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libraryofgage · 10 months

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Addams Family B-Side (1)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell (on the way!)

This is part of a series of unrelated works entitled "Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually" and I think that title is fairly self-explanatory. If there are any other couples you think would be good parents for our Stevie boy, let me know and I'll take them into consideration!

Anyway, the B-Side thing is because this is like taking my Addams Family Steddie au and just flipping the cassette tape hfjsdk

This time, it's Steve that's the Addams and Eddie that's normal!

Anyway, blame @whatthemeepever for this one specifically cuz it's gonna spiral into a wild ride actually, so let's all pray for Eddie in advance

If you'd like a tag for any future parts, let me know!

And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't

-------

The moment Steve is born, his father sticks a light bulb in his mouth. When it glows, he jumps with joy and throws Steve into the air. The moment Steve's mother realizes what's happening, she slaps his father upside the head, throws the light bulb at him, and threatens to blow him up again if he sticks anymore into Steve's mouth before he starts teething.

She follows through on the promise exactly two weeks later, and Steve's parents (one smug and the other notably singed but delighted) rebuild their house next door to his father's brother.

Steve's mother chooses his first and last name (Harrington, a reference to some long-lost family friend or other), and his father is reluctantly given the freedom to choose his middle name. In the end, he is dubbed Steve Faustus Harrington, a name his mother is so surprised to find acceptable that she kisses his father as a reward.

And so begins Steve's life.

------

"I can't believe you got expelled," Steve's mother seethes, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turn white. "Again!"

Steve crosses his arms, sinking lower in his seat as he glares out the window. "It's not my fault they were shitty friends. They got what they deserved."

He hears his mother laugh, the sound strained and indignant and very quickly followed by his father turning to look at Steve from the passenger seat. His sunken eyes are filled with suppressed delight as he asks, "What did they do this time?"

A few seconds pass before Steve sighs. "They said they couldn't go out later because they had to study for finals. I mean, what kind of bullshit is that? Finals are three weeks away, and they can't spare one weekend for the funeral museum?" he says, scoffing as he looks at his father, grins, and adds, "So, I brought the funeral museum to them, coffins and cremations and all."

His father's eyes light up, sheer joy and pride dancing in them. And for the very first time in Steve's life, his mother pulls over to the side of the road and parks the car.

"Pumpkin?" his father asks.

"Fester," she says, her voice low and somewhere in the range of upset, "do you remember when I tried to kill your entire family?"

"Of course. It was a splendid attempt."

She nods and looks at him with a tiny, somewhat pained smile. Then she turns and sets her gaze on Steve. "Darling, what kind of grades do your friends have?" she asks. "Because if you're anything like me, and I know you are, you tend to befriend people who are significantly dumber than you."

Steve blinks, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, most of them were about to fail," he admits.

"Then, isn't it possible they really were studying for finals? Especially if they were close to failing at a school where passing is a requirement of attendance? Perhaps you could have suggested going to the...funeral museum after finals?"

A few seconds pass as Steve considers her words, a crushing sense of realization and guilt dropping on his shoulders and traveling to the pit of his stomach. It makes him feel nauseous, and he stares down at his lap. "I fucked up," he finally says, voice quiet and apologetic.

"Of course not!" Fester says, reaching out and ruffling Steve's hair despite the affronted noise from Debbie, "Your plan was beautifully conceived and masterfully executed. Perhaps you should just talk a little more before pulling out the urns next time."

"Incredibly, your father is right," Debbie says, looking pleasantly surprised before turning her gaze to Steve. She sighs and holds out a hand, squeezing Steve's when he takes it. "Don't get so blinded by a beautiful pair of shoes that you completely miss the sale two aisles over, Steve. At the very least, do a little more research before resorting to torture and murder. Personally, I'm very tired of calling the family's lawyer."

Steve snorts at the utter lie. Debbie loves calling the family's lawyer. She does so regularly just to double-check the state of Fester's stocks and bonds and deeds and general worth. "Okay," he says, nodding once, "I'll remember for the next school."

"You know," Fester says, looking at Debbie hopefully, "Pubert is a senior this year. Maybe Steve could go to high school with him."

Debbie hesitates, frowning slightly before saying, "Yes, but it's...public school."

"The best Gomez and Morticia could find! It was highly recommended by Margaret, and Pubert can make sure Steve adjusts and makes friends."

Steve can see the moment his mother agrees. She sighs, lets go of his hand, and fixes her already perfect bob. "Well, I suppose," she says before looking at Steve once more. "And you, Steve? Would you like to try...public school for your junior year?"

"Sure, might be fun," Steve says, thinking about all the movies he's seen that display public high schools as a zoo and the worst place on Earth. It sounds great, and if the place is still standing while Pubert attends, it must be somewhat entertaining.

------

"You've got everything you'll need?"

Steve looks up from lacing his shoes and smiles at his mother, earning a nervous grin in return. Her blonde hair is uncharacteristically frazzled, and Steve feels warm and fuzzy (like a mold growing over his heart) at knowing she's so worried as to appear less-than-perfect in front of him.

"Yes, I've got everything," he says, gesturing to the backpack on the stairs next to him. In addition to notebooks and his pencil case, Steve has also packed a travel mace, a miniature bomb (alarm clock detonator stored separately, of course), a tiny bottle of tequila, and his lucky lightbulb (just in case).

His mother nods once, takes a deep breath, and then turns her head toward the kitchen to shout, "FESTER!"

Something crashes, a cat (they don't have a cat) yowls, and Steve's father slides into the doorway. "Yes, Pumpkin?" he asks, eyes bright and happy and utterly stuck on Debbie.

"Is Steve's lunch ready? You made something normal, right?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

Fester glances at Steve, a brief look shared between them that's both sympathetic and endeared toward Debbie. "Of course," Fester says, disappearing for two seconds before striding over to the stairs with a pink lunch box decorated with black skulls (Steve chose the color, Fester chose the pattern, and Debbie gave them her stamp of approval). "A turkey sandwich, fruit, cookies, and juice."

"Fruit?" Debbie asks, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Apple slices!"

After a few seconds, Debbie nods, and Fester gives the lunch box to Steve, shifting some so Debbie doesn't see the conspiratorial wink that tells him the juice is definitely poisoned. Steve grins and shoves the lunch box into his bag. He finishes lacing his shoes and stands, holding his arms out so his mother can inspect him.

"You've done a wonderful job pairing your shirt and shoes," Debbie says, walking around Steve with an air of pride and approval. She rubs the sleeve of his pastel yellow sweater between her thumb and forefinger, nodding once. "The plum pants are a bold choice, but it pays off. And, as always, your hair is flawless, dear."

Steve grins, letting his arms fall to his side. "I tried that new mousse you gave me," he says, fingers twitching as he fights the urge to run them through his hair. "It works great."

His mother smiles even wider and kisses his cheek, pulling out a handkerchief and carefully wiping away the lipstick residue she leaves behind. "I knew it would," she says, inspecting Steve's face once more before nodding with approval.

"Pumpkin, it's time for Steve to go. Pubert is waiting."

Debbie huffs softly and gives Steve one last once over before nodding and hurrying him toward the door. "Have a good day at school, try not to blow anything up, and call me if Pubert tries to cut off your head with a rusty knife again," she says.

"What if it's a clean knife?"

"Well, that's fine. Grandmama will just sew it back on."

Steve grins and waves to both of his parents before hurrying toward the sidewalk where Pubert is waiting. His hair is parted down the middle and gelled down, his pencil-thin mustache is immaculate as ever, and he's wearing a three-piece suit. When Steve is closer, he pulls out two cigars and offers one.

"This isn't an exploding cigar again, right? I'm wearing a new shirt," Steve says, taking it and looking it over.

"Nah, that joke only works once," Pubert says, dragging a match against his palm to light it. He holds it to his cigar first, puffs a few times, and then does the same for Steve. "How long till you get expelled again, you think?"

Steve shrugs as he takes a puff from the cigar, letting the smoke linger for a moment before skillfully blowing it out in perfect circles as they walk. "I haven't been to a public school before," he says, tapping the cigar over the sidewalk, "so, hopefully, at least a year."

"Public school is fun," Pubert says, getting a wicked grin as he looks at Steve. "You can get away with a lot."

"And the other kids?"

"Well, they've certainly got a lot to learn. I mean, most of them can't even handle a little cyanide."

Steve scrunches his nose and takes another puff of his cigar. After a few seconds he asks, "Will we have any classes together?"

"You're a year below me, so maybe an elective or two. What did you sign up for?"

"I signed up for, uh, shop class, forensic science, and Gothic literature."

"We'll have Gothic lit together," Pubert says, flashing a smile before asking, "And you know what shop class is, right?"

Steve blinks, suddenly a little hesitant. "Is it not, like, something about shopping?"

"No. It's building things. With wood, usually."

"Oh! So, I can build anything?"

"I guess. I haven't taken it."

"Well, I'll find out. Maybe I can build Dad a catapult or guillotine or something."

As they get closer to the school, more students fill the sidewalks, but Steve notices that most of them seem to give him and Pubert a wide berth. They also stare, looking at Steve like he's some kind of puzzle to be solved, with more than a few flashing sympathetic smiles like he's trapped and can't get away. "You're popular," Steve notes, taking one last puff of his cigar before dropping it into a trash can.

"I would fucking hope so," Pubert says, finishing off his cigar and tossing it into the next trash can they pass. "I didn't flood the place with roaches and vermin to not be known."

Steve grins, listening as Pubert regales him with the tale only to cut it short when they get inside the school and pass the front office. "I need to get my schedule, but Mom said she made sure we'd have lunch together," Steve says.

Pubert waves him off. "Yeah, I'll meet you in the cafeteria. Have fun, cousin," he replies, mockingly saluting him before heading off down the main hall.

-----

Steve's first class of the day was AP Calculus, followed by AP Physics, Wood Shop, and AP U.S. History. When it's finally time for lunch, he surveys the cafeteria for a few seconds before finding a table in a dark corner that everyone seems to avoid. By the time he gets there, Pubert has sat down with a tray from the lunch line.

Steve sets his backpack on the table, sits down, and says, "For a place that's so lifeless, it's not even fun."

"Yeah, it's like that," Pubert agrees, poking some unidentifiable mush on his tray with a spork before spooning some into his mouth.

It's with a somewhat jealous expression that Steve pulls out his lunch box and removes a thermos of poisoned juice. "Is it bad?" he asks, nodding to the tray.

"Utterly repulsive."

Steve sighs and takes a sip from the thermos before pulling out everything else in his lunch box. "They made me wear safety goggles in shop. Safety goggles! It's like they don't know how fun splinters in the eyes are. And everyone is soooo scared of the saws, it's ridiculous," he complains, taking an angry bite of his sandwich.

"What about your other classes?"

"Physics would be better with more practical examples. I mean, who cares about apples when we could learn if a body falls faster than a cannonball?"

"From experience, no," Pubert says, "Anyway, you gonna join any clubs?"

"Maybe the swim team? If I'm lucky, I'll drown," Steve says, perking up a little at the thought.

"Best of luck with that," Pubert replies, stealing Steve's thermos to take a sip of his juice. When he places it back, he offers Steve a sporkful of the mush.

Steve lights up and happily tries it, wondering how something can be so perfectly undercooked and overcooked at the same time. "Impressive," he says, passing the spork back. "Is that freezer burn?"

Before Pubert can answer, a bang from the other side of the cafeteria cuts off all other sounds. Steve glances over to see a boy in heavy combat boots climbing onto his table with a mischievous grin. He's wearing a shirt with a devil head on it and "Hellfire Club" emblazoned above and a vest with spikes, pins, and patches. His hair is just below his shoulders and a little curly, and Steve can see from here the wild glint in his eyes as he stomps down the table while talking.

"I'm tired of the double standards of this lame school. If you're into science or band or some other 'uncool' interest, the administration couldn't give two shits! Oh, the choir room needs new risers so the current ones don't break any necks? Well, that's too bad, we've got to give the football team new monogrammed towels for the locker room!" the guy says, grinning when a group of kids to the side shouts their agreement. "And never mind that our Robotics team has won the school three trophies when the basketball team so valiantly scraped into third place last year for being kinda good at throwing balls into laundry baskets."

"Prick!"

Steve glances at the guy who shouted, taking in his letterman jacket before quickly dismissing him. He looks back in time to see the boy on the table sticking out his tongue and holding his hands to his temples to make horns. There's an even wilder look in his eyes now, a sheer glee at causing a scene and getting under someone's skin.

Steve doesn't realize he's smiling until the boy scoffs, shouts one more line about the school's unfair preference for "mediocre jocks," and hops off the table. He looks over at Pubert and asks, "Who was that?"

Pubert glances at Steve, studying him for a moment before swallowing another mouthful of mush and saying, "Eddie Munson. He does that once a week, usually."

"Eddie Munson," Steve murmurs, glancing over at Eddie's table again and smiling a little wider.

#steddie #steddie fic #addams family b-side #that'll be the tag for this one lol #addams! steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #debbie jellinsky #fester addams #pubert addams #steve deserves good parents actually

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firefly-party · 6 months

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"You clean up nicely, Stevie"

cw: mentioned blood and gore | mafia/mob AU | steddie pre-murderhusbands relationship big thanks to @dapandapod for beta reading and improving my poor attempt to write sth

Steve Harrington is good at his job. He's quick, he is thorough and most importantly, he doesn't ask questions.

There's nothing that could shock him anymore. He's seen everything.

Steve doesn’t mind severed limbs, gore, blood and body fluids, sometimes creatively mixed in more ways than are pleasant to imagine.

He's used to it, and cleaning it is what earns him a nice living as a crime scene cleaner.

Or just... scene cleaner maybe.

He doesn't work with the police or authorities. No, his specialty lies outside the law, which means he arrives before a mess becomes a nuisance. He cleans until there is not a speck of blood left, until there is nothing to indicate that something happened there. Was there ever a crime committed if there is no crime scene?

The money's amazing by the way. Of course cleaning the remains is a shit job but if you add the hush money on top, well, ain't that a nice bonus.

Again, Steve doesn't ask questions. He doesn't care. It's none of his business.

–

Eddie's shoes are squeaking in the puddle of blood he tried and failed to not step into.

He flips the business card around and squints at the hurried scribble of a phone number that was added right under the name "Stevie".

He trusts Chrissy's background check.

They were in a dire need of a new guy after the previous one decided to catch a bullet with his face after snooping one time too many.

Eddie looks up to the blood stained walls and ceiling and dials the number on the card.

"Hello?"

"Watergate Street 53", is all Eddie replies.

"How many?", Stevie asks.

"Uhm, five?"

"You sure? Might wanna go check again?", Stevie laughs into the phone.

Bitch.

"It's five." Eddie answers, annoyed.

There's a low whistle. "Alright, I'll be there in 20. Payment upfront. 50k."

Then the line goes dead. Eddie rolls his eyes, pockets his phone and looks around for a clean spot to sit while he waits.

–

It's exactly three hours and thirty two minutes later when Stevie empties his water bucket for the last time.

Eddie watches curiously as Stevie takes off the gloves, mask and safety glasses he arrived in. Eddie didn't mean to stick around but he's not trusting this new guy yet (he's also curious, sue him).

His gaze turns into a stare when the other man pulls down the zipper of his squeaky yellow biohazard suit, throwing back the hood and running a clean hand through his sweat soaked hair. He has a strong jaw and long, mole dotted neck that Eddie just wants to taste.

Eyes wide, Eddie’s not able to hold back the sharp intake of breath as he watches in horror the moment Stevie's eyes lock with his and -

Fuck.

Stevie's lips curl into a smirk.

Eddie is so fucked.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #stranger things #inspired by the game “Crime Scene Cleaner” that i saw on twitch yesterday #i got this weird idea and wasn't able to let it go #this is kei's first attempt at writing 🙈 holy shit #it's a one time thing. writing is too stressful for me xD

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hairmetal666 · 2 years

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au where Steve is a famous Disney kid and Eddie is a teenaged singer-songwriter. They get pushed together at events because they're close in age, but they just quietly dislike each other.

Steve's got a new show starting, a spinoff of the one that made him a household name. They hire a newcomer, Robin Buckley, to play his best friend and the two quickly become BFF in real life.

The show runs for two seasons but when it comes time to renegotiate contracts, neither star is interested. They're older now, ready to live life on their terms and not the company's, or in Steve's case, his parents.

As soon as the finale airs, Robin and Steve celebrate by going to a gay club. A few weeks later, an interview is released where Steve comes out as bi and talks about how his parents mistreated him; how they worked with the network to pressure him to be a perfect "all-American" kid even off screen.

Meanwhile, Eddie's an impossible level of famous. He's had number-one hits, won a Grammy, headlined an arena tour, achieved every dream he had for himself as a kid growing up in a trailer park in Indiana. He's not shocked by the news that Steve is leaving Hollywood, but he's flabbergasted that the guy isn't straight. When Eddie reads the interview, he gets this weird pang in his chest, almost like regret. But he never even liked Steve.

Steve isn't in the news again and Eddie doesn't think of him for a long time.

Steve goes to college. He loves it. Not because he's great in his classes, or anything, but because he's free to be himself for the first time. He makes friends and goes to parties and relaxes. He and Robin share an apartment.

After a few semesters, Steve decides to take a couple of theater classes, and is quickly cast in campus productions. In the vague anonymity of college theater he rediscovers his love of acting. No one has expectations of him, no one forces him to perform. He graduates and slowly starts appearing in small roles in Indie films, gathering critical acclaim. He feels good. Happy. Hopeful.

Eddie is blissfully unaware of Steve's career resurgence, experiencing his own musical highpoints, until the day where he's scrolling Twitter, sees a Variety headline that's getting a bunch of attention, "Steve Harrington in talks to star in Max Mayfield's first film." Eddie's livid.

"Maxine, what the fuck?" He growls when she answers his call.

They grew up together in the same Indiana trailer park. When she moved to Hollywood to start a career as a screenwriter, Eddie was by her side. And when her first script wound up on the Black List, his involvement on the soundtrack and original songs sealed her production deal.

She gives a long suffering sigh. "Munson," she grumbles. "I know you have a weird history with this guy, but I swear he's the right choice."

"He's a stuck up rich boy who's never been in trouble in his life."

"He's changed."

"Doubtful," Eddie sneers.

"Look. I'll set-up a meeting. Come hang out and you'll see what I mean." Before she hangs up she adds, "Call me Maxine again and I'll end you."

They invite Harrington to Eddie's recording studio. His hopes are not high for this meeting, so he's already a little thrown when Steve Harrington walks in, all grown up. He's in a crimson sweater, tight jeans, hair grown long so that it flops around his face in tousled waves that actually look genuine, windswept and golden. Eddie's eyes instinctively trace the scatter of moles on Harrington's face and neck, a pang of something hitting deep in his gut. Fuck, this dude is beautiful.

"Harrington," he greets, sticks out his hand. Eddie barely hears the answering, "Munson," because instead of a handshake, Harrington pulls Eddie in for a hug. Muscles bunch under the sleeves of the sweater, against Eddie's chest, and he's assaulted by the scent of cedar and sunshine and Steve. Eddie's not prepared for any of this.

They make small talk, Harrington sharing about going to college, falling in love with theater, Robin Buckley who he calls his soulmate. Eddie's head rings with how wrong he was about this guy; the pretty kid he grew up alongside who seemed to have the world in his hands. Max was right, he's perfect. Except.

"Let's get down to it, Harrington," Eddie says. Can't bring himself to call him Steve yet, feels that will somehow change everything and he's not ready. "I'll admit that Mayfield had the right idea about you, but can you sing? Play guitar? You have to perform my music, dude. That's not a small ask."

Harrington smirks, asks for a guitar. He gets it settled across his lap before he speaks. "I started taking piano lessons when I was 4. Voice and guitar at 7."

Eddie belatedly recalls that Harrington's parents were the worst kind of stage-parents, pushing their cute kid to perform even as he sobbed about wanting to play soccer with his friends instead of going to auditions. He has a moment of shame that he forgets as the other man begins to play. It's one of Eddie's biggest hits, a ballad about a teenaged broken heart from a kid whose name he can't even remember.

Harrington's hair flops in a swoop over his forehead, his fingers move across the strings with ease, skill. His voice is a rasp, close mimic to Eddie's own, but not quite deep enough. Goosebumps spread across Eddie's arms, his neck, and warmth pools low in his gut.

Steve finishes the song, looks up, cheeks glowing pink, honey eyes bright. Eddie's fucking gone for this guy. He wants so badly he might choke on it.

"Good?" Steve asks.

Eddie's embarrassed suddenly. Unsure. He tugs at his hair. "Yeah," he laughs. "Good."

He reaches out to take the guitar, the one Steve's already handing to him, and their hands brush. Eddie flushes. Their eyes meet and Steve smiles. Eddie's thoughts are consumed with the desire to kiss his plush pink mouth.

"You wanna get dinner? Just you and me?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, Steve," he laughs. "I'd love to."

🎬🎸🎬🎸

Fifteen Months Later

"Former Teen Heartthrobs Make Love Connection?"

Fans of musician Eddie Munson and former child star, Steve Harrington, were in for the surprise of their lives last night as the men arrived together for the premier of Harrington's new movie, Small Town Sins, written by up-and-coming screenwriter Max Mayfield, featuring original music by Munson. While Harrington's performance and the movie itself are garnering quite a bit of positive buzz, it's being overshadowed by gossip about Harrington and Munson's budding romance. They walked the red carpet together, pausing for photos as a duo, holding hands and flirting. When asked for confirmation of their relationship, Munson answered, 'we're bros,' before winking and pulling Harrington close.

There's a TikTok video embedded below the article, showing the men being interviewed on the red carpet. Their arms are loosely around each others' waists, and when their eyes meet they catch and hang for a beat.

"So, longtime fans of both of yours are going feral online right now because of the rumors that you two used to hate each other. Is there any truth to that?" An off-camera voice asks.

The men laugh. "We've always been great friends," Eddie answers.

"Eddie thought I was stuck up," Steve giggles.

"I did not." Eddie slaps at Steve, who gives him an affectionate smile.

"Liar," Steve answers.

Eddie leans into the camera like he's telling a secret. "Harrington here was afraid of me."

"Fuck off, I was not." They wrestle around for a couple of seconds.

Steve shrugs Eddie off, straightening his suit jacket. "Okay, maybe I was a little intimidated back then, but then this morning you found a pretty rock and cried about it."

Eddie shrieks, swatting at Steve until someone in a black suit and name tag shoos them down the red carpet.

Eddie walks off first, so he misses Steve withdrawing a hand from his pocket and saying, "Still have the rock, though." He flashes the red, grey, blue striped stone at the camera.

His gaze drifts away, landing somewhere in the distance, hazel eyes soft and heart-wrenchingly fond.

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atimeofyourlife · 10 months

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Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round: bakery au rated: t | wc: 840 | cw: none | tags: pre-steddie Eddie never got involved in the upside down, he and Steve meet again a few years later in a bakery in Chicago

The bakery was Steve's pride and joy. It was something that he had accomplished and built up by himself, without the input from his parents. No financial assistance from them, no help in learning how to manage a business. It had been a lot of trial and error, and incredible support from his friends, but he had succeeded. He'd brought the small unit in Chicago using most of the hush money payment over the Upside Down. It needed a lot of work doing to it before he was ready to open it, but once it was open it just took off. Constantly selling out of most of the bakes by lunchtime each day, having to take on extra staff to keep up with demand.

After nearly two years, he had a number of very loyal regulars, the ones who would come in at the same times and same days each week, always ordering the same things. The local workers that would always come in before work or on a morning break for a sweet treat everyday. The older couples that would come in twice a week, once for a dessert for their weekly date nights, and once for treats for their grandchildren. The college students that were adamant that Steve's pastries were infinitely better than the ones they could get on campus.

But the newest regular, one his staff had nicknamed 'Mr Metal,' Steve had yet to meet. From the name, Steve assumed that he worked in the new record store that had opened across the street, but the man always managed to be in and out while Steve was still working in the kitchen, setting up the next batch for the oven or decorating what had just finished cooling.

One Friday morning, he was carrying out the boxes ready to restock the counter, when he heard the voice of Zara, one of the cashiers.

"Uh, I'm not sure. Give me a minute, I'll just have to ask the boss."

"Ask me what?" Steve asked as he rounded the counter, the stack of boxes obscuring most of his vision.

"Please tell me that those boxes have lemon cream cheese pastries and apple pie cookies in them." She replied, sounding a little stressed.

"Yeah, lemon are in the top box, apple in the bottom." Steve replied as he put the boxes down on the side, and started unstacking them. He glanced up at the customer, a vaguely familiar, handsome man, and from the long hair, piercings, and the Black Sabbath t-shirt, this had to be the Mr Metal that all the staff kept mentioning. "How many of each did you want?"

"Two of each." The man replied, staring hard at Steve.

"Uh huh." Steve worked quickly to box them up. "Are you aware of our Friday five for four offer? Five bakes for the price of four, so you could get another of your choice at no extra cost."

"I get them for me and my coworkers, theres four of us so I don't think we can split a fifth four ways without fighting over who gets what."

"I can always bag it separately, so you can slip it in your pocket. They don't have to know a thing about it." Steve offered with a wink.

"You drive a hard bargain, Harrington. I'll take another apple pie cookie."

"I-" Steve looked at the man, confused. Unsure how he knew his name. "Did you go to Hawkins, then? I'm sorry, I don't think I remember you."

"You got a table round here? I could climb up and start talking about jocks and conformity." He looked Steve up and down. "Though, you don't seem to conform to the jock image any more, big boy."

It took another moment, but the name hit Steve as he was bagging the extra cookie. "Munson. Used to buy weed off you."

"I don't know if I should be honored that the king remembers me, or wounded that it took so long."

Steve rolled his eyes at the dramatics, it reminding him even more of high school. "I don't remember most people now, too many concussions."

"Shit. But now you're boss of a bakery. How life changes."

"Yeah. It only took three serious concussions, two major disasters in Hawkins, and one disownment after getting caught behind The Hideout with Matty P. But then I realized that this is what I want to be doing."

"What were you doing behind The Hideout with Matty P? Smoking weed or something? I know you never hid about that."

"We had been smoking, but at that point my mouth was, uh, otherwise occupied." Steve admitted.

"Oh, shit." Eddie choked back a laugh, then looked at his watch. "I'd love to hear more about that, but I've got to get back to work."

Steve quickly wrote his number on the bag with the extra cookie, before handing it over. "Call me sometime, maybe we could spend some time together outside of work."

"You're on, Harrington." Eddie winked at Steve, before leaving the bakery.

im not the happiest with the end of this bc it was rushed after my brain turned to mush from migraines

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddieholidaydrabbles #atimeofyourwrites

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ladykailitha · 10 months

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Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 1

I fully intended to put out the next part of Well Met, but I got a really bad cold and didn't get far enough into the next chapter to post it, so I'm putting out this one. It's based on this idea here. It is spoilery, so if you don't want to be spoiled, you can read it after the story is done.

I've tagged my regulars as well as those that expressed interest in the original post. If you don't want to be tagged in future parts, just DM me and I'll remove you.

Eddie IS in this just not for awhile. And Steve does have sex with other OCs, the only sex shown will be between Eddie and Steve.

Summary: Steve is an escort with Starcourt Services, who provides omegas to alphas with the money for all sorts of accommodations: arm candy at social events, rut servicing, multiples (including orgies), and sometimes, just sex. Steve is highly sought after, but after a run in with Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson at a fundraiser for a US senator, his world is turned upside down.

No monsters/omegaverse AU. Rockstar Eddie/Sex Worker Steve. Mature (especially in later chapters).

****

When Steve presented as an omega at the age of sixteen his parents were thrilled. They were going to throw lavish parties of all the best alphas in the state. Well, the appropriate ones, anyway. The good ones from conservative families of wealth and breeding.

Steve wasn’t looking forward to any of it. Which is why he breathed a sigh of relief when the doctors tested his fertility they told him he was infertile.

There was a couple other tests they could have preformed but his parents weren’t having it. How dare he be infertile! How were they going to recoup the cost of having an omega for a son, if he couldn’t have been an alpha?

The doctors informed them they had three choices. To the Church where he would be celibate and never seen or heard from again. This is what his mother wanted, but the Church wouldn’t give the money they so desperately wanted.

The second option was as a nursemaid for wealthy omegas who didn’t want to breastfeed their own pups. It had no real financial security because it was dependent on the elite needing a nursemaid in the first place. As callous as the Harringtons were, they didn’t want him to starve.

The final option was Starcourt Services. An elite escort service that would buy infertile omegas to pimp out to single alphas. They had a whole range of services. Rut servicing, gang bang and multiples (including orgies), and cherry popping.

The last one was how the Harringtons would get their money. Whatever the bid price was for an alpha deflowering Steve would be how much they would get for him. Then Steve would work for Starcourt until it was paid off. Then it would be up to Steve to decide what he wanted to do after that.

Most omegas would then go into nurturing fields, like teachers, nurses, and counseling. Not all of them did though, there were some really famous omega escorts in their fifties and sixties. Not even the best paid actors and musicians got paid as much as these escorts. They were lavished with everything they could ever want. Clothes, jewelry, trips to anywhere in the world. You name it, they got it. And they were paid handsomely by Starcourt on top of all that.

There was this really famous male omega simply called Roxie that Steve had on a poster on his wall. His contract had been offered to be bought out a record number of twenty-seven times during his career. People like politicians and diplomats, rockstars and A-listers, the elite and the powerful. Rumor had that one of the princes of Saudi Arabia had offered three times, but Roxie turned them all down.

Steve wanted to be just like him. But he knew that if he voiced that he would be whisked away to the monastery before he could even blink. So threw his lot with wet nurse lot. Saying that it wouldn’t be that bad, he could still save money to go to school and become a teacher.

It was the teacher part that really got Clint Harrington. No Harrington omega had ever been a teacher in their great history and he was going to let his son become the first.

So Starcourt it was.

When he turned eighteen he would be sold off to the highest bidder to take his virginity.

When the time came, Steve was one of the highest cherries ever sold by Starcourt to the tune of one million dollars. His parents went away with their money and Steve got his back blown by a thirty year old pop princess alpha, who still hires Steve to service her ruts on occasion if she’s in town.

Steve loved his job. What he loved even more than that was his beta handler, Robin.

“Hello!” he greeted warmly as she slip into his penthouse suite in the morning with his favorite coffee and muffins.

“Good morning!” Robin greeted back. “How was your night with Sir Kensington the third?”

Steve shrugged. “Boring. I loved the gala, but he just kept going on and on about how his estates had a water drainage problem and it kept flooding the basement. The first time I was sympathetic, the second time I was sincere, all the times after that? I could barely keep my eyes open! And! It strictly social, no sex. I would have tolerated it if there was at least the promise of mediocre sex afterwards.”

Robin winced. “Do you want him on your black list?” she asked, pulling out her tablet.

“Yes, please,” Steve said, pulling on a silk robe and sliding out of bed. “Send the usual black orchids and note.”

Robin nodded, making a note on her tablet. “And what do you want it to say?”

“When you take out a premier escort learn better material then irrigation. It was an irritation. If you want that kind of talk, get a mate for fuck’s sake. Passionately, S. Harrington.”

“Ooh,” Robin said with a grin. “It’s bitchy, succinct, and the most beautiful fuck you imaginable.”

Steve grinned back at her. “Thanks. I do so love to be bitchy. So what’s on my docket this week?”

“So you have a rut servicing with movie star Dillon Forrest starting tomorrow,” she said going through his schedule. “His ruts last three to four days and tends to get hungry right around day two. He hates cereal and protein bars or anything that ‘tastes like dirt’.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “As if that isn’t subjective as hell. And of course he doesn’t like the one thing that is the easiest to eat while literally out of his god damned mind.”

Robin hummed in agreement. “I’d try shakes, toss the protein powder in that.”

Steve nodded. “Make sure he’s house is stocked with fresh fruits and vegetables. Add some steaks or whatever to throw him off the scent. I’ll pack the protein powder in my kit.”

She nodded. “Next, you have the New Yorker charity gala with journalist Nancy Wheeler. She wants you in a tux, so I send in Pedro with your tuxes. Her dress is a metallic gold sequin slip dress with black lining.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I hate it when she wears metallic colors, it makes me looked washed out in comparison.”

“Sometimes I think she does it on purpose,” Robin groused.

Steve sighed. Nancy and he had dated briefly in high school before he presented as an omega and she an alpha. She actually had a mate, but Steve looked better on her arm at galas and charity events. That and her mate, Jonathan didn’t like the attention. He preferred to be behind the camera and not in front of it.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he said. “Put her on the pre-check list.”

Robin nodded. The pre-check list was a way to give the escorts a chance to decline an offer before it was set in stone. Usually the handler did that, but there were some cases where an alpha would pull shit like what Nancy did it was good for the omega to get a feeling of the event before the contract was set.

“Wear the dark blue jewel tone jacket with the black button up. That will prevent you from looking washed out, it’ll complement the dress and you get to one up your ex.”

Steve grinned. “Thank you, darling!” He leaped up and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Also a heads up about the gala,” Robin said. “Tommy’s been tapped to escort talk show host Billy Hargrove.”

Steve flopped on the sofa dramatically. “Argh! Tommy’s going to be insufferable.”

Robin nodded. Tommy and Steve were “rival” escorts (it was mostly in Tommy’s head) who competed for the best clients. A three-time Emmy award winning talk show host was more “prestigious” then a one-time Pulitzer winning investigative reporter. Especially since that reporter was Steve’s ex.

“And with Nancy trying to sabotage my look for the night, he’s going to be gloating the whole time!” Steve continued.

“Well, thankfully you have a handler that thinks of these things before hand,” Robin said, rolling her eyes. “If Tommy gets in your face about it, ask Billy when was the last time he had person of color as a guest.”

Steve sat up on the sofa. “He’s never had, as far as I’m aware.”

Robin shook her head. “He does the ‘pandering’ thing around award season to make sure the Academy doesn’t notice his blatant racism.”

“Oh,” Steve said, his eyes glittering with mischief, “that would be a terrible embarrassment if someone were to bring that up at gala for people in news hosted by a black alpha, wouldn’t?”

Robin grinned. “It would be a damn shame.”

“You really are my platonic soulmate!” He jumped off the couch and flounced off to the bathroom. “Anything else for this week?”

Robin shook her head. “The schedulers were wanting to keep this week a bit thin because of how busy next week will be.”

Steve glared over his shoulder. “Don’t remind me. Two multiples and a rut servicing.”

“At least the first one is just a threesome,” Robin said with a wince. “Two alphas that want a cute little omega to freshen up their sex lives without looking to bond.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, but the other is some manager of a rock band ordering a gang bang for them because their shitty song went gold or platinum or whatever.”

Robin grimaced. “Yeah, that is pretty tacky. What’s worse is that they are all alphas.”

Steve dropped his robe with a heavy sigh. “Who’s the rut for?”

Robin looked through her tablet again. “Oh well that’s something at least. It’s Lonnie Goodwin.”

“That is a relief,” Steve said, shimmying out of his white silk briefs. “Lonnie’s good for a laugh. Do you want me to see if I can get you and Vickie tickets to his next Netflix special?”

Robin lit up. “Hell yes. He’s Vickie’s favorite comedian and her birthday is coming up next month.”

“Done, darling.”

He got into the shower and turned on the water as hot as it would go. He needed to warm up his muscles to be nice and limber. He got out and dressed in exercise clothes to go for a run. He put in his earbuds and turned up his music. He stretched and warmed up before heading out.

Walking out of his apartment building, he waved goodbye the doorman, Keith and set off down the road. He was listening to the band who was requesting the gang bang. Steve knew that the best way to get over an awkward beginning was to talk about things they were interested in.

So as part of his prep leading up to a client Steve liked to go through their social media, if they were famous any interviews they’ve done. Watch any movies or shows they’ve been in. Just really diving deep into their lives so that it was less a transaction and more like a date.

It was why Steve was so sought after, he never made his clients feel shame for hiring him.

Unfortunately that didn’t always go both ways. An escort at its core was still a sex worker and people still had problems with those. Even the ones doing the hiring of said escort.

But that’s why each escort had a handler. A beta that could come in and break up anything that might go wrong. Which is Steve loved Robin. He had seen her take down a raging alpha like it was a Sunday afternoon walk in the park. She looked thin and scrawny, but she was scrappy and tenacious.

When he came back from his run he showered again to get clean and then he slipped into some comfortable clothes to lounge around in. He could have done anything today. The Starcourt management team was intent on making sure their omegas had plenty of time between clients to rest, shop, hang out with their friends.

Starcourt omegas were some of the best kept omegas in the country, and it showed.

Steve would have done those other things if tomorrow wasn’t a rut servicing. They tended to be heavy on the exhausting side. Both physically and emotionally.

Because despite being infertile, they still experienced all the things that fertile omega did. Scenting, bonding, heats all came with being an omega whether you had the capability to have pups or not. There were always going to be times an artificial bond would occur, even with all the blockers they were on.

The bond would fade after a couple of days, but it was still hard on the omega when it happened.

Half way through his binge watching of the latest Netflix K-drama, Pedro came in with the tuxedos. They were blue jewel tones of varying shades and styles.

Once they had decided on a short jacket and necktie combo, his assistant Janica came in with accessories to chose from. Once everything was picked out, they went away again.

He debated going out to eat over making himself dinner. A couple of the omega escorts he knew had a professional chef, Tommy chief among them, but he liked to cook his own meals.

He decided to go out to eat, because he was going to be locked up in a room for the next few days and needed to get out for bit.

He got dressed in his favorite blue jeans, a blank tank top, and white short sleeved button up, that was left unbuttons. He pulled on his Nike’s and grabbed his cell phone and keys.

There was a taxi waiting for him by the time he got to the lobby. He loved his job.

He picked a nice restaurant near his place and sat down for a damn fine hamburger and fries.

At the end of the meal the waiter came up to him.

“Just charge the Starcourt account,” Steve said with a wave of his hand.

The waiter’s eyes went wide and he scrambled to do as he was told.

Steve left a hundred dollar tip on the table and then wandered back to the front of the restaurant where the same taxi took him back to his building. Where he finished the series with a tub of cookie dough ice cream.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

So much world building in this. Which is why it takes so long to get to Eddie. But have no fear, none of what I'm putting in the next chapters is fluff. It will all make sense once we get to the Eddie chapters.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @lexirosewrites @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @yikes-a-bee @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt @apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @lingeringmirth @rememberthatiloveyou @demolvr

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #omegaverse #alpha eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #so much world building #like lots and lots #omega steve harrington

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 4 months

Note

Eeeeee! Congratulations! You deserve every single one! 🖤

Could I pretty please request:

Am I supposed to be scared now? In a Mafia AU. Vibes and item I'll leave up to your enormous, genius brain.

🖤🖤🖤

Thank you so much, Sam! 💖✨️ Hope you enjoy!

Worth the risk

Rated: E

Words: 992

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Dark Eddie Munson; Mob boss Richard Harrington; Secret relationship; intrigue; Referenced character death (RIP Tommy); Blood and violence; Knife play; Blood play; Groping; Dry humping

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Nobody says anything as they make their way out of the Harrington villa, but by some unspoken agreement, they don't part ways yet. They linger in the driveway by the cars.

Eddie knows better than to speak first. Instead, he lights a cigarette and lets the silence drag on, pretending to be brooding over the night’s events. He knows that somebody is bound to say something sooner rather than later.

It’s Jeff who does, in the end.

“Harrington’s losing it.”

Gareth jumps and casts anxious glances all around himself, like he’s expecting to find the boss lurking somewhere in the shadows, while Frank shushes Jeff with a hectic gesture.

“Shut up, are you insane?”

Jeff shrugs petulantly, but he does lower his voice. “I'm just saying what everyone is thinking. That thing with Hagan? That was completely fucking bonkers, sending him to make that deal with the Carvers all alone. It’s almost like he wanted him to end up with a bullet through his head.”

“Maybe he did,” Gareth says. “Rumor has it Hagan’s been making eyes at the son.”

Eddie nods along solemnly with the rest of them.

“All I’m saying is, it’s bad news,” Jeff mumbles. “He believes he’s invincible, that he can get away with anything. It’s dangerous for a man in his position to think like that.”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t be.” Eddie lets the words linger, waiting until every single face is turned to him. “Be in that position, I mean.”

Frank scoffs. “Yeah, right. Who’d even wanna do it instead? Junior seems much more interested in lounging by the pool and taking it up the-”

“Nah,” Eddie is quick to deflect. “We’d need someone capable. Somebody younger, who knows how things work on the street.”

“Someone like you?”

“I wouldn’t know about that, Gare,” Eddie lies. “Just putting in my two cents on the matter.”

Behind the garden wall, a light flickers alive, then dies again, quick as a heartbeat. Eddie grinds his cigarette under the heel of his boot.

“Shit, just remembered I forgot something. Don’t wait for me, guys.”

He feels their gazes on his neck as he walks back towards the house and doesn't bother hiding his grin.

The hydrangeas are long past their bloom, decaying flower petals rustling under his feet. He doesn't lament their death, not when he knows that the seeds of something else are slowly taking root.

The underwater lights of the pool bask the garden in an eerie glow, but he makes his way to the pool house unbothered. He has hardly ducked inside when a key clicks in the lock behind him.

Eddie’s body moves on instinct and muscle memory. The key clatters off somewhere in the darkness, and when the crimson veil lifts from his eyes, he has a warm body pressed against the wall, the edge of his knife licking at a shivering throat. A throat covered in the fading marks of his own teeth.

“Damn, Stevie,” he hisses, retracting the blade and sliding it back into its holster. It leaves the faintest of cuts, tiny droplets of blood gathering against tan skin like dark beads. “Are you out of your mind? You can't just sneak up on people like that.”

Steve scowls at him, face full of haughty disdain. He's beautiful in the glow of the pool seeping in from outside. He's always beautiful, of course, but something about the pale blue light rippling off his skin makes him look ethereal and downright unreal. Like an ancient deity, like a marble statue come alive.

“Excuse me?” he whispers, wriggling in Eddie’s hold. “What was I supposed to do? Nobody tells me shit, and then I overhear my dad talking on the phone about how one of his guys was killed. I just wanted-”

“Aw,” Eddie coos. He leans into Steve’s space, scraping a toothy grin against the hollow of that pretty throat. His lips come away tasting like copper, leaving a bloody trail on Steve's skin. “Are you worried about me, honey? Why, I'm honored.”

Steve pushes his head away with one palm against his cheek, but makes no further attempt at twisting out of his grip.

“This isn't a fucking joke, Eddie. If my dad finds out about this, you'll be next in line for a bullet through the- Will you stop this?”

Eddie lets Steve's thumb slide out of his mouth with an obscene, wet sound, nipping at the tender skin at its base as he goes.

“Am I supposed to be scared now?” he drawls. “I'm not an idiot, I can look after myself.”

“I know you can,” Steve confesses, tracing Eddie’s cheekbone with his thumb. It's still wet with his own spit, and the touch leaves a thin trail of moisture, cool in the stuffy air of the pool house. “But sometimes, I don't think you understand how dangerous this is.”

“Believe me, darling, I’m well aware of the danger.” Eddie trails a hand over Steve’s throat, down his chest. The motion makes a drop of blood run from his neck into the collar of his shirt. He watches how it blooms on the white fabric, pretty like a flower, as he slips his hand between Steve's legs. “Good thing we both like it a little, dangerous, right?”

He gives the bulge in Steve’s pants a firm squeeze, and as always, the boy responds like the beautiful, needy little dream that he is. He rolls his hips, grinding himself into the touch, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck to slot their bodies closer together. Eddie bites down on that perfect, pink bottom lip and laughs against it when Steve moans.

“Woah, honey! What happened to being careful?”

“What's life without a little risk?” Steve smiles, looking at him from under his long lashes. “And besides, you made me drop the key, so one of us will end up on his knees anyhow.”

Eddie finds he can't argue with that.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hype's 1k follower ficlets #kiss that ring #Mafia AU

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bingbongsupremacy · 9 months

Text

Camp Hawkins AU

Pairing: Steve Harrington x plus sized reader

Warnings: Use of Y/N. This is my first time writing a plus size reader oneshot. As a plus sized person myself, I wanted to try it. I'm a little nervous tho. I know some people don't like it when ppl write insecure plus sized reader stories. I just feel like when I write, I put my emotions and my insecurities into the character as a way to work through them. I'm working on my confidence and some time I will write x confident!plus size reader oneshots, just not right now. Anyways, I hope you can understand that, and if you don't maybe try another story. Thank you.

P.S. I don't know how tf to flirt.

The story doesn't mention a lot about being plus sized but it is there.

Summary: It's your third year being a camp counselor at Camp Hawkins and your 7th year knowing Steve. Every year your crush seems to grow stronger and stronger.

*Not Proof Read*

ABC List Stranger Things Masterlist

*****

" Bunk 23. " Eddie, one of the head counselors grins while handing me a set of keys.

I groan. " The bunk with the bats? Eds, are you serious. "

Last year a bat nest was found in the corner of one of the old wooden beds. Nobody had checked the cabin before letting campers and counselors inside, resulting in a nasty surprise halfway through the first week.

Eddie shrugs. " Sorry, kid. I don't assign the bunks, I just tell people where to go. " Eddie's eyes shift over my shoulder. " Steve! There ya are, my boy. Long time no see. What's going on? "

I feel my annoyance begin to melt away as the sound of boots makes its way towards us. It's quickly replaced with a flutter type feeling in my stomach, a feeling that's been stuck with me for the past seven years.

I turn to look at the cause of my emotions.

Steve grins at the man behind me. A large leather duffle bag hangs off of his left shoulder. In his right hand, a small rolling suitcase, the same grayish color as his coat, squeaks along. The same two bags he's used since I met him. Steve pulls off his glasses, sending a dazzling smile towards Eddie and I. " Same old, same old, Ed. Hi, Y/N. "

His grin sends waves of happiness flooding through my body. I love the way he says my name.

I do my best to keep my composure. I return the smile, adding in a small wave as well. " Hey, Steve. "

" So what's this I hear about you and Nancy? A little birdy tells me you're back together again. " Eddie asks, leaning against the desk in front of him.

Nancy and Steve. The always on and off high school sweethearts.

I have no shot with Steve. I mean, he's obviously still head over heels for her if he keeps going back to her. I guess deep down I hope he'll finally see me as someone other than his chubby fellow camp counselor.

Picking up my heavy bags, I excuse myself from the conversation. " Hey, I'll catch you guys later. I'm gonna go check out the cabin, make sure no bats are hanging around. "

" Do you need help with your bags? They look a little heavy. " Steve offers, moving to set his stuff down on the ground.

He's so sweet. He always have been. No wonder I have a huge crush on him.

" No, " I shake my head. " I've got it. It's not to far. " I smile.

" But Bunk 23's on the other side of the-" Eddie begins.

I interrupt him. " I'm probably going to stop at the dining hall and see if Robin's there yet anyways. I'll be okay. " I reassure them.

" Oh, okay. " Steve nods, glancing down at the heaviest duffle bag I have.

I'm definitely regretting packing extra crafts. I just didn't want any of the kids to get bored during free time.

" Cya guys. " I shuffle towards the door. The floor creaks beneath me as I walk out onto the main cabins' porch.

Maybe some day I'll mean more to Steve Harrington.

_____

" He literally offered to help you. Why didn't you take him up on that? " Robin groans in frustration. Strands of hair that slipped out of her hat frame her flour splotched face. Bits of dough and other mysterious stains cover the front of her apron, making it look like a doughy murder scene.

She leans on the serving window counter, her arms cradling her head.

" He was just being nice. I mean, if I saw you carrying heavy bags of flour, I'd offer to help you. It's something everyone does- be nice to the people you know. It doesn't mean they like you. " I argue. I fidget with the lid of my water bottle.

" That's different. "

I narrow my eyes at the woman. " How is that different? "

Robin lets out an annoyed grunt. " You and me, " She points to the two of us. " have no chemistry. You and Steve on the other hand..." She waggles her eyebrows, sending a warm feeling climbing up my face.

I roll my eyes.

" Have a fuck ton of chemistry. Like sometimes I feel like it's choking me. " She makes a pretend choking sound. " Please! Y/N! Steve! Just make out already. Please, for the love of god! Save me! Save humanity from the horrors of watching you two interact while denying your feelings! "

I gently hit her forearm. " Shut up. That's not true, literally shut the fuck up. " I mutter.

Robin laughs. " It's so true. Ask literally anyone that hangs around you guys. Why do you think Nancy and Steve keep breaking up? "

That can't be true. Relationships have issues. There's no way in hell Steve and Nancy keep breaking up because he likes me. That's...insane.

" Your a catch, y/n. You need to start realizing that. People-they have crushes on you too. "

I turn my head to meet Robins gaze.

" You're not the only person in the world who doesn't have someone attracted to them. I mean, if fucking Mike Wheeler can have a girl crushing on him, so can you. "

It's just hard for me to believe someone like Steve, Ex Captain of the Hawkins basketball team, could like someone like me. I'm pretty sure he's only ever seen me as a friend. All these years, transitioning from campers to counselors, he's never made a move on me. In all fairness, I haven't exactly made a move on him either...in my defense, Steve and Nancy are on and off so much, a flickering light bulb has more predictability.

This is all so confusing.

-----

" Welcome campers! " A loud voice booms from on the old cement stage.

Slowly chatter from the excited campers begin to die down.

Jim Hopper, a retired sheriff and the new owner of Camp Hawkins, begins to speak again. " We're so excited to have you here. Each of you have been assigned a bunk and a counselor... " Jim's voice begins to fade from my mind. The same words have been repeated year after year, not that I mind. It's a familiar introductory speech, something I know will never change.

I look behind the older man. The gorgeous quarry shines from the sunlight. Post card worthy.

" You're bunk 23, right? " Steve's voice asks from next to me.

I was so lost in thought I hadn't noticed he took a seat next to me.

I send him a smile. " Yeah, The bat bunk. " I mumble.

Steve grins. " I'm bunk 24. "

" Oh nice, I guess we'll be seeing each other a lot then. Well, " Stupid, the kids do basically everything together. You're going to see him a ton anyways. " More than usual I guess. "

Steve chuckles slightly. A sound that sends waves tumbling through my insides. " I don't mind. You're good company. "

I feel a familiar warmth sprawl across my face. " You're not so bad yourself, Harrington. "

A look of amusement finds its' way onto Steve's face. " Hey, I know you're not a huge fan of bats...or other flying creatures, " He references my first year here as a camper.

I let out a groan at the embarrassing memory. " That was so long ago. The bird literally came out of nowhere. " I vividly remember that morning. It was still dark when Steve and our friends got the bright idea to go check out the quarry. A bird flew out of one of the nearby bushes, nearly smacking into my face.

Steve laughs, his milky brown eyes glinting from the sunlight. " Hey, birds can be terrifying. I'm not judging you. " He holds up his hands in a playful surrender. " I was just saying, if you want, I can come over to your bunk and check it out. Make sure no flying surprises are hidden anywhere. " He offers, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

My heart flutters. God, he's so sweet. " I don't want to inconvenience you, I mean, it's probably fine. I doubt the bats returned. "

" Really, I don't mind. It's not an inconvenience, if anything, I'm doing this for my bunk. I mean, I don't really feel like waking up to a bunch of people screaming at 3 in the morning. "

My eyebrow raises. " Oh? So you're doing this for you then...for your interests. "

Steve tilts his head slightly. " I guess you could say that. "

The campers around us begin to gather up their bags, making their way towards Eddie and Jonathan who have lists of where everyone's supposed to go.

Steve stands up, extending a hand towards me. " So what do you say, Y/N. Do you want Pest Control Steve to come take a look at your bunk? "

I cringe at his stupid name, causing him to laugh.

" Only if you never call yourself that again. " I accept his hand, standing up from the cement row.

Steve's hand firmly holds onto mine for a few seconds longer after we've stood up.

From over his shoulder Robin catches my eye. Her eyes flicker between our hands and back to my eyes. She mouths a silent ' He fucking likes you ', which I ignore.

I release Steve's hand, shoving mine into my pocket.

For a moment, a flicker of confusion? Maybe disappointment flashes across Steve's features. He obviously ignores it, moving to fold his arms across his chest. " Deal. "

I smile at the man. " Deal. "

I look at him for a second longer before I'm quickly swept away by the campers in my bunk.

My mind analyzes our conversation over and over again, completely ignoring whatever Eleven is telling me while we walk back to our bunk.

He couldn't like me. Right?

_______

" I think you guys are clear. " Steve says, poking his head back out from under the last bunk. He glances up at the top of the bunk, making sure there's nothing hidden in the corners.

" Thank you so much, Pest Control Steve, what would I ever do without you? " I cringe slightly at my words, shaking my head. " You know what, never mind. I thought it would be funny but no. "

Steve laughs at my attempt at mockery. " You'd live in uncertainty. " He makes his way towards me, leaning against the open door frame.

Outside the kids are running around playing capture the flag, their yells echoing slightly around the bunk.

" Sure...I'd probably just get Eddie or Jim to look around. You know how much they love me. "

Steve slightly leans towards me. " They wouldn't check as well as I do. I do have a five star rating in customer service. " His voice is soft but teasing.

My eyes flicker down to his lips.

He's so close. Just a few inches away. If I wanted to, I could kiss him.

I do want to...

But I can't.

What if him and Nancy are still dating?

Fuck, I should've stuck around and waited to hear what he had to say about their relationship.

" Y/n! El got another bloody nose! " Dustin's voice suddenly shouts.

My head snaps towards the direction of the boy. His face goes from worried to grinning in a matter of seconds.

" Wait, " He looks between Steve and I.

Without waiting for him to finish, I snatch a roll of paper towels from the desk near the door. I hurry out of the bunk, leaving the two guys behind.

" Oh my god, Dustin... " Steve's voice groans.

" Were you guys about to..." Dustins' voice fades away as I make my ways towards a group of kids. I push past them, kneeling in front of El.

Perfect timing.

-----

The dining hall is bursting with noise. Kids sit together, eagerly talking about their first day back at camp.

I grab a plate and nervously head into the kitchen.

Food. My least favorite part of the day. I don't know if it's just the fear or people watching me eat or the possibility of someone making fun of me for eating too much. I should be used to it by now, I've eating around people for my entire life, but I'm not.

Every meal time still brings unnecessary anxiety.

Robin leans against one of the walls, a iced drink in her left hand. As she raises the glass to take a sip, droplets of condensation run down her arm. " About time you showed up. I basically had to threaten Eddie with a knife for him to back away from your portion of chicken tenders. He does not go down without a fight, I'll tell you that. " She chuckles.

" Thanks. " I begin putting some food onto my plate.

There's a moment of silence. " So. " Robin looks at me expectantly.

" So? " I ask, confused. I lean against the counter across from her. The counter hidden from the view of the dining hall.

Robin rolls her eyes. " Aren't you going to tell me about it? "

" What are you talking about, Robin? "

Robin lets out a sigh of annoyance. " Oh my god, Y/N. The kiss! "

Still lost, I set my food down. " What kiss? "

Finally, Robin blurts it out. " Dustin told me he saw you and Steve making out in your bunk. "

My eyes widen. " What? No. Robin, we weren't making out, that little..." I shake my head. " Steve and I were talking. Just talking. "

Robin raises an eyebrow. " Are you sure, Y/N, I'm your best friend. You can literally tell me anything-you literally have told me basically everything. "

" Robin, I swear. If anything were to happen, you'd be the first to know. Steve and I didn't do anything. "

" Doesn't mean something won't happen in the future though. " Robin smirks.

I roll my eyes. " He has a girlfriend, Robin. I'm not making a move on a taken guy. "

" They'll probably be on break by the end of the month. "

I pick up my plate again. " I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't get myself wrapped up into that. I mean, they'll probably eventually get back together. I don't want to be a rebound or something. "

Robin hops onto the counter, taking a seat in the empty space. " Steve's not like that. "

Yeah, he doesn't seem like the type of guy to do that. But, hey, maybe I don't know him as well as I think I do.

" So Dustin's going around telling everyone? " I say in discomfort. Even if we had kissed, I don't want everyone to know.

Robin shakes her head. Her hair is finally free from her hat. " Fuck no. I was the first person he saw and the first person he told. I told him I'd feed him to everyone for dinner if he says anything to anyone. " She lets out a small laugh. " Scared him shitless. "

I shake my head. " Of course you did, Rob. "

_____

The moon reflects off the quarry beautifully. Finally, there's bit of quiet. All of the campers are huddled together in the dining hall, playing random board games.

Their voices and music fade away as I walk closer to the water. I love being a counselor, but it definitely gets overwhelming at time. I look forward to going down to the Quarry every night, just for a little bit to clear my head.

As I get closer to the waters' edge, hear a twig snap. I snap towards my right side, the direction the sound came from.

A familiar jacket catches my eye.

Hanging over a nearby log, the sleeve of Steve's jacket shines in in the moonlight.

" Fuck, I'm sorry. " I blurt out as soon as I see the pair. On top of the jacket sits Steve. On his lap is Nancy, her arms wrapped around Steve's white t-shirt clad shirt. Nancy's legs are wrapped around his hips, pulling him into her embrace.

The pair pull apart, obviously surprised by my intrusion.

Nancy looks slightly embarrassed. " Oh I'm sorry. We didn't think anyone would be out here this late. " She apologizes, quickly getting off of her boyfriend.

I don't bother to look at Steve, knowing anything I see will send a pang of even more embarrassment and jealousy through my heart.

Don't be jealous.

He doesn't like you. He never will. He's with fucking Nancy. It'd be wrong if he liked you.

Plus, Nancy is so sweet. How could I hurt her by dating Steve?

I turn around quickly, hurrying back down the path towards the dining hall.

Steve will never like someone like me.

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trensu · 1 year

Text

Have a snippet from that one holy warrior au. thanks to @ent-is-indecisive for helping me come up with a title for this fic. i'll be tagging it as stasis in darkness for easy tracking. this is part of a rough draft so it probably will be modified by the time i finish the damn thing and make it ao3 ready. but my brain's kind of stuck and needs a kickstart to get it going again, so i thought i'd share it and hopefully get motivated again

It happened again.

–

The fourth night:

“Isn't it true the King of Darkness–”

“Lord of Night.”

“Yeah, him. He controls all the monsters in the dark and sets them on innocent people for fun. Don’t see why you’d want to throw your lot in with a god like that.”

“Because he doesn’t. He takes care of nighttime animals. Bats, coyotes, owls…”

“The scary ones, you mean.”

“No! Besides, he takes care of cats, too. Cats aren’t scary. They’re, you know, cute.”

“Hmm. If you say so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You got something against cats?”

“Of course not!" The man said, sounding mildly offended. Steve opened his mouth to go on about the Lord of Night's chosen creatures but the man interrupted with, "Well, look at the time! Later, gator.”

The man ran off with a grin not sparing him a second glance. Steve stared after him, baffled.

“What the fuck’s a gator?”

–

The fifth night:

“Don't you know your King, excuse me, Lord of Darkness–”

“Night. Lord of Night.”

“Same thing. He helps criminals evade justice. Pretty sure that one’s true.” The man lounged lazily on a nearby boulder as he asked. Kind of like a cat, Steve noticed with a trace of amusement that was easily smothered by annoyance at the man's…everything else.

“He helps people who travel by night. Most of the time they’re just night workers or people with nowhere to go. The ones that are shunned for being different or the ones too poor to afford safe shelter.”

“Huh. Alright, explain the horse thief thing, then, if he’s so good and noble.”

“...fine, he’s got a soft spot for horse thieves but thievery isn’t that bad of a crime in the grand scheme of things.”

“Ha! Sure,” the man conceded. “But! You can’t deny that this Lord of Night cursed people with terrible nightmares that left them sleepless and suffering for days. To the brink of lunacy, some say.”

The man said it with triumph, as if with this he’d finally break Steve’s faith. Steve shrugged.

“All gods get angry.”

“And that’s okay? You’re fine with him inflicting mind torture on some poor mortal just because he threw a tantrum?”

“First off, he wouldn’t just throw a tantrum," Steve said with exasperation. He might end up throwing a tantrum if this guy persisted. "I don’t think he’s the kind to get angry easily. And second, the people he cursed before always deserved it. Besides, he helps with good dreams, too. It’s not all bad.”

“Uh-huh, I totally believe you," the man said, heavy with mockery.

“Look man, if you’re so against the Lord of Night, why are you still here? Why do you keep coming back and bothering me?”

“...curiosity?”

“Well, be curious quietly. I need to pray.”

“...he probably doesn’t even have prayers.”

“I said shut up, man. I need to concentrate.”

The man leaves without any more fuss.

–

The sixth night:

“You have a lot of faith in a god who lost his own name. Does he even have any holy texts left?”

“Dustin could only find one, but that was enough.”

“Really? Other gods have entire libraries of stories and whole tomes of holy words. They have temples and monasteries all across the land of mortals.” The man motioned derisively at the crumbling statue. "This thing here is barely a shrine!"

“Hey, I'm working on that, alright? It's going to look great when I'm done with it," Steve protested. "And so what if he doesn't have more? Robin says quantity’s got nothing to do with quality.”

“Yeah, but the other gods are remembered for a reason. That counts for something,” the man's voice lost some of that smug edge. He fiddled with the hem of his fraying shirt as he spoke.

Steve refused to rise to the bait. He responded calmly, but firmly.

“I don’t need libraries to know I want to carry his symbol. From what Robin and Dustin found, he represents all the things my friends taught me were important.” Steve pauses. "I’m not a good reader anyway so less books are better for me.”

"Oh, so that's why you picked him! Very convenient," The man sounded very amused. Steve ignored him until he heard the man wander away for the night. He sighed in relief.

With a surge of restless energy leftover from being very good and calm about that nuisance of a man, Steve approached the statue elevated on its crumbling plinth. He reached up towards its open hand held at its side, barely within reach, and brushed his fingers along the worn knuckles.

"That guy's wrong about you, I know he is,” Steve whispered, fervently. “You deserve a temple. A hundred of them, all for your own."

Steve thought, for a moment, he heard a sharp intake of breath, but when he looked there was no one but him around.

“I’ll make sure you get a great temple."

He waited, strained his ears for even a single word from his god. He tried not to be disappointed when he heard nothing. Again.

–

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you’d like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

#trensu tells stories #stasis in darkness #stranger things #steddie #thanks again to ent for helping find a title for this #and for listening to my directionless ramblings about it

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pantherxrogers · 5 months

Text

here’s a master list of (most of) my work. it’s a work in progress, but I’ll try to keep it updated! 😚

last updated on: 9.19.2024

anything with a ✮ is smut, so minors dni

currently writing for: ateez, bts, and seventeen

All kpop stories are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. These stories are created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

requests are open. please read the rules below!

do not ask for smut unless your age is in your bio. this blog is 18+ anyway!

please do not ask me to write multiple parts. i loooove writing for you guys, but i can't guarantee that i'll finish a series once i start it 😅

have fun with your requests! i love hearing about what you guys would like to read! 🫶🏾

Seonghwa

sugar daddy!Seonghwa

Yunho

sugar daddy!Yunho yunho comes home earned it ✮

San

sugar daddy!San ✮ your IG story w/ foodie!San san showing love on IG idol!san and singer!reader saddle up ✮ unforgettable pt. 2 happy birthday sannie ✮

Mingi

sugar daddy!Mingi

Wooyoung

after the game ✮

OT8

bf!ateez with a shorter reader

Xu Minghao aka The8

always be my baby the birthday girl (+mingyu) ✮ after hours

Wonwoo

make a wish

Jun

poolside service ✮

Lee Chan aka Dino

untitled blurb ✮

Kim Taehyung aka V

fantasy ✮

Luca (The Bear) x Reader

You're #1 to Me ✮ Dating Luca (Headcanon) ✮ Late Night Luca thoughts Missing You ✮ Are You In 1 ✮ 2 ✮ 3 ✮

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Spoiled ✮ Safe Place ✮ Man of the House ✮

Fezco x Reader

When he’s sick What does Ashtray think of Fezco’s girlfriend? Fezco being a 🍑 guy First Kiss Don’t Worry About Me: Part 1 2✮ 3 Christmas Shopping Caught Red Handed ✮ When Rue comes around Meeting Fezco for the first time at his store Seeing Red Like a Pillow ✮ Forbidden Love AU First Makeout Fezco the fighter

Oscar (Spooky) Diaz x Reader

Two Years Later 1 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

When the party’s over Returning home after a mission

Loki x Reader

Alone Time

M’Baku x Reader

The Argument

#𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics #ateez x reader #ateez x black!reader #bts x reader #bts x black reader

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space-invading-pigeon · 2 years

Text

Roommates au but better ✨✨✨

Steve and Eddie have a nice routine. They go to their separate rooms, Eddie to work on his latest game (Vecna's Curse; he doesn't know why Steve freaked out the first time he heard about it) and Steve to try to sleep. On a good night, that's it; on a bad night, Steve will wake up screaming and it can take anywhere from a few minutes to an hour for Eddie to calm him down.

They'll wake up sometime later, Steve will prepare for work, and Eddie to get some coffee before he starts working on his game again. Steve leaves, Eddie works and then babysits their neighbor's daughter until Steve gets home. Then, they'll play with her for a few hours, and once her dad picks her up, they'll eat dinner together. Sometimes they watch a movie, sometimes they play a game, and sometimes (if it's been stressful for either of them), they'll lay on the couch cuddling.

***

Their routine is disrupted one night by a pounding at their door. It had been a good night, one where Steve had been so relaxed that he had fallen asleep on the couch and had to be carried to bed. Eddie was angry at first: the last time they had a late night visitor, it was Mrs. Ryans trying to "catch him in the act" of vampirism.

So Eddie goes to the front door, holding Steve's favorite carving knife, and swings it open, fully prepared to tell an old lady where to shove it, but instead comes face-to-face with a teenage girl. Her hair is pulled into a tight bun, out of her face, which is set in an unimpressed glare. "Get out of my way," she snarls, shoving her way inside. Eddie is so surprised by this turn of events, he doesn't quite react until she's already storming through the apartment.

"Steve!" She shouts, and that really spurs Eddie to act.

"Shhh! He's sleeping right now, little girl, don't wake him up!" But the teen whirls on him, pointing one perfectly manicured finger at him.

"I'm not here for you, I'm here for your boyfriend. You're just a supporting character, and I will see him. Now." She says, her voice harder than before and trembling slightly.

"Erica?" Steve's voice called from the hall. "What are you doing here?"

At the sight of Steve, the teen- Erica, presumably- loses some of the tension in her posture and breezes across their living room to throw herself into a hug. Eddie feels like his face is just one big question mark.

"They said I can't go back," she huffs from where her face is buried in his shoulder. Steve seems to soften at that, and wraps her up in a hug.

"What happened, little rogue?" Eddie hears Steve ask, and with that, Erica melts, tearfully recounting the fight she'd gotten into with her parents and visiting grandparents, how she'd been all alone because it was during the semester and Lucas was in the city, and how she couldn't go to Lucas because she didn't want him in the middle of it.

After a long crying session, Steve and Erica settle on the couch while Eddie makes them hot cocoa. Steve manages to cheer her up considerably by reminding her about something that happened in their past (he says something about Starcourt, how nothing could be worse than that), and when Erica excuses herself to use the bathroom, Steve explains the situation to Eddie.

"She's one of mine," he says. "Some... Really bad stuff happened in my hometown, and her brother was a part of it. She ended up being dragged into it when she was eleven. I- I have to take care of them, they're my kids. I promise she won't be any trouble, she can take my room and I'll sleep on the couch-"

"Sweetheart, please. She can sleep in my room, I'll just share with you," Eddie decided promptly. "I like your bed better, anyway. If she's yours, she's welcome here."

Somehow, Eddie wakes up in Steve's bed with Erica cuddled up between him and Steve; she's changed out of her own clothes and into his pajama pants and one of Steve's high school shirts. He's convinced he should be annoyed, but the girl looks almost innocent when she's asleep and clinging to Steve like he's a teddy bear.

#eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things headcanons #eddie and steve #roommates au #erica sinclair

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anika-ann · 9 months

Text

Thirty-Three Minutes (S.R.)

Type: Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series or a standalone

Pairing: professor Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 1700

Summary: Giving your fiancé a nice gift was all you intended.

You receive back more than you bargained for.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut (light bondage, light D/s, edging, oversimulation, hand kink (?), term ‘babygirl’ (no daddy kink), hints of dacryphilia, mirror kink and professor kink (if you squint)), language

A/N: Either a standalone (because it’s just a prof Steve, established relationship and filth) or a part of the Attached series. Figures that I'll return to Prof Rogers for filth. Sorry?

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

The sound falling from your lips was unhuman – a sob, a mewl, a plea – but you had no capacity to feel truly embarrassed. No time.

It was too much – so much and yet not enough – your body set on fire and yet standing too far from its satisfying heat.

And that bastard knew it. He knew it and you knew he did, because even though your vision blurred, starting to swim in tears, you could feel his intent gaze on you, his smile, so deliciously dark, his low voice whispering the filthiest praise as you tried to buck into the soft teasing touch of his fingertips.

It was all your fault, you were aware.

But how could you have known? You had just wanted to give him a present worthy of his standing and age. You had been saving so meticulously, barely keeping it secret from him, only to be rewarded by his utter awe when he opened his only gift for his fortieth birthday. A new quality watch; not a Rolex, but expensive and luxurious enough. He showed you exactly how much he appreciated it shortly after inspecting the watch and lid them carefully back in the box to put on later.

You had not expected the present to backfire like this. You had not expected the things done to your gut, to your poor core, to your hindbrain, sending indecent thoughts about how damn well his hands looked, adorned with a piece of practical jewellery.

You had no damn idea what it was what had you squirming; the testament to his position? The testament to power he might not hold over half the world like some fancy CEO would, but certainly over you? The way the leather bound his wrist so gently and perfectly, like a second skin, contrasting with the beautifully raised veins on the back of his hands?

It didn’t matter. What did matter was that he was doing something so awfully mundane like grading essays at his desk while you were supposed to be working on your thesis and… and you were staring. You couldn’t-- you couldn’t possibly form a single coherent thought about history of literature or whatever the topic of our thesis was when he hadn’t even changed from his shirt, only rolled out the sleeves, and sat there like this in your view. His fingers held the pen so elegantly, his other hand laid by the paper, the soft glint of the watch catching your eye every time he moved, drawing your gaze to his hands like a magnet.

Those damn hands. Soft and gentle. Large and strong. So sinfully talented. He could have you fall apart for him in a matter of minutes just by teasing you with those long dextrous fingers; and the image your mind had conjured, the image of your juices straining those elegant fingers on the very hand wearing those watch was just-

“Babygirl, you keep watching me like that and I’ll have to do something about it,” he said light-heartedly, unaware of your panties being shamefully soaked already, core weeping at the emptiness and acute need to be filled.

But Steve had a sharp mind; he understood soon enough. And he understood what precisely it had been that riled you up so much and way too fast, a smirk curling up those plump lips, hand cupping your chin to steal your breath with a filthy kiss, his free hand pushing your laptop aside and pulling you to your feet just to kiss you over and over as he walked you back to the mirror.

Fuck, the filthy gorgeous picture. Possessive hands sprawled over your stomach, over your pubic bone, as his fingers slipped under your leggings to tease you; pulling them down so you could watch as he dipped his fingers in your slick.

“My girl’s making such a mess for me, look at that, babygirl, isn’t that a sight…”

Coming almost untouched, a tingly feeling spreading to your toes as his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright and press you firmly to his front, to let you feel what you were doing to him. He had you on a bed so fast afterwards, propped up on the headboard so you could watch, with your hands tied so you had to take whatever he was giving, legs spread wide so he could fit his broad shoulders between them and lick an indulgent stripe all from your opening to your clit, beard burning against your sensitive flesh, only to return to work with his hands.

That gorgeous smart bastard, having you all figured out. Using his new watch, a gift from you, to time you, to time how fast he could push you over the edge for the second time. And then again, trying faster. And again.

And now. Fuck--- now. Now was the real torture.

“Steve, please-“ you whispered, voice hoarse, cunt clenching around nothing as he withdrew his fingers again, all but a fingertip petting your slick swollen petals, your thighs trembling with exertion.

“Shh, love…” he hummed soothingly, free hand pushing your hips down to keep you still, taking away his touch altogether to turn his wrist and look at the watch pointedly, his fingers coated in your slick glistening in the low light on the nightlamp, causing to try and fight against his hold. More. You needed more, you needed it right now. “It’s only been twenty-three minutes, babygirl. You can hold on for a little bit while longer.”

“No! Steve, please, please, pretty please-“ you babbled, word slurring, because gods, you could not. You needed him to make you come again, for the last time, your body was strung so tight, like a string on a violin the menace of your fiancé knew how to play all too well.

“Oh sweetheart, you beg so prettily. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you…”

The praise washed over you like a tide wave, a shiver running down your spine, a tingle in your lower belly.

He released your hips, only to grab your thighs, spreading them further, tasting you again, tongue circling your clit and sending your head spinning, the tug at your insides almost violent, causing you to pull at the binds around your hands on instinct – you were so so close now, if he could only-

“No!” you your cried out breathlessly as he stopped and rested his forehead under your heaving breasts instead, placing a torturously soft kiss above your belly button.

Your thoughts were a never-ending spiral of please, please, please, Steve, love, please, I need to cum, I need to--- I need you to fuck me, please, please, PLEASE, I need it and there was no way out, no way out but through your safeword, but you wouldn’t, no, he called you his good girl and you were so close, your whole body burning and if he could only do one thing, if he could just--- Please, please, your fingers, your mouth, your-

Then, a sudden clarity, a deep inhale and exhale. You licked your lips.

“Professor, please-“

His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, sending a thrill and a sparkle of hope through your veins. He looked up from his spot, eyes impossibly dark, traces of your juices on his lips, on his beard. His mouth curled in a smirk, your racing heart stumbling in your chest.

“Oh babygirl…” he whispered, his thumbs petting the junction of your thighs, bringing the sweet sweet relief closer to your reach. His lips traced a line over the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your flesh, a breathy chuckle warming your already burning skin and you let your head lull back, revelling in the sensation. “That’s playing dirty. Naughty girl…”

Two fingers entered you without warning, but with a fabulous sensation of bliss, aiming straight for your g-spot, stretching you deep, over and over, curling and hitting an even better spot, his mouth ghosting over your collarbone, over your jaw and you panted.

“Yes, yes-“

Your chant was cut off by Steve’s lips, swallowing your sounds of pleasure and letting you taste your own, bringing you rapidly to the brink of a white-hot orgasm—

Only to pull away from your lips with a wet pop, his fingers stilling.

You snapped your eyes open to find Steve with a downright menacing smile on his kiss-swollen lips, horrible realization washing over you and causing your vision to blur anew.

“Steve-“

“So naughty…” he mused, pulling his fingers out as he retreated, admiring his hand – the very image you had daydreamed about, slick-coated long fingers of the hand where his new watch remained seated comfortably – before he used your juices like a paint, tracing a pattern on your inner thigh and you knew. You realized your terrible misstep, which would only prolong your most delightful torture. “I think you deserve another ten minutes as punishment, what do you say?”

You never got the chance to answer, soft fingertips having returned to their teasing, hungry lips stealing any words of protest from your lips.

By the time a few tears actually rolled down your cheek, your ten minutes clearly having passed, Steve had you boneless and soaking his hand and the sheets alike. Your release, coming with releasing your hands as well and letting you lie breathless and without a single coherent thought in your mind, came with Steve’s release as well, when he spooned you from behind, taking what was rightfully his with all but wordless encouragement from your side.

He held you close, chaining kiss after kiss wherever his lips could reach, the most tender of praises whispered to your skin lulling you to sleep.

Perhaps your choice of a gift was the best decision you had ever made, was your last thought. The best, right after sending the wrong attachment and saying yes to not only a date, but eventually, to Steve’s proposal as well.

Seeing what a damn watch on Steve’s hand had done to you, you were both wondering what a sight of a wedding band on his ring finger would do. But you still had some time before you’d figure that out…

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Series masterlist

S.R. masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading 💕 and potentially for your feedback 🥰

Really, blame @murdock-and-the-sea and this pic sent in the wrong/good time 🤐

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #professor steve rogers #lemons #college au #modern au #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #professor au #attached #thirty-three minutes #anika ann

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thisapplepielife · 10 months

Text

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

King Steve

Prompt Day 12: Hallmark Movie Tropes | Word Count: 9963 | Rating: M | CW: Royal Inaccuracies | Tags: King Ralph AU, Unexpected Royalty, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending, Steve POV

This one is also available right here on AO3.

Loosely based on the 1991 comedy King Ralph, starring John Goodman, but this time make it Steddie.

Steve shoves the key into the lock of the Wienerlicious front door, and jiggles it just so, trying to get the damned thing to open. Robin picked this place as their next place of employment, and he's pretty sure it was just to stick him in another goofy uniform so she could call him dingus more often.

Jokes on her. He looks damn good in lederhosen, way better than she does in the milkmaid getup. So, suck it, Robin.

Even if he's too old for this shit. He's nearly thirty, and they're still bouncing from crappy job to crappy job, aimless.

He needs a purpose, but he just hasn't found it. Not yet.

He flips on the lights, and goes through all the opening procedures on his own. Robin won't be in until later, so he's gonna be on his own through the lunch rush. If there is a lunch rush. Sometimes, that's non-existent in this place.

And it seems like today is gonna be one of those days. He hasn't had a customer in an hour, and he's bored out of his goddamn skull. Just watching the hot dogs turn on the roller grill behind him.

Finally, the door swings open, and in walks three stuffy-looking men in suits. Glancing around the place like they're walking in front of a firing squad instead of into a fast food joint.

"Welcome to Wienerlicious," Steve greets.

"We're looking for Mr. Steven Harrington," the first one says in a British accent, and Steve narrows his eyes. He doesn't think he owes money to anyone. Especially not to anyone British. Robin and him might be scraping by, but they've managed to do it all on their own.

"Who's asking?" Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips.

"I'm Gareth Jones and this is Inspector Goodwin and Inspector Williams," the first man says, like that means anything.

Steve doesn't think he's committed a crime, Pink Panther style, but maybe? He wishes he'd stolen some cash or jewels, but he hasn't, so he's not sure why they've sent two inspectors all the way to the Wienerlicious to talk to him.

"And you're here for…" Steve trails off, moving his hand in a hurry up and spit it out motion. He'd rather get this over with.

"Well, sir, that's a private matter for us to discuss with Mr. Harrington," Inspector Goodwin chimes in, and they are definitely British.

"Then, I guess you're shit outta luck," Steve says, moving back to wiping down the counter. "If you decide you want to order something, you let me know."

He watches them look between each other, clearly debating this offer. But they step up to the counter and study the menu, with a hint of disdain, before ordering three number seven combos. Steve makes them, and puts down the red baskets on a tray. Taking their money, and handing over their change.

They're staring at his name tag. Fuck. He forgot he was wearing it.

"Are you Steven Harrington?" Gareth asks, leaning closer, nearly across the counter.

"And if I am?" Steve asks, taking a step back.

"Then we have an exciting opportunity to share with you," Inspector Williams says, gleefully.

"Listen, I'm not gonna, like, sell Amway or knives or anything. So, just. No, thanks."

They look back and forth, like they don't understand what he's talking about.

Steve sighs, "I have a job. I don't want another, no matter how much money you think I'll be able to make, so thanks. But, no thanks."

Because, yeah, he's in lederhosen, but he's working with Robin and he gets a predictable paycheck. It's a fair trade-off.

"Sir, please, just give us a moment of your time," Gareth pleads, and Steve is annoyed.

"Just arrest me if that's what you're here for," Steve says, nodding towards the two inspectors. Robin will sort it out.

"Oh, no, sir. Not at all. They're here for your protection, for your safety," Gareth says, and Steve wrinkles his forehead at that idea. He's pretty sure he doesn't need protection. "Please, just hear me out, sir."

"Fine, one minute," Steve says, following them to a table, and sitting down, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mr. Harrington-"

"Steve," Steve interrupts.

"Steve," Gareth, the chatty one, says, but it seems physically painful for him to get out of his mouth, "it is my glorious duty to inform you that you're the new King of the United Kingdom, Your Majesty."

"The new King of what now?" Steve asks, because he's been King before. Sure, it was Hawkins High and not the United Kingdom, but he'll pass. He's grown and shit since then.

"Of the United Kingdom, and the entire Commonwealth, Your Majesty."

Steve laughs, because why wouldn't he laugh. That's ridiculous.

Then he remembers seeing the news headline that the entire Royal Family had been electrocuted and killed during a holiday photo session, and that they were searching their records for the next heir in line for the throne.

Steve bets they didn't expect to find him in lederhosen, slinging wieners with sauerkraut.

"But I'm an American," Steve finally says, shaking his head.

"We are unfortunately aware, sir," Gareth answers.

"Then, how am I the next in line? That makes no sense." Steve questions, he's never even been to England.

"On your mother's side. There's no delicate way to say this, but your grandmother had an affair with Prince Richard, and your mother was the product of that affair. So, you're in the line of succession for the throne through the House of Wyndam-Pryce bloodline."

"Okay, go talk to my mother then," Steve says, "she'd love to be a Queen."

"It doesn't work quite like that. See, there's what we call male-preference primogeniture-"

"Well, that's just sexist," Steve says, crossing his arms. He doesn't know what that last word means, but he definitely understands male-preference and can fill in the blanks.

"Yes, well, perhaps that's true," Gareth says, looking flustered, then looking excited, "but you could press to change that! As King. With the help of Parliament. You could work to change it."

"Now, Jones," Inspector Williams says, "you know the law prohibits Monarchs from solving problems."

"Yes, well," Gareth says, backing down a little, "that's a different issue altogether."

"This all seems suspect," Steve says. He wishes Robin were here. She'd know what to ask, what to say to all this. "If I'm not solving world problems, which to be honest, I'm not sure I'd be all that great at anyway, what exactly does this even entail? Is it not like being the President here?"

"No, that's more like the Prime Minister," Inspector Goodwin answers, "not exactly, but closer. You, as King, would be a ceremonial figurehead."

Steve is confused, but that's not exactly new.

"I don't understand," Steve says, because he definitely doesn't.

"You are the new King. It's your birthright, sir."

Steve is pretty sure he's not interested in any birthrights. He's seen Buffy. Kristy Swanson was hot, but he doesn't want any of that shit for himself. No fucking way.

Unless.

"How much does it pay?" Steve asks.

"Well, it doesn't, exactly…" Gareth trails off.

"Then, again. No," Steve says, moving to stand.

"But as the sovereign, it all belongs to you. To the Crown," Gareth says, and Steve starts picturing that and now it doesn't sound so bad at all.

"All of it?"

"All of it, Your Majesty," Gareth confirms.

"So, are you willing to go with us, Your Majesty? To England?"

And maybe he'd make a different decision if Robin were here to talk him out of it, but he nods.

"You can't go be the King," Robin says, pacing around the room, one of his shirts clutched in her hands. He jerks it out of her grasp, and stuffs it into his suitcase.

"Apparently, I can," he says, "and you can come with me."

She scoffs, "And do what? Be your lady-in-waiting?"

"Yes!" Steve says, he doesn't know what that is, but yes, if it gets her to come. Absolutely.

"Steve, no," she says, shaking her head.

"We'll get married really quick and you can be my Queen," he says, nodding his head, "think how fun that'd be? You and me? Ruling a whole country?"

"And the Commonwealth," she says, but shakes her head, snapping out of that idea. "No way, they'd make me have your babies."

"Ew," he says.

"Ew, right back at ya, dingus," she says.

"Then, I'll go first. Scope it out. And you can come later, once I'm settled in."

"This is a bad idea, Steve," Robin says, really talking with her hands.

"Careful, I'm the King," Steve teases.

"Not my King, dingus, you better keep that in mind," she says, and he smiles, pulling her to his chest.

"I wish you'd come," he says.

"I don't even have a passport," she says.

"Well, neither do I. But apparently, as the King, that doesn't really matter much."

"Oh, this isn't going to go well," she says, pacing again, worrying some more.

"Maybe not, but it'll be an adventure, right? C'mon. Come with me," he begs, trying to give her the eyes. But she's immune.

"Maybe later. If this sticks. I'll get a passport, legally, and come make fun of you in your stupid cape or whatever," she says, and he hugs her again.

A day later, Steve steps out of the black town car, and looks up. Jesus. This place is wild. Fucking crazy, it's a palace, like, for real. He still kind of assumed they'd been teasing when they showed up at his place of work, explaining that while he was once 46th in line for the throne, that he'd now been bumped up to number one. Just because the entire extended royal family died in a freak accident during a portrait session for their annual Christmas card.

That's a lot to swallow.

Do they not have a designated survivor? Robin has told him about that, in the US. They should have, it seems like. Most definitely.

Water, metal and electricity did not mix. And snap. They were all gone.

And now he's here.

King.

He's being led inside this freaking mansion, and it's way less funny. He's a freaking American. A bastard, apparently, and he shouldn't even be eligible for the throne. Robin looked it up. Made sure he knew that, as she railed on him for even considering doing this.

But they were desperate. And here he is. Steve Harrington, American. King of England. No, Great Britain? United Kingdom? The Commonwealth? He scratches his head and scrunches up his face. He doesn't remember. They went over this on the plane, but he's already forgotten. Shit.

He's just pretty sure it's not the King of England. Even if that sounds right to his American ear.

There's some old, stuffy British dudes waiting to lead him around, and he follows. But he's starting to think he can't be the King. Not again. He's pretty sure being the King of Hawkins High will be nothing in comparison to this. This is actual insanity.

Actual royalty.

They leave him in his new royal bedroom, and you could fit his and Robin's whole apartment inside this one room. He stands and looks out of the window, and feels homesick. He'd rather be in that tiny apartment with her, than here surrounded by all this opulence. He shouldn't have even agreed to get on the plane, especially not without Robin. They couldn't make him accept this offer, he's pretty sure. Even if they were pretty adamant about it, at the time. It felt like he didn't have a choice, even if he's pretty sure he did. Still does, maybe. He hasn't been, like, crowned or anything. He thinks he can still say no, and probably will.

He'd just been hand stomping lemonade and slinging hot dogs, minding his own business. He was just a little delirious and desperate for something new, anything at all.

He was bored.

And then there these stuffy dudes were, telling him he was the new King.

It all happened so fast.

He should call Robin soon, to let her know he landed. He really wants her to move here to be with him, if he decides to stay. Surely, that's something he could make happen, with all this money and all these resources.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and there's a guy, probably about his age, standing there, hands properly folded behind his back. When Steve looks at him, he bows his head at the neck.

"Hey," Steve says, turning to face him fully, "I'm Steve."

"I'm Edward, your private secretary, Your Majesty."

"What can I do for you, Eddie," Steve says, and he watches as the man cringes at the informality of it all. He just doesn't look like an Edward. He looks like an Eddie. But if he doesn't like that, Steve won't force it on him. At least not to his face. Not yet. He'll wear him down, first.

"Nothing for me, sir. What can I do for you?" Eddie asks, stepping a little further into the room.

"Edward, I think I'd just like to go to bed," Steve says, and Eddie moves towards the bed, drawing down the sheets and fluffing his pillows.

It's overkill. But nice.

"Thanks, you don't have to do that, but I appreciate it," Steve says.

"Your dressing room is over there. I'm sure there's some proper sleeping attire," Eddie suggests, pointing towards the right door. "And if you'd like a bath before bed, I can draw one for you, sir."

A bath doesn't sound half bad, but Steve is pretty sure he can run his own bathwater. He might be the King, and isn't that a stupid thought, but he hasn't forgotten how to do basic things for himself, not yet.

Eddie does it for him anyway, despite Steve's protests, and then shows him the little turtle bell on the marble ledge that he can ding if he needs assistance at any time.

"During my bath?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

And Eddie nods, "Any time at all, sir."

That's weird, Steve thinks, but watches as Eddie closes the big double doors, leaving him alone with his bath. He rings the little turtle bell, and Eddie comes back through the doors.

"Your Majesty?" he asks, hands clasped in front of him.

"Are there bubbles?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks taken aback, but quickly nods and produces a bottle of fancy looking bubble bath from a cabinet.

"Thank you," Steve says, smiling, and Eddie nods at him curtly, before leaving. Again.

Steve wants to ring the turtle, just for shits and giggles, but refrains. He wants Eddie to like him. He's close to his age, and maybe they could be friends. Well, maybe not, he's stuffy like his colleagues, just not as stuffy. That's for sure. Gareth and Inspectors Goodwin and Williams aren't exactly old, but they were a little uptight.

When he's good and pruney, he gets out, and wraps a towel around his waist. When he opens the doors, Eddie is standing there, at the ready.

"You can sit down, you know?" Steve says, walking around the edge of the bed.

"I really can't, Your Majesty," Eddie says.

"Says who?" Steve hollers from the walk-in closet, where he's pulling up a pair of silk pajama bottoms. They're nice, and feel good against his skin. He likes them. He's definitely not wearing the matching long-sleeve shirt though. No way. He can't imagine how uncomfortable that'd be to sleep in.

"Royal protocol, sir."

"Aren't I in charge now? So, if I say you can sit, you can sit," Steve says, coming out of the closet, towel drying his hair.

"That's really not how it works, sir," Eddie says, looking away from him. Clearly trying to get Steve to drop it.

He will, for now. But that man is sitting before this is over with. There's no reason for him to stand around all the time. Steve's worked retail. He knows how much that sucks, and he didn't even have to do it in dress shoes.

"Did you need help finding your top, sir?" Eddie asks, and Steve realizes that's why he's being so weird. Oh.

"Do I have to wear it?" Steve asks, pulling his towel over his chest. Maybe he's being weird, or creepy, right now. Is he sexually harassing his secretary? At home this is fine, normal. It's like a locker room, right? They're in his bedroom. But maybe that's not cool here, he has no idea.

"Well, no, sir," Eddie says, "but it would be proper. But you don't have to, I suppose."

Steve tries to slide in bed without flashing his hairy chest at Eddie again, pulling the sheets up to his neck.

"There, I'm in bed," Steve says.

"Very well, sir," Eddie says, pulling the drapes closed, nodding at Steve, and hitting the lights on the way out, "Goodnight."

"'Night," Steve says back, as the door closes, and then he's gone.

And Steve's all alone.

These sheets are super soft, and so is the bed. Steve closes his eyes, and thinks he'll be asleep in no time.

He wakes up to the sun in his eyes, as Eddie is pulling open the heavy curtains.

"Good morning, Your Majesty. Did you sleep alright?" Eddie asks, bowing his head at Steve, and Steve really needs him to stop doing that. It's unnecessary. Steve sits up in bed and scrubs his hand across his face. He did sleep well.

"Yeah, I think I did, thanks," Steve says, stretching, as Eddie goes into his closet and starts selecting clothes.

"We'll have to get you fitted properly today, but these should do for now," he says, laying out a pair of slacks and a dress shirt. A belt.

"Okay," Steve answers. He can wear that. That's not so bad. "What's on today's schedule?"

And he wishes he hadn't asked, because the list Eddie rattles off is never-ending.

"All that today, huh?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. Then steps out into the hallway so Steve can get dressed.

He stands in front of the mirror, trying to tame his hair. He shouldn't have gone to bed with it wet, now it really won't behave. He might need to wash it again. He looks around, and realizes there is no shower in his bathroom. He's gonna need a bathroom with a shower, the bath was fine, but not for everyday use.

"Edward?" Steve says, opening the door, and Eddie follows him back in.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Eddie asks, standing at attention.

"Is there a bathroom with a shower around here that I'll be able to use? I don't need it this morning, because of the bath, but in the future?" Steve asks, looking at Eddie.

"Yes, of course, sir," Eddie says, "I'll show you where that's at this morning."

"Thanks, also? Can I request some specific hairspray?" Steve asks.

Eddie pulls a little notepad out of his pocket, ready to take notes, "Of course, sir."

"Faberge Organics, the Farrah Fawcett spray," Steve says, and watches as Eddie takes notes. He doesn't even laugh at him. Maybe Steve should tell him it was discontinued, like, a decade ago. But it'll be funny to see how much sway this position actually holds. Maybe he'll send some staff member to find a lone can of it, long forgotten on the dusty bottom shelf of a drugstore.

"Of course, sir," Eddie says, putting the notebook back in his jacket pocket.

Steve steps out inside the hall, and isn't sure what he's supposed to do. Eddie must pick up on that because he holds his arm out, motioning for Steve to walk ahead of him.

"I thought I could give you a more in depth tour this morning, sir, if you're feeling up to that?" Eddie asks, trailing him.

Steve pauses, waiting for him to catch up. They start walking again, and Eddie's behind him again. Steve slows his pace, and Eddie slows his own. He feels like he's having to crane his neck back to even see Eddie as he explains all the rooms, all the antiques. The paintings.

That goes on for the whole tour of this floor, and then Steve waits at the top of the long, winding staircase. Eddie waits behind him.

"You do realize I don't know where we're going, right?" Steve says, holding his arm out, inviting Eddie to lead the way.

"Sir, you are the sovereign, no one walks ahead of you. Especially not your staff," Eddie says, and Steve looks at him like he's crazy, because that's a crazy rule. Steve is only King on a huge technicality. He's just a person.

But when it's clear Eddie is not moving until he does, he walks down the stairs, wishing Eddie would just fall into step beside him, at least.

And Eddie gives him the rest of the tour, from two steps over his shoulder. It's kind of weird and uncomfortable.

After the tour, he's led directly into a room to be fitted for new clothes, and Eddie stands nearby.

"We've prepared a few questions to ascertain your knowledge of English history," Eddie says, as they're measuring Steve for a new suit.

Having your inseam taken is a little distracting, even under regular circumstances. Having three different pairs of hands nudging under your balls, right after you've been declared King, is another level of distracting entirely.

"Okay," Steve says, uneasy. He knows he knows nothing about history, "but I can tell you it's almost zero, right up front."

Eddie looks at him and asks, "When Anne Boleyn failed to give him a son, Henry VIII had her…"

Steve thinks, tries to come up with a logical answer, and settles on, "Adopt?"

Eddie looks exasperated, "No. Beheaded."

"Jesus, that's a bit much," Steve mutters, and he swears he sees Eddie tamp down the barest hint of a smile.

"Please pick a fabric, sir," Goodwin says, draping some swatches over his arm and showing Steve.

They all look the same to Steve. Various shades of dark, most with pinstripes.

"You pick, Edward. I trust your judgment," Steve says, because he does. Eddie is dressed nicely, so surely he can pick the right thing for Steve to not look like he's wearing the curtains.

Eddie nods, quick and sharp, and then hands the chosen swatches over to one of the tailors. Pointing at three of them.

After his fitting, Steve is in jeans and a polo, even if Eddie fought him on it. "Here's a few traditional English dishes, sir, some of which you'll be served tonight. The kitchen chose things they thought you might enjoy, and I thought it might be prudent to make sure you're familiar ahead of time."

Steve nods. Okay. He can do food. He likes food.

"Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, fish and chips, bangers and mash, and of course, spotted dick."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up as he looks at the bowl full of dicks in front of him that he had assumed were sausages.

He grabs the silver tongs, and picks one up, carefully inspecting it like it might be a bomb, before looking at Eddie.

"Dick of what?" he asks, scared of the answer.

Eddie chuckles, "You're holding a banger. A sausage," he clarifies, pointing to some other dish, "that's the spotted dick, sir. It's a dessert."

Steve looks and can see the raisins. The spots of the spotted name, he assumes. That's more reassuring.

"Please, sir, try it," Eddie says, so Steve lets him serve him a plate, so he can try everything so there's not an embarrassing incident at tonight's dinner.

"Sit, eat with me," Steve says, and Eddie shakes his head.

"No, sir," Eddie says.

"Edward, live a little," Steve coaxes, kicking out a chair leg, an invitation, but Eddie doesn't budge. Just stands at attention, a few feet behind Steve while he eats. It's good. He likes it. Even the spotted dick, which he can't even think about without laughing. How is he going to be able to eat it, or say it, in a public setting? Impossible.

"This is all good, I was scared what you might bring me, to be real honest," Steve says.

Eddie smiles, "Well, we went easy on you. I didn't think you were ready for the black pudding or haggis."

"I don't know what that is," Steve admits.

"For the best," Eddie teases, and Steve smiles at him.

"Tell me about yourself, Edward," Steve says, using his fork and knife to cut into one of the bangers.

"I'm here to serve you, sir," Eddie says, and Steve looks back over his shoulder at him and rolls his eyes.

"No, about you. Not about me in relation to you, just about you."

"Sir, I don't really…" Eddie trails off, like he doesn't know what to say.

Steve won't make him talk, but he sure wishes he would. He'd like to get to know him better.

"If you won't sit, would you at least come over here where I can see you?" Steve asks, and he's happy when Eddie concedes, and comes into his line of sight.

"How long have you worked at the palace?" Steve asks.

"Nearly ten years, sir. I've been a secretary for about two years, though. After my uncle retired, I was chosen to fill his duties."

Steve nods, hoping Eddie will continue and elaborate further. He doesn't.

So, Steve eats while Eddie stands by, quietly.

And it's weeks of meetings, fittings, lessons. Eddie and the rest of the staff are working diligently to get him ready to face the press and public.

Steve's trying. He really is, but it's a lot to comprehend. He doesn't understand all the rules, all the protocols, and he is constantly on the wrong foot. Doing something stupid, saying something stupid. He's never gonna catch on to this.

He flops back on his bed. He's going to make a fool of himself, and the Crown.

Eddie comes in later, and takes one look at him, and starts digging in Steve's walk-in closet. He comes out with an all-white outfit and instructs Steve to put it on.

Steve does. He's stopped fighting. Stopped asking why, a long time ago. It doesn't matter why, none of them care. He's just a small cog, in a big wheel. He's in charge, but he isn't. Not at all. None of his choices are his own. He's not sitting on a throne barking orders. He's following, trying to please the people around him. Trying to please Eddie.

Once he's dressed, Eddie takes him out to the yard of the palace, and gets down and straps big pads to his shins. They look like oversized, shin guards for baseball catchers. But padded. He was a catcher for one season in high school and hated it. It's the hardest job on the field, he's pretty sure. Pitching was easier. He did that in little league for a while.

He's standing there in his padded shin guards, looking at Eddie for guidance. Eddie hands him a paddle. Steve tries to hold it like a baseball bat, and Eddie laughs, while trying to help him correct his grip.

"This is a cricket bat, not a baseball bat, sir," Eddie says with a smile.

"Oh, so more like croquet?" Steve says, lowering the bat in front of him, and Eddie grins.

"You know how to play croquet?" Eddie asks, looking surprised.

"Sure," Steve says, "I might not be royalty, but I do come from a rich family. Back home. We definitely played croquet from time to time."

Eddie smiles, and nods, "It's not like croquet. You want to keep the ball away from your wicket, not aim it towards it," Eddie explains, helping him adjust his grip, again. His instinct is still to draw it up like a bat, twirl it around in his hand. Test its heft. But Eddie tells him to keep it down, in front of him, to protect his wicket, the three stumps and two bails balanced behind him.

Once Steve is in place, Eddie yells, "Bowler!"

And the guy downfield throws the ball at him in a goofy fashion, bouncing it in front of him, and Steve hits it. And it sails up and away. They do it over and over. This is something he's actually picked up on quickly for once, and it's fun. Steve hits the shit out of the next one, and declares it a home run.

Eddie laughs, "A maximum, sir, but yes, the same idea, I suppose. Six runs."

If it bounces to the boundary, it's worth four Eddie declares, and eventually Eddie goes to the other side of the little dirt rectangle, and they teach Steve how to run back and forth to accumulate runs that way, if he doesn't hit it out of the park.

"You can lead with your bat, sir, get it over the crease ahead of you," Eddie says.

"The line? The baseline?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles.

"Yes, sir, that," Eddie grins.

And he runs past Eddie once more, passing in the middle, and he reaches up as they go past each other, offering him his hand, a high five.

Eddie clearly isn't sure about this, but still puts his hand up, and they touch as they run by each other, each headed to the opposite end from where they started.

When they've finished, Steve leans over, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. But he's happy right now.

Once he stands, he looks at Eddie, smiling, and asks, "Do you want to play croquet next?"

And Eddie laughs, honest to god laughs, and it makes Steve smile, big and bright. It's a great sound, and he hopes to hear it more often.

"Sure, Your Majesty, we can play croquet," Eddie says, and sends the pages to go find the equipment.

Pads shucked to the side in the grass, Steve watches as Eddie lines up his shot.

"Don't do it, don't even think about it," Steve says, breathing down Eddie's neck, taunting him as he tries to line up his mallet with the croquet ball.

Eddie laughs, and nudges him backwards with his elbow, and then freezes, like he's realized what he's done. Steve just shoves him back a little, hopefully assuring him that it's fine, that he likes this. That this feels normal, at least almost, and that's fucking priceless. To his sanity, to his heart.

He's homesick for Robin, for America, honestly.

He wants to watch baseball or basketball on TV. He wants to drive his car. He wants a pizza, a burger, or some fried chicken. Anything. He can ask for anything he'd like to eat, and they'll bring it, but it's always a fancy version. They seem to have an aversion to actually just going out and getting him the junk food he's missing.

This has been a huge responsibility to take on, one he doesn't fully understand, with a very steep learning curve. But right now, they are just two guys playing a sport together, for fun.

That he understands, fully.

"This is the most fun I've had since I've gotten here," Steve says, standing next to Eddie as he whacks the ball through the hoop.

"I'm glad to hear that, sir."

Once the game is over, Steve stands there in the grass, happy. He looks at Eddie, "What sport can you teach me next?"

Eddie just laughs, "Polo, I suppose. How do you feel about horses?"

And then it's back to the unfun parts. Steve showers, and throws on the clothes Eddie has laid out for him. And he attends meetings. He has his weekly Audience with the Prime Minister, one-on-one, without Eddie present. They always make him feel nervous that he's going to fuck up.

But it's only twenty minutes. He can do anything for twenty minutes.

Eddie works sports into his tight schedule, and Steve appreciates it. It's not everyday, but it's as often as they can fit it in, and they play and Steve pushes himself. To get better. To have fun.

To impress Eddie, a little, with the one thing he's been good at here.

Steve's having a bad day, and he's had enough, so he pulls a baseball hat over his head, and walks out of the front door. Nobody stops him, but he's pretty sure that's just because they've never had to deal with a Monarch that was trying to escape the way he is. But he's had all of this he can take today.

He doesn't get far down the road, before he realizes he is being followed. He turns and looks, and there's Eddie. So, Steve slows down, stalls, waiting for him to catch up.

"You coming with me, or are you going back to tattle?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles.

"Where are we going, Your Majesty?" Eddie asks, falling in step behind him.

"I'm hungry. I want some food, some American food. Something I'm familiar with. No spotted dick, or whatever the fuck that was. Is there something around here that I'll recognize?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods, and then he waits for Steve to start walking again, keeping two paces behind him.

Steve glances back at him, "How did you end up working for the royal family?"

"My family. It's just what we've always done," Eddie says. "My uncle had this position before I did. When he retired, the last King asked for me to step in, to keep with some sort of continuity, I suppose. He'd known me for a long time, since my childhood."

"I'm sorry you lost your friend," Steve says.

Eddie pauses, like nobody has ever said that to him before, "Thank you, sir."

Steve nods, "Well, what would you like to do instead?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at him, like he hadn't expected the question.

"Working for the royal family is the highest honor," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"Okay, that's bullshit. You don't want to serve people. You don't want to serve me. That's not your dream. What do you want to do? What would make you happy?" Steve presses.

Eddie looks at him, like this might be a trap, even if it really isn't. Steve genuinely wants to know what Eddie likes to do. He wants to know anything Eddie will tell him. Which really, really hasn't been much. He's definitely not very forthcoming about anything personal.

"I like to play music," Eddie finally says.

"That's cool," Steve says, meaning it, "are you any good?"

"Not bad, I don't think. I play with my friends in a little four piece, when I have the time. The palace requires a lot of my time," Eddie says, and then looks embarrassed. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm happy to be at your service, sir."

"Steve," Steve says, "please, just call me Steve."

"King Steve," Eddie says, and smiles at him, just a little. Steve realizes Eddie's teasing him, and it makes Steve happy. Like they might be friends. Or could be, in time. He definitely needs a friend here.

"Well, that's not the first time I've been called that, so it's an improvement. For sure. But try to work it down to just Steve, in the future. At least while we're alone."

Eddie nods, but he doesn't look like that's going to be something he'll ever do.

They walk a little further, and Eddie stops in front of a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Perfect.

Eddie ushers him inside, and into a hidden corner booth, before going up to order. When he comes back, he gently puts down the tray, and acts like he's going to start setting everything up, like this is a state dinner. It's definitely not.

"Just sit. Eat with me," Steve says, and Eddie looks uncomfortable.

"That's really not…"

"Does it look like I care, Eddie? Please?" Steve asks, and he pushes a styrofoam plate in his direction, and starts loading it up.

"Are you a breast, leg or thigh man?" Steve asks, and Eddie blushes a pretty pink.

Steve's pretty sure he's not a breast man, and that's more than okay with him. Maybe he can use that in his favor, someday, hopefully.

"Anything is fine, si-"

"Steve," Steve corrects.

"Steve," Eddie whispers, like he might be caught and reprimanded.

Steve smiles, and puts a couple different pieces on Eddie's plate, then some mashed potatoes. Gravy. A couple biscuits, and looks at Eddie as he pushes it his way.

Eddie is just looking down at it.

Steve reaches down and picks up his thigh with his hands, and takes a bite.

"Finger lickin' good," he says, and Eddie giggles, as he picks up a piece himself, and takes a bite. It looks awkward, and a little dainty, but it thrills Steve that he's playing along. Getting a little more comfortable with him.

He wants to get to know him, Eddie, the man under the suit. Maybe the man, out of the suit.

On the walk back, Steve looks back at Eddie.

"Eddie?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at him.

"Yes?"

"Was there really nobody else? Is it me…or nothing?" Steve asks, because he's pretty sure he can't do this. Doesn't want to. At least not long-term. Not for his entire life. He's given it a good go, but he's not feeling it, at all.

"Well," Eddie says, drawing out the word, seemingly unsure if he should keep talking.

"Well, what?" Steve asks, pausing, and pulling Eddie off the sidewalk and into a little hedgerow. They stand there looking at each other.

"There was one other option, but he didn't want to do it, so I kept my mouth shut," Eddie says, looking at the ground.

"So, that guy could say no, but I'm just the schmuck who had to accept this thing? This weight on my shoulders?" Steve asks.

"I didn't know you then. You were just a name, a profile, on paper," Eddie explains, still looking down.

"And you knew the other guy?"

Eddie nods.

"Who is it? Do I know him?"

Eddie looks up, quietly asking Steve if he'll keep this secret, and Steve reluctantly nods.

"My Uncle Wayne," Eddie says, "he's retired, and already he did his duty to the Crown, and didn't want that kind of spotlight trained on him. He just wanted to go on, living his normal life. He didn't ask for it any more than you did."

Steve nods, he understands, even if it doesn't make him feel much better.

"Oh," Steve says, "I understand. I just wish, well, that I'd have been given more of a choice, too. If I said no, they'd have found him, eventually, right?"

Eddie nods, "I'm sorry, sir."

Steve gets it. Unless he wants to make that old, retired man sit on the throne, he's stuck.

"It's okay, Eddie. But I feel alone here, most of the time, so I'd like Robin to move here. Can that happen?"

Eddie shakes his head, looking sad.

"Sir, they're never going to allow you to marry your American girlfriend. It's been a hard enough sell for you."

Steve laughs, pushing his bangs back off of his forehead, "Girlfriend? No way. She's my best friend. Platonic with a capital P, only."

"Oh, well, then, yes. I'm sure we could arrange for that to happen, assuming she'd like to come."

Steve grins, wide. That's the best news he's gotten in weeks.

They start walking again, "Do you live at the palace?" Steve asks.

Eddie chuckles, and shakes his head, "No, sir, I don't live at the palace. It just seems like it."

He's teasing, and it makes Steve smile.

"Where do you live, then?" Steve asks.

"Right around the corner, actually," Eddie says, and Steve stops walking.

"Can we go see it?" Steve asks.

"You want to go to my flat, sir?" Eddie questions.

Steve realizes that was probably rude to invite himself over, "Only if you want me to. You're not obligated, of course."

"I didn't think I was obligated, Steve," Eddie says, "but it might not exactly be tidy. I wasn't expecting a royal to want to visit me at home."

"Do I look like I'm gonna care about that?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles, and redirects them, but still keeps just behind his shoulder.

Eddie's apartment is nice, and not as messy as he'd sold it as. Steve looks around, at the pictures on the walls. At his guitar on a stand by the couch. Eddie is digging in the fridge and brings him a beer, which Steve takes with enthusiasm. He's been offered wine, and liquor, at the palace, but this is just a regular beer. That he'll be allowed to drink out of the bottle, no glass in sight.

It feels like home, and he twists off the cap, sliding it into his shirt pocket.

Eddie sits next to him on the couch, and they drink, and just make small talk. It feels normal. Cozy. Like he's in someone's home, instead of a museum, and he longs for a place like this to call his own again. He took it for granted back home, and now he misses those days. Misses Robin.

They don't stay long, and just walk back to the palace after they've finished their beers, but it's the best night Steve's had since he's gotten to this country.

"I can't move to London," Robin says across the ocean through the phone, and Steve slumps at his desk.

"But, I miss you," Steve says, twisting the cord around his fingers.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you packed your shit and ran away to play King," Robin snarks.

She's teasing, but it's true.

"Will you at least come to visit?" he asks, hoping. Begging.

"Of course," she says, "if you're paying."

"I'm paying. I'm the King, you know. Just be aware you'll have to curtsy to me," he teases.

"Yeah, never gonna happen, dingus."

But she agrees, so he puts Eddie on the case to set it all up through his office.

"I want to go to the movies," Steve declares suddenly, and Eddie looks over at him. They're sitting across from each other at a desk, as Steve's going over paperwork from his red box. Signing what he needs to sign, asking Eddie about what he still doesn't understand.

"The movies?" Eddie questions.

"Yeah, you know, a movie theater?"

"I'll see what I can do, sir," Eddie says, with a smile.

That night, Eddie guides him to a secluded room. And it's a private theater. Right in the palace.

"This has been here all along?" Steve asks.

"Well, yes, sir, but it's really for the staff. But I cleared it tonight, for you."

Steve doesn't even care what they watch, he just wants to have some fun.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, settling into one of the chairs. Patting the one beside him for Eddie to sit, and after Eddie's collected a bucket of already prepared popcorn from a table, he does sit, and hands it over to Steve.

They sit side-by-side, watching a movie, sharing the bucket of popcorn, and it feels normal for a couple hours. He could have been on a date, a regular date back home, tonight.

But it's Eddie, and he can't kiss him at the end of the night, even if he'd like to. This gift from him was more than enough.

Eddie follows him back to his bedroom, and turns down the bed, and Steve stands there, watching him.

"Thanks for tonight, Eddie. I had a lot of fun," Steve says.

"Me too, sir," Eddie answers, "goodnight."

Steve is standing out on the step, bouncing on his feet, nervous. Excited. Robin is on the way, and when they finally pull up with her, she leaps out of the car and runs straight into his arms. Not a curtsy in sight. He catches her and spins her, hugging her tight. He didn't realize it until this very moment, that one of the things he's been missing the most is human touch. None of these people touch him. No friendly hands on a shoulder, or arm.

No reassurance. No checking on his emotional needs. No comforting him. No checking in, at all. He's just supposed to function, as is, all on his own, he supposes.

He's been needing a hug, he realizes, and he buries his face in her neck, and if it's weird, she's going with it.

"I'm so glad you're here. Welcome to my new home," he says, and she grabs his hand, and he lets her pull him into the palace and up the staircase, at a near run. Dodging staffers, who bow to him as he is dragged past them. They clearly disapprove, but he doesn't give a shit. This is the most normal thing he's experienced in weeks.

She pauses at the top of the staircase, but only because she doesn't know where she's going.

He nods to the left, and he's being pulled along again, giving her directions to his bedroom, and once they're inside, she launches herself onto his bed, bouncing.

He smiles, and hops up next to her.

"Holy shit, Steve, look at this place!" she shouts, eyes wide as she looks around.

"I know, right?" he asks, but he's only looking at her. She's the only thing in this whole room that he cares about, that he loves.

That night he wraps his arm over her side, crowding up behind her, and she lets him hold her, "I'm so happy to see you."

"You better not be that kind of happy to see me," she says, contorting to get away from his crotch.

He laughs, laying his head on his pillow, "I'll try to keep it in check."

"You better, dingus."

And dingus sounds like a better, more fitting, title than King ever has, a thousand times over.

He wants to be her dingus, he doesn't want to be the King.

Steve is startled awake in the morning, by Eddie at the foot of his bed.

"Oh, Your Majesty, I do apologize," Eddie says, starting to back away from the bed, "I didn't realize you had company."

Robin looks at him, giving him the once over, "Well, not that kind of company, Jeeves. Let's get that straight."

Steve laughs, and nods, "Definitely not that kind of company, Eddie."

"We're best friends," Robin says.

"Platonic with a capital P," Eddie repeats, "as Your Majesty has said."

"Your Majesty," Robin says with a cackle, rolling towards him, and he slaps her on the arm, and it just makes her laugh harder. "King Dingus."

"He hasn't picked a regnal name yet, so perhaps that could be an option?" Eddie says, and Steve can't believe it. It's the funniest thing Eddie's ever said in Steve's presence, by far.

Steve laughs, throwing his head back, melting into the bed again.

Eddie just looks confused, and a little alarmed. But he still draws back the curtains, and brings Steve and Robin in a wheeled cart full of breakfast and coffee.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says.

"Sir, madam," Eddie says, and he bows his head at the neck, and then he's gone.

As soon as the door closes, Robin slugs Steve in the arm, "You have a crush on Jeeves!"

Steve doesn't even try to deny it, just smiles, "Yeah, that's Eddie."

Robin stays two weeks, and then she goes back home to their real life. And Steve's agitated. He misses her. He should have gone home with her.

Eddie comes in carrying a large, heavy by the look of it, cardboard box. Great, now what?

"What's that?" Steve asks, standing to go take a look as Eddie places it down on the table.

"Your hairspray, Your Majesty," Eddie says, opening the flaps, "I'm sorry it took so long. I had to convince Unilever to engage in a short, private production run, just for you, sir."

"No fucking way," Steve says, reaching in to pick up a can, and it's really it.

He grabs Eddie and hugs him, shaking him around, and Eddie is just a ragdoll in his arms, but Steve could kiss him, he's so happy.

"Thank you, Eddie, you're now my favorite person. Robin, who?" he teases, immediately taking a can to the bathroom.

Eddie follows, and watches him as he sprays it on his hair and tries to style it, even though it's not wet.

"Just wait until tomorrow, I'll look so damn good," Steve says, and he meets Eddie's eyes in the mirror, and Eddie's blushing.

"I'm sure you will, sir," Eddie says, and Steve can feel it between them. The sexual tension. The attraction. He's not sure how to do anything about it, if he even can.

But he wants to, and it's nice to have that feeling again. About anyone. And he's happy it's Eddie that's making him feel like this, because he really likes him a lot.

"Can we go swimming today?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at the schedule, and nods.

"I think we can fit that in this evening, if you'd like, sir," Eddie answers.

"Yes, please," Steve says.

That evening, they walk down to the private pool and Eddie stands there while Steve strips off his shirt.

"Aren't you coming in?" Steve asks. He's assumed Eddie would. It's a sport, and that's one of the few things they do together, as almost equals.

"Sir?" Eddie questions.

"C'mon, get in!" Steve shouts, laughing, splashing water towards Eddie, which Eddie dodges easily. But Eddie nods. Disappearing into one of the locker rooms.

Steve's taking bets with himself, if Eddie will be in one of those silly old-fashioned, striped swim costumes with shoulder straps when he comes back.

He's not.

He's just wearing a pair of basic black trunks, and Steve can't help it as his eyes rake over Eddie's pale, exposed skin.

Steve's not sure he's even seen Eddie's forearms, let alone is his bare chest. He has a tattoo. More than one, it looks like, and Steve grins. Fully enjoying the view. Maybe he's not as buttoned-up as he appears on the surface.

Eddie comes down the steps and pushes off, and swims towards Steve.

"What now, sir?" Eddie asks, treading water.

"I was thinking about laps, but anything would be good with me," Steve says. As long as he's with Eddie, he's in.

And they fall into lane lines, and Steve breathes to his left so he can see Eddie, and for once, they are side-by-side, equals. They both do a flip-turn and push off, resurfacing together. Steve smiles, and keeps kicking.

He feels normal, here, now. Swimming. His teammate beside him. And Eddie is his teammate, maybe the only one he has in this place. He's surrounded by people, but he feels like Eddie is the only one that ever actually sees him.

And he's happy as they swim, together, until they are both struggling to breathe, clinging to the side of the pool. Steve rests his head on his arms, and feels good. Really, really good.

His happiness doesn't last long.

The next morning, Gareth comes into his office, with four or five other staffers trailing behind him.

"Your Majesty, we'd like to discuss taking the first steps towards the wedding," Gareth says.

"Whose wedding?" Steve asks.

"Yours, sir," Gareth says, and Steve sees red. He knew they were scheming to set him up on dates with various available women, but this is too far. He'll be the King, but marrying a stranger isn't happening.

"I'm not getting married!" Steve snaps as he storms out, turning to hold his hand up, giving the universal motion to stop, demanding that they not follow.

Steve only wants to find Eddie.

Eddie is walking down the hallway, and Steve accosts him.

"This is too far, you can't tell me who to marry, Eddie!" Steve yells, and Eddie quickly grabs him by the arm, and pulls him into Steve's bedroom, and shuts the door behind them. Locking them inside.

"Your Majesty, please, it's for the good of the country. To protect your bloodline, your birthright. You're the last. You need to marry, and produce heirs. That's just how it's done."

"I'm not the last and you know it!" Steve screams.

"Please," Eddie says softly, like he's trying to tame Steve, "please consider doing this. It's the right thing to do."

Steve crosses his arms across his chest, "Absolutely not."

"Sir, please," Eddie says.

"Stop calling me sir, if you're gonna fuck me over, at least use my name, for god's sake."

"Steve," Eddie says, "we aren't doing this to hurt you."

"Well, it sure feels like you are. What about love? What about who I love?" Steve asks, his voice softer.

"Love must be subordinated for the good of the monarchy, Steve," Eddie says, his voice softer now, too.

Eddie has called him Steve, here, and Steve can't even be happy about it.

"No. No way. No, no, no."

"Princess Caroline is a perfectly acceptable choice. You need to do this."

"You're serious?" Steve snaps.

"Yes!" Eddie snaps back.

"I won't, I'm not marrying someone I don't love!" Steve assures loudly, and he means that. They can't make him. "This place is terrible, this job, it's bullshit! It's all bullshit! I'd rather be selling hot dogs, or ice cream, than to be locked up here in this gilded cage! At least at home my choices were my own and I could fuck up my life any damn way I saw fit!" Steve screams.

"Steve," Eddie says, scrubbing his hands over his face and Steve's never seen him this undone, "Why? Why are you fighting this? This is just how things are done."

"You know why," Steve says, crossing the room and closing the space between them.

"I don't…that's not…" Eddie mutters, looking anywhere but at Steve.

"Eddie," Steve says, taking him by the shoulders, "look at me."

Eddie does, reluctantly.

"I can't marry Princess Caroline, because I love you."

Eddie's face falls, like he's just been given terrible news, and Steve's stomach drops. He's miscalculated this, all of this, and immediately lets go of him. They haven't been flirting, they haven't been anything to each other. Steve has misinterpreted their whole thing.

He feels sick.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Steve says, taking a step back, "I shouldn't have said that to you. Please, don't-"

But his words are cut off, when Eddie is suddenly moving towards him, and finally, finally presses his lips to Steve's.

Steve reaches his hand up, and cups the back of Eddie's head. It's better than he'd even fantasized about. He kisses him, over and over, holding him. Finally touching him in all the ways he's longed to, for months.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out, once they've separated, and Eddie just smiles at him and takes him by the hand, leading him towards the truly outlandish bed. He hadn't dreamed this is where the day would end up, even if he'd dared to hope.

Eddie pushes Steve onto his back on the bed, and the dynamic has shifted in a way that Steve loves. Yes, please. More of this. He watches as Eddie pulls off his jacket, his tie, and unbuttons his dress shirt.

It's the best strip tease Steve's witnessed in his whole life.

And when Eddie crawls on top of him, in just his underwear, Steve laughs and wraps his arms around Eddie, pulling him close. Pressing kisses to his shoulder, his chest, anywhere he can reach.

After, Steve brushes his hand through Eddie's hair, holding him, as they lay together. Eddie's legs are tangled with his, and they're comfortable here, together.

"I need to quit," Steve says, softly.

"I know you do," Eddie answers, pressing his lips to Steve's chest.

"Will your uncle take over? If I do?" Steve asks.

"I'll talk to him," Eddie assures.

"Will you go with me when I leave? Or will you need to stay with him?" Steve asks.

"At first, I'll feel I'm obligated to stay," Eddie says, "he's my uncle. He raised me. But after he gets settled, perhaps."

Perhaps isn't a no, so Steve takes that as good news, and just pulls him closer while he has the chance.

"Maybe, you'd like to settle in with me here at my flat, for a stretch. Before you go home," Eddie suggests and Steve nods. Absolutely. Yes, to that. Please.

Eddie and his speechwriters help him perfect his abdication speech, and write his Instrument of Abdication letter. Wayne Munson, at his side. Stoic and quiet, but willing now, to accept this responsibility.

Steve signs it, and Eddie, Gareth, Goodwin and Williams all sign as witnesses to his signature.

And it's done, basically.

"You boys do realize I have no children, so this might come right back to you, after I'm gone," Wayne says softly.

And Steve and Eddie both nod. They know. But they appreciate this time Wayne's given them, to live and love. It's a gift, because he loves Eddie and wants him to be happy. Steve knows that, and he won't take it for granted. Not ever.

In a few days time, he's standing before Parliament, something he's never had to do, before now.

"My Lords and Members of the House of Commons, I know it is unusual for a King to address you in this manner, but I have some things I'd like to say, that I'd like for you to hear them in person, from me," he starts, before going on to apologize for being too set in his ways, too American for this duty. But he explains that there is another heir, an English one, also born into the House of Wyndam-Pryce. He tells them that it was discovered after Steve had assumed the throne, but now that he knows, he feels it only right to step down. He introduces Wayne, and turns over the Crown, happily.

As soon as he steps back from the podium, he feels like the weight of the world has left his shoulders. He walks out into the sunshine and smiles, closing his eyes, tilting his head towards the sky.

He's a free man, once again.

Eddie is waiting, and takes his hand, and finally, for once, Eddie steps out ahead of him, leading the way.

There are lots of people standing around watching him pack, and Steve looks around, "Are they scared I'm going to steal something?"

Eddie laughs, "Well, maybe. You can't take anything that belongs to the Crown."

"I only want to take one thing with me," Steve says, smiling.

Eddie grins, lowering his voice, "Me?"

"Okay, well, two things," Steve teases, and Eddie cocks his head, curious.

Steve walks down the staircase, carrying the giant cardboard box of hairspray. Eddie holds the door open for him, and then helps him put it in the trunk. Technically, it belongs to the Crown, but Steve is sure they'll never miss it. If Wayne wants him beheaded for taking it, bring it on. The man hardly has any hair at all left, so he definitely doesn't have a pressing need for hairspray.

"So, how was it to be King?" Eddie asks, settling into the back of the town car beside him.

"Well, I met you and I got a lifetime supply of my favorite hairspray, so pretty good, overall," Steve teases, and reaches over and takes Eddie's hand, looking at the window as the palace grows smaller in the distance behind them.

He's not the King, not anymore.

But he's Eddie's boyfriend, his partner, and he's pretty sure that's a way more important role for him to try and fill.

Notes: This originally started for Steddie Holiday Drabbles, but the length got away from me. And then really got away from me. I couldn't condense this into 1000 words, it seems. So, I did something different for that Royalty AU and used this one here.

Royalty isn't really in my wheelhouse, but King Ralph popped into my head, and made me cackle. Sure, I'll make American Steve an unlikely King. No problem.

I'm sure Eddie had the job of about a dozen men, here. Go with it.

Also? John Goodman is a damn delight. Nobody could deliver the "dick of what?" line better than that, though I had Steve try.

Wienerlicious was from the show Chuck.

House of Wyndam-Pryce is a Buffy joke. That's Wesley's last name, and Wyndham was the fictional name in King Ralph. So it seemed fitting.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along!

#steddiemas #hallmark movie tropes #royalty au #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #king steve #platonic stobin #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiemas

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