Plans?"

Natasha shook her head with a fond smile, her fingers then raised up to her lips to imitate a zipper and so you whined: "Natty please?"

"Detka, I want it to be exciting, so go get ready and meet me in the garden when you're done."

The two of you stood to your feet, reluctantly moving apart, but before you fully separated your wife pulled you in for a passionate kiss.

"Take your time, and relax your mind Y/N." She pecked your lips a final time, then left.

As you entered your room your heart swelled at the sight of the outfit she'd bought, you'd been eyeing the fit for awhile, and of course she had been watching you just the same. Nothing was ever going to get by your super spy of a wife.

Once you finished your soak, with a new set of body products, you slid out and into the new royal green cropped sweater vest, and skirt. Then after handling your skincare routine you skipped all the way to the garden where you found your wife stood there patiently waiting.

Natasha subtly gulped at the sight of you, and for a moment the both of you remained silent as you looked the other over. She had changed from her casual locker attire into a loose fit black button up polo, with a pair of grey slacks. It was a simple choice, but still deeply alluring as her arms managed to bulge out the stretchy fabric, and her pants were form fitting enough that you could admire her toned behind.

Once you reeled in your devious gaze you were reduced to a woman on the verge of another breakdown. There stood your wife with a bouquet of black roses, and honeysuckles. It had become her goal to pick you meaningful flowers, and the contrast in bright colors meant to symbolize eternal love, intermixed between the more dark, morbid version of the classic rose was for an that leads to a beginning.

In the moment your curiosity was peaked, but you settled on letting the day play out before you sought out clarity. Your wife was cunning, and never moved without a plan, and you were never one to doubt her so you'd easily wait.

Natasha's free hand hung in the air, beckoning you to approach her, and as you accepted she swiftly pulled you into her body. She lowered the bouquet, allowing you the chance to smell the unique combination before she set them in a vase on the center of the decorated table.

“You look gorgeous love.” Natasha blushed, and softly huffed, “That was my line detka.”

As you giggled mischievously into her chest she gave the nervous spider-teen who was lingering on the side of the compound a thumbs up from behind your back. Peter lowered the pink box, and white bags onto the table with his webs, then as previously instructed he vanished.

“He’s just a kid Natty,” you called your wife out as you tried to pull away from her, but she kept your bodies connected with a hand on your lower back, as her lips sought your warmth.

Once satisfied she let you go, eyes admiring the way that yours stayed shut an extra beat, you always took a moment to recover, even when it was just a peck on the lips. You swore you’d never get used to the feeling of hers against yours. It was electrifying, and no matter how brief there was never a lack of love to be found.

Once you shakily breathed out through your nose, and your eyes fluttered open you were met with your wife who was patiently waiting. Natasha pursed her lips, then doubled down. “That’s true Y/N, that’s why I still let him see you, but he also has a phone with a calendar.”

You knew not to push it, because in the end she wasn’t wrong. Instead you thanked the boy via text, and put your phone in dnd, no longer caring about the sudden influx of well wishes, as your greatest one to be was sat before you.

Natasha handed you a sandwich, and then after listening to you animatedly tell her stories of the guy’s stupidity, she reflected back and told you all about Clint’s on their mission. Then as if having the power to summon him, the man was beside you with a candle and a lighter.

“Happy Birthday Y/N/N,” he greeted with a grin and a stubbly kiss to your temple. “The kids made you this,” he passed you a paper with the whole Barton family on it, and right to the side of them was you in Nat’s arms with Liho on your shoulder. Then he passed you an envelope, “And Laura purchased you this.”

While Natasha pulled out a gorgeous cupcake decorated to look like a peony you tore it open.

“Oh my gosh, no way!” You shrieked, “We’re going with them to Disneyland Natty!” She met your enthusiasm with a nervous chuckle, then seamlessly blew passed her anxieties as she lit the solo candle and began to sing. Clint joined her in the celebratory tune, but fortunately for you your wife’s melodic voice carried the tune.

Clint slipped off a moment later, with a to go container of various flower inspired cupcakes, then Natasha guided you to her sports car. It never ceased to make your heart flutter when she naturally moved to buckle you in. There was never a time in your whole entire time knowing her that she didn’t do this. It was actually how you realized she liked you in the way you did her. Because once you actually saw how she unbuckled Tony’s for him in contrast.

“Where are we going?” Natasha shook her head and chuckled softly, “Stop asking baby girl, you know I’m a steel fortress with this stuff.”

You grumbled all the way, until you saw the arcade, with Yelena and Kate grinning outside. Natasha couldn’t contain her laughter as you raced from the car and into her sisters arms. The blonde spun you around, then after you were back on the ground Kate pulled you in.

“Come on Y/N,” Yelena shrieked, “We must play as many games as possible. The final winner gets the crown in Kate Bishop’s hand.

You raced off with a shout of: “Game on!”

“Thanks for coming so last minute, I know you just got home from an undercover mission,” Natasha genuinely said, and the archer turned to her with a tired smile. “It was the least we could do, plus, look at how happy they are.”

Natasha did look, her eyes hardly ever left you to begin with, but in moments like these, where you were in the middle of unbridled joy, she especially wanted to be a spectator. Seeing you and Yelena playing like little kids always made her heart soar, and her mind run with dreams.

Of a future similar to this moment, but with house parties and summer barbecues. It was all she wanted, and she reckoned it was time you two got started on the rest of your journey. So, after about an hour of free fun, where you beat Lena in the final game, reigning you champ she called out to you both to say it was time to go.

“You’re welcome for letting you win,” Yelena angrily said, making you giggle as you realized she most certainly did no such thing. Her eyes narrowed, but a grin soon overtook her face as you yanked her into a goodbye hug. “Thank you for coming out to celebrate my birthday.”

“I will never miss a chance to beat you at air hockey Y/N Romanoff.” Her arms tightened, and she softly whispered: “Happy Birthday.”

“Okay, let’s wife swap now.” Natasha’s tone was playful, but a spark of jealousy was easily detected. “Hold your panties Natalia. Y/N is all yours. Also Kate Bishop is my fiancé, not wife.”

“She’ll be your was with that attitude,” you teased as you shifted to say goodbye to the archer. Who, as was her job, coronated you the ‘Arcade Supreme’ just before slipping you a gift bag then taking off with her grumbling fiancé.

“We’ve got a few more stops detka.” Natasha escorted you back to the car, then the rest of the adventure unfolded as she took you to all of your favorite places. Including the cat cafe where she surprised you with an adoption.

You’d been begging for months to get Liho a girlfriend, but then you ended up getting a male orange tabby, with a missing eye. “He looks kinda like Fury, let’s take him to shield!”

“Detka, I want to live a long life with you,” she teased as you held the cat up. “Stop tempting your fate with the doppelgänger of our boss.”

“At least you agree with me,” you huffed, then set the cat back down before letting your wife take you out of the cafe with the promise of returning in the morning for the little fella.

“You think Liho will mind that his girlfriend is a boy?” You shrugged, smirking around the straw of your frappe. “Love is love Natty.”

It was encroaching evening now, so you’d figured that the night was coming to a close, but when your wife passed the exit for the compound you realized her plan was ongoing.

With the windows rolled down, and your hand interlocked with your wife’s as she drove you across city lined you began to realize the burden of your depressing start had dissipated. The tension in your body melted away, and in a show of direct appreciation you brought her knuckles up to your lips and kissed them.

“What was that for?” You were looking out the window at the vast greenery of New York, but you could hear her smirking and had to fight off the urge to roll your eyes. “Do I need a reason to show you, my dear wife, affection?”

Natasha hummed thoughtfully, “I suppose not, but if you were saying thanks, I’d also like the same gesture deposited upon my lips please.”

Just as much as you were left a total mess after each kiss, she was left with an insatiable need for more. If she had it her way you’d never part. Her lips would be against yours all day, and if not there, at least somewhere on you.

Before you could even consider her proposal the redhead had pulled over abruptly, the blur of greenery was now more clear to you, and a feeling of serenity washed over you at the view.

“Where are we love?”

Your wife was nervous, something she rarely ever felt, and never let anyone see. Today is going to change the trajectory of your life for good, and she just hopes you’re happy with it.

“Home.” You furrowed your brows as you whipped your head around to meet her gaze after processing the word she’d just blurted. Seeing her nervous smile upon doing so made you lose the frown of confusion. A much softer crease overtook your face as you matched her smile as best you could. “What do you mean?”

“Here.” Natasha unbuckled herself, then she hopped out and gently pulled you from the car. “I, well actually, Tony and I have been working together on this for awhile now.” You cut her off with a gasp of genuine surprise, “You and Stark have been working together and he gets to live to tell others about it?” Natasha rolled her eyes, but before she could clarify you gasped again, this time with a horrified look.

“Oh my gosh Natty, did you kill him?” Her face fell into one of pure mortification. “What? No!”

You cast her an unbelieving glance, but then you lost your edge, tone obviously teasing, “Maybe that’s why he didn’t text me today…”

Natasha glared at the notion, and vowed to trip the wires in his suit for such a slight. Then she remembered his hologram that was waiting for you with birthday wishes beyond the hedges.

“Detka, please focus,” she chided, then pulled on your hand until you were just beyond the greenery, and stood before a gorgeous home. The walls were painted a blue tinted grey, with black trimmings, and it was two stories tall.

“This is,” she began, but you cut her off with a squeal, “Our home? Are we finally…” Natasha cut you off next, “Yes, we only have one final mission detka. To settle down for good now.”

“I love you so much Natasha!” She gladly took you into her arms for a hug, then before you could protest she scooped you up like she did on your wedding day, and ran the both of you beyond the threshold of the home. Her lips slammed to yours in the heat of the moment, but the kiss was weak as neither of you could refrain from smiling like idiots. “I love you too Y/N, more than I ever dreamed possible.”

When the night came to a close a few hours later, you heard your phone ding just as your eyes had shut. You begrudgingly peeked an eye back open. "Happy Birthday Y/N/N, I had no service, but I promise you a stack of chocolate chip pancake's when I return on Monday. ❤️"

You smiled, grateful for Wanda's gesture, albeit late it was much better than never at all. All you ever wanted was to have a group of people to love you the same way you'd loved them.

With Natasha pressed into you from behind, an arm wrapped tightly around you as she snored softly you knew without a doubt that you were at the very least loved with reciprocity by her.

—

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1

“Shit,” Eddie hisses, “shit, shit, shit.” He grabs Dustin, pulls him up, shakes him by the shoulders, “Dustin, can you hear me? Dustin, wake—”

His voice dies. He feels himself freeze, useless; for a second too long, he’s thrown right back to his living room, to the lights flickering, to Chrissy—

“M’fine,” Dustin mumbles, lifting his head and wincing like it’s too bright. “Ugh, don’t need to shout. Just… dizzy.”

“Dizzy,” Eddie parrots, frantic. “Okay, okay, so—water, right? Right, water, water.”

He scrambles for a glass, pushes the bedroom door wide open so he can keep looking back. Dustin stays put right on the mattress as if in an attempt to reassure Eddie, but seeing him so still is just—it’s wrong.

“Here,” Eddie says. Water spills on his knuckles as he passes the glass over.

Dustin drains the whole thing, but it looks like it hurts to swallow. Like it sticks on the way down.

In his panic, opening and shutting cupboards as if he was a stranger in his own home, Eddie had found a scrap of a bandage in an old first aid kit.

He tightens it around the back of Dustin’s hand, but it’s not even bleeding anymore, just dried blood around the bite—can’t stop thinking that he hasn’t helped at all.

Dustin clearly takes pity on him; he nods at the bandage, says, “Good idea,” like Eddie’s a fucking genius—when Dustin’s the one who cracked a riddle in, like, the first session of Hellfire he attended when it should’ve taken the whole campaign; who reads out Eddie’s homework assignments in the cafeteria, says offhand, “Have you tried…?” and nine times out of ten, he’s right, or pushes Eddie down the right track, at the very least; who Robin calls “Einstein” and “genius child” with a teasing smirk, but she means it; who led Eddie out of utter terror in the boathouse, introduced a world of monsters like it was nothing, like a fucking duck to water…

Eddie picks up the walkie. “Hey, uh, I know we said no deviations, Wheeler—shit, like, we haven’t, but—just, we’ve got a problem, just please say you’re there, please, please.”

Silence. Nothing but static.

“Of course,” Eddie gets out through a shuddering breath; he has to laugh otherwise he’s going to—“Of fucking course. Uh, gonna need to help me out here, Henderson. I’m, like, so far out of my depth it’s not even—”

Dustin snorts. “Blind leading the blind here, dude,”—English essay due next week, Eddie thinks reflexively, stupidly—“hey, maybe you should be taking notes, like, this is a scientific discovery—”

“That’s not funny,” Eddie snaps, “that’s not even fucking remotely funny.”

Dustin falls silent.

Immediately, Eddie feels a cold wave of guilt; Dustin needs someone well-versed in all this shit, not an amateur—needs one of the others, someone who can be flippant and cool-headed. Needs Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “Fuck, just ignore me.”

Dustin nods, lips twitching into a dry smile, yeah, that’s what I usually do. There’s still an air of himself there, a spark in his fever bright eyes that reassures Eddie only slightly. Because there’s fear on his face too, of course there is—like the poorly received joke he’d made had really been for Eddie’s benefit. Like Dustin was trying to calm him down instead.

Jesus Christ, get it together, Munson.

“Hey,” Eddie manages after several deep breaths. “We’ll work it out, okay?”

He lifts his hand up and Dustin, after a pause, high fives him, the gesture not nearly as enthusiastic as before. His palm feels cold, tacky with sweat.

“Yeah,” Dustin says quietly. “Yeah, we’ll…”

He wobbles slightly, like the high five’s knocked him off balance. But that can’t—Eddie was so careful, he’d barely—

“We can just look at the stars,” Dustin says nonsensically.

Ice forms in Eddie’s gut.

“What?” he says loudly, swallows back bile—tries to sound like they’re just at Hellfire, and Dustin’s said something particularly off the wall. “That doesn’t—woah, no, stay sitting up, you hear me? Hello, earth to Dustin?” He clamps down hard on Dustin’s shoulders. “How about, uh, more water,” he babbles inadequately, “yeah, you just—no, no, don’t move—”

Dustin’s frowning, squirming beneath Eddie’s hands. “Can’t you see them?” he says, so unsure, Eddie’s never heard him sound so… “They’re right…”

All at once, he freezes.

Eddie instinctively looks up, half convinced that another nightmare’s come crawling through the Gate, but—

“Steve?” Dustin says. His voice cracks. “Steve.”

“He’s coming back,” Eddie says quickly, “I swear. I—I just couldn’t reach them on the walkie, but—”

“Steve,” Dustin repeats, louder now. Builds into a scream, fighting against Eddie’s hold, “Steve!”

His eyes, too wide, too bright, slide away into the distance, like he’s watching something Eddie can’t see.

And Eddie’s right; he’s so far out of his depth, he’s practically drowning. But somehow he knows that—

“It’s not real,” he says, wraps an arm tight around Dustin; he can’t let him—“Dustin, I promise, it’s not—”

As Dustin wails incomprehensibly, he grabs the walkie. It’s just static again, but he’s desperate. Lost.

“Help,” Eddie whispers.

[steveharringtonat3am]

helloo! I was thinking about Steve being soft about reader. Reader is sick and can't take medicine, like reader has a fear of swallowing pills something like that and Steve is there to help the reader. Thank you very much!! I hope you're having a good day too! 💕

You’ve always hating being sick. You can’t really remember when it started, maybe when you were small and got a fever so high your mom had to run a cold cloth over your forehead so you wouldn’t overheat. Or maybe when you caught that cold and your throat was so scratchy you wanted to just pull it out.

But you weren’t a little kid anymore, so you had to tough it out.

The next day at work was horrible. Your whole body hurt, your throat was aching and dry no matter how much water you drank, and you couldn’t stop sneezing. You told Steve you were busy with work, to avoid the daily lunch break phone call. You knew he would hear your illness in your voice and you couldn’t bear to burden him like that.

Steve was the most caring boyfriend you’d ever had. He was always going out of his way to do things like picking up your favourite snacks, filling up your car with gas, even taking bugs from your apartment outside. He had never seen you sick before and you just know he’ll go overboard.

You barely manage the drive home but the need to curl on the couch and watch movies all night is enough to push you through.

‘Dinner is a problem for later.’ You think to yourself as you toss your coat onto a chair, stumbling to your bedroom to change into one of Steves’ sweaters and a pair of pyjama pants. A chill has suck it’s way into your bones and you quickly burrow onto your couch and wrap a blanket around yourself. You about to turn on a movie when your phone begins to buzz. A glance at the screen, glowing with Steves’ cheesy smile and you wince. He knows your home and he definitely knows something is up since you always call on your drive home since you like the company.

“Hi baby!” You pick up, trying to keep the sore throat out of your voice.

“Hey babe. Haven’t talked to you all day! You want me to come over? I can bring takeout.” You grip your blanket in uncertainty. Your apartment is definitely riddled with germs and getting Steve sick would be worse than him seeing you like this.

“N-no no it’s alright. I’m feeling a bit tired so I’m probably going to bed now.” A weak lie that you know he’ll see right through.

“…It’s six o’clock. Are you feeling alright baby?” He’s so concerned you could cry.

“Yep! Great. Timeforbedokaybyeiloveyou!” You hang up quickly, tossing your phone to the other side of the couch in embarrassment. Hopefully you’ll wake up better tomorrow and you can pretend this never happened.

The knock on the door startles you awake. You blink as your eyes come into focus, crawling out of the warm cocoon you had built to stumble to the door. The light of your oven reads 7:06. You swing the door open and your heart sinks immediately. Steve, still in his work uniform, holds bags of takeout, a soft grin on his face.

“Hi sweetheart.” He greets you with a soft kiss on the cheek before slipping into your apartment. You lock the door, guilt settling in your stomach.

When you join him in the kitchen, he’s unpacking the food. He sets a large container of soup in the microwave and your mouth waters just a bit.

“I could tell you were feeling a bit under the weather so I got you some wonton soup from that place you like. And I picked up some tylenol in case you were achy and some regular cold medicine if you want that. It’s cherry flavoured.” He smiles so sweet at you that you might cry.

“I-I can’t take tylenol.” You know you should thank him, but the bottle of pills is the first thing on your mind.

“Why not?”

“I just…I don’t like swallowing pills. They feel like they get stuck in my throat and they just don’t-don’t go down.” It sounds stupid saying it but you know you should. You had never been able to get down pills, unless they were so tiny you didn’t notice.

“That’s alright babe. How about I split it and you try that?” You inspect the pills as you decide. The groove in the middle means splitting it is safe, and you think you could manage each half.

“Okay…” You watch carefully as he severs the pill with a knife, grabbing you a glass of water to wash it down. He hands it to you and pretends to not watch.

It takes you a second to get over the mental hurdle, placing the piece in your mouth and immediately taking a gulp of water. The pill manages to get lost in the liquid and you swallow with ease. You take the other piece and swallow once more. When it goes down, you show Steve with a smile and he grins proudly.

“Good job babe!” He pours you some soup, grabbing a bowl of fried rice for himself as you both head to the couch to eat. You relax into him as the soup calms your throat.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Steve.” You smile up at him and he mirrors it.

“Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you.”

[supercap2319]

Hey Cap.

Do you accept requests?

With Bucky cuddling with his bf? <3

Bucky wasn't a touchy, feely kind of guy. But could you really blame him? After years of forced compliance and basically had his brain erased by Hydra for years. The same treatment over and over again left Bucky not only riddled with guilt, but with such bad anxiety and trauma, that a simple touch was enough to set him on edge.

He was a mess. Very bad nightmares and the simplest of loud sounds had him ready to bolt or fight if necessary. Like the time he accidentally slammed Tony into the coffee table when the latter scared him from behind. Steve tried his best to keep him calm, but there were limits to what his best friend could do. He certainly couldn't ask Steve to lay in bed with him and cuddle. As funny as that sounds, it's a good thing he had a boyfriend for that.

Yes, James Buchanan Barnes was bisexual as he so wonderfully learned. He realized that during the war, and probably most of his boyhood years that he liked men and women. Even the winter soldier wasn't above sleeping with men or women to satisfy his sexual needs. Y/N and Bucky met on that dating app on your phone, and at first Y/N and Bucky had danced their way into polite small talk and even a second date.

Pretty soon, Bucky learned to accept Y/N's touch as they would often find themselves in Bucky's bed, cuddling. Bucky would be first, then Y/N would lay in his arms as they just sat there holding each other. Y/N would enjoy the way Bucky ran his fingers through his hair and he would let out a moan of pleasure as Bucky chuckled. "You like that, doll?"

"Yeah." Y/N would admit with a blush.

"Good." And they would stay like that for hours.

[broodybuck]

Shameful Dreams | Series Part 2

Series Summary: Steve and Bucky are each respectfully married to their wives, as any man should be in 1941. And yet, that doesn't stop Steve from having very shameful dreams about his married friend. Unexpectedly, things begin to happen outside of Steve's fantasies.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, no powers au, pre-serum Steve, top Bucky, bottom Steve, secret relationship, internalized homophobia, consensual infidelity, closeted characters

[Masterpost] // [ao3 link]

[PART 1]

Later that evening, Steve can't stop replaying what happened with Bucky. He's hard again by the time he and Peggy get into bed which leads, expectantly, to them sleeping together.

It feels wrong now. Like Steve shouldn't be sleeping with his wife because another man stroked his cock in a shed.

Of course, Steve knows there's no option to leave his wife and Bucky wouldn't leave Gail. They can't actually be together. It's later this night, after he and Peggy have fucked and they've turned off the lights to go to sleep, that he realizes if he wants anything with Bucky, then it means a life of cheating on his wife.

The realization makes Steve sick with guilt and shame. For doing this to Peggy, betraying her, lying to her. She doesn't deserve this. Even so, there's still a part of Steve that already knows he won't be able to give it up. If Bucky approaches him again, leads him to another enclosed space, he'll jump at the chance to touch him — to be touched by him.

He's wanted this man longer than he'd ever care to admit. And he exists in a time where there is no choosing Bucky. It's not possible.

Steve should be riddled with guilt longer than he is. He does have moments of true agony when Peggy is being wonderful as she always is. But Steve also finds himself aroused much too often now. He's begun imagining what it'd be like to return the favor. What Bucky could feel like in his hand. And just imagining that makes him hard as a rock.

Peggy notices Steve's heightened libido but she's surprisingly giddy over it. It feels like when they were just falling in love. She's letting him have it more often, so much more, that Steve wishes he hadn't fought his urges so much in the past. He didn't know he could be getting so much more sex. Which helps since he hasn't seen Bucky all this week.

One night, Steve wonders how much action Bucky gets. Then he remembers the comment Gail made, that he claims he's tired some nights when Bucky told Steve he got off in the car before coming home. Does that mean Bucky's avoiding sex with his wife?

That wouldn't make much sense... unless he's getting it elsewhere. The thought alone makes Steve burn with envy. How insane is it that Steve is jealous of Bucky cheating on strangers rather than with him? Steve is actually mad he's not getting to chance to cheat on his wife with another man. And when he realizes that, he feels miserable all over again. He's terrible.

Finally, the following weekend, Peggy tells him they're having the Barnes' over for dinner. Steve's giddy and blushing all at once. He tries to act cool, remember how he's always acted around Bucky. But he secretly wonders if Bucky's excited too.

He's going to have to keep it in his pants until he figures out how he can be alone with Bucky. They don't have a shed out back. Their house is a lot smaller than the Barnes' residence too.

This isn't happening, Steve thinks by the end of dinner. He's not going to sneak off with Bucky leaving their wives in the kitchen. The night in the shed was a one-time thing, Steve decides. If anything it was Steve's embarrassing predicament that he was aroused and maybe Bucky really was just being a nice friend, trying to sympathize being horny at the wrong time.

"Hey Steve, you know about cars, right?" Bucky asks, shaking Steve out of his spiraling thoughts.

"Yeah, some."

"The engine's been making a noise," Bucky says. Steve tries not to raise his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I heard it too," Gail agrees.

Steve calms himself down. If Gail heard it, this might be a genuine ask to look at the car.

"Mind taking a look?" Bucky asks.

The walk to the street is short, but the silence feels tense between the two of them because, car repair or not, it's just the two of them again.

Steve goes to open the driver-side door of the car but suddenly, it's pushed closed by Bucky, who's leaning over him.

"I thought—" Steve starts but Bucky quickly moves to the back door and opens it.

"Get in," he commands, hushed.

Steve doesn't question it. His pulse racing, he jumps in. Just like he knew he would.

There's nothing wrong with the engine. This was all a ploy just as Steve hoped because when Bucky gets in the backseat, his hands rush to open the fly of his pants.

Steve's getting hard just watching Bucky hurriedly yank his pants open. He's hard and beautiful. He pushes forward and there's no hesitation, Steve reaches right out and grabs him.

He's bigger than Steve imagined, thicker in his hand, hard enough that Steve's own cock twitches violently.

Bucky breathes heavily across from him as Steve strokes him. They're both on their knees in the backseat, crammed too close together and not close enough. Bucky grabs Steve's suspenders and yanks them now. A move that Steve wasn't creative enough to think up in his mind and now he'll be relentlessly replaying.

Bucky pushes forward, closer, even with Steve's hand around his cock and gets out Steve's. Then, they're both pumping each other hard, labored breaths mixing into one another from how little space is left between them. The air in the confined space gets so hot, Steve starts to sweat. He's never been more turned on in his life. Not even on his wedding night.

He tells himself to stop thinking about his wife and keep going. He couldn't stop if he tried. And they're moving so fast but they have to. Even away from their wives and with the darkness concealing them, anyone could walk by. The car is parked on a public street. They could easily be found out at any moment.

Steve grips Bucky tighter and quickens his pace, he can tell Bucky's close by the suppressed groans he starts biting back. The sounds he's trying not to make are killing Steve. He wants to ask to hear them, but he can't begin to consider what he's allowed in this situation. Anything at all feels like enough right now.

"Fuck, Steve. Haven't touched myself all day," Bucky growls.

Steve's response is an embarrassing squeal. He shouldn't be allowed to say things like that. Steve should tell him so, but he's too close, his eyes squeeze closed. He hears Bucky let out a shaky breath that's so close to a moan, Steve loses it. They both come.

They both didn't think about the mess. They're breathing hard as they look down and even in the darkness, they can see it all over their hands, underwear, and pants.

"Shit," Steve says.

Bucky doesn't say anything, just starts using the underside of his shirt to wipe it up. Steve follows his actions and they both tuck the messy, wet ends of their shirt back into their pants. Anything left mainly looks like splattered wet spots, ones they can blame on dinner.

When their breathing has calmed, they look at each other. The white of Bucky's teeth shows in a grin.

"Guess we're even."

"Yeah," Steve laughs way too forced.

He's suddenly terrified this is it. The favor was returned, so they're done. But he can't show his disappointment. He can't want this, he can't ask for this.

"Was there actually an issue with the car?" Steve asks, forcing himself back to reality.

"No. When do you get off work?" Bucky changes the subject.

"Work... uh, six usually."

"Can you meet by the docks?"

"The docks?" Steve realizes he's just repeating everything.

"Yeah, I know a place. No one would see us," Bucky explains.

Steve stares dumbfounded because he just convinced himself this was over when apparently it's not.

"If you want..." Bucky adds, hesitant now.

"No, yes, I mean... I'll be there."

Bucky smiles, relieved. Steve's heart betrays him by fluttering more than it should.

"Okay," Bucky nods, twisting around so he can get the back door open. They file out of the car and make their way back inside.

Steve can't get to the docks fast enough. He clocked out right at six and now he's sprinting toward the water.

The river wraps around the downtown area and he and Bucky both work along it but on opposite sides. It's close enough not to drive and they just need to meet in the middle. Steve steps onto the dock and starts making his way toward the direction of the factory where Bucky works.

The sun is setting since it's the beginning of fall. There's a beautiful orange glow over the water. Steve gets distracted by it, stops, and stares out at the colors blending into the reflection.

"Hey."

Steve turns and sees Bucky standing a few feet away. The dock is empty otherwise.

"Hey," Steve returns.

Bucky motions with his head and starts walking. He leads them off of the wooden dock and down a slope in the ground that's submerged between two buildings.

Steve's never noticed it, an old outhouse that's standing at the bottom. The grass surrounding it is too tall, it's clear no one has been maintaining it.

Bucky looks around quickly before opening the door to the outhouse and waiting for Steve to walk through.

When they close the door, the only light that shines in is from the carvings in the wood. It reminds Steve of the shed except it smells... like urine.

"Jesus, it reeks in here."

"Yeah," Bucky agrees. "But it's private. Don't think anyone uses it anymore."

"There's hardly any room," Steve complains when he looks at where the wood is raised on the floor for the makeshift toilet which is just a large hole in the ground.

"I know, it's not great," Bucky frowns then he sighs. "You wanna forget it?"

Steve huffs out a breath. It really isn't ideal but in the next moment, he remembers why they're here. To touch each other, to get off... and well, that's enough for him.

Steve steps forward and reaches for the buttons of Bucky's shirt. He wants to see more of him. He's thinking selfishly when he does it and he's already halfway down the buttons before he realizes Bucky might not want to take off all his clothes.

Steve pauses and looks at him. But Bucky only pulls Steve by his suspenders until they're flush against each other. Fuck, he has to stop using his suspenders so deliciously. Steve's cock pulses every time he does.

"I've dreamt about this too much to stop now," Steve mumbles, getting back to the buttons.

"You dream about us? What kind of dreams, Stevie?" Bucky asks as he pulls the suspenders off Steve's shoulders and untucks his shirt.

"This... and more," Steve murmurs, getting to the last button and finally getting a glimpse of that gorgeous chest and smooth torso.

God, he's beautiful, Steve thinks right before Bucky kisses him. Steve's too shocked to kiss him back and Bucky pulls back fast.

"That kinda more?" Bucky asks, quietly.

Steve really dreamed about them fucking, but yeah he can do with some kissing too.

"Yeah," Steve confirms breathlessly, grabbing the ends of Bucky's open shirt to pull him back to his lips. They heatedly make out until Bucky grabs Steve's ass and grinds their hard cocks together.

They pull back frantically to get their pants open and then they're jerking each other off faster than the last time.

After they're done and they're redressing, Steve realizes he won't be up for another round tonight if Peggy tries. He's gotten off too many times today since all he was thinking about was this secret meeting with Bucky. This was his fourth orgasm of the day. He realizes Bucky might be in the same boat.

"What're you gonna tell Gail?" Steve asks.

"That I'm working late."

"No, um. I mean, if she tries... tonight," Steve asks, awkwardly.

"Oh, what I always tell her. I'm tired from work."

"You always say that? You two never..."

"Uh, no. Sometimes we do..." Bucky says, uneasily. "What about you and Peggy?"

"Yeah, I'll tell her the same."

"But you two... a lot?" he asks.

"Well, recently. Yeah, more than ever."

"Really?" Bucky blinks.

"No thanks to you," Steve glares playfully at him.

"Me?" Bucky smiles.

Steve looks away, feeling his face flush hot.

"You got me so turned on," Steve admits low. "She noticed."

Bucky's quiet for a moment, then he lets out a gravelly sound.

"You got no idea what you do to me."

Steve turns back to him with wide eyes.

"Our wives becoming friends might've been the worst thing that ever happened," Bucky chuckles darkly.

"What?" Steve says, confused.

"Cause then I met you. And I've never been able to stop fucking thinking about you since."

[trashmouth-richie]

͎l͎͎e͎a͎͎v͎͎e͎ ͎m͎͎e͎ ͎i͎͎n͎ ͎t͎͎h͎͎e͎ ͎d͎a͎͎r͎͎k͎ 🦇🌑

a spooky tale of the night things went bump in Hawkins, the aftermath and how things had been affecting your boyfriend, Eddie months before you both were on the run.

tw: possession, ptsd, nightmares, drug use, cheating, vecna lives, mean!evil!Chrissy , mean!Eddie, a sprinkle of Steve and Dustin! yay we love them. Mike wheeler, ew! This runs the same course as season 4, I just thought it would be cool to see Eddie’s life before spring break of ‘86 and what it would be like if he had a girlfriend, you baby— that’s you!

eddie x fem! reader

“No, no!” 

  He could feel the razor sharp teeth sinking into his flesh, gouging his sides like butter under a hot knife. It was all too real. 

  It always was. 

  The nightmares presented around the anniversary of that day. The day you almost lost him. 

  You did what you always had, holding him close to your own body, pressing your lips to the plains of his shoulder blades, running the pads of your fingers over the pink marred scars delicately to remind him it was just a nightmare. 

  That he was safe with you.

  You weren’t around when it happened. he didn’t want you down there, instead your position was right side up with erica and Lucas at the Creel House. 

  “I’ll be fine,” He had teased, rolling his eyes as you fretted and pouted that you couldn’t go with him. He kissed the knuckles of your right hand, those infamous dimples dipped into his cheeks, “I’ll be right back.”

  Only he wasn’t right back.

  He was choking on his own blood when Steve hoisted him through the gate into the disheveled remnants of the Munson trailer. 

  A day burned into your memory. A day he still suffered from. No matter the amount of medications he was on to help numb the nightmares. 

  “It's okay Eddie,” you whispered softly into his skin, “you’re here with me,” 

  His shoulders begin to release the tension he was holding, fist gripped hands softened as much as the guitar calluses would allow. 

  He shifted his weight to his other hip, facing you. His puffy eyes moved erratically trying to gain security in your face as you smiled softly at him. 

  His hand presses to your chest to feel your heartbeat trying to mimic his breathing to yours. He’s warm, sweaty and hair a nest around his face.

  He would take it all back if he could— selling to that bitch Chrissy to make a quick buck. Running and hiding at Rick’s. Dodging your phone calls because you had been in another fight about whether or not he could just move hellfire so Lucas would be there, and why he was selling to Chrissy.  

  Moves and counter moves. And those 4 days, Eddie had made the worst ones. 

  “‘m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

  Years had passed and it still felt like it was yesterday. The red lightning striking behind his eyelids every night before he went to sleep, a reminder of the world that crawled with demons and creatures beneath his feet, just aching for another gate to open and make the two worlds collide. 

  The embarrassment hung heavy on his features, tinging his marble cheeks pink, a silvery tear fell from his grove of lashes. 

  Guilt riddled through him from those days, and the months leading up to it, he had no idea what was happening.

  He promised Steve and the others that he wasn’t a hero, then cut the sheet and rammed through the door to give them all time.

  Scoffed and told you he’d be fine then ended up laying in a puddle of his own blood, Dustin screaming for him to stay awake. 

  Swore to Wayne that he would graduate that year, but ended up hospital bound for months and missed graduation again.

  Flashes of your face, your eyes, the sweet nectar of your lips played through his mind. Your voice was the only thing he heard, maybe it was the loss of blood that numbed him, he wasn’t sure. But one thing remained, your voice was the only thing he could hear.

“Ed please, please let me come with. I wanna be with you.” 

  Your relationship was hanging on by threads in March of ‘86. He had loved you for years, knew every single freckle and imperfection on your skin. He loved the way you had shown up to every concert cheering for them when the bar was silent and empty. He had been the one to teach you a little about cars when you sat on the ground beside him watching as he cranked a wrench this way or that. He knew the spots to kiss below your ear to summon the pretty noises, just for him. 

  You were the love of his life, and he was yours. Two outcasts finding each other and sticking like glue. 

  But the past year had been hard on him, he was back in school again, super senior times two, and he fell deep into the facade the town had molded him into. He was angry, feeling the weight of the heavy chip on his shoulder, the pounding ache in his skull.

  It wasn’t your fault, but somehow you were the easiest to push away. 

  He became mean, became everything they thought he was, leaning into his reputation. And as much as he fooled the others you knew that wasn’t the Eddie you had fallen for. 

  The Eddie you knew was sweet. And not just a nice guy but affectionate in ways you didn’t know anyone could be. 

  He’d open doors for you, carry your books to class, pick you up before school and drop you off every day, even on days you worked at the bar wiping slimy tables, he’d wait for you shift to be over, tipping and whistling when you walked away, letting the whole bar know you were his girl. 

  He wrote mushy songs about his love for you that would make the rest of the band gag. Promising you the moon and the stars while laying out on the top of his van, Eddie was wrapped around your finger, just as much as you were around his. 

  November was the month she had left, and it was always tough for him, but that year it ate at him. The pain from abandonment spread like wicked vines in his chest and he lashed out at anyone who crossed him. 

  It hurt when he started picking fights, bickering over what songs you played in your car, tossing the tapes out the window, laughing when you got mad. It hurt worse when he ignored you all together, heated fights ending with him unplugging his phone from the wall jack, not wanting to hear your pleas. 

  He stopped calling, stopped staying for your shift at the bar, claiming he had something else to do. DnD and weed became his only escape, usually finding solace in your arms, your kisses, but he had outgrown them, outgrown you. 

  That day was the same as any other Friday. 

  He had picked you up for school, wearing his hellfire shirt and greeting you with a sleepy smile and a morning cigarette, one he had inhaled and held while he pressed his lips to yours, only breaking away and pushing the smoke from his lungs and into yours when they were screaming. 

  “You look pretty, who’s the lucky guy?”

  It was a running joke between you, but somehow the joke fell flat when it was rumored that Chrissy Cunningham was seeking him out. 

  you blew the smoke between your lips and settled into the velour seats of his van, “oh just some curly haired metal guy, always wears the old leather jacket we found in Indianapolis three years ago, super good lookin’ kind of a dick, lately.” 

  He scrubs his hands down his face, “c’mon babe don’t start this shit again.” 

  You were still hurting from your argument last night, he just couldn’t understand how it was a big deal that Chrissy seeked him out to do special k with her, at his trailer, alone. 

  “I’m not starting anything, I just think her intentions are more than getting high.” 

  “It’s an easy sixty bucks, triple what it’s worth— I’d be stupid to turn it down.” 

  “Or just stupid to do it.” 

  The two of you had argued for hours over this, ending the phone call with a slam into the receiver on Eddie’s end. And tear stained pillows on yours. 

  Crazy to think now how that was what was killing you, your boyfriend who was pushing you away. 

  You were so naive, then. Not knowing that within a day's time, Chrissy would be found dead in Eddie’s trailer and he would be missing. And whatever her intentions truly were wouldn’t matter. 

  “No need to apologize,” you whispered into the dark, fingers moving his bangs from his face. 

  He pulled away, reaching for the lamp on his side table and pulling his knees to his chest. “Thought I was past this shit.” 

  “Your doctor said the possibility of them coming back is higher than them leav—”

  “I know—” he barked, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye, “sorry, fuck I’m tired of it— it’s been six years!” 

-

After Hellfire was over, Eddie paid Mike to make sure you got home safe, which led to you throwing the velvet bag of dice at his chest, demanding answers. 

  “So I’m not allowed to be at your place when she’s there?!” your finger nails dug into your jeans as your hands pressed into your hips. 

  “Oh here we go—“ Eddie breathed out annoyed, “it’ll take a half hour, tops.”

  “so since it won’t be that long it shouldn’t be a problem for me to be there when Chrissy and her skanky ponytail show up, right?” 

  “Well, I’m driving her there.” 

  You almost laughed in his face at his hurtful joke, but when he peered down at you, you knew his dimples wouldn’t show up and he’d tickle your sides kissing you frantically and laughing. 

  He was serious. 

  Driving that cheap tramp to his place, making a sale, doing k and then what? You could see the web she was stringing along, and you knew he did too. He was just playing dumb. 

  “.. wow munson, (a name you only called him when you were mad) hope she swallows.” 

  Rolling his eyes he muttered, “Jesus Christ sweet—” 

  “Don’t sweetheart me!” You said shoving his chest with all your might, he didn’t even tip back onto his heels. “You can use the sixty dollars to pay for your new script when you catch something.” 

  “Grow up, it’s not like that,” he grumbled, blowing you off and walking away from you. 

  “Really?” You chirped, following him to the back of his van, “tell me what it is like then, because last time I checked- I didn’t have guys over at my house without you.”

  “It’s just a sale,” he gritted through his teeth, slamming the back of the van door, “don’t fucking pretend like you weren’t doing the same shit before we started fucking.”

  That was exactly your point. And the fact that he could say it and not even bat an eye or see what her intentions were was fucking insane. 

  Your tongue pressed into your cheek and you ripped his guitar pick necklace from your neck, and threw it as his reeboks, “fuck you.”

  Stomping over to Nancy Wheeler’s station wagon, you hopped in the passenger seat. 

  “Drive Wheeler.”

  “Huh?” Mike said confused and nervous that he was the one to drive you home. 

  “Fucking drive!” 

-

  Whatever could have or would have happened between Chrissy and Eddie never did, she was dead within ten minutes of being at the trailer. 

  And Eddie fled, making a pit stop to grab the only thing important to him, the only one who would believe him, you. 

  You had never seen him like that before. His eyes were wider than they ever were. At first you thought he was fucked up on some bad shit, maybe Chrissy convinced him to do some coke or even worse. 

  “Aww the princess wouldn’t put out?.” You seethed before attempting to slam the door in his face, he caught it with a thick hand and shoved his way in. 

  His face was ghost-white pale, eyes wide and scary like he was a little kid and witnessed a true monster lurking beneath his bed. 

  “Shut up, we have to— c’mon,” he grabbed your wrist and drug you up the stairs to your bedroom, once there he began opening up your drawers and tossing clothes onto your bed. 

  “What the hell are you doing?” you protested, trying to stop him from ripping your entire room apart. 

  “I can’t,” and this was the first time you saw your boyfriend break, he was always strong, holding you when your own mom left with her many boyfriends, brushing your tears away at the end of a sad movie, but here he was, tears stinging his eyes, crying while he held a combination of his clothes that you kept in your dresser and yours. “…can’t explain— right now, please baby, fuck please! Help me!” 

  you did as you were told, opting to ask questions later, you nearly tripped down the stairs with how hard Eddie was dragging you behind him, he stopped in the kitchen and grabbed the first food items he could think of, and thirty seconds later you were in his van, watching him wipe tears from his eyes as he sped through town. 

—

He had never told you the most frightening part of his nightmare, and it wasn’t the bats or vecna or the way he felt like he was suffocating. Or Chrissy’s body snapping like a fucking twig under a bears claw, it was worse than all of that. 

  “It’s the same thing over and over again,” Eddie said between puffs of a cigarette, your warm hand rubbing his back like you always did on bed nights,  “I’m lying there almost dead, and I can see Henderson, feel the bats teeth, but…”

  “It’s okay Eddie, it was traumatizing— but you’ve come a long way, and I’m so proud of you.”

  The truth is what scared him the most. 

-

  “You’re scaring me Eddie,”

  “Yeah- well I’m pretty fucking scared right now too, I have no idea what I— fuck I’m losing my mind.” 

  His foot was pressed flush with the floor, no time for stop signs. 

  “Just tell me what happened so I can help!” you yelled, unable to calm yourself out of fright.

   He turned to look at you and you swore he aged 10 years, “She’s fucking dead, I don’t know how, I don’t know why. She flung into the air like a fucking squirrel or some shit and then she- she, and then she snapped.” 

  “She snapped? Like she went crazy? Like a witch?”

  “What? No, not like a witch! She snapped like her bones fucking snapped and then she fell to the ground and she was— dead.” 

  “Jesus.” 

  “We need to hide, it won’t take very long for someone to notice there’s a dead bitch in my living room.”

  —  

  “You were right.” 

  “What?”

  “She— Chrissy, she wasn’t there that night to buy from me. I didn’t, I swear to you, I had no idea.” 

  “It was so long ago Eddie, it doesn't matter now.” 

  “It does..”

  -

  “I wanna be with you.” 

  Running from the cops, finding out about the upside down and helping your new found friends discover vecna and his curse still couldn’t stop you and Eddie from bickering. 

  He was pissed that you had dove in the water after Robin and Nancy, even more pissed when you resurfaced and found you helping Nancy wrap up a badly bleeding Steve. 

  You were mad that he ate all the honey comb back at Rick’s before you even woke up, leaving you with a rumbling stomach and a growing hatred for him. 

  And worst of all, you were still upset that you were both in this mess. Imagine if he had just listened to you and Chrissy would have died at her own house or better yet at Jason’s. You and Eddie wouldn’t be reeking like an ogre’s armpits and your socks and underwear wouldn’t be soggy.

  And now he didn’t even want you with him.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said with an eyeroll, his chin dipping into the green vest, “I’ll be right back.” 

  -

  Chrissy didn’t come over for drugs, the minute her door slammed in the van she was all over him, rubbing his thigh and walking her nails up his chest. 

  It felt good to be wanted by someone else. He wouldn’t deny it. He felt like you were his past and he wanted something new, something… more. 

  Someone like Chrissy Cunningham. 

  She wasn’t prettier than you were, but she was cute, and he had a crush on her for as long as he could remember. 

  Plus, her boyfriend was the biggest asshole in all of Hawkins High so how great would it be to find out his girlfriend was cheating on him with the freak? 

  He thought of you.

  His girl.

  Your smile, your witty little jokes, the way your curves felt in his hands, how you were the first girl to actually give a shit about him. 

  He loved you, goddamn he fucking loved you. 

  He started second guessing everything that was happening. Suddenly Chrissy’s nails felt like talons and her perfume smelled like rancid rotting fruit, he pushed her away in disgust, and her eyes flickered a sinister shade of milky blue. 

  But before anything could happen, before her lips could even touch his, and before he could tell her to get out and find another way home, she was dead. 

  —

Blood was fountaining from his mouth, he made Dustin promise to take care of the others. And before Dustin could beg him to stay, he heard your voice. Pretty and musical, 

  Eddie bear. 

  You had called to him like an angel. 

  My sweet sweet Eddie, how fucking dumb are you? 

  He couldn’t get away from it, he tried to focus on Dustin’s voice but it was no use. 

  I’m glad you’re dying, you worthless fuck. Now you can lie with that whore, forever. 

—

  “I— I know it was Vecna, but it— fuck baby it’s your voice.” 

  You didn’t cry easily, not anymore. But the tears hit the tops of Eddie’s bare shoulder before you can catch them. And you sob into his neck. 

  “I love you, sweet girl— I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” 

  It wasn’t a secret how much you didn’t like Chrissy, even now when she’s been buried for years you still couldn’t forgive her. 

  You had heard what her plans were when you were stacking paint supplies for Ms. Greenly in the supply closet earlier that week. Her locker was right next tk the closet door snd you could hear everything she was saying. 

   She was talking to Carol about her plans of seducing Eddie, how he had become so hot this past year, how Jason wasn’t filling her needs anymore. But maybe if she got under some trailer trash like Eddie— it would help her appreciate how good she had it. 

  She had just wanted to use him for her own benefit, using the fact that he had liked her years before to win him over. 

  “Plus,” she added, “have you seen the dog he’s dating? Barf.” 

  You may pried open her locker after that, and you might have poured red paint on her Pom poms. But it wasn’t anything she didn’t deserve. 

  Eddie never told you about what he heard when he was fighting for his life that night. 

-

  You had cried so hard when Steve rolled up to the creel house and hollered for you to get in, Eddie was sprawled in the back nearly dead. You jumped in beside him, holding his head in your hands and asking a frantic Dustin what had happened. 

  The rest of the days were a blur. Eddie was stable but in extreme amounts of pain. Feeling guilty that he was the one to come back and Max was still in a coma, bones shattered like Chrissy’s were. 

  You rarely left, visiting every hour you could and sharing Eddie’s hospital bed. 

  “I’m sorry baby, I’m so fucking sorry,” he repeated it almost every hour, you thought it was for him almost dying and refusing to let you come with, but now you understood. 

Six years has passed and you both left Hawkins the week after he was cleared from the hospital. Both unable to stomach the idea of staying in a town that quite frankly was formed on the hubs of hell. 

  Hawkins was your home, but it was filled with toxic memories. Ones that you and Eddie had put behind you, ones that never got brought up. 

  You were in love again, no longer fighting, promising to be together until you were both old and gray. Eddie was the same boy you fell in love with in the band room years before, sweet as can be. Your hero. 

  And maybe it was Vecna’s curse brewing that wedged between you and Eddie to begin with. Vecna saw that he was valuable, much more use to him as a leader among an army of the undead than just an undead soldier. 

  That was Will’s theory at least, explaining why Eddie was distancing himself, why his head hurt all the time why he became so mean and vile, and why he was driving you away. 

  Vecna acted through Chrissy, taunting and teasing him, coming into his dreams and promising him power, riches, and companionship. 

  The nightmares were like a ticking clock, acting on the same four chimes as Vecna worked, four nights of hell for not obeying his orders, for not joining him. 

  For now, he waited in the shadows. He’d wait for however long it took. Waiting for his right hand Kas, to return. 

[marwritesgood]

Stepping on the Last Train

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader

Summary: Tensions in the Hopper household come to a peak when El runs away under Y/n's supervision.

series masterlist // main masterlist

A/N: this is a side-story (though technically a back-story) to my Steve series, Cardigan. i recommend reading the first two parts of the main storyline, if you haven't already, for better context.

September 18th, 1978

Sara let out a tired yawn as her older sister read the last sentence of her favourite storybook. The hospital bed was the least bit comforting, nothing at all like her bed at home. Sara frowned as her sister closed the book shut.

"The end," Y/n sighed, relieved one of the longest days of her life was finally coming to an end.

Between school, her neglected chores and the daily trips to the hospital, she had barely any time to sleep. Even when she did catch a break, she never could go to sleep. Not when her baby sister was sitting in a cold gloomy hospital room, their parents both a mere shell of the lively people they once were.

Some nights, Y/n would dream the four of them were all dancing in the living again. Her stepping on her dad’s toes as her mum lifted Sara up in the air. On those nights, she could not help but wish she could sleep and dream that forever.

Y/n turned to place the book down on the chair beside the bed, but Sara grasped her arm and stopper her. She huffed, knowing where this was going.

"Again," the little girl spoke softly.

Her big sister's voice was a significant upgrade from the hospital ambiance and the annoying beeps from the heart monitor. The older girl sighed. Those days, it felt like everyone wanted more from her than what little she had left to give.

"No, Sara, I'm really tired."

The young girl pouted, sticking out her bottom lip and staring up at her sister until her eyes watered. She had gone from almost always having her way to not having any say at all. It wasn't fair, they both thought.

"Pleeease, Y/n," she pleaded, weakly grasping onto her sister’s forearm.

Y/n frowned, her heart sinking. Sara huffed defeatedly as her sister leaned in and kissed her temple apologetically.

"It's getting late, Sara bear,” Y/n whispered with a weak smile. Time was no one’s friend in the hospital. “- We should really get some sleep.”

As Y/n shift the hospital bedsheets to sit up, the faint sound of her father's voice could be heard. Her eyes shot up to the silhouette of her parents through window, as their conversation in the corridor escalated just as it always did.

"I'm doing everything I can!”

Hopper threw his hands up in frustration which only infuriated his wife more. Livid, she inched closer with a deathly glare and a horrified expression.

"What, and I'm not?!"

Y/n winced and instantly looked down to Sara. Their parents fighting had become routine now, but she knew that didn’t stop the youngest Hopper from trembling in fear every time.

Y/n shifted back into her original spot and wrapped her arms around her baby sister. What was one more late night, she told her. Sara already had her fair share of things to worry about.

"Let's read it one more time, ok?”

Sara sniffled and looked up to her big sister, nodding her head as she tried to bring herself to smile. Y/n frowned before leaning in and kissing her temple softly. She opened the book to the first page again and made a point of raising her voice and doing extra goofy character voices to drown out the sound of her parents.

***

December 20th, 1983

Y/n gulped down a mouthful of soda as she studied her father from across the room. He said goodnight Eleven and carefully closed shut to the door that Y/n guessed would now be her bedroom.

Once he turned to approach the kitchen table, Hopper met his daughter's hard gaze with glazed over eyes riddled with guilt. He was grateful she waited until he sat down opposite her before ripping him a new one. El needed a decent night's sleep, among so many other things.

His daughter huffed, surrendering the death grip she had on her soda can. How was he so calm and casual about something that impacted their day-to-day lives massively? Y/n leaned in and glared at him with knitted brows.

“What the hell, dad?”

She spoke in hushed tone, yet her voice still projected with a piercing sharpness. Hopper sighed. He knew his daughter well enough to suspect she would not take the news of El moving well. Even so, he couldn't help but hope it bode over a hell of a lot more smoothly.

“Listen, bug, I know-“

Y/n scoffed, cutting whatever explanation he had short.

“Look, I get that she’s alone and needs a safe place to stay," she reasoned. "- but you can’t just take in a child we only met a few weeks ago and just expect me to be on board.”

Hopper pursed his lips as his posture slumped. That was a fair point, one he had always been aware of but chose to overlook. It was easy to do when El looked up at him the way she did.

“I know it’s a big change-"

"It's a massive change," Y/n corrected.

This was a much bigger deal than bringing in a stray cat. Eleven was an entire person who needed and deserved more than what Y/n had been just barely getting by with that last few years.

Hopper leaned back against his chair and ran his hand over his mouth. After a moment's deliberation, he turned to his daughter once more. Y/n felt uneasy as he looked to her with pleading eyes. She knew then he was not going to give up easy, and that only made her feel worse.

"I just thought that maybe after all she's done and all she's been through…” Hopper shook his head, unable to even fathom just how much that little girl had endured.

He looked to his daughter and sighed once more. They could go back and forth all night about what it was that led him to making such a rash decision. However, ultimately, Hopper's reasoning was simple.

“She needs me, bug.”

Y/n winced. Finally, she was able to put her finger on what it was that made her so uneasy. In one chance encounter in the woods, Hopper dropped everything to bring El home. In one encounter, he made the call to step into her life and be a parent with seemingly little hesitation.

Where had this version of him been for the last few years?

Hopper reached out and placed his hand atop Y/n's, causing her to jump. He waited until she finally looked back before pressing further.

“She needs us.”

Y/n stared blankly at him. She blinked a few times then moved her hand away. This was not a movie, or some storybook tale. There were very real factors to account for and very real considerations to make. He needed a cold hard reality check, Y/n told herself.

"You work first thing in the morning and show up drunk in the middle of the night almost every night, dad,.” Y/n’s voice was calm and level, which sent chills down her father’s spine.

He didn’t feel like the parent in their conversation. He felt like a kid sitting in the principal’s office. Y/n sat back and narrowed her eyes, only heightening that very feeling.

"Do you really think your guardianship is what she needs right now?"

Hopper scoffed defensively.

"Hey, now that's not fair.”

He wasn’t new to the parenting scene. Sure, it had been just him and Y/n for a while and sure, he had been asleep at the wheel for a while too. But he was still a parent.

Y/n eyes only narrowed further.

"It isn’t?"

She licked her lips and swallowed thickly. She knew she was in the right, but that did not stop the guilt from creeping in. Maybe there was a nicer way of going about it. Maybe she was being a bit harsh.

Y/n dismissed that train of thought immediately. If not for Eleven’s sake, then it would be for hers. She already had her hands full trying to keep the lights running with just herself and Hopper. Adding another kid into the mix would only complicate things further and Y/n knew if things went south she would be the one to have to step up.

Lord knows he father knew nothing about doing that.

"Look, I don't want El to be out on the streets, but... and I'm not trying to be cruel,” she had to make sure he knew. “I just… I don't see how she's gonna be better off here."

Hopper’s stomach sank as he struggled to think of a decent retort. There was none. Their kitchen was a mess of dirty dishes, half-empty pizza boxes and a plethora of empty and almost-empty beer bottles. Their living room was no improvement. Old boxes Hopper had moved out of the spare room to make space for El, piles of policework and cigarette burns all over their sofa.

Y/n pressed further, though she suspected he was already getting the hint.

“I mean… how do you plan to look after her when you've barely been able to look after yourself the past few years?"

Much less her, the person he was already responsible for.

Y/n had to look away and excuse herself from the table. If she stayed and kept looking at him, she knew she was either going to scream or cry hysterically. Waiting for him to come to his senses was pointless, but she always struggled to resist doing it.

She was still his daughter, after all.

Hopper heard Y/n’s bedroom door close and leaned forqard again, this time putting his head in his hands and lettig out a quiet groan. What had he done? What had he gotten himself into.

Y/n words echoed through his head as he tried to figure out the best way around it. He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to reach for the whiskey he kept in the kitchen cabinet. She was right, he realised.

He hated that she was right.

Balling his hands into a fist, Hopper glanced over once more to the pile of dirty dishes among the mess that was the kitchen. That was one way to start. He let out a huff and then got up from his chair and approached the mess, turning the faucet on and making a start on what he knew would be a long journey and an ongoing process.

If for nothing else, then it was to make sure Y/n thought of him as more than a drunken deadbeat.

***

October 31st, 1984

El looked up to Y/n with glossy eyes and pouted, her shoulders slumping defeatedly. She knew it was a long shot, but Y/n always came to the rescue when El had disagreements with Hopper. She did not thing she was asking for much.

Y/n sighed and glaced past her little sister. She could just make out Steve’s car pulling up to front of the cabin. As much as she hated disappointing El, Y/n did not want to get caught in the crossfire.

"That's Steve. I have to go now.”

She sped past the pouty young girl and reached for her bag from the kitchen table. Before she could make it to the door, El raced to block her path, this time with her hands clutched together pleadingly. That was new.

"Y/n, please,” El cried.

One night. All she wanted was one night out of the cabin doing somethings kids her age were doing. Something Mike was probably doing, though she would never know for sure because of Hopper’s stupid rules. Y/n frowned.

"I'm sorry, El, Hopper already said no."

Usually, Y/n could not care less what Hopper had to say, but when it came to El he was an otherworldly kind of strict. If Hopper banned Steve from coming over for a week after she missed her curfew twice in a row, Y/n dreaded imagining what he would do if she took her little sister out.

"I never leave," El complained, her brows knitting together as her frustration reached an all-time high. If Y/n was not going to take her side, what were the chances that anything was going to be different?

"C'mon, you know I don't agree with him, but I can't just-"

"Please, Y/n.”

Y/n froze for a moment. El sounded different. She didn’t sound like a kid throwing a tantrum because her dad wasn’t letting her go and play.

She sound like a kid who desparately wanted a break. She sounded like someone who needed their big sister. She sounded like Sara. That was enough for Y/n to give in.

"Go put on your costume."

El didn’t need to be told twice before bolting to her room and coming back out with the white bed sheet she had cut out holes into. Y/n could not help but smile as she opened the door for her and followed her out to where the BMW parked.

Steve had been waiting outside, leaning back against the hood of his car. As El came racing out towards him, he instantly stood straight and embraced her as she hugged him excitedly. Y/n smiled nervously as he looked to her in confusion.

"What's going on?"

Y/n shoved her house keys back into her bag and crossed her arms anxiously. It was too late to go back now.

"El wants to go trick or treating,” she explained nervously. Steve toyed with the car keys in his hands as he only felt more puzzled.

"I thought your dad said-"

"It's too dangerous," Y/n nodded. Glancing between her little sister and her boyfriend, she scratched the back of her head. "So- I don't know- I was thinking we could just drive around and El could stay in the backseat and watch? That way no one sees her."

Steve couldn't help but feel bummed their movie plans were being given a rain-check, but one look at El and her adorable costume and he knew he could not say no.

"Yeah, sure.”

He went to open the door for Y/n when he took notice of the way El lowered her head and left out a huff. Even with her expression concealed behind the white sheet, Steve could tell she was disappointed.

He reached his hand out for Y/n's, halting her from getting into the passenger's seat. She turned to him, puzzled.

“Or maybe..." Steve gave El a small smile before turning to her older sister. It would be worth a shot. He gave his wristwatch a once-over. "I mean it’s only 5 o’clock. Muncie's just a little over an hour away, and we don't know anyone there."

Y/n furrowed her brows, unsure whether she felt more startled or touched by what Steve was implicating.

"You wanna drive to Muncie?"

Steve shrugged, as if it was no big deal. To Y/n, it was. He stood behind El and placed his hands on her shoulder, feeling assured he was doing a good thing by the way the young girl was already jumping with excitement.

Maybe it wasn't trick-or-treating with Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will, but it was a hell of a lot better than sitting in the backseat on the outside looking in.

"I want El to have the full Halloween experience."

"I do too, but it's risky," Y/n argued, folding her arms and taking a step towards the two of them. "What if someone sees her?"

"C'mon, she has the best costume to disguise her," Steve nudged El's shoulder gently, prompting her to lift her hands up.

"Boo!"

"See? Terrifying."

Y/n laughed beneath her breath then pulled Steve closer to her as El stood behind with a hopeful gaze. As much as she wanted to indulge, she could not ignore how risky it would be.

"Steve," she whispered. "If my dad finds out, he's gonna be pissed."

"I’ll get you both home before he gets off work, I promise," Steve assured, snaking his arms around her waist and closing the gap between them almost entirely.

Y/n pursed her lips, still unsure. Steve, not wanting to let El down after already getting her hopes up, pressed a soft kiss against his girlfriend's temple and then leaned his against hers until she met his eyes.

"Please, baby?"

Her knees weakened. Something about the way he called her baby always seemed to have that effect on Y/n. As if she was not already convinced, a small hand tugged on the bottom of her t-shirt.

"Yeah, please, Y/n?"

With two pair of eyes glued onto her, Y/n felt completely cornered. How was she to say no to the two people she loved most? Letting out a sigh, she playfully rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms.

"Ok, fine."

El hugged her briefly before speeding to the BMW, where Steve stood holding both right-side doors open. Y/n was glad he brought up the idea of going to Muncie. El deserved a normal kid-experience. Maybe they could even make a habit of it.

Steve upheld his promise and got both Hopper girls home safe well before Hopper was due back. While Y/n turned in early, El stayed awake. Between the bucket of candy she had to hide in her closet and the numerous exchanges she had with kids and other families, she was awestruck. El didn't know when or how.

All she knew was that she wanted to go again, and soon.

***

November 10th, 1984

Hopper's truck was already parked outside the cabin when Steve pulled up with Y/n in the passenger seat. She mumbled a curse beneath her breath, dreading having to leave the car. She leaned back against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut.

“My dad’s gonna kill me.”

This was beyond missing curfew or letting El outside in broad daylight. After their massive argument and broken television, Hopper stressed that his eldest keep an extra close eye on his youngest. And now she was nowhere to be found. There was no telling how Hopper was going to react.

She tried not to think about the worst case scenario. Just the situation in itself made her a nervous wreck. Feeling helpless, Steve reached for her hand and held onto it firmly.

“We can keep looking, baby," he spoke softly. If she wanted him to drive her halfway across the country, he would. There was very little he hated more than seeing her so upset.

“It’s no use,” Y/n huffed defeatedly. “We’ve looked everywhere.”

There was no other place in Hawkins she could think of that they had not already been to. Even if there was a place they had missed, it had been hours now. There was a greater chance El was out of Hawkins entirely, maybe even Indiana.

Y/n unbuckled her seatbelt and sat up straight. The longer she stayed in Steve's car, the more time she would have to psych herself out.

It was time to face the music.

“Do you want me to come inside with you?”

Steve's offer caught her by surprise. She smiled weakly and shook her head. Showing up with Steve would only agitate Hopper more given how much he already had against him.

“It’s ok."

Y/n waited until Steve was out of the driveway before going inside. The cabin was eerily silent, so much so Y/n was beginning to think Hopper was in his room. The she turned to the kitchen.

“Where is she?”

Hopper ascended from the shadows of their dimly lit kitchen until he and Y/n stood facing each other from opposite ends of the kitchen table. He crossed his arms and waited for a response, though he already knew the answer.

“Dad, I can explain,” Y/n whimpered quietly.

However, before she could even start, Hopper was muttering something about a report a woman made to the station with a description that matched El to a tee.

“What the hell happened?”

His voice was chillingly level, in a way that made Y/n's chest hurt.

“I came home from school with Steve, and El was still really upset and she asked me for some eggos, but we had none left. So I told her I would be super quick, and I was!”

Hopper furrowed his brows.

“You left her?”

“For five minutes, dad,” Y/n reasoned, her voice breaking. Suddenly, she felt like a little kid again. “Steve and I drove to the nearest store, got some eggos and came back but she was already gone.”

If it weren't for Steve suggesting different solutions, Y/n would have probably been on her knees crying and hyperventilating for hours. She looked to her dad and hoped he would at least acknowledge how distressing that must have been, but his expression was unchanged.

He was still looking at her like she was a sorry excuse of a person. Like she should have been the one missing, not El.

“And you didn’t call me?”

Y/n winced. Steve suggested doing that, but the prospect of it terrified her.

“I thought maybe she wouldn’t have gotten that far yet," Y/n defended, though it was a mere half-truth. "- so Steve and I drove around looking for her.”

“How could you be so irresponsible?"

She clenched her jaw. He did not have the right to say that to her. Not with his track record. Even so, Y/n bit her tongue. Escalating the situation was the last thing she needed, but he was sure testing her.

“If you had kept an eye on her, she would have never left," Hopper added, inching closer and narrowing his eyes at his daughter.

He could not believe it. The one person he thought he could always count on let him down massively. Adding insult to injury, she scoffed at him. Hopper's blood was boiling.

“Well, maybe if you had given her a bit of freedom she wouldn’t feel the need to retaliate by running away," Y/n hissed. Had he already forgotten the very reason he and El fought just a mere day ago?

“Don’t turn this around on me," Hopper growled, pointing his index finger at her. She was toeing the line of going too far, something she once never did but seemed to make a habit of in recent years. "I'm not the one who lost her.”

“No, of course not," Y/n laughed dryly, her tone saturated in a sarcasm that only angered her father more. "You can never do any wrong, all your rules are completely reasonable and not at all controlling.”

“El never disobeyed my rules until you started encouraging her to," Hopper argued pointedly.

"You mean until I listened to her and encouraged her to exercise her freedom of choice?”

“Since when does lashing out at and keeping secrets from their dad fall under freedom of choice?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. Did he not know anything about teenaged girls? Maybe if he was sober when she was 13 he would have even a semblance of a clue as to what El was going through.

“Oh my god, fine!" Y/n yelled. "- sue me for thinking a 13 year old girl should have a bit privacy and be allowed to say how she feels.”

“Don’t do that," Hopper shook his head, doubling back. "You don’t have a monopoly over knowing what’s best for El, I know a thing or two about raising a teenager.”

He was still the parent, Hopper told himself. That had to count for something.

Y/n stared at him, bewildered. He really believed that, didn't he? She knew then any attempt she could make at convincing him otherwise would be in vain. She shook her head.

“But you have no idea what its like being a teenage girl," she pointed out. "- especially one that has to live with you, because let me tell you…”

She stopped herself. While she found great satisfaction in ripping her father a new one, now was not the time. Not with El missing and her father still oblivious as to what could have compelled her to leave.

Hopper narrowed his eyes.

“Go on," he retorted.

Y/n sighed. This was about El.

“She had questions, dad." Y/n voice and expression softened. “- Questions about where she came from and what she can do and how long she has to stay cooped up in here, and all you do is give her vague answers or no answers at all, and it just…”

She tried to find the right words. She tried to think of a way of getting the message across without provoking him further, or making him defensive.

“You know, living with you and… and being your daughter, it’s…” Y/n shook her head. Maybe there wasn't a nice way of going about it. She looked to him and let out a huff. “You make it really hard sometimes.”

Hopper's brows rose, taken aback. He nodded his head, and for a second Y/n let herself be convinced that he got it. That he finally got it. But then he clenched his jaw and suddenly his gaze became a cold glare.

“Yeah well, being your dad hasn’t been all that great either either.”

Regret seeped in the very instant the words left his lips. Hopper inhaled sharply, watching his daughter intently, terrified of another screaming match. It would be two nights in a row.

However, Y/n did not scream at him. She didn’t even flinch. Hopper didn't think it was possible but, somehow, that left him feeling a hundred times worse. Y/n shrugged her shoulders with a deflated frown. She had only one response.

“You stopped being my dad years ago.”

There was no other emotion in her voice, only exhaustion. She could never understand how he had it in him to say such horrid things to her. Perhaps there was time where she would have become livid by him saying what he did, but Y/n had little to nothing left in her.

They could go back and fourth as long as they wanted, but what use would it be? It would always end the same way; with Y/n walking away even more hurt and traumatised than she already was.

***

February 20th, 1986

“You got kids, American?"

Hopper's train of thought was swiftly intercepted as the Russian man seated next to him waited expectedly. He nodded once.

"Two girls," Hopper stated shortly.

He leaned back against the stone wall behind him and closed his eyes. If he tried, he could picture the two of them in his head and it would feel real enough to give him some comfort. It was the way he kept himself grounded and determined to stay alive.

"My youngest, she’s great," he explained, smiling to himself as he remembered El.

He recalled the way she kept him on his toes and brought so much light into his life. He could not remember how long it had been since their last movie night. He wondered how long her hair was now. God, did he miss her. Both of them.

"And my oldest? My god..." Hopper opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. His Y/n was really something. What he would give to see her again. "- She’s the spitting image of her mom, but she’s got my stubbornness."

No description could do her justice, but in simple words that was Y/n in a nutshell. All the best part of her mother and all the rough edges of her dad. Hopper knew that was part of the reason they butted heads so often.

He also knew he shouldered the rest of the blame for that.

“I was supposed to be the parent, but…” Hopper sighed, his shame getting the best of him as he remembered all he did wrong and how she always put up with it. “- Every step of the way she’s been the one looking out for me, keeping things in line and… calling me out on my bullshit.”

It was never fair, he knew that. He knew he should have never put her in a position where she had to be the one keeping the lights running and keeping him in check. Yet, even so, she did it.

She was resilient and patient and forgiving when she had every reason to be vengeful and leave him in the dumps.

“And she’s become one hell of a kid… in spite of me. Not because."

Maybe he would tell her that, if he ever made it home to her and El. Hopper tried not to think about it too much. In order to get home, he needed to get out of whatever hellhole he was in. In order to do that, he needed to stay alive long enough to figure out how.

***

i do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, translated or reposted onto another site.

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[steddielations]

cw discussing Eddie’s death

As much as Eddie’s final stand is a powerful triumphant moment for him, it’s undercut with so much tragedy. Just thinking about what led him to it, how he expressed that he was riddled with survivors guilt and shame for running away from danger time and time again. Whenever it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do, and he was right to run.

He brushed Steve off twice when Steve tried to tell him to be easier on himself and that he didn’t need to be a hero. He didn’t listen to Dustin screaming and crying for him not to do it. He already made up his mind in the meadow when he tells Dustin he’s not running away anymore, and he tried to make sure that Dustin’s last memories of him were good ones.

He was feeling so helpless about the entire situation, knowing his life could never go back to the way it was before, not with the town that’s hunting him, not when he feels guilty of everything they’re accusing him of. He wasn’t just deciding to be a hero, he was deciding to die one. It says a lot about Eddie, he is brave and resilient and compassionate, he did save his friends by buying them those extra couple of minutes, he helped save a town that hated him, but he’s also a traumatized boy in a hopeless situation where he felt like he had no other option.

[bromcommie]

hi, your fic “moving like a river of trouble crossing” kinda resonated with my soul and maybe even changed my life just a little bit, and i thought you deserved a better comment than my inarticulate ranting in the reblog tags yesterday.

the idea of shield hiring a therapist that looks like an older version of steve’s mother is unbelievably fucked up. the psychological warfare at play there is insane. and i love the parallel drawn to him first waking up from the ice and them trying to play this trick on him. he’s so much smarter than they give him credit for, everyone’s constantly underestimating him. i think that’s my favorite theme throughout this story; everyone is commodifying him in their own way, trying to stuff him in the box that they already made for him inside their heads.

the phrase “are you awake yet?” repeating over and over is so many different kinds of powerful. firstly, the way that it ties back to him waking up from the ice and his feelings of displacement in the world. secondly, that hazy, detached feeling that comes with depression, like you’re half-sleepwalking through your entire life, and no matter how hard you try to snap out of it and wake up, you can’t. i know that feeling well, and it emanates viscerally from this entire story. thirdly, it feels like a metaphor for the fact that he’s just drifting through life, doing what he’s told, following orders because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do with himself.

obsessed with lina’s comment of “wrong place, wrong time” after the date. she’s right on so many levels, more right than she knows. each and every line of this story has so many layers, all of the characters feel three-dimensional, and the vibe is distinct and consistent.

the entire section following “pain, steve knows on an intimate level,” him cataloguing all of the hurt throughout his life, is a masterpiece. this story belongs in a museum. long sections of introspection like that are always hardest for me to write, and this is like poetry. i was searching for a handful of favorite lines to pick out to quote back at you but i can’t even pick.

all the symbolism in the movie that he’s watching (is this a real movie that you’re quoting from? if so that makes it so much better) tying into his memories of his mom dying, of becca and peggy and bucky and the line “steve was only ever as strong as the people propping him up.” 😭😭😭 i have no words for how deeply i can feel his pain and loss. he’s sitting there thinking about how he was never really alone when he was lonely back then, but now he is really alone, and there’s nothing to soothe the ache in his soul.

Rumlow communicating through riddles and insults and violence is everything to me. this actually may be my favorite iteration of him that i’ve ever read; he almost mirrors natasha in the way that he says everything but what he really means, pushing limits and pushing into people’s lives like a creeping vine. pushing himself right into steve’s space, nearly pushing steve over the edge.

i’m picking up on some desperate, hopeless undertones of the little scene with steve riding his motorcycle, risking his life senselessly just to feel something, trying to convince himself he’s grateful for this second chance at life. there’s so much powerful character development in such a short scene, this is masterful.

the way that the fight between steve and rumlow is practically a proxy for intimacy is everything i love about their dynamic in one scene. the way that rumlow talks shit snd fights dirty and likes hurting steve just a little more than is strictly necessary. i know despite everything, rumlow’s gonna be thinking about this night for a long time. steve’s just a sadist’s dream, mind and body designed specifically to take brutality, and he has enough guilt and self-hatred built up to put himself in situations like this for the sake of blowing off steam. they’re a match made in hell, really.

this story deserves to be up there with the big names in stucky fic and i would die on that hill. i’m sorry this is so long, if there’s one thing about me it’s that i love writing insanely long comments 🤩 but um yea i’m so glad you decided to share this with the world bc !!! it got even better on my second read-through to write this comment this morning.

Omg hi! First of all, thank you so much for the generous kind words and for the detailed message. I am always so delighted when people engage with the stuff that I post in any way whatsover, but especially when they're willing to share their impressions, so you never need to apologize for it getting long. I love talking about this stuff. (if anything, I'm just sorry I couldn't get around to responding sooner!) I'm really glad the theme of everyone's different attempts to "place" Steve came through. That might be one of my favourite conflicts when it comes to his character, actually - especially because it's very workable both in-universe (we get to see people project their personal definition of what Cap is supposed to be onto Steve in the comics over and over, as well as in the movies but to a lesser extent) and as meta, considering the wildly different interpretations different canon writers as well as parts of the fandom have voiced for years now (hell, decades) - many of which, in my personal opinion, just completely ignore his background and defining traits/experiences in favor of, again, what their personal idea of what Cap (read: the USA) should value, prioritize, and represent. I just think the idea of a regular man - one with very specific life circumstances that produced a pretty rigid, strong-willed set of morals for that matter - thrown headfirst into being a myth and a propaganda tool, and by virtue of that being manhandled by the government and the public and pretty much everyone he meets almost constantly, to be very interesting. Also honestly I'll take just about any opportunity I can get to shit on intelligence agencies and all the psychological warfare (as you very aptly put it) they entail. And I love Steve's relationship with Sarah as well as that idea of everyone constantly underestimating him so this felt like a good, if painfully fucked up way to introduce that.

I could talk about my love for CATWS' nods to Steve's grief and extremely internalized way of dealing with things but I'm not going to because then we'd be here all day, so I'll just say this: I think about his whole subdued demeanor at the start of that movie coupled with those Avengers deleted scenes of him just kind of aimlessly wandering around New York looking like the epitomy of Sad Man with No Plan at least once a goddamn week. That exchange with Sam at the VA also just wrecks me every time, simply because it's so quiet and unassuming but says a lot. I'd say I'm glad my writing could get you to relate to that sense of dissociation so strongly, but having experienced it myself one too many times I'll just say it fucking sucks and I'm sorry it's so familar. Again, interesting to write about, though, especially when you're writing about a guy who's not only clearly been used to keeping this shit under lock and key his whole life, but who has only had maybe like three and a half people that he could on rare occasions allow himself to confide in, all of whom have gone and died on him or are getting there. Not to mention the survivor's guilt involved - I kept thinking that I can't imagine how badly just about anyone would react to these kinds of feelings if they were feeling guilty about being alive in the first place on top of everything else, and then guilty about feeling that way instead of grateful, like some kind of hellish positive feedback loop. Happy the "wrong place, wrong time" comment went over well! It felt a little heavy handed while I was writing it, but that may just be because I spent a good few days just overthinking that segment. That said I do have a whole background for Lina I have to figure out what to do with now, lol. I've gotten too attached. The movie he's watching is in fact real! It's called Mikey and Nicky and I can't recommend it enough to anyone who might be interested in a slightly experimental, character study-esque '70s crime flick that's really more a thoughtful story about love and death and devotion and lifelong friendship ultimately not surviving the test of time, differing life choices and disillusionment. Themes of childhood and loss and remembrance just kill me in general, especially in the scene I included, and especially because my brain kept going "haha but what if we made this about stucky" on repeat until I had to sit down at write this. Tbh that segment might be my favourite, the fact I had to take several breaks while writing bc I got too sad notwithstanding. And finally: ah, Rumlow. That motherfucker. Hate that guy's guts, love writing him. I cannot tell you how much I'm glad that Natasha parallel came through for you, because I think I did initially conceive of them as mirrors. My thinking was that Steve probably wouldn't fully trust either of them, especially in that lockdown survival mode and just having come into the whole paranoid toxic environment that is SHIELD which he already doesn't really trust, either. That said, I think on that surface level he might latch onto Rumlow more simply because he kind of highkey screams DOWN TO EARTH SOLDIER more than spy which might be more familar, and because Steve's well aware Natasha owes her allegiance to Fury in a pretty established way and is showing a personal interest in his life, which could come across as suspect. And it definitely is to an extent, but I think in the way that for Natasha at this point the slowly budding care she is developing for Steve as one of her own is still very much inseperable from her need to possess information and have control over the situation, which clashes with Steve's equally distrustful nature and desire to keep something for himself. Of course, we know that she's well-meaning and just acting on habit, while Rumlow is...well, Rumlow.

I tried to write Steve as being attracted primarily to that familiarity/comfort of having someone very competent and dogged and seemingly loyal on his side as well as Rumlow as a whole - his experience, his skill, this more level, borderline challenging approach he takes with Steve, even that rougher side to him; despite also being somewhat aware of and at moments even put off by the dubious nature of it all (not necessarily the fascist dogwhistles, but just those moments where that "just one of the guys" front crosses a line into something murkier) but eventually always ending up shutting that feeling down as dismissible because he doesn't have the energy to process it, and prob because there's a certain degree of shame coloring the whole thing. He doesn't want to think about why he's attracted to Rumlow including the violent side of him, about why he's drawing unwilling parallels to Bucky, about what he's subconsciously looking to get from Rumlow while in this self-destructive spiral, and so he inevitably just goes along with it. For Rumlow's part, I think he's definitely got that "moth to a flame" attraction to Steve, and might even respect (big, gigantic fucked up quotation marks around that) him in his own way, or at least he respects what Steve could do if he just wasn't so...well, Steve. I imagine the whole projection of Cap the Symbol (remember when I mentioned that like 2000 words ago?) as well as many of the things we all love about Steve the Man probably rub Rumlow the wrong way, if for no other reason because they're an unwittingly glaring call to his conscience, which I figure would just unnerve and piss him off more and make him turn even more punishing on instinct just to justify himself to himself. In any case, he definitely gets a kick out of being near Steve in the same way people get a kick out of proximity to powerful people in general. I don't think it's a HYDRA honeypot thing or some straight-up evil plan behind it or even a fully conscious thing for him necessarily, just that he's aware Steve's very, very strong and very, very closed off and very, very good while also being pretty fucking vulnerable, and gets a kick out of being able to exploit that and push his buttons and ultimately more or less subdue him in a way that has as much, if not more, to do with power as it does with sex and attraction. So violence as a proxy for intimacy is a perfect way of putting what I was going for, thank you for that!

What I ultimately find the most interesting about writing this version of Rumlow in relation to this version of Steve is that Rumlow is very much a hateable character to me precisely because on the surface he could be just any other alright guy, if he weren't, well.... Rumlow, if he didn't repeatedly decide to give in to the same sadistic instinct because it's easier than the rest of it, if he didn't make the same morally wrong choice over and over despite initially seeming reedemable, despite getting every opportunity to choose differently; same as Steve repeatedly chooses to be good despite his own flaws, despite the opportunity to just give up, despite his own inner turmoil.

So, y'know: very much fuck that guy. They should've dropped more than one building on him. Hell of an interesting dynamic to write, though. Match made in hell indeed.

*claps hands together* ANYWAY! JESUS CHRIST THIS GOT LONG, I'm so sorry to you and anyone seeing this. This wasn't meant to turn into my own personal verbose meta playground, and yet it did. Thank you so much again for the lovely comment and for taking the time out to come talk to me about your impressions, it's been a pleasure!<3

[discodeviant]

HARRINGROVE WEEK, DAY 4: Eighteen | Teen | 2.9k

SURPRISE: The Projection Room at The Hawk 

How Many Candles on the Birthday Cake: 18 years old

Specific Dialogue: “I don’t need another friend.”

Thank you to @shieldofiron for assuring me that the intro didn't suck lol <3 Came from a separate idea I had a while ago and never did anything with, so I hope you enjoy it! 😚

Read on AO3

King Steve…

A burden so heavy that it kept his head down when he was finally single again. Even the freshmen had already been told about him, and they wanted him just as much as the other seniors did. Until October, at least, when they realized just how lame he’d become. But that was high school, and the girls didn’t matter. Nancy didn’t matter; they were still friends anyway, so not all was entirely lost. Steve still had pieces of the crown preserved by Tommy for a while, and then even he turned out to be low, and the king had no subjects.

People weren’t so interesting, then. His best friend was a middle schooler he babysat for 2 hours on weekdays and some Saturdays. Jonathan was an acquaintance at best, someone whose reputation was never high enough to care about it falling lower after his brother had gone missing. He rolled his eyes at the pity thrown his way; if it were Steve, he’d have gone mad. But those days, no one regarded him either, and skipping out on parties doubled his time at home alone to look at himself in the mirror and think he’d lost his charm entirely.

It was February when he looked at Billy Hargrove with more than disdain.

“Hey, man.”

Before, Steve tried not to look at him at all even in the classes they shared, but Billy found a way into his field of view anyhow. He answered the questions that Steve got wrong with just enough edge to keep his attention. He talked too damn much in gym class, and Steve always left with a pulsing headache. He shot spitballs, shoulder checked, knocked Steve down more pegs than he could count—since fucking Halloween.

And then, one day, one cold, sunny Tuesday, he didn’t.

Steve’s heart dropped a little when Billy Hargrove didn’t tease him at their lockers that morning. No spitballs, no shoulder checks, no more pegs. Steve had lost the last piece of his crown to Billy’s silence, and maybe it had never really been there to begin with. He hadn’t slept like a king since the night Barb drowned. In his pool. At his party—his last, artificial little get-together before he was riddled with guilt and nightmares that led him to isolate even more. He wasn’t going to college or getting hitched at nineteen like his parents did, and now he wasn’t even worth Billy’s daily torment. The fall of the king. He felt like a tragedy.

“Don’t wanna deal with Bravo either, huh?”

That was one of many days he’d been weighed down by the dense, foggy storm-cloud in his head. Zoning out since he woke up, voices blending into fuzz and lights making his eyes throb with the dull ache of an oncoming migraine—he skipped History to go outside. Under the bleachers by the running track where no one would see him close his eyes, rest into his palms, remind himself to breathe before he couldn’t. A moment to stop thinking about Billy and all of the reasons why he wasn’t worth Steve’s time either. He was crass and rude and cocky as all hell. His face was too intense when they made eye contact, that smile too wide when he shoved Steve into the the gym-mat wall. Billy played with his hair too goddamn much, and Sometimes Steve wondered what it felt like. No one had curls like that in Hawkins.

Somehow it turned out that his innermost demons had gone to haunt him anyway when he recognized that golden glint through the cracks of the stand. He stood and peered through, careful in case Billy noticed his presence because the guy seemed to have a nose for him. For a second, Billy looked over towards the bleachers, but his head turned back around. He scanned the track, walking quickly with a force in his step that Steve had only seen him with a few times. His fists clenched, and he tossed his bag on the ground by the starting line. Kept his jacket on to stay warm. Stretched a little. Took a deep breath. Ran like hell.

Steve’s head throbbed even worse looking out in the sun. Suddenly he was burning up even in the cold. Billy hadn’t changed out of his gym clothes, still in green shorts and a sweaty t-shirt. He held a steady pace but remained tense for a while, past the bleachers where Steve pulled back into the shadows so as not to be seen. His heart thrummed. Billy’s frame shrunk in the distance the further he went around the curve, then closer when he came back for a second lap. Steve dipped back and leaned forth again. It was too hot. He was too hot, and he had too much energy. Billy hadn’t seen him all day, so maybe he wouldn’t notice then either.

Steve thought he was right when Billy didn’t answer him. “I, uh—honestly didn’t really… get what the book was saying last night. You know, I… I start reading, and it just… poof!” It was harder to run in jeans than if he’d also stayed in his gym clothes, but it wasn’t his plan to follow Billy down the track in a sprint before matching his speed. Billy glanced over his shoulder for a moment before turning it back ahead of him, and still nothing, but he noticed. His fists relaxed, and Steve took that as something. “I don’t know. I guess I’m bored of American history. Rather go back to world—“

“Why are you following me, Harrington?” Billy asked, and Steve nearly stopped in his tracks.

“Well, I wasn’t, first of all. I got here first.” Billy slowed to let him catch up, and they ran side-by-side. “Besides, you haven’t said anything, like, all day. It’s weird.”

“Why, you miss me bugging you that much?”

Steve said, “You wish,” and looked over at Billy to see that his face remained unchanged. Tight lips, flared nostrils, sweat on his temple. He just grunted and stayed quiet for a while.

A full lap later, he finally spoke again, more audibly out of breath this time. “I don’t need another friend, you know.”

Steve huffed and rolled his eyes, and maybe it stung a little. He couldn’t be sure that Billy had any when his sister even rejected to spend more time with him than she had to. “Never said I wanted to be your friend.” Maybe he should have stayed under the bleachers. For the first time, Billy’s gaze blinked down, and his fists tightened just long enough to crack the knuckles in his thumbs. “Do you want me to go? I’ll leave you alone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

So Steve kept running.

When they reached Billy’s jacket again, he finally stopped, and Steve doubled over to catch his breath. “Fuck, thank god.”

Billy laughed, patted his back, and asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine—“ he said, straightening his back and stretching his shoulders, unintentionally pushing away the only gentle touch Billy had ever given him. For some reason, Billy stayed.

“Sure?” he asked, straight-faced again, looking so deeply into Steve’s eyes that he thought Billy was trying to pry something out of him. “You can say no.” The faintest hint of a smile pulled on Billy’s top lip—hardly enough to notice, but Steve did anyway. This time he was the one with no words. “You, uh… wanna get out of here?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s… yeah.”

So they took Billy’s car through Hawkins and around the next town, nowhere to go, no one to stop them. Billy smoked with the window down, still opting for silence over conversation, but Steve found that he didn’t mind his music so much when it backed the open road.

“What were you doing out there?”

“Hm?” Billy glanced over at him, cig in his mouth, eyebrows arched. “Out where?”

“The track. It’s fucking cold.”

He shrugged. “Clearing my head.”

“Did it work?” Steve asked at the cost of another scrutinizing glance. A little softer this time, but maybe his eyes were deceiving him.

“Mostly.”

“Did I ruin it?”

Billy smirked then, and Steve slouched with relief. “Nah.”

—

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”

They’d been doing this thing for a while by then. Being not-friends because Billy didn’t need any, and Steve didn’t want to be his friend anyway. Meeting at the bleachers during class, running in silence, driving, listening, thinking instead of talking out loud. It was nice. They still weren’t friends.

“Was I supposed to?” Billy looked good with the single strip of sun over his face and in his eye when he blinked it away. His eyelashes shimmered brighter than his hair, richer than any gold Steve had ever seen. Smoke between his fingers that he let fizzle out more than he dragged. Maybe people weren’t interesting, but they weren’t Billy Hargrove. They didn’t give him the time.

“I mean. I don’t know. Could’ve got you something,” he said, and Billy smiled, laughing from his nose.

“King Steve wants to give little old me a birthday present.” Then he did take a drag. The hue on his face reminded Steve of their drive two weeks before, when they stayed out late because neither of them had kids to look after. Billy had kissed him and regretted it. Gotten shy before he decided to, even more so after it happened—when Steve wanted to talk about it, to ease the fear in his eyes with assurance that he liked it, that he wanted it again. He thought Billy would ignore him after that, but he showed up at the track like always.

“Friends usually do that,” Steve said, quiet, afraid that Billy would… leave?

“We friends, Harrington? You change your mind?”

He sighed. “No.” Billy passed him the cigarette and let him take a long, slow puff, not looking away even when Steve’s attention was on his lips. “Let’s catch a movie or something.” He handed it back.

“What movie?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“If we’re gonna see a movie, I’d rather not hate it.”

“We’ll see what’s playing. Come on.” For a moment, Billy didn’t move even when Steve stood up and fixed his jeans. So Steve leaned over with practiced hesitance, a special blend of careful and domineering just for Billy. This was something he had to take initiative on, so he did without second guessing himself. Billy accepted the gesture, allowed Steve to hold his hand, bring him to his feet and squeeze before they let go to head back to the parking lot. They drove their cars individually to the theater and met back up inside.

The ticket boy waved them in without a word, and Steve paid for their concession, much to Billy’s displeasure. “Not on your birthday,” he said, letting Billy roll his eyes all he wanted, knowing he wouldn’t change his mind. One bucket of popcorn, two drinks, a big bag of M&M’s, and Billy was ready to find a couple of back row seats on the off chance that Steve would hold his hand again, but the pull on his jacket kept him from going through the door. “This way.”

“What?”

“I help the owner out on weekends sometimes. Which means… free tickets, food discounts, and…” They walked through a door marked for employees. “Exclusive seats.” Billy went through with a questioning eye but didn’t ask where they were going. One short flight of stairs later, Steve was knocking on another door that opened not a few seconds later.

“Steve!”

“Hey, Marsh,” he said, letting Marshall—owner of The Hawk—pat him on the arm in greeting. “Got room up here?”

“Of course. Show’s starting in about ten minutes, then I’ll be out of your hair.” So Marshall let them in, and Billy’s attention was immediately on the window that looked out over the auditorium. About a third of the seats were filled with people who didn’t think twice about anyone putting the movie on for them, eating and talking until the lights would dim. “Cool, huh?” Marshall asked him, and he nodded with that nervous-excited face he wore sometimes that Steve liked just as much as all his other faces. Maybe not as much as when he smiled, really smiled, but that was a rare sight to see.

Ten minutes later, Marshall left with the request that Steve keep an eye on the film, which he promised he would. He and Billy sat in the two chairs, watching from their special view, taking turns eating out of their bucket—which sat on the desk—and remaining quiet for a while longer. Steve watched Billy more than the movie, and there were a few times when he’d caught Billy’s eyes looking back at him before they flicked to the screen again. The one time they remained on Steve, he asked, “What are you looking at, Harrington?”

“You,” Steve said, unashamed, whispering like they were in the audience.

“How many chicks have you brought up here, huh?”

“What makes you think I have?”

Billy faltered, eyes wide open as Steve ate another few pieces of popcorn with a grin that didn’t hide how much he enjoyed the moment they were sharing. All of their moments since Billy showed up in his dreary little town, all fire and burning rage that he let go of when they kissed two weeks ago. Steve said, “Chicks get the back row,” and wiped his hand on the knee of his jeans. “But, to be honest with you, I haven’t had a date in months.” Then, again, he reached for Billy’s, slipping his fingers between the gaps and rubbing his thumb along the back. “I come here to clear my head.”

Billy leaned closer and asked, “Does it work?” though Steve had a feeling the question ran deeper than that.

“Mostly,” he said, because all the times he cleared his head let Billy remain front and center.

“Am I ruining it?”

“Nah,” Steve told him, soft gaze peering into one that was hesitant and frightened, ready to bolt at any sign of deception that never came. “You’re the one thing I keep up there.”

“Steve…” Billy was already a nose away, having moved closer against his better judgment, chasing his heart that Steve had lassoed and reeled in so, so long ago.

“C’mere,” he said, whispered so softly that Billy could only hear because of how quiet everything else had gone. But he listened, and he leaned in closer, into Steve’s hand that found its way to his cheek and his hair. Steve kissed him first then, short and salty and buttery and still the sweetest thing he’d tasted in his life.

“Steve,” Billy said again, near-silent into another kiss that lasted longer, that Steve made sure would last until he knew it was real.

“Billy…” He was out of breath, hand gripping Steve’s tighter than ever. “I really like you, okay? I do.” Even speaking, their mouths didn’t separate, and they couldn’t hardly open their eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“What the hell does that mean? Yes, I’m sure.” Steve couldn’t help chuckling. He pressed his forehead to Billy’s, feeling that golden curl trapped between them, scalding like it would imprint on his skin just the same as every other part of Billy that had already. His gaze, his voice, his touch no matter how rough and daunting. They made Steve so weak to recall every morning and night, every time he closed his eyes, all over his body inside and out.

“Not just saying that ‘cause it’s my birthday, are you?” he asked, and Steve shook his head, rubbed his thumb along Billy’s cheekbone and curled his fingers in his hair.

“You’re a goddamn catch. How couldn’t I?”

Billy laughed, and Steve leaned back to watch that smile come and go, trying to hide itself away. “I’m an asshole.” Steve shook his head again.

“I don’t know, you’re pretty sweet to me.”

He blushed, and Steve liked to think he was the only person who could make him. “Sometimes.”

“More than you think.”

The longer they sat together in the dark, the deeper their kisses became, and the closer they sat. Billy was damn near in his lap by the time he had to work the projector, shaky and out of breath but still without a hitch.

“You should come over,” Steve said once he was done with the film, leaning down over the back of Billy’s chair and wrapping his arms around broad shoulders. He played with the buttons of Billy’s dress shirt, doing them up one by one and deliberately brushing his fingers against his chest.

“I gotta pick up Max at nine.” His head leaned back against Steve, eyes closed, forgetting where they were with a hot breath against his ear.

“And I’ve got cake mix that’s not gonna bake itself. Come on, let’s go.” Steve kissed his neck, his cheek, then walked back around to take his hand and stand him up. One last kiss to his mouth before they left for their cars again, on the way to Steve’s house where they still, after all this time, couldn’t just be friends.

[irrcdeemable]

@mlfns continued from here.

Showing emotions never came easily to Billy, letting people in. There were so many times he fought against letting Steve in, letting anyone in, but Steve was the one he couldn't fight. So the thought of losing him. The thought of being given up on. That was too much for the lifeguard to take. Rather than recoil from the touch, he leaned into it. Showing just how much he'd come to trust Steve over their time together. He was the only one who didn't judge Billy. The only one who seemed to accept him just as he was. Lately, he'd been seeing flashes of memory. Flickers of things that he didn't want to, leaving him riddled with guilt. Memories of that damn creature that took control of his body. It had hurt and killed so many people. So many because he couldn't fight the damn thing. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get it all out of his head. "It's all those people, Harrington...All those people who got hurt and died because of me. Every time I close my eyes, I see that damn thing staring me in the face. I have to watch what it made me do." His voice wavered, a far cry from his usual confidence and that showed just how shaken he was. Without even realizing, crystal droplets started to trail down tanned cheeks. "I don't know how to deal with knowing all the shit that I've done while I wasn't myself. I know I act like I don't care...But I really fucking do."

[deafblindshorty]

I've been thinking about Captain Carter....

And how the "What If...?" story would affect the events of Agent Carter. We don't know when Steve was taken by Hydra.

So, I guess Steve would take Peggy's place as agent of SSR (Agent Rogers. Hmm. Not sure how I feel about that, actually). Instead of sexism, he'll have to deal with being viewed as too weak and sickly to carry out missions, so he'll have to prove that he's not, especially to Jack. Now, since they don't have a codebreaker, they'll have to figure out another way to get them to Belarus. Steve saves Jack's life, and wins his respect. Jack admits to Steve that he committed a war crime and covered it up.

He'd be friends with Angie and stick up for her, of course.

Dottie would laugh and scoff at him and wouldn't view him as a threat. She would also try to seduce him.

He'd definitely be friends with Daniel, though I'm not sure if he'd become suspicious of him.

He'd also be friends with Jarvis and Howard and work hard to clear Howard's name. He would also be furious that he has a vial of Peggy's blood. At the end of the first season, he would actually travel to London and dump the vial off the London bridge and say "Good bye, my best girl."

As for the second season, Jack and Steve would become closer friends. Vernon would still manipulate Jack and want Steve out of the way. Jack runs a full background check and.... Steve is the very definition of a boy scout. Also has no family, so no "I have your wife" situation, either.

Definitely be friends with Wilkes.

Steve would definitely see through Vernon's manipulations and talk Jack down from his overly ambitious state. Steve would also be Dottie's "date" at that Congressional party, and he would have let that pretty blonde woman distract Jack (and Jack would totally get a date!), and he would have tracked down Dottie and be caught red-handed by Jack, who would take Dottie down (breaking his hand in the process. "Hey, if you had done that, you probably would have shattered your entire arm, anyway.")

Steve probably would have been triggered by that zero matter portal, since Peggy disappeared through another portal.

Jack would meet up with the pretty blonde woman and she would agree to go to New York with him.

Now...the stinger: Steve is on the phone with Jack at Howard's mansion. Steve tells Jack he's taking his vacation days. They hung up, and then some Hydra goons jump him from behind and kidnap him.

Of course Jack and Daniel spend the next several years trying to find him (and Bucky helps). When Daniel suspects Hydra in 1955, someone claiming to be Steve Rogers sends him a note and tells him to meet him at a pool. It was a trap set by Hydra.

I'm not sure about the 1953 video at the Smithsonian. I guess either Howard, Dum Dum, or Bucky would be talking about Captain Carter.

If Steve was taken by Hydra BEFORE the events of Agent Carter...

Bucky would take Peggy's place. (Agent Barnes... You know, I think there was an Agent Barnes in the TV show 24. He was kidnapped by the Chinese and we never saw him again. Anyway...)

Bucky would be riddled with guilt and grief that he couldn't save Steve, who he thought died, but was really taken by Hydra.

He was afraid to make new friends, 'cause what if he loses them, too? He does help Jarvis clear Howard's name, but keeps him at arms-length. He also saves Jack on that Belarus mission, and Jack tells him about Tsuken Island.

He becomes friends with Angie and sticks up for her.

He talks Howard out of using Peggy's blood, and Howard pours it out into the river.

He slowly pulls out of his survivor's guilt and grief and becomes friends with Howard, Jarvis, Daniel, and Jack.

Like with Steve, Bucky is the definition of "boy scout", so they have nothing on him. He does have family, though. Vernon considers holding them hostage, but Jack talks him out of it.

Bucky talks Jack out of his overly ambitious state.

Bucky had all the panic attacks when Daniel volunteered to close down the portal.

They all lived happily ever after.

BUT WAIT!

The Stinger takes place in 1955. Bucky gets news of Daniel's death.

"Oh dear God, this cannot be happening again!"

....Or, Agent Carter/Rogers/Barnes wouldn't even exist in the first place.