#Steve: A home has nice cabinets

[morganbritton132]

Eddie, posting to Tiktok: Raise your hand if you and your husband had a long discussion about not needing to do renovations to your kitchen every time you’re bored and you both agree that it’s too soon to get new cabinets only for him to get new cabinets anyways. Raise your hand if you’ve ever done that?

Steve: Oh ho ho, Daddy Warbucks, why don’t you tell everybody that your cheap ass has so much money that you didn’t even notice thirty thousand dollars come out of your bank account?

Eddie: You spent thirty thousand dollars on cabinets?

Steve: No…. I spent twenty thousand.

Eddie, accepting facts: When did you even have them installed?

Steve: When your ‘long weekend in Los Angeles’ turned into two weeks

Eddie:

Eddie: Call me daddy again

Steve: No

[estrellami-1]

Falling

(ao3 link)

Dedicated to @madigoround, my one constant Steddie cheerleader. I hope you like it! ❤️

It’s said if you truly want to get to know someone, tell them no. Watch how they act when they’re angry, when they’re sick, when they’re wrecked by grief.

The truth is, Eddie thinks, the way to truly get to know someone is to watch them when they think they’re not being watched.

So, Eddie watches people. He watches Tommy Hagan ascend the ranks of social hierarchy, climbing closer and closer to the top of the totem pole until he reaches the zenith and finds himself stuck with fake friends and a fake life. He’s mean, in the way that Eddie knows someone is mean to him and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Eddie leaves him alone, ignores him best he can, and hopes Tommy will have the dignity to do the same.

He watches Carol Perkins, faux-model that she is, use her body like a weapon, like a credit card. He knows that she knows that way only heartbreak lies. No one moves to stop her. Eddie knows she’s hurtling towards self-destruction. He knows she’s ignored at home.

He watches Steve Harrington. His ascent to popularity, then in the blink of an eye, his fall. How easily he shrugs off the mantle of King Steve, starts carting around middle schoolers.

How he flinches at loud sounds, abrupt movements, flickering lights.

Steve Harrington intrigues Eddie, is the thing. And Eddie’s never been the type to deny his intrigues. So he studies the fallen king more.

Some things make sense, after spring break. Some things don’t.

Steve has three smiles: the real one, the one everybody thinks is real, and the fake customer service one. He hardly ever uses the first. He’ll use the second a lot. The kids are dipshits, brash in the way only a teenager can be, unaware and uncaring of the effect their words have. Specifically, the effect their words have on Steve.

When they make jokes about his intelligence, Steve will force on a little half-smile, an unaffected air, even as his shoulders slump inward and his chin tips down.

Eddie sees it. He also sees what Steve looks like, eyes wide and wild, grinning and gesturing freely, as he discusses basketball with Lucas or football with Uncle Wayne. Eddie understands the stats he somehow manages to keep track of (even Eddie has notebooks for all his character sheets and all the math everything requires. He’s forgotten, more than once, how he’d done something for a past campaign, and digs through his notebooks until he finds it. But Steve pulls the numbers out of thin air, hardly even pausing as he finds them in his mental filing cabinet, and Eddie is impressed, to say the least). He knows Steve’s smart, even if it’s in a different way than the kids are used to.

He makes a point to mention it. Steve’s over watching the game with Wayne, and Eddie whistles as he listens in to their conversation from the kitchen where he’s making lunch. “That’s some memory,” he says, shaking his head. “I know I couldn’t keep all that straight.”

Steve blinks at him. “What, like all your D&D people?”

“Characters. You don’t want to see the amount of notebooks I have, trying to keep everything straight, and it still ends up all going to hell when I can’t find something.” He raises a challenging brow, daring Steve to argue.

Steve just laughs and leans back into the couch. “Whatever, man, I still think it’s impressive. I’ve been watching for years, it just kinda makes sense that I’d remember a few facts.”

“A few?” Eddie’s eyes light up. “Wayne, quiz him.”

Wayne snorts. “What’m I, your errand boy?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, just to be contrary. He grins at the snicker it pulls from Steve. “Please, Wayne?”

Wayne narrows his eyes at Eddie, then softens his gaze when he moves it over to Steve. “You up for it?”

Steve chuckles. “Sure, I guess. It’d be nice to see how much I actually know.”

For the next few minutes, Wayne gives a name and within a few seconds, Steve’s answered with stats about that person.

Eddie, ever the competitive soul, ends up invested, grinning and high-fiving Steve when Wayne runs out of names. “Knew it,” he said, happily noting the blush making its home on Steve’s cheeks.

“Ha,” Eddie jokes later, ribbing Dustin because he can. “Kiddo, that was worse than-” he thinks for a few seconds, then sighs and raises his voice. “Steve? Who was the guy who did the thing you and Wayne were mad about?”

Dustin judges him with his eyebrows. “Even if Steve had any idea what you’re saying, what makes you think he’d know-”

“Phil Simms,” Steve called back from the kitchen. “Great player, actually, just wrong team.”

Eddie hummed, enjoying the shocked look on Dustin’s face. “Nah, not quite doing it. Who’s the losingest team?”

Losingest team, Dustin mouths, mocking. Eddie notes that he doesn’t actually say anything this time, though.

“Depends. Jets started at ten to one, then lost their final five games. But the Giants beat the Redskins 17 to zero. They also beat the 49ers 49—heh—to three, but that was earlier in the season, and no one expected San Francisco to win anyways.” He walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a towel, a thoughtful look on his face. “Does any of that help?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie says, even though he has zero idea what Steve actually said. He’s staring, smug grin firmly affixed to his face, at Dustin.

Lucas, over on the couch, sits up straight and stares at Steve. “Did you see Montana’s comeback?”

Steve grins. “Fuckin’ wild, man, but I kinda hate Walsh for letting him. Like, I’ve been there, right? And that was…” he shakes his head. “Not good. Yeah, it’s been weeks, whatever, but an injury like that?” Steve crosses his arms, shakes his head.

Eddie stares, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, possibly, falling.

When the kids make jokes about Steve’s appearance, he’ll put a hand to the back of his neck and rub, force down the blush, avoid eye contact.

Eddie knows Steve’s not shy. So he doesn’t understand why Steve reacts like that until one day he compliments Steve. It’s a simple little line, you have gold in your hair, but Steve beams. Eddie’s left wondering about the difference, realizes there’s a certain type of compliment Steve’s received all his life, that probably ended up less than welcome at some point.

So Eddie makes it his life’s mission to make Steve beam the way he had the first time.

One time they’re out lounging by the pool while the kids splash around, beers in hand, talking about everything and nothing. Steve tips his head back to take a drink and Eddie realizes something. He leans forward to get a better look. “Your eyes are hazel,” he says delightedly, grinning at the flush rapidly showing on Steve’s cheeks.

Steve looks like he’d very much like to take a page out of Eddie’s book and hide behind his hair in that moment. He hides behind his beer instead, takes another sip as he waits for his face to get back under control. “Are they?” He asks, like he doesn’t know. He’s such a little shit. Eddie’s obsessed.

Another time, Eddie breaks in (is it breaking in if everyone and their mother knows where Steve puts the spare key?) and starts making breakfast while Steve’s out on a run. He almost swallows his tongue when Steve walks back in, sweaty and flushed, wearing shorts that God Himself must have sculpted just for Steve.

Instead of saying that, Eddie adopts an unaffected face and raises a brow. “Pretty sure there’s a fine for public indecency, sweetheart, and those shorts break about eight of those rules. ‘Course, no one’s gonna say anything when they’re on you.”

Steve laughs, light and happy as he accepts the water Eddie hands him. “And why’s that?”

“Because I think you single-handedly caused every gay crisis on the police force.”

Steve laughs hard enough he snorts, and Eddie���s immediately hellbent on hearing that sound again. “That so?” He asks, then pauses. “Wait, what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”

Eddie shrugs, like it should be obvious. “Making breakfast. I wanted pancakes.”

“And you couldn’t make them at your place?”

Eddie just shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. Steve badly hides his grin as he shakes his head and turns around, citing a need for a shower as he heads upstairs. “Don’t burn the house down!”

“Betrayal!” Eddie yells back, grinning when Steve cackles again.

Eddie stares as Steve walks upstairs, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, probably, falling.

Eddie studies Steve. Studies him and watches him more and more. His mannerisms, his interactions with others. And he realizes something very interesting: Steve’s always the one to reach out.

He tugs Dustin into a teasing headlock, rubs his knuckles over the top of his head. Flings his arm over Lucas’s shoulders, pokes at Mike until he responds, bumps Will’s elbow with his own. Brushes his fingers over Max’s arm, pulls El into a hug. Robin is the only person who consistently pulls Steve into a hug, and even so, most of the time it’s teasing; a quick, sharp thing, jerky movements and practically pushing him away when she’s done.

So Eddie starts. Brushes his hand across Steve’s shoulders as he’s walking by. Poking at Steve’s cheeks to get a reaction. Quick, tight hugs, at first.

Or… that was the plan. The first time he pulls Steve into a hug, they’re alone, because Eddie does not want to have to deal with Dustin and his dramatics in that moment. So Eddie pulls Steve in, arms flung around him and squeezing in a half-joking manner, and Steve practically melts.

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie mutters, stumbling a little. “You good, Stevie?”

Steve pulls back, a blush making its way across his cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry. It- it won’t happen again.”

Eddie frowns. “How the fuck is that what you got from it?”

Steve shrugs. “I know I can be… well, Nancy called it clingy, and I’ve had a few girlfriends in the past who called it clingy, and if it looks like a rose and smells like a rose, then…”

“Shit, Steve, no, that’s not- what the fuck were your girlfriends on? Why would they call that clingy? That’s not- Christ, Steve, if that’s clingy, sign me up. Seriously. Just warn me next time, we don’t all have the body of a Greek god, we can’t all carry our somewhat-acquaintances out of hell.” He grins at Steve, a half-thing that grows when Steve tentatively grins back.

“Body of a Greek god?”

“Oh, don’t go fishing for compliments, I know you, you’re not that shallow.” He rolls his eyes, smiles. Tentatively places his hands on Steve’s arms, just above his wrists. “You hear of something called touch-starved?”

Steve cautiously looks him in the eye. “I can guess,” he finally says, and Eddie pulls him into another hug.

This one lasts for something close to a minute, and Eddie ignores it when Steve takes a step back and molds his face back into shape. “Anytime,” he says quietly, like a promise. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees.

It happens again a week later.

Everyone’s over for Hellfire. Steve was in the kitchen, had been there practically since everyone had trickled in.

There’s a quiet clatter, an even quieter shit, then a pause before Steve heaves a sigh. “Eddie?”

Eddie furrows his brows in concern, motions for everyone to stay where they are, then makes his way into the kitchen, seeing Steve gripping the edge of the sink. “Steve?”

“I’ve been having a shit day,” he starts. “If… if you meant what you said. Last time?”

“Anytime,” Eddie swears. “Hey, Stevie, c’mon, the sink’s not going anywhere, let’s let go, yeah? Wanna stay down here or go upstairs?”

Steve makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Your game-”

“Will be there later,” Eddie finishes. “Here or upstairs?” Steve shakes his head, a sharp movement, and Eddie recognizes it. “Want me to pick?”

“Please.”

“Upstairs. Can you do it yourself?”

Steve makes another guttural noise, pulls away from the sink, and marches upstairs.

Eddie follows. All the way upstairs, into Steve’s room, pausing to close and lock the door. “We’re safe,” he says quietly, and opens his arms. “Stevie?”

Steve trembles as he allows himself to be hugged, hands fisting in the back of Eddie’s shirt, head guided to the junction of Eddie’s neck and shoulder.

Eddie pets a solid hand down Steve’s back, squeezing at his waist for a moment before bringing it up again, just below his neck. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’re all okay, we’re all safe. What’re you seeing, Stevie?”

Steve takes a breath. It only stutters a little. “Had a dream ‘bout you last night,” he admits. “Kinda fucked me over.”

Eddie’s heart clenches. “I’m here,” he promises, and guides them onto the bed. “D’you want to be on top or bottom?”

He feels Steve’s brows scrunch against his shoulder. “What?”

“Some people need the pressure of someone on them. It’s grounding. For some, it’s too much.”

“Oh,” Steve mutters. “You on top.”

Eddie bites his tongue on the joke that wants to come out. “M’kay, c’mon, then, still not the one with the body of a Greek god.”

He feels Steve’s tentative smile as they roll over, a breath huffed into his chest. “Always liked Apollo.”

“God of the sun,” Eddie agrees. “Suits you.” He gets his arms out from under Steve, puts them on his shoulders. “This work?”

Steve hums. His eyes are shut. “Didn’t wanna take you from your game. Sorry.”

“And I told you it’ll be there later. If you need something, I want to help you get it. Simple as that.”

Steve sighs, tips his head to the side. His chin brushes the back of Eddie’s hand, and he does it again. “This works.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, watching Steve brush his chin over the back of his hand. “If there’s something you want, I need you to ask for it. I can’t read your mind.” Steve’s brows furrow as his eyes open, and Eddie clicks his tongue. “Close your eyes.” They drop shut again, and he nudges the back of his hand a little harder against Steve’s chin. “What do you want?”

Steve sighs again, gathering courage. “Want you to play with my hair.”

Eddie’s heart skips a beat. He brushes his hand up, traces the line of Steve’s silhouette, up his chin, his nose, around his eye. Drags the backs of his fingers across his forehead, surreptitiously checking for a fever. Nothing. Steve relaxes back into the pillows.

Eddie gets a hand in Steve’s hair and tugs gently, releasing to scrape his fingertips over Steve’s scalp. Revels in the hum Steve lets out. “Sunshine boy,” he murmurs. “Who takes care of you?”

“Sunshine boy?”

Eddie smiles softly, even though Steve’s eyes are still closed. “Gold hair, gold eyes. My own personal Apollo.”

Steve smiles. “You’re Dionysus.”

“Mm. God of drunken joy and madness.”

“And theater.”

“Oh, yes, how could I ever forget one of the billion things one of the billion gods was known for.”

Steve snorts. “Thank you,” he murmurs, hands brushing Eddie’s waist. “I shouldn’t need this. Any of it.”

Eddie cards his hand through Steve’s hair again. “But you do.”

“But I do,” Steve agrees with a sigh. “And you just… you’re selfless.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

Steve snorts. “You’re full of shit.”

“Yup. Selfless and full of shit. Sounds about right.”

“Oh my god,” Steve laughs, cracking open an eye to look at him. They both still, caught in each other’s gaze, realizing just how close they are to each other.

Slowly, so slowly, Steve looks away. “Go back to your game,” he whispers. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay,” Eddie responds at the same volume, and slowly gets up. He lifts his hand off the doorknob when Steve calls his name. “Yeah?”

“Stay? After?”

“Sunshine boy,” he says again, just to get that smile. “Yeah, Stevie. I’ll stay after.”

After comes sooner than either of them expect, but Dustin got sloppy, and what’s the point of one-shots if not to throw them to the wind when it all goes to shit, so there’s a lot of good-natured ribbing and thoughtless decisions and uncaring dice rolls before it ends and everyone’s packing up.

Dustin’s mom comes to pick up everyone who didn’t drive there, because she’s an angel of a woman, and Eddie makes excuses for why he’s staying until finally he doesn’t have to, it’s just him and Steve, and Steve’s looking at him with the softest smile and something that looks like adoration shining in his eyes.

Eddie opens his mouth to start, then shuts it with a shake of his head. “C’mon,” he says finally. “Let’s go sit on the couch.”

Eddie sits first, and Steve stands, hands wringing one another, until Eddie leans forward, grabs them, and gently guides him to sit next to Eddie. “There.” He holds one of Steve’s hands in his. “Do you want to start, or should I?”

Steve worries his lip. “Do we need to talk about it? If we both know what we’re saying?”

Eddie grins. “So if I were to start talking about buying little party hats for raccoons…”

Steve snorts. “Okay, you ass, point taken.” His smile falls. “You’ve been… really nice to me, these past few months. And that’s not why, not at all, but it doesn’t exactly hurt either. I just…” he shakes his head. “Why me?”

“Why you what? Why am I nice to you? Why have I been taking care of you? Why-” the question sticks in his throat for half a second. “Why do I like you?”

Steve smiles, bashful, and looks down at their intertwined hands. “All of the above, basically.”

Eddie taps the back of Steve’s hand thoughtfully. They both watch the movement. “Because you’re worth it,” he says simply. “Because no one else does it. No one else sees what you do for them. No one else cares. I do. I don’t think I was given a choice, honestly, you looked at me and I was fuckin’ gone. And I’m gonna keep doing this until you believe me. Until you believe that you deserve to take up space, to exist, to have wants and opinions and preferences.”

“It might take a while.”

“I’ll be right here.”

“I might never fully believe it.”

“I’ll be here forever.” He pulls their intertwined hands up to press a kiss to the back of Steve’s.

“It sounds like a lot of boring work.” His voice is high, thready. There are tears in his eyes that fall when he blinks.

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

Watery eyes narrow at him. “Did you just quote a fucking Greek tragedy at me?”

“Uh. Maybe?”

Steve snorts, shakes his head, and leans in to lay his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s old news, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, feels his heart skip a beat when Steve responds by nuzzling his throat. “Is that it, then? We’re done talking?”

Steve sighs and tilts his head up so they can look at each other. “I like you too,” he says quietly. “Just… for the record. And I want this. And…” he bites his lip, then just as quickly releases it. “I wanna kiss you. Um. If that’s alright.”

“Sunshine boy,” Eddie murmurs. “Of course that’s alright. Get up here.” He pulls as Steve pushes up, meaning Steve overbalances and sprawls across Eddie’s lap. They stare, wide-eyed, at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter.

“Okay?” Eddie checks, even as Steve rights himself and scrambles the rest of the way onto Eddie’s lap, grinning as he plays with the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck.

“Perfect.” His grin grows and a tiny little giggle slips out, like he’s so happy his body just can’t contain it all anymore. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

It’s less a warning, more an explanation for why he’s so happy, and it has Eddie’s heart full to bursting in his chest as he slips his hands just under the hem of Steve’s shirt to rest them directly on his waist. “You are,” he agrees. He almost jokes—not if I kiss you first—but knows Steve needs this. “Take your time,” he says instead, even though he feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, like he’s about to vibrate out of his own skin. His hands are steady, though, as are his eyes when he looks into Steve’s.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” He’s whispering now, so Eddie drops his voice to match.

“It’s a big thing. You’re allowed to be nervous. Is there any way I could help?”

Steve scrunches his nose up, then moves to rest their foreheads together. “Um. Close your eyes? Maybe?”

Eddie’s eyes immediately shut. “Take your time,” he promises. “Or we can wait. There’s no shame. I won’t be upset.”

“Yeah, but I will,” Steve jokes, and Eddie chuckles.

“There’s a movie,” he starts. “An old silent film that Wayne likes. I watched it with him because he said something about vamp, so of course my mind went to vampire. It wasn’t, to my dismay, but there’s a line. A seductress bewitches men by getting them to kiss her. One man’s about to kill her, like gun-to-the-head about to kill her, and she says kiss me, my fool.”

He can practically feel Steve’s grin. He can definitely hear it. “Which one am I?”

“Oh, definitely the seductress, have you seen yourself, sunshine? I’m the fool in this scenario. Or any scenario, really.”

Steve hums. “Dionysus.”

“Shut up.” He’s laughing, though, grinning at Steve’s giggle, then freezes when Steve’s lips land on the corner of his. “Oh,” he whispers when Steve pulls away.

Steve laughs softly, puts a thumb at the corner of one of Eddie’s eyes. “You can open your eyes.” He’s whispering again, and Eddie looks to see Steve staring at him, a small, wondering smile on his lips.

“Heya, sunshine,” he whispers, almost choking on the amount of emotions he feels.

“Hi.” He pauses, fidgets. “Can I kiss you for real?”

“Yeah. You want me to close my eyes?”

Steve shakes his head. “Just… kiss back.”

Eddie grins, wide and in love. “I was planning on it.”

Steve grins back, just as wide and just as happy. “Shut up.”

“And if I said make me…”

Steve giggles. “I might just have to,” he says before finally leaning in, slotting their lips together in a slow, sweet kiss.

He tastes like the pizza they’d been eating and the beer they’d been drinking, and underneath that is something so Steve, and Eddie wants to spend the rest of forever discovering that taste. When they pull apart, his eyes open—when had he closed them?—and land on Steve, who’s also in the process of opening his eyes. “Wow,” he murmurs, and Steve giggles as he rests their foreheads together again.

“Just about.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Steve whispers, so Eddie wastes no time in sealing their lips together again. It’s still soft and slow and sweet, and Eddie focuses on making Steve relax against him. He cards a hand through Steve’s hair, squeezes a little at the nape of his neck, runs it down his back, down his side, to knead at his hips. In response, Steve hums into the kiss, shifting a little to let more of his weight rest on Eddie’s lap. Eddie does it again and again, thrilled at the feeling of Steve finally relaxing fully onto him. They both pull away, lips wine-dark and tender, and Steve smiles, eyes still closed, as Eddie runs his hand through his hair one more time. “Keep that up and I’m gonna fall asleep,” he murmurs, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the trust in his voice.

“Maybe that’s my plan,” he answers. “I seduced you just to get you to take better care of yourself.”

Steve’s smile widens. “That’s the only reason?”

“Obviously,” Eddie teases. “Well, that and the fact that I’m ridiculously into you, but that seems like a separate thing.”

“Right,” Steve agrees, giggling. He opens his eyes and presses a quick peck to Eddie’s nose. “I’m kinda ridiculously into you, too.”

“Well,” Eddie says, because out of everything, of course this would be what takes his words away. “Good.”

“Good,” Steve agrees, laying his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie leans back into the couch, adjusting his hold on Steve so he’s as comfortable as possible. “G’night,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss over Steve’s temple.

He can feel Steve’s lips lift into a smile. “Night, Eds.” He presses a kiss to Eddie’s neck, and Eddie smiles as he tilts his head back into the couch.

He stares up at the ceiling, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, definitely, falling.

[rottenaero]

Saw someone say El gets found by Wayne instead of Mike and the gang to which I say hell yeah.

Waynes working late at the plant when hears these noises coming from the woods, then a girl with a shaved head rushes out to grab his coworkers sand which they’d forgotten about hours ago.

She dirty, wearing a hospital gown, and he approaches her. Asks if she has a place, and she’s so fidgety that he’s shocked she hasn’t run away. She must see something to trust in him because when he asks if she wants some real hot food, she says yes.

He grabs an extra coat from his trunk so she can cover up and brings her through a drive through, lets her eat her food in the back while drives back to the trailer. It reminds him of Eddie, when his father had first gone to jail. His hair was buzzed and he was cagey, but was quick to pick through his burger and fries.

He brings her home, learns her name is Eleven, and Eddie meets her. He’s excited to meet her an quickly gives her the nickname El which just sticks. She warms up to the pretty quickly.

About a week after she first gets there, Steve Harrington shows up, trying to get weed for Tommy because the fuckers to lazy to get it himself.

She pokes her head out of Eddie’s room and sees him. She immediately comes out. “Shit,” Eddie mutters, “El, just stay in there another minute.” But she doesn’t, she goes straight up to Steve and just stares.

“Pretty…Pretty hair.” Steve beams, and crouches down to her level. “Thank you. Wanna touch it?” He asks. She nods enthusiastically, starry eyed as she reaches out and runs her hands through it.

“Didn’t know you had a little sister, Munson.” He raises a brow between the two. Eddie doesn’t reply, just stares at the sight.

“I- Uh, yeah.”

“You don’t,” Steve starts, pauses. El’s still playing with his hair when he continues. “You don’t smoke anything around her, right?”

Eddie is quick to shake his head, “Jesus! No Harrington, I only do it when I’m out of the house.”

El pauses. “..Harrington? You are Steve then.”

Steve nods, and Eddie’s are blown wide mouthing nononono, “Yeah, why?”

“He talks about you sometimes.” She shrugs, and pulls away, before looking up at the long-haired guy who looked embarrassed.

“Eggos.” She states. He nods, “Alright, Harrington, the goods, they might take a minute.”

“Dude, are you serious? It’s like 3pm.”

“So? The girl wants Eggos, why not?”

“Because it’s not healthy?” He sighs, gets up, and walks into the kitchen like he owns it. He opens the fridge door, and the freezer. “Do you have panko crumbs and cooking oil?”

He approaches, and leans against the bar, a bit hunched so he doesn’t knock down a hanging mug with his head. “It’s a no on the panko, but we’ve got some veggie-oil.”

Steve grabs eggs and chicken from his fridge and setting them on the counter, and begins opening random cabinets. He gets to the one with the food and grabs half-eaten lays chips, flour, and oil. “Got any seasoning?”

“Dude, what are you even doing?” He asks, El comes up beside him and jumps onto the counter. Steve opens another cabinet and grabs a couple seasonings. “Cooking real food.”

“Well aren’t you a little house-wife.” He snorts as Steve takes a pan off a nearby hook and puts it on the stovetop. His eyes widen, “Oh wait, you’re serious?”

“Uh,” Steve fills it with a little bit of oil, “Duh?” He gets a couple bowls out, cracks some eggs into one, another he puts flour and some other shit into.

He pushes the bag of lays to El, “Can you crunch all of these into tiny pieces?” Before going back to whatever he was doing.

In the end, the chicken tastes good. El loves it, and when Steve leaves she mourns him.

“I like him. He’s nice.”

Steve starts coming over everyday, usually during lunch but sometimes dinner, and makes them foods.

She meets the party who are looking for Will when Steve suggests she meet some friends from Hawkins, and introduces her to Nancy’s little brother.

Eventually, they all get sucked into the upside down when Eddie learns she has powers, and Steve fights the demo-gorgon.

Then El disappears and they’re all super upset, and when they found out that’s she was alive they’re pissed.

She still loves Hopper, but she also loves Wayne so they do weekend swaps and shit.

Steve starts greeting Eddie at school, hanging out with him sometimes. Eddie notices how he doesn’t let anyone touch his hair, but the way that anytime El asks he’ll gladly let her.

Idk, I think it’s sweet. Wayne gets another kid he adores, Eddie as her lame-but-cool-to-her older brother, and Steve as the babysitter, not just for her but Eddie too, because he’s also not allowed Eggos at 3pm are you fucking kidding me??

El is at Hoppers the week the whole star court thing happens and him and Wayne goes to pick her up and she’s sobbing, and Steve’s got his face beaten in.

When Joyce suggests she being El with her to California, Eddie doesn’t want her too, but Wayne thinks it’s best so they hug goodbye.

Steve still drops by everyday.

[rogueddie]

Peppermint Heartache T | 734 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is the tea he brings me without prompt when I’m sick

Eddie isn't sure the last time he was sick, but he's sure that it didn't feel like this.

"You sure you're ok, kid?" Wayne asks, hovering in his doorway.

"Yeah, 'm'kay," Eddie manages to mumble out. He struggles to raise an arm, giving him a weak thumbs up.

"Alright," Wayne relents, but Eddie can hear how little his attempt has done to reassure him. "I'll try to get home as early as I can. Make you some nice soup. Sound good?"

"Sounds great."

After he hears the door click shut behind Wayne, he's not sure how much time passes. He stays where he is, slipping in and out of a light doze.

The light knocking at the door startles him awake, though it's soft and quiet enough that it doesn't pound in his head.

He plans on ignoring them, but they knock again after waiting for a moment.

Pulling his bed sheets around him, tucking it up to his chin, he shuffles out. He squints at the light when he cracks the door open, frowning.

"Steve?"

"Hi Ed," he says, speaking softly. He raises the tupperware he's holding. "Heard you weren't feeling well so I made you some broth."

"Wayne sent you?" Eddie asks, stepping back so Steve can come inside.

"Yeah. He's really worried about you." Steve pauses, stepping closer and pressing his hand to Eddies forehead. "Do you have any, like, medicine? Some tylenol? You're too warm."

He tries to explain where it is, but he's interrupted by a yawn. He's not sure that Steve understands him for a moment, until he's being gently herded to the bathroom.

Steve quickly closes the toilet lid so Eddie can sit, before rooting through the bathroom cabinet.

"Aha!" He says, pulling out a bottle. He shakes it, frowning when only one tablet rattles inside it. "Damn. I'll need to grab you another bottle. Hopefully this one will be enough. Should I grab you a glass of-"

"No, it's fine," Eddie mutters, grabbing the tablet and swallowing it dry.

"Gross. Anyway, how are you feeling? Do you want some food now? Or, like, Wayne said you have chicken soup if you'd prefer that- I just... broth always makes me feel better when I'm sick. Or I could-"

"Steve. All I want to do is lay back down for a while. Maybe have some company, if you're not busy. Sound good?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Steve sighs, smiling sheepishly. "Should we-"

Eddie is already up, shuffling back to his bed. He flops onto it, curling onto his side. He grumbles when Steve starts to tuck in the sheets, but makes no move to stop him.

He ends up completely cocooned, the only his face sticking out.

Steve sits on the floor, back to the wall. "Do you want me to be quiet?"

"Uh, yeah, kinda. Love the Buckley style rambling but, um... I don't know. I don't like being alone when I feel like this."

"No, I get that. I'm happy to sit here and make sure you're ok, don't worry. I'm comfortable."

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

With Steve sitting guard, it's easy to finally fall asleep. And, by the time he wakes back up, he's already starting to feel better. He feels well rested, at least.

He notices Steves absence immediately, finally crawling out his cocoon to go looking for him.

"What are you doing up?" Steve asks, when Eddie finally finds him in the kitchen. "Go, I'll be back in a moment, you need to rest."

Eddie, rolling his eyes, does what he asks. Though he does grumble complaints under his breath the whole way back.

"You couldn't wait five minutes," Steve continues, when he finally comes back to Eddies room, holding a steaming mug and bowl. "Here, I cooked your broth and made you some tea."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Wayne says hi, by the way. He's probably going to be late coming home, too, so I'm stuck here babysitting."

Eddies about to make a comment, when he finally gets a whiff of the tea. He takes a sip to confirm it.

"Is this peppermint?"

"Yeah. You said you like it."

"I didn't think you'd remember."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You can't keep doing this, Steve, I'll fall in love with you."

Steve laughs, ducking his head, cheeks flushing. When he looks up, smirking, a glint in his eyes, Eddie knows he's already doomed.

"Promise?"

[oftenwantedafton]

Older - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content

Excerpt -

He notices you right away.

New hire, young, fresh out of college. Energetic. Enthusiastic. A breathless sort of rambling when you talk for long periods of time that he finds charming. Pretty. He’s not blind.

He can’t imagine you’d be interested. Too many decades between you.

You can’t know the wanting that overwhelms him some nights.

Also available on AO3

He notices you right away.

New hire, young, fresh out of college. Energetic. Enthusiastic. A breathless sort of rambling when you talk for long periods of time that he finds charming. Pretty. He’s not blind. Neither are the other men in the office. He hears the talk. In the bathroom. The breakroom. While waiting for the elevator to exit the office building. A married employee has you trapped against the corner of the lobby. You’re politely deflecting. He isn’t getting the hint. In the old days, when he’d used his real name, he would’ve killed the man without a second thought. But it’s not the old days. It’s the new. So he uses words instead. Still threatening. He’d never liked the man to begin with, his opinion after he’s harassed you dropping that much further. He sees the relief in your eyes when your coworker moves away.

He doesn’t follow up on this. Doesn’t use it as an excuse to make any advances towards you. He can’t imagine you’d be interested. Too many decades between you. He’s gone gray. Laugh lines starting to set in. Arthritis in overworked joints. He’s getting old and he absolutely despises that fact. So he remains polite and leaves it at that. You can’t know the wanting that overwhelms him some nights. When he finally surrenders thinking about your soft looking lips and your delicate hands. Climaxing embarrassingly quickly. In the shower. In bed, then back up to the bathroom to wash up afterwards. Looking into the mirror of the medicine cabinet. Pride still in the eyes, the shoulders. But he feels the passage of time leaving its mark on him.

Easter. You have no way of knowing what the headband with rabbit ears does to him. On anyone else they’d be childish, silly. On you they make him want to hunt you. Teeth sinking in. Predator and prey. He bites the inside of his cheek until bone severs the tissue and he tastes copper. Wonders what you’d taste like. Your mouth, the soft pink flesh between your thighs. You hand out plastic eggs to the other employees, to the job hopefuls. Candy. Other assorted trinkets for those with children at home. The one he’s handed has a little flocked rabbit pin. He shouldn’t be so touched. It has a place of honor on his desk beside his keyboard.

Another new hire. Young man. Attractive. It’s a tradition in the office to go out one Friday night a month. The new employee learns this. Inquires if you’ll be attending. Your eyes look to the middle aged man. He’s never gone. Maybe tonight he’ll change his mind.

***

He doesn’t like to drink. Impaired judgment doesn’t suit him. So he nurses a soda instead. The bar is loud. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. Yes he does. There you are. The young man talking to you again. He wants to chase him off. But there’s no reason for it. No impropriety this time. Why shouldn’t this nice young couple be together?

You make your way to his side, abandoning the new hire. Darts in hand. A challenge. His aim is flawless. A dartboard in the security office of his previous job. Target reached each time. He counts the number of drinks you imbibe. Insists on taking you home. You surrender easily.

He drives you home. You’re still living at home with your parents. Working on saving up to pay off school loans. Your hand curling around his forearm when he pulls beside the curb. You don’t know the reason why he always wear long sleeves, of course, despite the hot, arid Hurricane weather. Can’t know the scars there. Relics from the past. He can smell the bar on you. Sour alcohol and stale cigarettes. Wonders what flavor the pink gloss you’d reapplied tastes like. He puts the car in park, then walks you to the door to make sure you’re safe.

Goes home and showers and lies down waiting for sleep that never comes.

***

The career counselor doesn’t typically frequent the break room. He prefers the privacy of his office. But you do. So there he is, nearly daily now. Your blossoming smile of greeting that warms something deep inside. He reprimands himself internally. Acting foolish like this. Getting soft in his old age. He should visit the restaurant more often. Get back to the work, the research. Remember the end goal. You’re moving to sit beside him. Handing over a brownie you’d baked yourself. It’s another Friday. You ask if he’ll be going out with the others to the pub again. He declines. You shrug and say you won’t be going either, then. He curses inwardly. He should have said yes. At least it would be an excuse to spend more time with you. Now he has this opportunity. You’re both free. He could invite you somewhere. Where would you want to go? Where could this possibly go? The moment passes unclaimed.

***

You invade his office early one morning. Seeking coffee. The offering in the break room just doesn’t taste the same, you claim. The sunlight streaming through the blinds surrounds you, outlining your figure, setting threads of hair aflame. He watches you lift the steaming glass pot and fill one of his stoneware mugs he’d brought from home. He doesn’t think coffee tastes as good when it’s in a disposable paper cup. You add a spoonful of powdered creamer and tear open two packets of sugar. Stir the drink for long moments. Were you hesitating? Waiting for something? His mouth is dry, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. You leave and he realizes he’s never seen you drink coffee even once before this.

You return with the cup rinsed later. Fingers brushing his as you hand the mug back. Shy smile. A look up through lashes. He’s so much taller than you are; taller than most of the other people that work in the office. He sees you eyeing the rabbit you’d gifted him still sitting on his desk. Words unsaid pressing against the back of his teeth. Fingers twitching. He aches. He wants. You’re already gone.

***

Lunch break. Knees colliding under the table. Arms brushing. Your bare one warm against his sleeved one. Your chairs ludicrously close together. There’s no way people haven’t noticed. Aren’t talking. Ugly rumors that he wishes were true. He has to suppress the urge to hand feed you. To dip his fingers between those lips, to have you lick them clean. The ache worsens. He needs you. Desperately.

You tell him your parents will be away on vacation for a week.

Just like that, just a light mention. A thread of possibility dangling in front of him again. He’d heard you’d rejected that handsome young man’s offer of a date. You’re not quite as popular now. No longer the shiny new girl. You follow the declaration of your parents’ absence up with saying you don’t like being in the house alone. There was his window. Offered right up on a platter. He’d be a fool not to accept. He remarks he’d be happy to come over if you got too afraid. Matching your light tone. Eyes much heavier. Weighted gaze. You ask for his phone number. Slide a napkin over for him to write on. It’s the wrong texture, his pen tearing through the thin material. You offer your palm instead. He holds it steady as he writes, cupping that soft hand for support while the black ink marks your skin. Your eyes on him. Seven numbers that take an eternity to write. He doesn’t want to stop touching you. He hears chairs dragging across linoleum. Lunch is over. He reluctantly releases his hold on you. Time to get back to work.

You call him that night. Your voice so small on the phone. Needy. You sound even younger. He doesn’t hesitate. Drives to your house. Doesn’t even need to knock on the door. You’re waiting there. For him. He still hasn’t changed out of his work clothes. You’re wearing a camisole and matching pajama bottoms. Pretty violet. The door closes behind him. Your breathing a little rapid. Hair still damp from a shower. He steps forward just as you move towards him. A collision somewhere in the middle. His mouth crashing against yours. Nothing tentative. Lips firm and assured. Tongue expert against yours. He’s imagined different versions of this moment. Fantasized. Now reality. As soft and sweet as he’d envisioned. He’d forgotten the feel of young skin, firm and full and smooth. So different from his own. Those calloused engineer’s fingers tracing all the soft places on your body. Between your legs. Warm and wet. Slick spread over your clit. A needy whimper. He’s on fire. Tastes his fingers. Heavenly nectar. He needs you to be sitting somewhere, or lying. He wants his face between those thighs.

Living room couch nearby. The closest surface. Pressing you down into the cushions. Palm against your breasts. Stroking peaked nipples. Straps of your top eased over shoulders. Mouth sucking each one. Your hips arching up to assist in sliding your pajama bottoms and panties off. His knees protest the feel of the hardwood floor beneath the thin area rug. He ignores the discomfort. Fingers working inside of you. Plucking. He’s used to handling tiny, delicate components. Necessary with some of the animatronic parts. Manipulating your body. Finding the correct frequency. Attuned. His mouth on your pussy. He loves the sounds you’re making. The feel of your fingers in his hair. Tell tale tremors along your thighs. He wonders if you ever touched yourself like he had, unable to resist the thought of this. Cumming with his false name on your lips. What if he told you his secret? Took you to his shuttered restaurant. Walked among the decaying remains. The workroom. Experiments. Research. The piles of journals. He still prefers the written word. Faster. Spilling words, spreading ink. Your noises louder. Shaking violently now. The burn of hair being pulled. How different you look after being taken apart. Mouth slack and wide. Pupils blown. A wild, untamed thing.

The snap of vertebrae. More aged protests. Sitting beside you now. You’ve got his pants undone. Straddling his hips. Lithe, agile. Cock guided inside the glistening depths. The little gasp of surprise. How full he’s stretching you. Your fingers laced behind his neck. Your face bending to his. His wide hands brace your hips. You fuck yourself down onto him. Lift. Drop down. Rocking. His hands now spread across your bouncing cheeks. Sheathed. Freed. That alias tearing from your throat. That’s who you’re fucking. The polite middle aged career counselor from work with the penchant for rabbits. Not the other. Not the restaurant owner, engineer, former husband and father. Not the murderer. But it wasn’t all his fault, was it? Not really. Not when you consider all the ramifications. What the other had had. Flaunting it constantly. He’d wanted it, too. His fair share. And look who had triumphed in the end. He was still here. The other not. So.

He’s thrusting up into you. Rough. Driving air from your lungs. Skin slapping together. All these years and he’s still so bitter. But you’re so sweet. Candy lips. That gorgeous tight pussy snug around his cock. Your face hovering above his own. Saliva drizzled onto his waiting tongue. The pretty way your mouth falls open as you cum again. Faint ripples becoming turbulent. His own release pulsing inside. Wounded sound of pleasure moaned against your fragrant skin.

Holding you in his arms in the darkness. You ask him to stay.

He has no intentions of leaving.

[emasstars]

little things

silly headcanons about the greasers | fluff

a/n: @cau-lee-flower215 wanted me to tag them!

ponyboy has a pen collection. every year for his birthday, his parents would get him a new one. for a while, he definitely had a phase where he would only write with a quill. stored away, somewhere in some cabinet, it’s still there.

johnny loves animals with every fibre of his being. he will stop walking to pet a stray animal, and he doesn’t care if it has rabies or ticks or anything. he especially loves when he’s sleeping out in the lot, and a cat comes to cuddle up with him.

dally is a picky eater. his food cannot touch, it needs to be made a very specific way, and he will not eat the food if it does not fit his standards. when they go out to eat, he will always order the same food. he will order it off of the kids menu if he has to.

sodapop secretly writes poetry, and hides the papers in a shoe box in his nightstand’s drawer. he only writes when no one is home, placing some sort of magazine or news paper on top so no one thinks to check ever again. he cannot go through that embarrassment another time.

darry, similarly to how ponyboy used to collect pens, used to collect coins. every time he’d see one on the ground, he’d pick it up and add it to the jar he’d keep them in. if it was a particularly nice-looking coin, he’d put it in some frame and leave it on his desk.

two-bit tried to join band in school, but wasn’t allowed because all he could play was a harmonica. by now, he brings it anywhere he goes. if the time is right, which he argues it always is, he will pull out and play an awful tune that pierces everyone’s ears, and makes them yell at him to stop.

steve cannot dance. it does not matter the kind of dancing you request he does, someone will get hurt. very likely, it will be him. one time, at one of sodapop’s birthday parties, he tried to dance but accidentally twisted his ankle and got sent to the er.

[bubblessunshinehoney]

Roommates (stucky x reader)

3767 words

A/N: i'm writing this fic for...almost 6 months, i dreamed many times of stucky and their roommate. it was always hard to write i had seen in my dreams and to translate all i felt during those dreams. But here we are.

It's gonna be in idk many parts.

This one is a little introduction, and with slight angst.

Enjoy,

Cloudy

TW: fluff, light angst, polyamourous relationship. Steve and Bucky (they're a warning...) <...>= texting

Don't be shy, reblog, comment, like!

magnificient moodboard by the amazing @christywantspizza

divider by the talentuous : @firefly-graphics

not beta read, english is not my first language, all mistakes are my own.

Part 1 | Part 2 | part 3

When you had to find an apartment. You never thought to find yourself with two gentle giants for roommates. But here you are, one year later with Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers in a nice and homely appartement.

You knew them from college, they were friends of friends and when your last roommate kicked you out because she wanted to be alone with her boyfriend… the two big guys were nice enough to propose you to come and live with them for a while. “Yeah, don’t need to pressure yourself, doll, take your time to get back on your feet. We have enough rooms for three.”, told you Bucky. “And when you find a studio or something else, we’ll help you to move out and in, sweetheart.”, said Steve.

But one year later, you don’t want to move out. You like to be here with these two. Monday is Buck’s night for cooking. Tuesday, yours, Wednesday is Steve turns, Thursday is movie night with take outs or leftovers and Friday to Sunday is more like “who’s there, who’s eating at home, who wants to go out?” vibes.

Life is easy, and you were surprised to see that…they clean, like ALL the time. Steve is the tidiest of all of you. Buck tries to keep is mess in his bedroom and ask for help when he has too much “trash”.  Sunday is almost always the day where you all clean the appartement. You cook pancakes or waffles and then it’s time to give the appartement a little bit of a makeover. It’s always full of giggles and pinning. Like the time you found a boxer under the couch. Bucky was a blushing mess, saying it was from like two weeks ago when this girl came home with him after a night out. “But I respected the rules, we didn’t do anything on the couch”. Or the time, Steve found your vibrator under the bathroom cabinet, you just took it back and gave him an innocent smile and told him to forget about it. Spoiler alert: Steve didn’t forget that and was impatient to finally have the guts to ask you if you wanted to use it with him one day.

Today, it’s Friday. It’s the first slow day you have in weeks.  Steve is out with some friends and Bucky didn’t answer yet to tell you if he’ll be home tonight.

You decide to eat some leftovers and to watch for the hundredth time your favourite movie. Thirty minutes in, you hear the keys and then the door opens with a loud thud. An angry Bucky storms in the living room and lay on you without saying a word. He pushes his head between your breasts and groans. “Ok, hello to you too grumpy man. Can you tell me why you invade my space and doesn’t ask for my consent before shoving your head here?” Bucky starts to mumble fast, and you don’t understand anything.  You slap him gently on the back of his head. He stops and lifts his head to look at you. “Shitty day, shitty people. Need a stress relief. May I, doll, please?” he pouts and makes his best puppy eye.

Since you arrived, you realised that the two giants you lived with were very into physical touch. Bucky likes to lay on you meanwhile Steve likes to play with your hair during movie night or offers you little massages during them.

You never complain, you’re most of the time cold so this two are your personals heaters.

You start to massage Bucky’s head and this lovely idiot starts to act like a cat and purrs. “Did you eat?” he asks you.

“Yup, leftovers, there’s still some if you want.”

“The lasagna?”.

“Mmmh”.

The evening goes on. But you can feel that Bucky wants to ask you something. He’s fidgeting, more than usual, and can’t seem to stop touching you. He’s currently massaging your calf. “What is it, Buck?”.

He sighs, and sighs again before sitting up and looking you dead in the eye. “Can I kiss you, doll?”. First, you think he’s joking, but then his expression is too serious for your liking. “Like kiss me on the lips?”, you ask him.

“Yup.”

 “WHY?” you almost scream in shock.

He blushes and whispers “because you look beautiful, and I want to kiss you”.

“that’s a cheesy pick-up line, Barnes.”

He looks at you again and asks, “but does it work?” shyly you nod. You won’t lie, you already thought of what it would feel like to kiss Bucky, but you never really asked him, too scared to make thing awkward with your roommates. “So can I kiss you, doll face?” when you don’t say anything he gets closer, when his lips are almost touching yours, he murmurs “I need words, Y/N”.

You swallow loudly before saying “yes, you can, Bucky”.

Then his lips are on yours. The kiss is tender, lovely and your fingers grab his hair. His hands get under your shirt, and you shiver. You feel his tongue caresses your lower lips and you parted them. When both or your tongues meet, the kiss gets more and more passionate. Your legs circle instinctively his waist to bring him closer. When you need to breath you break the kiss and Bucky is panting above you. Pupils blown out and lips swollen. He’s more beautiful than ever. You smile, a little bit uncomfortable. You tap his cheek gently and whisper “gonna go to toilets, sorry”. He nods and lets you go.

Bucky can’t wait to tell Steve what happened.

Two weeks later, Bucky has never once talk about the kiss… at least with you. You didn’t either. You felt weird. Not in a bad way, you wanted to start again, to try again and see if the kiss made you feel again all dizzy and warm.

But for now, you are alone with Steve. Bucky went home to see his family.

“Truth or dare, sweets?” asks Steve from the kitchen.

“Really, aren’t we like to old or outnumbered to play this game?” he snorts and come back with your cocktail and his beer.

“Nope, it’ll be fun”.

“If you say so, truth” you reply.

After maybe twenty minutes, you have to say that he is right, you’re having fun. You told secrets that both of you had never tell and you did some fun dares. But now, Steve wanted to ask you to kiss him.

He spoke with Bucky, and he was jealous. He’s best friend had the guts to kiss you, when he was too afraid to be rejected. But tonight, with the alcohol in his system he feels powerful.

“I dare you to kiss me…with tongues!”, he declares. You laugh because he made a move with his tongue, but you accept the dare. Why not try and see if your attraction for Steve is the same as for Bucky?

When your lips touch his. You feel sparkles down your spine. When you lick his lips with your tongue and he part his, you feel hot all over. His hands go to your waist, and he places you on his lap.  And like with Bucky it gets heated pretty fast. And like with Bucky, you end the kiss and excuse yourself to go to the toilets

&lt;Stevie: I did it, buck.

Bucky: how does that feel, punk?

Stevie: like a dream came true, but I don’t want to scare her. We are not playing fair.

Bucky: I know, we must discuss that the three of us when I get back.

Stevie: what if she says no. What if she wants to be just with you.

Bucky: or you…

Stevie: I am sure she likes you more.

Bucky: stop, Steve. We don’t know what she feels. Did she kiss you back? Like really kiss you.

Stevie: yup…that was so hot. She did the thing with her tongue you told me about.>

“Stevie?” you say when you come back in the living room.

“Yup?”.

“I-I think I’ll go to bed. See you tomorrow?” you ask shyly.

“Sleep well, sweetheart, brunch is on me!”. You kiss his cheek and retrieve to your bedroom.

&lt;Y/N: I kissed Steve.

Nat: WHAT? AFTER BUCKY?

Y/N: we were playing truth or dare. He dared me to kiss him. (with tongues, his words, not mine)

Nat: and ?

Y/N: I don’t know what I am supposed to do now. I felt the exact same thing with Bucky and Steve. And you know I don’t feel much when I kissed guys until I am pretty attached to them.

Nat: yeah I know…you and your demi-sexual thing.

Y/N: scuse you bisexual girl who dates only nerds guy. How’s Bruce?

Nat: currently massagin’ my feet so perfect. But you need to talk to them. I am sure they’re planning something.

Y/N: planning smth?

Nat: ask them. Good night, babe.>

What you didn’t know, it’s that before you join them in the appartement. Bucky and Steve had a thing, that only Natasha knows. They are best friends, sure, but they’re also lovers. They only tend to be like that when you are not around, since you moved in.

You are not going to lie to yourself, you are feeling bad to have kiss your two roommates. And you are feeling worse to have like it, both time and even considering doing it again.

This Saturday, you come back from a little walk with Natasha. When you arrive, the appartement is quiet, a little bit to quiet. No one is in the living room and the door from Bucky’s room is wide open and empty, but the room from Steve is closed. You wait to hear something, like Steve has a girl around, but nothing.

You go there and knock. Steve’s voice comes to you in a grumble “yeah?”, “Hello, just to let you know I am home. “, you say.

 “Oh hey, little one, ok, we’ll be there soon for dinner.”

You can’t stop your question “We?”. You hear Steve chuckles and then he invites you in.

“Buck and I, sweets, who else?” he says when you open the door.

Steve is on his back with Bucky curled onto his side, sound asleep. You saw them bro cuddling now and then, but never like that. You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything. Bucky has hard days and seems to find comfort in cuddling. “I have an empty space right here” teases Steve and tapping the other side of him. You hesitate and decide to go and join the cuddle. You lay down beside Steve, his arm goes around your waist. You put your hand on his chest, just beside Bucky’s hand.

 “He’s ok?” you ask quietly.

“Bad day, really bad one.”, answers Steve.  Automatically, you caress Bucky’s cheek and pass your finger in his hair. “How was your day with Natty?”.

“Good, really nice.”, you smile at Steve.

In your walk with Nat, you arrived at this conclusion: no need to put words for now, just enjoy the feeling of being close to those two wonderful men. So, you enjoy the cuddle and to pass your fingers in Bucky hair, while Steve caress your hip. You’re at peace. You’ve never felt like this with any of your ex’s.

Maybe they talked to each other, and they know that you have kissed each of them, maybe you can tell Steve now and Bucky when he wakes up. Maybe, just maybe you are, and they are into polyamorous relationship. Maybe…

“Stevie?” you murmur in his neck, he smells divine as always, citrus and pine. He hums in response. “I…I kissed Bucky before I kissed you.” His hand still on your waist and he squeezes it.

“Yeah, same Sweetheart, I kissed him before I kissed you.” You sit up, not sure to have truly heard what he said.

“Wait, what?”. Steve grins at you, then he turns his head to Bucky and kisses him on his forehead. Buck sighs in his sleep and get more comfortable on Steve. His leg goes on his thighs, and he tightens his grip around the waist. He looks peaceful. “You’ve kissed?”, Steve shrugs but his smile tells you everything you need.

You weren’t expecting that, of course not, but why are you not more shocked or disturbed? You look at them and it’s like the missing piece of the puzzle in your head. Everything starts to make sense, or you have more questions that need answers. “I always thought that your friendship was more than that”, you think out loud. Steve chuckles while Bucky stirs in his sleep. He tucks himself more onto Steve and his hand, who was on his stomach, goes right to Steve’s crotch. And the blond does nothing to stop him, well not exactly nothing, he’s looking at you and when he sees your expression, he gently takes bucky hand et brings it back to his sternum.

“I think we need to talk the three of us, Sweets” he whispers to you. You can only nod and keep staring at their interlaced hands. “We don’t want to scare you away, you know?”,

“Scare me away?”, you ask intrigue.

“Yeah, by telling you our little secret.” You stay silent, not sure you want to acknowledge the truth just yet…because it doesn’t scare you at all, it turns you on more and that’s what scares you, you almost feel like a creep.

“I would have never judged you. You can love who you want” you finally say. Steve smiles and brings you closed once again. You put your hand on top of theirs. For the first time in a long time, you feel complete and that stress you out.

The next day, you all decide to have THE discussion. It’s just after your usual Sunday brunch. The guys are doing the dishes and you just looking in the void. Your mind is racing. What if it just a dream, what if they pranked you?

“Dollface? You’re with us?” calls you Bucky. You blink twice to focus on them again. They are smiling, and you get butterflies.

“Yeah, I am” you whisper.

“Good, good, so…” starts Steve. And then he explains everything, his relationship with Bucky, their attraction for you since they met you. You listen, stunned by their revelations. Bucky points out some details and makes you giggle. You feel shy and powerful. The more they talk, the more they stare at you with love and lust. You have the last word; you are the one who has to say yes or no.  You take a big breath and ask, “How would it works?”.

They are taken aback; Bucky takes Steve’s hand under the table and squeeze it hard. “If we try this throuple, we have to make rules, right?” You sound so confident; Steve’s heart is beating fast.

“Yeah, we need rules for the start, to try and navigate in this together” states Bucky. You nod and smile. Then you get up and round the table to go to their side. You see their hands and chuckle.

 “No more hiding now, show me those hands, guys”. They laugh and put their hands on the table, you place both of your hand on their neck. It feels good, you like that they don’t have the same texture, but they both soft. They lean against you and close their eyes.

 “I feel like I just solved a puzzle” murmurs Bucky. “Is it weird?” he asks.

 “I don’t know, don’t feel weird. “, you answer. Steve is the first to move, he stands up and takes your hand and Bucky’s and goes on the couch. He sits down and puts you on his laps. Bucky takes your calf and cuddle against Steve. One of Steve’s arms is around your waist and the other is around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky has one arm around Steve waist and the other on your legs. You put your hand on each one of them that touches you.

 After a moment of silence, you ask” Can we kiss again?”.

 “Yes, please” they said in unison. “I want to see you kiss” you murmur.  They don’t move, Steve’s blushing, while Bucky is looking at you. You put your hands on their chins and turn their faces, so they face each other. “Please, can I see you kiss?”. Your gentle command makes them move. Slowly they approach each other lips. When they start kissing, it’s sensual, loving and you get flustered. It’s hot, you never thought that looking at two people kissing would be this sexy. Then Bucky does something that makes Steve moans. You did once or twice hear him having someone around, but he has never moaned like that. Steve’s hand on your hip squeezes your flesh. Steve breaks the kiss first; Bucky bites his lower lip.

 “You turn, doll face”, growls Bucky. You expect him to kiss you, but he does the same as you did, take your chin between his fingers, and make you face Steve. You kiss the blond; you try some of your trick to make him moan like Bucky and when you succeed you break the kiss and turn your intention on Buck. He smiles at you, and you smile back, before going to kiss him. With Bucky, each of you fight for dominance. You move on Steve’s lap and after a while, you feel him getting hard under you. Suddenly the reality of the situation strikes, and you start to panic.

You get up and say, “I’m going to the toilets”. Bucky and Steve watch you go, and they try not to laugh, because they recognise a pattern there.

Your room is next to the toilets and when you go out, you look at your bed and you really want to hide yourself. But why would you hide? You take a deep breath before going back in the living room.

They are whispering to each other, Bucky seems unhappy, while Steve tries to calm him down. “hey, guys!”, they turn their heads so fast, you’re sure they’re going to bump into each other and you giggle. “ehm, sorry to ran away, could we…could we go in my room? For more privacy?”

Steve is the first to get up, Bucky looks at you strangely “privacy of what? we are the only one here” he says in a cold voice.

“Bucky” warns Steve.

 You sigh and smile “No he’s right Steve. Bucky, I know that we are alone, but I would feel better and safer in my room…because it’s new to me and I need to navigate around all of that…around this new us. If that makes sense?”

Bucky relaxes and nods, standing up, “makes sense, sorry.” You wait for them to come close to you before you take each of their hand and guide them into your room.

“Where do we sleep?”, you ask.

“Let’s just say, that we can sleep on our own or together, but no pressure” answers Steve. You smile and walk into your room, sitting on your bed facing them.

Bucky is the first to go lay and waits for Steve and you. “Doll, in the middle” he commands. You giggle and do as he say, loving the few times you find yourself engulf between those two sweet giants.

Steve follows you and sighs. “Love the smell of your sheets, sweetheart”. You smile at him and blushes.

“I use the same wash as you…”, he laughs softly and kisses your cheek.

“But it still smells like you.” He boops your nose and you giggle shyly. Bucky brings you close to him, and he kisses your neck, making you shudder.

“When did you know?”, he asks you.

“When I did know what, bucky?”

“That you liked both of us”.

This question, you’ve been asking it to yourself for weeks now. But honestly, it just came along the way. The fact that they opened their home for you, that they’ve always been there since. Always have a shoulder to lay on, someone to rely on. You’ve never felt alone since you moved in here. You tell them that and they both smile, Steve strokes your cheeks and Bucky your hip. You feel safe, understood, and complete.

Then, they both lean in and kiss you. A three-way kiss, that left you breathless and panting. You look at them and you smile, stroking their chin with your thumb, loving the difference of texture. Steve is shaved, while bucky always have a three-day beard. You pass your thumb on their lips and bucky groans, pupils wide, the blue of his eyes almost inexistant.

“You’ve freed the beast”, chuckles Steve, who’s biting his lip.  

“Y/N, Sweetheart?”, whispers Steve. You try to focus on him, but flashback holds you in your terror.

You look between them, and you take a shaky breath. “Oh, yeah?”. Bucky nods and starts to pempers kisses on your cheek and neck.

“Can I kiss you doll?”. You nod and he kisses you tenderly, deeply, you let him have the dominance in that kiss. It feels good, but then his hands wonder on your body, and you start to panic. Bad memories coming back to you. You try to tell him to stop, but then Steve joins him and you freeze, panic taking hold of you, and you feel hopeless, unable to tell them to stop. You whimper and they stop everything they do and look at you. Your eyes are tearing up and you’re heaving, fright written on your face.

Bucky looks at Steve and he’s panicking; the blond understands he must be stronger for both of you. “Buck, it’s okay, she must have…”, they look at each other and remembered the time you came home totally shaking and afraid. It was just before you dump your last friend with benefits.

“Rumlow”, growls Bucky. “I’m gonna end him”.

You take bucky hand and holds it tight. “don’t leave me.”

“I’m not, I’m here doll.” You nod and looks at Steve.

“I won’t either, sweetheart, I’ll stay here with you. Just take a deep breath for us?”. You nod and do some breathing exercise, following what Steve does and then Bucky when he joins in.

“So-sorry”, you murmur, unable to look at them, fiddling with your nails. One hand goes on yours and then another.

“No need to be sorry”, they said in unison, their soothing voice calming you even more.

“it’s a lot.”

“Then we take our time.”, says Steve softly.

“Yeah, you’re stuck with us now”, jokes gently Bucky and that makes you smile.  

part 2

[fuctacles]

in love and war part 2

For Spicy Six Winter Challenge hosted by @thefreakandthehair

T | 2221 | feelings realization, bi awakening | read part 1 here | part 3 here

And this takes us to the present. The revenge plan.

The sun has just come up and there are four of them camping in Steve’s car, sharing thermoses full of hot beverages of choice. (Steve brought one full of hot cocoa and it's the crowd’s favorite.)

“Eddie is not an early riser, we’re wasting time,” Lucas complains while observing the trailer with his binoculars. 

“I think his uncle’s gonna wake him up for us,” Robin assures him. And like clockwork, Wayne Munson’s truck comes into view, almost knocking down one of their sculptures. The man steps out, takes a look at the dozen snowmen surrounding his trailer, and disappears inside. 

About fifteen minutes later, the curtains in one of the windows move. Steve’s buzzing in his seat. Or maybe just shivering. He reaches into his pocket for a tissue to wipe his runny nose.

“There’s a message!”

“Well, read it!”

“Nice move, Stevie,” Lucas reads the paper that appeared in the window. “Can’t play with you tho, I’m sick. Sad face.”

“Did he draw a sad face or…?”

“Of course, he drew it!”

Steve yanks the binoculars from Lucas to see for himself. The papers disappeared but Eddie took their place in the window, wrapped in a blanket. There’s a scarf around his neck and his nose is red. He looks bad.

“Damn. He really is sick.”

“Full offense but you look like shit, too.”

“Can it, Mayfield.”

He steps out and walks up to the trailer. Eddie finally spots him and he perks up and waves at him.

“Hi!” 

Even through the window, Steve can hear how croaky his voice is.

“Guess there goes your next campaign.”

Eddie laughs weakly, it turns into a cough.

“Guess so.”

“You started it,” he reminds him.

“I know. Sorry.”

“Why?” Steve frowns at him. Eddie shrugs.

“Seemed like a fun idea.”

“Imagine how much fun you could be having playing DnD now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waves his hand. “But. You know.” He shrugs again.

“No, I don’t know.” He shakes his head, frowning again.

“You don’t play DnD.”

He taps against the glass nervously and Steve collects himself quickly.

“We can find something that doesn’t end with you in bed.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle with mischief and Steve immediately realizes the double meaning in his words.

“Okay, shut up.”

He turns around and leaves quickly. The inside of his car is surprisingly warm and he shivers from head to toe.

“Well, I’m leaving before I catch whatever this is,” Max eyes him before escaping the car. She stops once outside. “Lucas, you coming?”

The boy scrambles behind her.

“Let’s get you home,” Robin squeezes his arm. 

He takes one last glance at Eddie’s trailer and nods. 

It’s all misery from there. He makes camp in the living room because that’s where the tv is and he needs some entertainment while sitting on his ass and coughing. Robin takes stock of his medicine cabinet and whatever else he may need while housebound. She forces him to take his temperature. He’s prissy about it because it would make the sickness real, but it’s barely above average.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Robin pats him on the head while inspecting the thermometer. “Where’s your walkie?”

“There’s no need-”

“Little shitheads need to know they’re on their own. Or rather on their parent’s mercy.”

He nods.

“It should be on my desk.”

She’s gone for a while which makes him assume he’s excluded from the conversation. There’s probably a lot of yelling happening from the kids and Robin’s saving him the headache, bless her heart. She comes back eventually, walkie in hand. 

“I’ll leave it nearby in case you need anything, but I told them not to bother you, that you’ll contact them if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she smiles back. “Dustin isn’t happy, of course, but his mom said they’ll come with some soup later. Max said, and I quote “serves them well.”

“She's not wrong,” he mutters.

“Will and Lucas said they’re sorry. Will said Mike’s sorry too.”

Steve snorts.

“Course he did. What did Eddie say?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs. “Either he was sleeping or too sick to speak up.”

“Huh.” He’s weirdly disappointed about that.

“Anyway, I gotta go to work now because my coworker called in sick.” She pats his knee as she stands up.

“Uh, I’m sorry?”

She shakes her head.

“You’ll pay me back when I come down with whatever I just caught from you. I’ll come over tomorrow with some movies. don’t forget Dustin’s coming later today!”

He groans.

“Right, of course.”

“Yeah, not jealous about that, buddy.” She pats his head. His hair is ruined enough that he doesn’t protest. “Walkie if you need anything, do not leave the house, keep yourself warm. Toodles!”

“See you, Rob.”

Later he has to listen to Dustin yelling at him from the other side of the room (“I’m not getting any closer to your germs, Steve!”). Claudia, the wonderful mom she is, doesn’t have such reservations and hands him the soup she brought after heating it.

“Dusty made us make rounds to all your friends to gather a care package for you.”

Steve makes a surprised sound over his cup.

“Being sick is so boring, we thought it could help!” Dustin adds, still yelling from afar. But the anger seems to have seeped out of him. “We’re going to Eddie’s next, his care package is cooler.”

“Dustin!”

Steve laughs.

“He’s probably right, Ms. Claudia, I don’t think our interests overlap as much as with Eddie.”

“Well, you’re gonna get educated because we do not have boring jock shit for you.”

“Dustin!”

“What?! It’s the truth!”

Steve snorts so hard, he needs a tissue.

After they leave, he digs into the care package like it’s a Christmas morning. Everything has little post-it notes with get-well wishes and signed who it’s from. From Robin, he got promised medication restock and some hard candy for his throat. Will gave him a copy of Hobbit and a tape which upon opening, turned out to have a small joint hidden inside, courtesy of Jonathan. El lent him a Wonder Woman comic. Dustin gave him a Batman comic and a handwritten guide titled “D&D for dummies”, that actually made him chuckle. At the bottom, probably because Dustin was ashamed of his friend, was an issue of Sports Illustrated with a note “Read the Magic Johnson interview!” and below that, a girly-looking magazine, dryly signed “from Erica.” He chuckled to himself and opened it first. Inside was another Post-it note that read “page 17”. Intrigued, he flips the pages to find it.

On page seventeen, there is a segment titled “Flirting or bullying?” and one of the questions/stories is highlighted with a pink marker. Steve gets to reading.

“Dear TM team,

My friend, S, is being followed by this boy who keeps starting snowball fights. He’s waiting for S’s shift to end, sitting in his van outside the shop to do so. It’s turning into a full-blown snowball war by this point. My other friend thinks they are pulling pigtails, but I just think they are dumb. So, is it flirting or boys being idiots? -E”

Steve drops the magazine and goes into the kitchen to have a refill of his soup.

When Robin comes in the next day, the magazine still lies where he left it, taunting him. His heart stutters when she picks it up with a laugh.

“I guess under all her snark Erica is just another girl, huh?”

Oh, how wrong she was.

He licked his dry lips before speaking up, barely audible and fucking terrified.

“Open it.”

Surprised, her eyes snap at him, but something in his tone makes her comply without a word. He pretends to busy himself studying the romcoms she brought.

“Huh,” he hears among the rustle of the pages. He looks up, too tempted to watch her face while she reads.

“What’s so fucking funny?” he asks, watching her lips quirk.

“Nothing!” she squeaks. “I’m surprised she did that.”

“I’m not. It’s Erica.”

“True,” she giggles, closing the magazine. He frowns at her.

“What did they say?”

“You didn’t read it?”

He taps his fingers against his mug.

“I chickened out,” he admits.

“Why don’t you ask Eddie yourself?”

“Robin,” he whines.

“Steve,” she whines back. She scoots closer and takes the mug out of his hand to lace their fingers together. “Listen, I rejected you and now we’re friends. You’re friends with Nancy too. You can let him down gently, it’s not the end of the world.”

“No, Robin…” He sighs, squeezing her hand. “I think I was, um… pulling his pigtails back.”

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit,” he nods.

They look into each other’s eyes, giddy and nervous, before bursting into giggles. Their eyes fall back on the magazine. 

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Didn’t Eddie get a care package from them too?”

“Oh shit.”

“Dude I can’t stay here forever, pick up the phone!”

“Your yelling is really not helping me.”

“Oh, so you’d rather do it by yourself?”

He winces.

“No? Yes? I don’t know!”

She groans and he’s pretty sure she’s about to strangle him when the phone calls. They both jump and stare at it. Robin eyes him but he’s not moving a muscle so she groans and picks it up in the middle of the third ring.

“Yes?” She sounds calm and collected. “Oh, hi Eddie!” She smiles like an imp, staring straight into Steve’s soul. “You sound like shit.”

He makes a sound of protest, but she puts a hand up to stop him.

“Oh, you just got your voice back? And you’re calling Steve first thing? How sweet!” She’s making kissy faces at him and he’s about to commit murder. “Yes, he’s awake, I’ll get him.” She holds out the receiver. “For you.”

“Fucking obviously,” he murmurs, snatching it from her. She snickers.

“I’ll be in the living room,” she says and struts away, but he keeps an eye on her just in case she decides to eavesdrop. 

“Steve?” 

He does sound terrible.

“It’s me, hi.”

“Hi, um. Did you, by any chance, maybe, perhaps, get a care package from the kids?”

Steve’s insides twist.

“Yes?”

“From Erica too?”

“Yes.”

“A magazine?”

“Page seventeen?”

Eddie breathes hard into the receiver. 

“Yes, that.”

The silence hangs between them. His clogged sinuses make it hard to formulate thoughts.

“What did they say?”

“What?”

“Was it flirting or bullying?” he clarifies, fumbling with the cord. 

“You didn’t read it?”

“No.” He tries to find an explanation that doesn't sound bad. “Wanted to hear it from you.”

Eddie takes a ragged breath, it turns into a coughing fit. Steve frowns.

“You should go back to bed, we can talk about it later.”

“No!” Eddie protests straight away. Coughs a bit more. “I just… Yes, they say it was flirting,” he spits out.

Steve suddenly feels worse.

“But they were wrong,” he pushes for clarification.

Eddie sounded like they were.

“I don’t know,” he admits instead. Steve frowns.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You either flirt or-”

“I never thought about it, okay?” Eddie interrupts him. “I always assumed I’m into chicks but I’d definitely not flirt with one like that.”

It feels like a punch in the gut and Steve knows his own answer. Robin’s right, he’s survived rejection and unrequited feelings and got life-long friendships out of it. He can bear one more.

“Well, I’m pretty sure it was flirting on my part.”

Eddie starts coughing again.

“It’s okay if you weren’t i just wanted to be clear,” he adds as soon as the coughing subdues. “I never thought about it before either.”

“No, listen. Steve. Stevie.”

Steve’s stomach makes a backflip against his will.

“Yes?”

“I’m still thinking about it, okay? Just, the fever isn’t helping. Like, I want to say yes, but I’d rather say it when I’m not sick and half out of it, you know?”

Steve barks out a laugh, relieved and hopeful.

“Sure, makes sense. I’ll still be here.”

Waiting, like a dumbass.

“Cool. I’ll call you tomorrow, I’m out of stamina for today.”

“Sure, uh, sleep well.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

Steve’s too stunned by the pet name to put the phone away, so they just breathe into each other's ears, startled. But he won’t let Eddie one-up him like that.

“Goodnight, handsome.”

Eddie made a choked sound before ending the call. Steve puts the phone down and walks back into the living room, where Robin is waiting for him, the TV forgotten.

“Well? What did he say?” she asks before he can sit down.

“That he’s still thinking about it.”

“Nooooo!”

“But he did call me a sweetheart.”

“Oh?”

“I guess neither of us realized we were flirting.”

“Steve!” She starts slapping his arm.

“What? What?!”

“I hate you so much! You were each other’s gay awakening? How is that fair?!”

She’s pouting when he grasps her hands to stop the assault.

“Well, we can plot a snowball war against Vickie next,” he offers.

“Are you kidding me?! She’d hate it!”

Steve imagined a gaggle of kids ganging against the poor little redhead.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I guess men are a simpler species.”

“You are so lucky I love you.”

[quinns-shadowy-arts]

They'll Be Ok, They're Ok

Day 6 of @steddielovemonth ‘s Steddie Love Month Event!   Rating: Teen  CW: Arguing, Angst Tags:  Arguing, Insults, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending.  WC: 2,028 Prompt: “Love is giving them space when they need it”; submitted by @lihhelsing 

Note: Technically this is late. But it’s only 11ish where I am, and I was swamped with work until after the 12 am EST had already passed. So I’m still going to post this. Also, this has not been edited. So if you see any mistakes, no you didn't. Enjoy!  

Things have been…tense, to say the least. Family video has been packed with asshole customers, more so than usual. Robin has been gone with her parents on a trip, which has left Steve working shifts with Keith. The customers have been getting on Steve's nerves and Keith's been no help. 

The customers yell and fight Steve every step of the way. It's only renting a movie, the customers shouldn’t be so pissed at every turn, if Steve has anything to say about it. Keith has been avoiding doing his job by locking himself in the back room under the guise of “filing inventory reports”. Steve knows better though. He knows that Keith has been sitting around eating cheetos and generally being weird. Every one of these aspects has been pushing Steve to his limit.

Eddie hasn't been faring any better. The guys at the record store have been really getting on his nerves lately. They've been teasing him for anything and everything. This usually isn't a problem; they tease him, he teases back, and it's all good. But their teasing has turned south. It’s gone from light hearted jokes to cutting remarks. So Eddie feels like shit about himself and everything he’s doing. 

This has led to both of them being on edge when they get home. Usually they’re fine with the other one in their space. But today was the tipping point for them both. Eddie’s mumbling around the kitchen is pushing Steve’s final buttons; and Steve’s tense body language and cold glare has ticked Eddie off. 

“Can you just stop?” Steve glares at Eddie. Eddie turns around to look at Steve. He’s standing in the entryway of the kitchen, arms crossed and looking down right bitchy. Eddie shuts the cabinet he was digging through. 

“Stop what, Steve?” Eddie asks. He hasn’t really done anything. They hadn’t said hello or kissed at the door like they usually do. Eddie’s only been in the kitchen and the hallway. Right when he walked in he kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket onto the back of the couch, walked into the kitchen, and started looking around for something to eat. 

“Just, everything” Steve says, he’s still glaring in Eddie’s direction. Eddie leans back against the counter, faking nonchalance.  

“Steve, I haven’t even pissed yet. What the hell have I done to piss you off?” Eddie remarks. This was the wrong thing to say. 

“Fucking- Everything! You come in here, don’t even fucking say hello, and then come in here and start slamming cabinets and shit. You’re muttering under your breath like a mad man and taking out your anger on my nice shit, Eddie!” Steve shouts. His whole body is tense with stress and anger. 

“Well, you didn’t exactly come fucking running to the door, Steve. You could’ve said hello too, y’know!” Eddie shouts back. He’s still leaning against the counter, trying to act like he isn’t as upset as he is. 

“Can you just fucking go sit down and be quiet or something!? I can’t fucking handle your erratic fucking movements today.” Steve yells. He knows that Eddie hasn’t actually done anything to warrant that response. But Steve’s pissed and he really can’t handle any extra movement right now. He just needs some peace and quiet. 

Eddie feels ice shoot down his spine. Not only has his coworkers criticized him all day today, discreetly telling Eddie that he’s too much; Now his boyfriend is too. Steve’s supposed to love him no matter what. He’s supposed to love Eddie and all of his quirks, overwhelming energy included. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Steve? You ‘can’t handle my erratic movements’ today?” Eddie pushes off of the counter and mimes quotations with his fingers,

“Am I too much for you Steve? Am I too much for the great King Steve?” Eddie knows that Steve hates it when anyone calls him that horrible title. Steve has changed, he really has, but Eddie knows that it’ll hurt. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry your highness! Whatever can I do to make it up to you!?” Eddie mocks, clasping his hands together like he’s begging for forgiveness. 

Steve’s mouth pulls tight, forming an angry frown. His face has turned red, his heart hurts. 

“You can give me some fucking space; That’s what you can do, Asshole!” Steve screams, throwing his arms up. 

“Fine!” Eddie yells. He lets his hands fall into fists at his sides. He storms past Steve, shoulder-checking him on his way out. He pushes his feet into his boots, not bothering to tie or zip them up. He rips his jacket off of the couch and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him. 

Steve stares after him for a minute. He turns around and walks away from the kitchen. 

“He’s fucking ridiculous.” Steve murmurs as he walks into his room. He half haphazardly throws his clothes in random directions as he changes out of his work clothes. Once he’s in some comfortable clothes, he crawls into his bed. His body aches from standing all day. 

Steve stews in his anger for a bit longer, but eventually the adrenaline wears off and he realizes what he’s done. Sure, Eddie called him King Steve, but Steve did start the fight. Eddie really hadn’t done anything to piss Steve off as much as he was. Steve knows how stressed Eddie has been. He’s told Steve about how his coworkers have been getting meaner and meaner lately.  Shit, he doesn’t even know where Eddie has gone. 

“Fuck,” Steve whispers. He wants to go find Eddie, to apologize and reassure Eddie that no, he isn’t too much. But Steve knows how Eddie gets when he’s mad. He needs to go walk it off. He needs space to yell and cry and calm down on his own. So despite everything yelling at Steve to get up and search all of Hawkins for Eddie, he stays put. 

Eddie had gotten into his van and drove off, speeding and breaking traffic laws in order to get away. He knows that he shouldn’t be driving, it’s dangerous to drive when upset. So he pulls off of the main road and onto a smaller dirt road. He follows the trail until he’s at the top of the quarry. He throws his van into park and steps out onto the ground. He walks over the edge and looks out at the water. 

“What a fucking dick. I didn’t even do anything to him, fucking asshole.” Eddie rambles on as he scans the ground. He spots a palm sized rock, smooth but rotund. He picks it up, tosses it slightly up into the air a couple of times before turning his attention back to the water. He winds his arm back and chucks the rock into the quarry. 

He watches as the rock falls into the water, creating a big splash and an almost never ending ripple. He looks back to the ground, looking for more rocks. He collects three more rocks and throws them out into the water. 

After watching the final ripples dissipate, Eddie plops down onto the ground. He sighs out the last of his anger; sadness and a bone deep tiredness takes its place. 

“Am I really too much?” He questions. He sits criss-crossed and picks at the loose threads in his jeans. 

“Ok, I know he started it, but it wasn’t ok to call him ‘King Steve’. He’s changed, you know he’s changed.” Eddie talks to himself, it helps him debrief after particularly hard situations. Or, any situation, if he’s honest. 

“I still love him,” Eddie says, and he does. He really fucking loves Steve. Steve is his favorite person in the world, but what he said really fucking hurt. 

“The question is, does Steve love me?” Eddie questions. Even though Steve had yelled at him and picked the fight, Eddie feels it in his bones that Steve loves him. Steve shows that he loves him every single day. He still shows ways that he loves him even when he’s upset. Like last night, where Steve still made sure Eddie had eaten even though he was exhausted and still upset from work. 

Eddie wants to go find Steve, to apologize and hear him out. He wants to make sure Steve still knows that Eddie loves him, even though they just yelled at each other. 

But Steve asked for space, demanded more like it, but still. Eddie knows that Steve still needs space, Eddie will respect that. He gets up from his spot on the ground and climbs back into his van. He’ll give Steve his space tonight, and in the morning he’ll go over to Steve’s. 

Eddie shifts the gear into reverse and turns around. He pulls back onto the main road, turning to head back to the trailer. They’ll figure it out in the morning. 

Steve wakes up the next day. His blinds are shut, but he can tell it’s later than he normally would be awake based on the illuminated numbers on his alarm clock. He rubs at his eyes, remembering the night before. He needs to go apologize to Eddie. He opts to skip breakfast and go straight over to Eddie’s, after changing of course. 

He rolls out of bed and starts shucking off his pajama pants. He changes into new clothes, a light colored polo with jeans. He slips on his sneakers before stepping into the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and fixes his hair. He doesn’t spend too long styling it, he wants to get over to Eddie’s as soon as possible. 

He jogs down the stairs, pulling on his jacket before pulling the door open. He’s about to step out when, 

“Eddie?” Steve asks. Eddie is standing on his porch, looking up from where he was looking at the pavement. It looks like he was pacing around before Steve had opened the door. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks. He tilts his head slightly as he speaks. 

“I wanted to apologize.” Eddie straightens out to look at Steve. He looks determined, but genuine nonetheless. 

“What, why?” Steve should be the one apologizing, not Eddie. Eddie was right, he really hadn’t done anything wrong. Steve was the one in the wrong. 

“I uh, I called you some hurtful things that I didn’t mean yesterday.” He says. Steve shakes his head,

“Eddie, you don’t need to apologize. You were being pretty accurate, man. I was acting like a total dick. I had a really bad day at work and I took it out on you, which I really shouldn’t have. I said you were too much; You’re not. You’re perfect just the way you are. I’m so sorry, Eddie.” Steve looks into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie softens at Steve’s apology. 

“I’m sorry too, Steve. I didn’t mean it when I called you King Steve. You’ve changed, you’re kind and loving and nothing like King Steve was. You show me that every single day. I just knew that it would hurt you. Which is, really fucked up. I was hurt from you saying that I was too much, but that doesn’t excuse me from hurting you right back.” Eddie says, reaching out to hold onto Steve’s hands. 

Steve smiles softly at Eddie. He holds firmly onto Eddie’s hands and pulls him into the house. Once he shuts the door behind Eddie, Steve pulls him into a tight hug. After a couple of minutes of hugging, Steve pulls away. He looks deeply into Eddie’s eyes, still holding onto his arms. 

He leans forward and kisses Eddie on the lips. Eddie grins into the kiss and Steve smiles right back. They’re less kissing and more just pressing their smiles into each other, but it’s the thought that counts. 

They both hold onto each other, knowing that they’re ok. They forgive each other, and love each other all the same. They’re ok. They’re ok now and they’ll be ok in the future. There are more fights and apologies to come, but they’ll be ok. 

No matter the space between them, no matter the angry shouts and unreasonable arguments; they’ll love each other more and more each day. They’ll be ok, they’re ok.

[lavenderpanic]

NEW FIC

Okay I've been messing around with this idea for like months and i only have like 3k words written and I wanted to test the waters to see if this is something you guys are interested in reading.

Brief synopsis: Bucky, a 23 year old college dropout, lives with his fiancé Brock Rumlow by the small New England college Brock is a professor at. Between his OCD and his anxiety and the gender dysphoria his fiancé assures him is all in his head, he struggles to find purpose and happiness. That is, until his fiancé's graduate student, Steve Rogers, moves into town and disrupts everything Bucky thought he knew.

Excerpt below cut, TW: OCD, DV, intentional midgendering/deadnaming, SH behaviors, coercion

Bucky peeks his head into the living room. There are only three men besides his fiancé, but the conversation is already too loud. Brock always says Bucky is just especially sensitive, that he has a naturally nervous predisposition, that’s why he’s best suited to staying home most of the time. He’s right, Bucky is sensitive, to noises and lights and crowds. Brock is so kind to not force him to go out. When he was a kid, his parents always thought he was faking it for attention, so they’d make him go to church and school and the grocery store even when he was overwhelmed. Brock never makes him leave if he doesn’t want to. And sometimes, even if he does want to, Brock knows it’s better for him to stay inside.

“Jamie, why don’t you bring out the drinks?” Brock calls.

Bucky’s back stiffens and he takes a slow breath. The men probably won’t even want to talk to him, they rarely do, beyond simple pleasantries. He just needs to smile and look nice. He grabs the silver tray of gin and tonics and walks into the living room with a timid little smile. He recognizes two of the men, other professors from the university, Rollins and Sitwell, he actually took a course with Rollins before he dropped out, but he doesn’t recognize the third. He looks barely older than Bucky himself, with his sandy hair and round, blue eyes, like perfectly ripe blueberries.

He doesn’t dress like the other men, either. During their classes, sure, they may dress nicely, in suits or button-ups with pressed slacks, but when they get together outside of that, they nearly always wear jeans, maybe a nice shirt or a sweater if they care enough that night. But the younger man, the blond, he’s dressed up like a vaguely homosexual humanities major from a nineties movie about a college in New England. Sweater vest, pants in a cinnamon-y kind of brown, a cream-white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

Brock pecks Bucky’s cheek as he places the tray down on the coffee table, next to the platters of carefully-selected crackers and nuts and cheeses that Bucky has spent the last two years learning how to curate. Brock’s real particular about shit like that. “Thanks, babe,” Brock says gently.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” Bucky whispers, sidling up close to him and glancing at the other men. “Like… half an hour more, I think? The potatoes just need a bit longer.”

“Of course, babydoll,” Brock murmurs, then kisses Bucky’s cheek again. “Go on, you don’t have to stay in here.”

Bucky smiles thankfully and disappears back into the kitchen. It’s a gorgeous kitchen, Brock wanted to gut it and rebuild it all marble and sleek, but Bucky begged him to keep it the way it is. It has beautiful hand painted tiles and dark-stained wooden cabinets and the most perfectly-worn brass fixtures. Brock finally agreed to keep it the way he bought it, if only because Bucky’s the one who spends so much time in the kitchen.

The kitchen smells glorious, the whole apartment does, really. Like thyme and garlic and the orange-cranberry cake he baked this afternoon. The potatoes in the oven are a soft golden-brown, encrusted with herbs, and the steak is resting on the counter. He did a good job. Brock will be happy with him. He didn’t mess up like last time.

He decides to start on the icing for the cake, a simple powdered sugar icing, perhaps with a squeeze or two of orange juice. He plucks the leftover orange from the ceramic fruit bowl and places it down on the counter before going to the cupboard and reaching for the paper bag of icing sugar. He has to stand on his tiptoes and lean against the counter and he’s still barely tall enough to brush his fingers against the bottom of the bag. He gets a loose grip on it when–

“Oh, hey, do you need help with that?”

Bucky whirls around in surprise, sending the bag tumbling to the ground. Nearly half of it flies out in a sugary cloud, painting the antique tiles an ashy grey. On the other side of the cloud stands the blond, the young man who Bucky still hasn’t been introduced to.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he says with wide eyes.

“No, no, my fault,” Bucky whispers. Brock is going to be so mad with him for making such a bad mess. He’ll need to really mop it, maybe twice or even three times, fine sugar is almost impossible to clean properly. “Sorry.”

“No, nonsense, do you have a broom or something, I could–”

Bucky shakes his head quickly and gestures for Steve to return to the men before he finds his voice. “‘S not your fault, I can clean it. Do you… you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Rumlow just said there would be seltzer or soda or something in here. I’m not much of a drinker,” he laughs apologetically.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Bucky nods. He opens the fridge to reveal shelves upon shelves of perfectly organized food, labeled tupperwares, straight lines of soda cans. “Any flavor you prefer?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah, lemon would be great, thanks.” Bucky hands him a silvery can with a little lemon slice embossed into its front, careful not to slip into the mess of sugar. “Oh, I’m Steve, by the way. I’m a PhD candidate, I just moved here. I’m, um, TA-ing for one of Rumlow’s courses, and I’m teaching one myself.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting,” Bucky hums. He struggles to think of an intelligent-sounding thing to say next. “What are you, like… getting your PhD in?”

Steve starts to say something, he nearly launches into what must be a very rehearsed recitation of his field of study, but Brock appears in the doorway next to him a moment later, places a hand on his far shoulder like they’re pals. Brock’s easy smile falls from his face when he sees the pile of sugar in the very center of the kitchen. Bucky instinctively takes a step back at the displeasure written into every line of his face. “What’s taking so long?” Brock chuckles, but there isn’t any humor in it.

“I’m really sorry, man,” Steve chuckles, ducking his head in faux-embarrassment. “I knocked over the sugar when I went to open the fridge, stupid mistake.”

Brock’s posture softens a bit, his shoulders drop and he stops glaring at Bucky quite so menacingly. “Yeah, she can clean it up, don’t worry about it.”

Bucky shoots Steve a little thankful grin as the two men walk out of the kitchen. He manages to salvage the sugar that didn’t fall out of the bag and does his best to brush as much of the mess on the floor into a trash bag as he can. He’ll clean the rest tonight, once everyone leaves and he can really scrub at the tile.

He doesn’t get the chance to make the icing before he has to plate up dinner, but that’s fine, the men usually like to drink and talk a bit in between dinner and dessert, so he should have plenty of time to ice the cake in between. He sets five plates full of potatoes and steak and grilled asparagus on the table and calls in for the men. He sits at Brock’s side. He doesn’t have steak, he doesn’t really like to eat meat, it feels weird against his teeth, but he does love potatoes and asparagus. He manages to finish off his plate, which earns him a small nod of approval from his fiancé.

“So, Jamie, what do you do?” Steve asks, once there’s a lull in conversation.

Bucky takes a shaky breath and glances to Brock before answering. “I really just take care of the home, I don’t… work or anything.”

The focus is quickly drawn away from him, and he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t have anything interesting to add to any conversation. Not unless the topic is baked goods or bookshelves or something. He isn’t good at small talk, but it’s okay, because people don’t usually want to talk to him anyway.

He clears the table while the men chat in the living room. He notices Steve glancing at him through the doorway that connects the living room to the dining room, which makes him a bit uneasy, but people who meet him through Brock usually are a bit surprised to realize he’s so young. There’s only a seventeen year gap, but Bucky knows he’s still quite young. Most people don’t expect a forty-year-old professor to have a twenty-three-year-old fiancée at home. Bucky doesn’t mind. Brock doesn’t, so why should he?

He makes the icing once the table is re-set with clean dessert dishes, a simple icing, vanilla and powdered sugar and milk and a bit of orange juice. He drizzles it neatly onto the bundt cake and places it on the table proudly and waits in the kitchen until the men decide they’re hungry again. Steve sits next to Bucky this time. Brock on one side, Steve on the other.

“Shit, this is good,” Steve curses under his breath. The other men are too busy talking about something Bucky doesn’t understand to compliment him, but he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t need to be thanked for doing what’s expected of him. “Is this from, like, scratch?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, grinning a bit. “It’s a recipe I developed. I have a lot of time. I made a lot of lemon blueberry cake this summer and I thought I could adapt it for autumn.”

“Are you gonna eat some? Seriously, this is like… better than bakery quality.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Bucky lies. He’s on a diet. Not a strict one, but he absolutely couldn’t fit a whole slice of cake into his daily calorie allotment. Maybe if he doesn’t eat breakfast or lunch tomorrow, he could have a leftover slice after dinner.

He busies himself in the kitchen, packing up leftovers and wiping down the counters, while the men say their goodbyes. As expected, moments after the door shuts, Brock appears in the kitchen. “You need to clean the floor,” He says, as if that hasn’t been the only thing on Bucky’s mind all evening.

“I will,” Bucky promises earnestly. “Did I do good tonight?”

“Well, darling,” Brock corrects with a little chuckle. “Yes, you did very well. Such a lovely hostess,” he teases, which makes Bucky’s cheeks go a bit pink, he never does like when Brock makes such a point of calling him a woman, but he knows he meant it as a compliment so he doesn’t protest.

“Thank you,” Bucky grins.

“Come to the bedroom once this is all cleaned up, alright?”

“Alright,” Bucky parrots nervously. He’ll have to hurry up his cleaning, Brock gets mad when he thinks Bucky is procrastinating sex. Bucky doesn’t want to be punished tonight. Having to see so many people already exhausted him, and he narrowly escaped a punishment for dropping the sugar all over the kitchen floor.

But still, he presses a polite smile onto his face and nods and Brock leaves him alone to clean. After two passes with a mop, there are only a few sticky streaks left behind. He’ll really scrub it clean tomorrow, but Brock probably won’t notice in the interim.

Bucky reluctantly shuffles up the stairs to the bedroom. Brock is laying down on the bed, laptop balanced on his thighs. Bucky resists the urge to remind him not to wear outside clothes on the fresh comforter, just barely, Brock gets annoyed when he gets all obsessive about that kind of stuff. Bucky perches delicately on the end of the bed and waits for Brock to finish whatever he’s typing up. He rushes Brock, sometimes, because he’s selfish with Brock’s time. He’s trying to get better, though.

Finally, Brock closes his computer and places it on the side table. He looks at Bucky for several tense breaths. Bucky fidgets anxiously. Is something wrong? Is he doing something wrong? He glances down unsurely at what he’s wearing. “I noticed you were doing it again,” Brock finally states.

“Doing what?” Bucky whispers.

“Scratching your arms.”

“I haven’t been,” Bucky defends quickly. His hands immediately go to circle his forearms, he crosses them over his chest protectively.

“I saw you doing it tonight,” Brock says slowly. “Take off your sweater, Jamie. And roll up those sleeves, too.”

Bucky pulls his knit sweater over his head, then bunches up the long sleeves of his dress to his elbows so his forearms are visible. All along his arms, blanketed by a sheer layer of iridescent scars, soft violet bruises blossom alongside irritated-looking scratches, some newer than others. He looks away, embarrassed. He truly didn’t notice he was doing it, it’s been a habit for so long that he rarely registers it. Brock coos with mock-sympathy and sits up a bit, gesturing for Bucky to scoot closer. He does.

“Baby, you need to stop doing that, look how ugly they are. You’re just making it harder for the scars to heal.”

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles. Brock takes him by the wrists, turns his mottled arms this way and that. After a few moments of inspection, Brock drops his arms again and reaches his hands for his belt. “No, please, I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers desperately, shrinking away from his fiancé as discreetly as he can manage.

“Hands out.”

Bucky lifts his hands up, facing the palms toward Brock. They’re trembling, but he knows better than to refuse. Brock carefully folds his belt in half and strikes Bucky’s palms, ten times, in close succession. Bucky flinches, but he never takes his hands away. Brock is right to discipline him. He’s right, he needs to break this habit. It is ugly. He’s ugly. Brock deserves better than that. “Thank you,” he says quickly, as Brock tosses the belt to the side and leans back against the headboard.

“I’m just trying to help you, darling, you know that.”

“I do,” Bucky nods, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Brock always keeps the house so freezing. Bucky usually doesn’t mind, but he always feels so shaky when Brock makes him get undressed. His fingertips turn all blue.

Brock undoes his pants, spreads his legs to either side of Bucky so he can crawl forward and situate himself on his stomach. He takes Brock’s dick out of his pants and strokes at it a couple times, but it’s already erect. He takes it into his mouth and sucks gently at the head, he wants to prolong this part to hopefully avoid having Brock fuck into the back of his throat for too long. He hates that. One time he got sick, and Brock got so mad, even though Bucky kind of felt, deep down, like it was Brock’s fault. Since then, every time Brock starts gripping onto his hair and thrusting down his throat, he feels panic tugging at his lungs and nausea pooling low in his stomach.

Thankfully, he leaves Bucky in control for most of the blowjob, he lets him wrap his hands around the length left out of his mouth and stroke at it, which keeps him mollified, even if Bucky should try a bit harder to deepthroat him. Before he can come, he lifts Bucky off of his dick. Bucky blinks and sniffles unsurely as oxygen floods into his lungs. He didn’t–

Bucky flinches as a string of come lands over his eye. Another one, in his hair. He breathes shakily and retches shallowly and waits for Brock to be done. Thankfully, Brock isn’t very chatty after sex. He just throws a few tissues at him and starts scrolling through his phone, dick still hanging out of his undone fly. Bucky used to crave intimacy and conversation afterwards but nowadays he’s just so excited to run off to the shower and have a few minutes to himself.

He starts running the shower in the conjoined bathroom before he even starts undressing. He usually likes to let the mirror steam up so he doesn’t have to look at himself more than necessary. It’s not that the dresses and lipstick and frilly blouses don’t make him dysphoric, and he can still see the contours of his body, his chest, his waist, even through the thin layer of steam collected on the mirror, but it makes his evenings just a bit easier.

Sometimes he dares to use Brock’s body wash, the one that smells like, according to the bottle, a volcano, which makes Bucky giggle a bit. Brock rarely notices when he does, and Bucky can usually pass it off rather easily, oh, we’re almost out of mine, if he mentions it. But tonight he doesn’t. Tonight, he scrubs himself down with his apricot-sweet gel and lathers his hair until it’s sleek and shiny with coconut shampoo and conditioner. Sometimes, he tries to buy nice girly things, scents that make him happy, in some lame attempt to convince himself that he can be happy as a woman. That he can embrace it, embrace the delicate femininity Brock so desperately wants him to embody. So far, he hasn’t had much luck.

[artiststarme]

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I wasn't originally going to write about Dustin's reaction but @doubleb11 gave me the idea. I hope it meets your expectations! We go back to Steve's POV in Chicago in the next part. Thank you again for everyone's nice comments!

~*~*~*~

It was no secret that Dustin was struggling. He tried to remain hopeful and upbeat but his insecurities made maintaining a positive attitude difficult. Why would Steve leave? He had promised that he would always be there for Dustin. But so had his deceased grandparents and his dad that left without so much as a goodbye. 

The common denominator had to be Dustin. He knew that he was too sarcastic, too smart to be relatable, and kind of annoying. But he thought Steve understood. He’s always had trouble connecting with people but he thought that Steve was a lifelong friend, an older brother, if you will, that would never drift away. Since the time Steve gave him poor dating advice while looking for Dart, they had been best friends. So why would he leave?

Looking back, he could see why Steve might have underestimated his own importance to the Party. All of its members were a bit emotionally repressed and didn’t know how to talk about their feelings. They all tended to show their love through acts of service or quality time instead of words of affirmation. They did show their love and he thought Steve understood their feelings. But still, if Steve needed verbal validation, he didn’t get any. And Dustin had been a bit too preoccupied talking to Suzie to spend time with him, instead using the excuse of needing a ride to get in his regular amount of ‘Steve-time’. Regardless of his reasons, he felt guilty and useless when it came to searching for the older boy. 

It had been a mere two days since they had all found out about Steve’s leave and it was already affecting Dustin. When he wasn’t pretending to be okay, throwing a tantrum, or worrying about Steve’s well-being, he was ignoring the glances cast in his direction by the other Party members. Eddie had given him a ride to Mike’s for DnD and had tried to ask how he was doing. Dustin pretended to not hear the question and thanked him for the ride. Lucas had asked him if Steve had reached out yet. No, why would he? Dustin probably caused him to leave. Max and El asked if he was alright since he was quieter than usual. No, stop talking to him. Mike and Will avoided asking him questions but their concerned gazes were just as annoying. He was fine. 

Who cares that his pseudo-older brother left without talking to him just like his deadbeat dad? Not him. 

Joyce gave him a ride home from Mike’s when she picked up Will. She assured him that Hopper was doing everything he could to find Steve and that they’d have him home in no time. Dustin couldn’t find it himself to believe her. He just thanked her for the ride and made his way inside. He just wanted a night alone without anyone checking on him or bringing up Steve.

His mom was waiting for him in the kitchen and gave him a gentle smile when he walked in. “How was your game, Dusty?”

Dustin sighed. He wasn't in the mood to talk but his mom wasn’t aware of the situation and she certainly didn’t deserve any of his snark. “Hi mom, it was fun. Will is DM’ing again and Eddie has been giving him pointers. He was ruthless today.”

She hummed and pinched his cheek when she handed him the plate she had saved him from dinner. “Oh goodness, I almost forgot! Your friend Steve called to talk to you. I told him that you were with Mike today. He didn’t leave a message but you might want to call him later, okay Dusty? He sounded a little strange.”

“STEVE CALLED?” Dustin practically screamed as he whipped around in his seat, the bread roll propelling from his hand into a kitchen cabinet. 

His mother looked slightly alarmed but also woefully accustomed to his flamboyant antics. “Yes, Dusty. Don’t throw food, what did that dinner roll ever do to you?”

Dustin’s eyes rolled hard. “I’m sorry. You said Steve called? What did he say? Was he okay? Was he in distress?”

“No, he sounded a bit tired but that’s our Steve. He just asked for you and didn’t have a message to leave once I told him you were out. He will probably call back sometime later tonight or tomorrow sometime.”

Dustin felt his eyes fill with tears and his bottom lip started to quiver. Steve had tried to talk to him and he wasn’t there. What if he was hurt or in danger and Dustin was too busy playing make-believe to take his call? He would never forgive himself.

“Dusty? Oh no, honey! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” His mother fretted over him and her concern is what pushed him over the edge. 

Dustin burst into big, fat, ugly tears. He sobbed into his mother’s embrace and cried out his feelings of worry, sadness, and angered abandonment. His mom cooed over him and pet her hand through his unstyled curls until he found the strength to speak.

“Mom, Steve left. He just left Hawkins without telling anyone. He’s missing and we don’t know how to find him! And now he called and I wasn’t there! What if he’s hurt and he called me to help him? He left because I was a bad friend and now he’s gone! We can’t even find a way to bring him back.” Dustin wailed through sullied tears. 

Claudia whispered words of comfort and encouragement as she held her sad boy in her arms. “Dusty, he sounded fine. I’m sure he was just calling to check in on you and tell you where he is. I don’t know why he would leave so suddenly but I doubt it was because of you, Dusty.”

“No mom, it was me! He’s been distant and sad for weeks and I told the Party to give him space. Me! I said that. I told them to leave him alone and no one checked in on him. I never even told him what he meant to me. What if he never comes back, mom? He’ll never know how much we love him!”

Claudia was confused with this whole situation. She’s known Steve for nearly three years now and has been nothing but impressed by the older boy. He helped her care for her little Dusty while she was at work or her book clubs. Steve didn’t have a selfish bone in his body, always refusing to take her money for babysitting and relinquishing his free time to drive her admittedly needy son around. It doesn’t make any sense for Steve to abandon the kids he helped raise, the kids who counted on him a fair amount, to leave town out of nowhere. The young man that she knew would never knowingly cause such distress in her little Dusty or his friends. 

“Dusty, I think Steve is dealing with something beyond you or the rest of your friends. He might need some time to work on it but he will be back and he knows how much he means to you. Just give him time. He called today and the next time he calls, I’ll take a message. Alright? Everything will be fine.”

God, he hoped his mom was right about this. Dustin did feel better at her words but there was still a seed of doubt in his mind. Unfortunately, there was nothing else he could do about the situation until Hopper tracked Steve down or until Steve reached out again. For now, he would wait for his best friend to call again and alert the Party to give them the update. For now, he would have hope. 

Part 1 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 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20: Epilogue

Taglist:@nickavalens@conversesweetheart@themostunoriginalpersonever@swimmingbirdrunningrock@eddiethegreatteddybear @call-me-big-eyes @cornwallisandkerley @moonshadows-13 @glittergluekintsugi @cpidcupk @doubleb11 @mentalcyborg @amoris-no-smut-allowed @purple-lemonade @labels-are-for-the-weak @thebrazilianatheist @rajumat @livelaughlexa @5ammi90 @colorful565 @marvelousforlife @chaoticcoffeequeen @gregre369 @suddenlyinlove@thegreatmistake @stillfullofshit @nburkhardt @batxsignalsx @newunknowns @thosemessyvibes @tailsfromthecrypt@luciana-rowan @bird-with-pencils @adaed5 @lolawon @flustratedcas @iwillfindmyneverland @messrs-weasley @skoomy-doompy @yearningagain @darkwitchoferie @forest-fogg @bitchysunflower @stardust-era @newtstabber@bobatrash-queen @notjasontxdd

[familyvideostevie]

AHHHHHHH no good at waiting is well & truly my fav au it’s just so perfect!!!!!!!! i know ppl have requested seeing steve’s pov when y/n FLEES but i don’t think my little heart can take anymore angst………. would love to see something about maybe y/n moving into his lil loft with him or something sweet🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

thank you thank you thank you!! i'm with you on the angst haha, it makes my heart hurt! so here's some fluff of bee girl not quite moving in but steve giving her keys instead <3

steve gives bee girl the keys to his loft, 1k a no good at waiting one-shot | au masterlist ___ It's cold. You're almost through winter but the chill clings to everything. You're cold when you wake up, cold at work, cold when you come home. You're cold in the cab of the truck as you drive to Steve's and you are most certainly cold as you sit on the metal staircase and wait for him.

You really should have just gone to the farm store but you're feeling a bit too tired to speak to anyone but your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who said he'd be off almost twenty minutes ago. Not that you really mind waiting -- it's just that the staircase is frigid through your clothes and you really want to hug him and you're tired.

And then you hear him calling your name. He must have gone looking for you in the main buildings, where any smart person would be.

"I'm here, Steve!" you call. You think you hear him curse then he rounds the corner and jogs into the barn. His nose is pink and he's in a puffy coat that makes him look much cuter than he has any right to.

"God, sorry I took so long. Have you been waiting out here this whole time?" he asks in disbelief. "Christ, baby, it's way too cold for that." You know he's actually worried since he called you baby. Usually, he says that in bed, or when he's feeling incredibly tender. He reaches for you and you stand, allowing him to rub your arms with his gloved hands before he starts up the staircase with you in tow.

"If you get milk on the stove we can have hot chocolate," he says as he unlocks the door. His keys jingle and the door creaks a little when he pushes it in. "I'm going to hop in the shower but please get warm, okay? We can spoon as soon as I don't smell like cow." He makes quick work of your layers and then his own, your fingers a little too frozen to work the zipper properly.

"Unless you want to shower, too?" he asks, concern turning to teasing. "I can make room." You laugh but shake your head.

"Nice try, but I'll be fine. Another time." He sighs in dramatic disappointment but winks right after.

"I'll hold you to that." He heads for the bathroom and you tut.

"Steve," you call after him, catching his fingers before he can get too far. You shiver again and he frowns. "You didn't really say hello." You tug on his hand and he returns to you, arms wrapping around your waist as the frown turns to a soft smile.

"I didn't, did I? Sorry 'bout that." He kisses you softly, lips a little chilled against yours but sweet all the same. "Hi," he says. "How was your day?" His eyes search your face, looking at you properly for the first time since he last saw you yesterday.

"Good," you say. You tuck a flyaway behind his ear. "Just wanted a kiss. Now you can go shower." He laughs and kisses you once more for good measure before obeying. You get the milk on the stove and find his cocoa powder in the cabinet before changing into comfy clothes -- sweatpants and a hoodie from the drawer in his dresser that seems to have become yours.

You look around the apartment and see traces of yourself everywhere. Polaroids of you on the fridge, a notepad with your handwriting on the counter. Pairs of your shoes by the door and your jacket and spare gloves hanging on the rack. Your cereal brand on top of the fridge and your books on his shelves.

It kind of looks like you live here, too.

You settle yourself at the table with one of your books and wait for Steve. The chill has mostly faded from your bones in the short time it takes for him to finish, coming out of the bathroom with sweats slung low on his hips and toweling his hair.

"Hey," he says, making his way to the dresser to find a shirt. "I was thinking in the shower--"

"Sounds dirty," you interrupt.

He pads into the kitchen barefoot but no longer bare-chested. "Ha, ha," he mocks. "I was thinking that you really don't need to wait outside for me, like, ever." He moves to stir the milk and you admire the lines of his back through his shirt.

"Well, I could have gone to the farm store but I only wanted to see you--"

"Do you want a key?" he blurts out, finally turning to you. "I mean, will you use a key if I give you one?" His eyes are soft and he doesn't look nervous, exactly. He looks excited.

"Oh," you say. You stand from the chair and hug him where he stands so tight that he makes a little noise. "Are you sure?" Your mouth brushes his earlobe and he sticks his palms under your layers to rest on the skin of your back.

"I mean, look around, honey," he laughs. You feel it in your chest. "You basically live here already. And I know your own space is important so I don't want you to give that up, but I want this to be your space, too. Whenever you want."

"I'd love a key, Steve," you whisper. "Thank you." He kisses your temple.

"Wanna get the mugs?" he asks. "And I was serious about spooning, you know. That bed has both of our names on it."

You can't help it -- you kiss him one, twice, three times before you pull away to get the mugs. Someday you'll be doing this in a home you both properly share, you just know it. But for now, hot chocolate and cuddling is more than enough.

[queen-of-hellfire666]

Pairing: Darry X female reader The Outsiders

Warnings: Fluff & my first smut

It was morning and Darry was in the kitchen making breakfast. I smile running to him, he picks me up and twirls me around kissing me softly. Soda and pony were still asleep. “Wanna help?” I nod cracking open some eggs.

No too long afterwards the gang piles in. Steve and Two-Bit finally Dally and Johnny.

I have been with Darrel Curtis for a little over 6 years. He has been tough with Pony in the past and I always tried to stop it. He just didn’t want pony to turn out bad.

I smile kissing his cheek before pulling out a water. “Pass me a beer would ya?” Two-But smiles. “Oh a water? Okay!” I throw him a water ignoring the beer part. “Hey!” He groans. “Sober up Matthews or I’m gonna Beat you.” He smirks and drinks the water.

“I’m gonna go wake pony and Soda up.” I smile before waking to their room. “Ponyboy..” I whisper softly shaking him. “Mmmmm.” He groans. “Food is almost done kiddo.”

“You two Soda. Come on.” I smirk. “Okay have it your way. Oh Steve!” Steve runs in before toppling on soda and rough housing him.

Ponyboy jumps up quickly. I walk back to Darry. “So, Mr. Curtis.” He holds me in his arms. “What are we doing today?” I ask as he takes a swig of milk. “Well. I was hoping we could get some quick shopping in and spend the day together doing whatever you want.” He smirks.

“Whatever I want?” I watch his smirk fade. “Now-Now hold on.” I laugh softly. “It’s fine. I just wanna spend time, whether it be cuddling, a movie, or even a date. I don’t care.” I kiss his lips. They’re not soft but not rough. He’s always gentle no matter what.

“Alright mrs. Curtis. Have it your way.” I smile but pause and turn back to him. “What did you just say?” He looks at me. “Have it your way?”

“No.. No before that.” He takes a bite of bacon: “Mrs. Curtis?” I kiss him so hard he almost tips back in his chair. “What was that for?” He smirks. “Thank you.” I go to sit down but Darry grabs me back on his lap.

“I was gonna get a chair.” I laugh. “Too bad. I’m your chair now.” I scoff biting the bacon from his hand. “Hey.” He playfully grins.

“Darry, is it okay if me and Pony go get some icecream and hangout downtown for a bit?” Soda softly asks. “Steve is going too.” Darry nods. “Be back for lunch you hear?” They all nod and quickly leave. “I love you.”

He whispers in my ear putting his chin on my shoulder. “I love you too.” I kiss his nose and Finnish my food. “Okay, I’m grabbing the list, get the truck going.” He sighs getting up after I do.

The whole ride there was filled with horrible Karaoke. I can’t Believe I have such an amazing boyfriend.

Shopping was easy with Darry. I pushed the cart and got smaller things, he would grab stuff off of high shelves. To be honest if Darry’s hair wasn’t a little greased we wouldn’t have been counted as greasers.

I never grease my hair or nothing, it’s always fluffy and put up or put back with a pin. I dress nice when we go out for the most part. Darry wears a black shirt and jeans most the time anyway.

After shopping we went ahead and went home to prepare lunch for the hungry boys.

Johnny could eat 2 sandwiches, Two-Bit a whole chocolate cake and a beer, Steve a half of pack a’ meat, Soda always loved sweet treats and could eat a whole brownie cake by himself, Dallas never really ate here but when he did he chowed down and pony boy never eats much.

Pony always never did eat much. It’s just a plain form of habit I guess. He sure is smart though.

I feel a pair of hands break my thoughts and sway through the small kitchen with me. “Can you get the plates from the top cabinet?” I ask softly as I put chicken in the oven. As I bend over Darry reaches up and man on man the friction.

He softly groans. I smirk. “Later not right now.” I read his mind. He shot me a wicked grin and placed out the plates. I continue cooking food for another 10 minutes or so before I hear Ponyboy and Johnny.

“I’m telling you the comic book was all like ‘death death! Dead!!” Ponyboy exclaims walking in the kitchen. “Hungry boys?” I ask softly. “Yes, ma’am. “ Ponyboy groans. “I’m starving.”

I give him a plate of food. “Johnny?” He nods. Johnny didn’t talk much to me. I hand him a plate too, a bigger serving because I know Johnny isn’t fed at home.

Before I can say anything Darry is grabbing my hand and dragging me off to the bathroom. “The rest of the gang will be here soon now and I can’t walk around like this.” He smirks.

He places me up on the counter top before taking his pants down just enough.

He pushes up my dress and slides down my panties. “Darrel Curtis, your suppose to be the responsible one..” I click my tongue.

He rolls his eyes before grabbing a condom and sliding it on. “We ain’t never used one of those before?” I look at him. “Yeah but, I’m also not planning on being dumb and not pulling out.” He smirks making me bite my lip.

Darry is always gentle. Today he isn’t. The first thrust is hard and quick. My head falls back hitting the wall. “Oh, Darry please faster.” I whisper grabbing his neck. His pace picks up fast enough for the counter to hit the wall.

“Darry.. Ponyboy and Johnny, and the gang!” He shrugs. “They’re down the hall talking they won’t.. hear.” He thrusts harder. He kisses me quickly hiding my loud moan. “Do you trust me?” He looks at me.

I nod softly. “Don’t judge me, I read about this alright.” He picks me up. “Hold on to me.” I wrap my arms and legs around him. He thrusts up even harder and faster. “Darry!!” I whimper. “Come on, cum for me darling.”

Just like that, I clench hard around him holding onto him tight. Him hitting his climax when so as well. He smirks before sitting me on the counter and throwing away the condom. He Hands me a clean pair of jeans and shirt to wear. “Let me..” he pulls his pants up.

He spreads my legs again and licks me clean. I groan softly. He continues to eat me out. “I’m gonna cum again.” I whisper grabbing his hair.

Just like that, I’m at another climax. He licks me completely clean and grins. “Get dressed darlin.” He fixes his hair and walks out to the kitchen.

As I walk back out to the kitchen I hear Two-Bits laugh. Darry shoots me his million dollar grin. I smile sitting on his lap. I take a bite of my food before Soda looks at Darry then at me. He starts smirking before whispering something to Steve making Steve grin at us.

I lay back my head on Darry’s shoulder. “I love you, Darrel Curtis.” I kiss him softly. “I love you too y/n Curtis.” I had the perfect life no matter what

[rillils]

notes: I’ve been going through a bit of a rough time lately, writer’s block being just one of the issues, so I thought I’d put everything on hold for a little while, grab a prompt from a prompt generator and see what happened. Today’s prompt was: cooking for one another or cooking together. Here goes nothing :3 wordcount: 1137 additional tags: modern setting – no powers AU, pre-serum Steve, fluff fluff fluff, domesticity, they haven’t tied the knot yet but they’ve been practically married since they were 15 pass it on. You can also find this ficlet on AO3!

🍂🍁🍂

November has the crisp sound of crushed leaves, and the color of Bucky’s cheeks stung pink by the wind.

His smile is a soft thing when he reaches his arm out to wrap around Steve’s shoulders, herding him close into his side. “Wanna head back?”

Steve shrugs, “Yeah, if you want,” but his head has already found its natural place in the Steve-shaped slot under Bucky’s chin, where the wool lining of Bucky’s coat collar will tickle his cheek all the way home.

“I’m not cold, though,” Steve wishes to inform him, while Bucky guides them down the street at an easy promenade pace.

“’Course not,” Bucky agrees, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss to the top of Steve’s ruffled head. “Should have worn a hat there, Stevie. Wanna borrow mine? You know I don’t mind.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“’Kay.” A beat of silence. Two. Three. “Hey, you’ve got your gloves on, right?”

“Sure,” Steve replies, slipping his very much bare hand into the warmth of Bucky’s coat pocket.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky hums against Steve’s temple, absolutely and irrevocably one-hundred-percent fooled. “You know you’ll end up getting frostbite again, don’t ya.”

His voice brushes warmly against Steve’s cold skin, and Steve soaks it up like it’s the last summer sun, ducking his head low so Bucky won’t see him grin. “Yes, Ma.”

If Bucky then chooses crime and deliberately tickles him just under his ribs, over the spot he’s known since 2nd grade will make Steve produce the most embarrassingly high-pitched squeals, then Steve may have, perhaps, had it coming just a little bit.

He catches their reflection in the shop windows as they pass by; there’s Bucky’s grinning profile right there, his bangs mussed by the cold breeze, stirring fuzzily under his beanie; Steve’s own laughing face, the red tip of his nose, and their legs stepping together in perfect sync, one-two, one-two, fluid and easy, like they have a million times before. It fills him with a soft kind of awe, the way they move as one. If life was a poem, Steve is sure their bodies would rhyme.

Bucky’s hand curls snugly around his shoulder, bringing them just that little bit closer. “Let’s make something nice and warm for dinner.”

“Can it have potatoes?”

He doesn’t need to see Bucky’s smile; he can hear it in his voice, soft and amused, half-hidden in the fluff of Steve’s hair.

“Deal.”

*

Steve leans back against the kitchen island, cuddling a steaming cup of tea to his chest, watching the room – watching Bucky – come to life one ingredient at a time.

Bucky throws him a knowing glance, knife in his right hand, the sleeves of his sweater already pulled back to the elbows. “Are you gonna help at all?”

Steve smiles behind the rim of his cup. “Nope.”

“Called it.”

Dinner is a soft, long-rehearsed symphony, and Steve stands close by and listens gratefully, warmth curling like tender fingers in his chest.

The gentle rhythm of Bucky’s knife on the cutting board, chopping carrots into wedges and dicing potatoes into neat little cubes. The silken glide through pork, cut into bite-sized pieces. The languorous sizzle of onion tossed for a sweet little waltz in a drizzle of oil and a scoop of butter, and the splash of wine from the first and only bottle they’ve bought since moving in, and forgot in the back of a cabinet for months. The lazy simmer of the stew muttering quietly on the stove, like the old ladies in the front rows at Mass, with too many tales to tell and not enough time in between Hail Mary’s to spill them all.

Steve gathers every drop of it, of home wrapping her familiar embrace around him, and leans into the sound with his eyes closed, savoring it, Mm.

“You getting sleepy?”

Bucky’s looking at him curiously; Steve allows himself the pleasure of looking back, taking the time to drink him in. The steam from the pot has caused Bucky’s short hair to curl against his brow, and his eyes are smiling even when his mouth is not, and the hoop of Steve’s apron, the one that says Stick a fork in me, I’m done, sits a little too high around his neck. He’s never looked as beautiful, as heartbreakingly sweet as this. The very same thought crosses Steve’s mind spontaneously at least once every day, and every day it feels just as true as the one before.

“No,” he says, closing his eyes again, “I just like watching you.”

He can hear Bucky’s amused snort loud and clear over the bubble-de-bubble of their stew. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a weirdo, honey?”

Steve hums, contentment spreading from the center of his belly to the length of his limbs, reaching down to his fingers and toes.

“All the time, Buck.”

*

Their ankles twine like young roots under the table.

“Here, tell me how it is.”

Bucky feeds him the first spoonful from his own plate, and Steve indulges him, diligently opening up for the spoon.

Flavor unfolds like a many-layered story on his tongue: the sweet tang of rosemary, a whisper of black pepper, the tender bite of pork and the enticing juice of carrot – each voice speaks to him, describing a richness that cannot come from herbs and spices alone.

It’s the measure of everyday devotion; the care that was poured in every gesture, the peeling and the cutting, the stirring and the dishing. The simple pleasure of making something from scratch and saying, without words, For you.

Steve feels the grin bubble up from the well of his chest. The potato’s so soft, it melts like spun sugar on his tongue.

“Well?”

Bucky’s watching him closely; a small, near-shy smile curling his lips.

There’s something in his eyes, in the way they soften like this, in the gleam always kindled within, that Steve has failed to put a name to since he first saw it there.

Perhaps – he thinks, not for the first time – perhaps it needs no name, only a heart to feel it. And he does feel it, every time Bucky looks at him like this. Deep, deep-set here in his heart, in his stomach; in the golden crucible where tenderness is made.

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” Bucky prods. “Does it taste okay?”

It tastes like so many murmurs of ‘I love you’, is what Steve truly wants to say; but that’s a little secret he’ll keep to himself for now.

He snuggles his sock-clad feet between Bucky’s calves, like he often does on cold nights, when Bucky pulls him back against his chest, and their legs lock together like puzzle pieces under the duvet.

“It’s perfect,” Steve says.

Bucky’s eyes crinkle softly with his smile. Like poetry, Steve tells himself, as he lifts his own spoon.

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 4

Chapter 4 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Chrissy and Steve have a sleepover. During it, they open up about shitty parents, unhealthy habits around food and Steve has a nightmare. It makes them even closer as the year progresses. Meanwhile, Billy is getting more and more frustrated until he snaps and attacks Steve, who is saved by an unlikely hero.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie and buckingham

Warnings: eating disorder, child abuse mention, period typical homophobia, nightmare, vomiting, bullying, f-slur, fighting

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4: The Sleepover

Ever since that Saturday, Chrissy has discovered how easily she can get out of the house and over to Steve’s under the guise of meeting up with people from cheer squad. So, their time together has increased significantly.

Steve is pretty sure Chrissy is his best friend right now.

Of course, they still mostly see each other at school, having practice each day. However, now Steve will drive her home after and they’ll stop by a park and talk for a little bit. And it’s not until two weeks later that Chrissy says: “We could have a sleep over. My mom will be going with my dad to this work party and she said she’d feel better if I’m not alone.”

In all honesty, Steve is kind of blown away that he is her first pick. He has never been anyone’s first pick without performing King Steve. He smiles at her and says: “Course, sounds fun.”

The bit of insecurity that lingered over Chrissy disappears as her face brightens. “Cool, then I’ll see you Saturday,” she says, before skipping over to the changing room.

Chrissy arrives on Saturday quite late, but grinning mischievously as he opens the door. “I stalled, so my mom wouldn’t wait to see, who opened the door. She thinks you’re a very nice christian girl, Stevie.”

“You’re a menace, Chris,” Steve shakes his head as he lets her in. He is excited to have a fun evening with his friend, but also unsure of how the night will go. He is also planning to bring up the food thing, though he doesn’t know how that will go.

She throws her bag in the hall and toes of her shoes. Then she dives into her bag as she says: “I have a copy of the Breakfast Club and you’re not allowed to protest.”

“Whatever you say,” Steve tells her with a fond grin, not having planned on protesting.

It says a lot about how close they’ve gotten that Chrissy moves through his house easily without having been there often. She rummages through all his cabinets in search for a glass and he watches her with amusement from the kitchen threshold.

However, the Harrington kitchen is quite big and they have a lot of cabinets with all sorts of tableware. So after watching her struggle for a bit Steve says: “You can also just ask, you know that, right, Chris?”

Chrissy pouts at him and says: “It’s not my fault that your house in confusing. Where do you keep glasses? I want some water.”

Steve opens a cabinet she hadn’t gotten to yet and fills it up with water, before handing it to her with a flourish: “My lady.”

“Thank you,” she grins, then moves to the living room where she attempts to figure out the TV system the Harringtons have.

Meanwhile Steve gets himself a glass of coke and goes to sit on the couch. He watches as Chrissy continues to press buttons until she figures it out, heart swelling with fondness. It’s nice to have a friend again, he hasn’t had a sleepover in ages.

The last time he watched a movie with someone like this was back when he was still trying to be King Steve. For a second he worries that she thinks this is a date, which he wouldn’t go for even if he were straight, because she is fifteen to his seventeen.

Right when he wonders that, she turns around and huffs: “Your TV is fucking stupid, Stevie. It is evil, I tell you.”

She is in a ratty shirt and her hair is up in an ugly bun. The way she’s complaining reads more like an annoying little sibling than anything else and he’s been on enough dates to know that her behavior isn’t very date-like.

He lets out a relieved breath, before smirking as he gets up, easily starting up the movie as Chrissy rolls her eyes and tells him he’s annoying.

However, she doesn’t complain further and crawls onto the couch, making herself comfortable as Steve starts up the movie and sits down next to her. When he does she flops over him. The move makes Steve smile and he relishes in the friendly contact.

By the time the end credits roll, they’re two vegetables on the couch. Steve is sure they can find something else to watch, but first: “What’s your preferred pizza topping?”

“What?” Chrissy asks, looking up from where she made herself at home in his lap.

“I’m gonna order pizza, what do you want?” Steve clarifies.

“Oh, uhm,” Chrissy says, looking wrong footed. “Not a big pizza fan,” she settles on after a moment.

“Chris,” Steve starts, unsure where to go from now, but knowing he has to say something. “You- you need to eat something. What you’re doing isn’t healthy.”

She straightens up, getting out of his lap as she practically shrinks into the other side of the couch. It rubs Steve wrong, the way she makes herself smaller. She tucks her hair behind her ear and says: “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t do this, Chris,” Steve says, brows pulling together, a lump in his throat.

“Let it go, Steve,” Chrissy shoots back and the use of his name hurts more than he’s willing to admit.

Still, he doesn’t let it affect him. He steels himself and shakes his head. “No. Just no. I’m not letting it go. You barely eat during lunch, you always refuse snacks. Fuck, you’re skin and bones, Chrissy. It shouldn’t be so easy to toss you in the air.”

“You don’t understand,” Chrissy is yelling now.

“Then make me understand,” Steve yells back. “Just fucking talk to me. Explain. Please.”

They’re both breathing heavily after their outbursts, just staring at each other. Neither of them are willing to break the look first, to give in. So, they stand there and wait to see who breaks first. Who will blink. Who will give in.

In the end Chrissy looks away first, her eyes boring holes into the ground as she hunches her shoulders. Quietly she says: “You don’t know what it’s like to live with her.”

“Who?” Steve asks softly, sitting down next to her gently, not yet touching. He doesn’t want her to stop talking.

“My mom,” Chrissy whispers. “She’s always on my case about what I’m eating. It’s suffocating. I’m not even allowed in the kitchen alone. And she’ll- she’ll like hem my clothes continuously, so they’re always too tight and it- it drives me wild. You can’t understand how that feels.”

“I do, though,” Steve tells her. “I get it. It fucking sucks, but you don’t have to listen to her. She’s being an asshole. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be healthy.”

“How the fuck can you know?” Chrissy snaps, her tone venomous. “Look at you. You’re doing perfectly fine. You’re not always getting yelled at, how the fuck can you know?”

“Chrissy, I’m literally being protected by the cheer team, because shit got so bad,” Steve frowns at her harsh words, his own slipping out. “My life also isn’t sunshine and rainbows.”

“Well, it’s not the same,” Chrissy tells him. “Your mother isn’t always breathing down your neck about every calorie. You can do whatever you want.”

The words hit a sore spot and Steve can’t stop the bitter laugh he lets out, something ugly twisting in his chest. “Yeah, I can do whatever I want,” he spits bitterly.

“Stevie?” Chrissy asks, his tone tipping her off that something changed.

“Seriously, Chris?” he says instead of answering her. “You think my parents fucking love me? They have been gone since January. January. I have been by myself for months. They don’t care. They’re off prancing through Europe or some shit, happy to forget me. All I’m good for here is playing their perfect fucking son. And I can’t even do that right.”

He gets off the couch, tears burning in his eyes as he starts pacing: “I’m a screw up. I had to quit basketball and if they ever find out that I did, I’m sure my father will kill me. Literally. He already thinks I’m pathetic. He gave up on me years ago. I am always by myself, having to keep up this charade to make them happy and it’s never enough.”

Steve turns to Chrissy, looking at her with imploring eyes as she sits on the couch without moving a muscle, waiting for the storm to be over.

“I know what a controlling mother is,” he tells her. “They’re never here, but when they are… Fuck, it’s like I can’t do anything right. The way I move is wrong, what I eat, how I eat- shit, some days I feel like I can’t even breathe right.”

“Stevie, I-” Chrissy starts.

“No,” he cuts her off. “I don’t want you to pity me, Chris. That’s not the point of this. I- I’m messing it all up. The point is that I get it. Parents suck. They’re the worst on the fucking planet and we’d be better of without them. I get it. But you can’t let them take everything from you. You deserve better than this, don’t you get it?”

He runs a hand through his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he turns around, waving his arms as he continues his speech. The words that have been built up inside him for so long finally pouring out.

“My parents would hate everything I do, if they ever found out, but that isn’t going to stop me. I like cheerleading. I like having friends. I like it. I don’t care what they think, I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m not going to let them force me to give up what I like. Because I fucking deserve better, okay? And so do you.”

Steve turns back to Chrissy, who is still on the couch, looking quite gobsmacked. He is about to ask what she’s thinking when she burst out into tears.

Panic rises in his chest as he rushes to her side, slinging an arm over her shoulder as he holds her gently. Softly he says: “Hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay. Please, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” Chrissy hiccups, wiping his face with the sleeve of her shirt.

“No need to be sorry,” Steve tells her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m so sorry, Chris.”

“It’s okay, idiot,” Chrissy says, bumping her shoulder against him. “I needed that. You’re right. And I am sorry about what I said about you being able to do what you want. Your parents sound like they suck.”

“They do,” Steve snorts. “For what it’s worth, it sounds like your mom sucks too.”

“She does,” Chrissy laughs. It’s still a bit wet sounding, but it’s better than the crying from earlier, so Steve takes the win.

Both of them fall quiet for a second, sitting on the couch in the living room, the credits of the Breakfast Club still rolling in the background.

“How did you do it?” Chrissy asks after a few seconds, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“Do what?”

“Stop caring.”

Steve is quiet as he thinks, then he slowly says: “It’s hard. I mean, I still care, but I try not to. It just takes time and effort. I have to remind myself constantly. And it’s easier to not care when they’re not here. But then they’ll call and I lie and pretend cheer practice is basketball practice and I pray that no one here reached out to them. They’ll tell me they’ll be away for a bit longer and it’s a relief, because I still care what they think and when they come back I’ll know.”

“So it all just sucks?” Chrissy asks.

“Yeah, kinda,” Steve laughs. “But you gotta keep trying anyway. Just start one day and try not to stop.”

“I can do that,” Chrissy says, determination bleeding into her posture.

“Hell yeah you can,” Steve agrees proudly. “So, pizza toppings?”

The question makes Chrissy laugh, before she admits: “I like pepperoni, but I- I can’t eat an entire pizza, Stevie.”

“We’ll share,” Steve offers with a smile. “I like pepperoni too.”

“Sounds good.”

Steve gets up and orders the pizza. He is glad it is finally out in the open. That Chrissy hasn’t shut him out or is mad at him. He hates it when his friends are mad at him.

Chrissy looks reluctant when the pizza arrives, but Steve doesn’t push. Some steps have to be made by yourself. Indeed determination swoops over her as she takes her first bite. Her eyes grow wide and she lets out a happy hum as she chews.

“Good?” Steve smiles.

“This is delicious,” Chrissy says, mouth still full.

Steve’s smile widens. “Good to hear.”

He puts on another movie that neither of them pay attention too. Chrissy only manages to eat three slices, but Steve is so proud of her. Making her blush as he tells her so.

With the pizza gone, the movie goes further ignored. Both of them end up lying on the floor, looking up at the popcorn ceiling. They’re talking about school, complaining about classes and homework, teachers that suck, weird stuff classmates did and mishaps from practice. Steve also talks a little about the kids.

When there’s a lull in conversation Chrissy suddenly asks: “Are you okay? No one bothering you at school or something?”

“What?” Steve asks, still not really used to someone looking out for him, especially someone like Chrissy, who is both younger than him and a girl.

“I don’t know, you’ve just been more fidgety the past week,” Chrissy says. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Steve feels himself flushing. The reason he’s been more fidgety is because he’s been trying to avoid Eddie. He has come up to Steve once since their conversation. Steve was nice, but ended the conversation and tried not to look in Eddie’s way after. Something he has been less successful at than he’d want.

He just can’t help it, though. Eddie is magnetic and his eyes are naturally drawn to him. Steve likes watching his dramatic gestures and hypnotizing eyes.

However, Steve only wants to make it through this year unscathed. That means getting an even bigger crush on Eddie Munson is out of the question. Hell, associating with the other boy is out of the question. Especially now that it seems like Eddie wants something from him. Steve has enough trouble as it is.

Though, when he thinks about it, Eddie hasn’t approached since that first time when Steve kind of iced him out.

Of course, Steve has ensured that he is continuously surrounded by cheerleaders, a part of the student body Eddie avoids almost as religiously as the basketball team. So, it’s not like he has given Eddie the chance. Which is good. That was the point.

Still, Steve can admit he’s a bit disappointed at how easily he has shaken the boy. And the only reason he’s still fidgety is because he’s become quite paranoid after the Upside Down, so the few times he has caught Eddie’s eyes afterwards are enough to put him slightly on edge.

Not that he can tell Chrissy any of this. He wants to kid himself into believing she’d be cool with the whole gay thing, but he isn’t going to delude himself like that. Chrissy’s entire family is highly religious. The chances she’d be cool are very low.

So instead he says: “I’m okay. Nothing happened.”

“You sure?” Chrissy pushes.

“Sure,” he tells her with a smile.

“Alright,” Chrissy lets it go, much to his relief.

They stay up way too late, like you’re supposed to at a sleepover. Chrissy teaches Steve how to braid hair and Steve confides in her about the Farrah Fawcett spray, after which he swears her to secrecy. It’s fun and they’re still giggling as they brush their teeth,

Steve sets Chrissy up in a guest room near his, telling her where the bathroom is before leaving her there.

He knows they could share his bed, but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable or make it seem like he’s pulling a move. He also doesn’t want to scare her in case he has a nightmare. They can get pretty bad, but it has been a while since he woke up screaming. He hopes his luck will hold through the night and he won’t wake Chrissy if he does have a nightmare.

Of course luck has never been in his favor and a few hours later he finds himself flying out of his bed, feeling disoriented.

A door opens behind him and he swirls around, his arms up in a fighting position as he tries to blink the world into focus. Sweat is cooling on his back, breath still catching in his lungs, as images of the demodogs surrounding him still flash in his mind’s eye.

“Stevie?” a voice asks him. One that doesn’t fit into the nightmare he had just woken up from.

Chrissy, his mind supplies.

Another blink and indeed there stands Chrissy in her pajamas, hand still clutching the door knob as she worries a lip between her teeth. She looks a bit scared, like she wants to reach out to him, but is afraid of the probably too intense look in his eyes and his fighting stance.

The anxiety slowly seeps away as a wave of nausea rolls through his body. He swallow thickly, before rushing to the en-suite bathroom, flicking on the light, before dropping to his knees and throwing up in the bowl.

There are footsteps behind him, then a small figure appears beside him. An equally small hand starts rubbing his back as he gags a few more times.

When no more puke comes out, Steve leans back against the wall. His head is bowed between his knees and he feels unable to face Chrissy. God, he feels fucking pathetic.

He feels Chrissy’s warmth against his side as she sits next to him. Both of them are quiet for a few seconds, then Chrissy asks: “You okay, Stevie?”

“Not really,” Steve confesses softly, not finding the energy to lie or come up with a reason.

“I’m sorry,” Chrissy says.

That gets Steve’s attention. He looks up at her in confusion. She looks earnest about it too and he doesn’t get it. “What are you sorry for?”

“After that day when Lisa forced you to eat, I- I should have guessed you weren’t fully okay either, especially not after that speech tonight,” she explains. “But I never asked. So, I’m sorry.”

Steve is overcome with incredible fondness for the girl next to him, who somehow cares about him in a way no one has.

“It’s okay, Chris,” he tells her, gently bumping against her. “I wouldn’t have told you if you asked anyway.”

“Why not?” Chrissy asks with an unhappy frown.

“Because it’s embarrassing,” Steve answers bluntly. “I mean, come on. I am nearly eighteen and I get nightmares that make me puke. That’s not exactly information I want out there.” He’s quiet for a second, then he softly adds: “I don’t like talking about it.”

Chrissy is silent as she thinks. Her face has lost the frown and she gives him a sympathetic smile as she says: “You don’t have to. But I’m glad I know. We’re here for each other, right?”

“Yeah, course,” Steve assures her, though mentally he thinks he is more there for her than vise versa. He is older, he’s already a protector. He’ll look out for her, to make sure nothing will get her. She doesn’t know half of what’s out there.

“And for the record,” Chrissy states, “I don’t think it’s embarrassing. Nightmares are the worst and you’re brave for going through them.”

He appreciates the sentiment so much and he knows that if he tries to say anything he voice might crack or tears may start to fall. So instead he throws an arm around her and pulls her close. The two of them just sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

They sit there for another fifteen minutes, before Chrissy asks: “Wanna go to bed again?”

“No, I’m probably gonna go downstairs, maybe do some homework or something,” Steve tells her honestly. “But you can go back to sleep again. I don’t want to keep you up.”

“I’m not going to let you wallow alone, you idiot,” she says, sounding offended that he would even think that. “Lets play a card game or something.”

“Chris…” Steve protests, but Chrissy doesn’t listen to him. Instead she gets up and pulls him along to his bed, plucking the deck of cards from where they lay forgotten on his desk.

Steve decides to just give in and let her do her thing. They argue a little about the rules, but in the end it doesn’t matter much. They play about two rounds, before exhaustion sets in again. Steve can’t remember which one of them falls asleep first.

After that night Chrissy and Steve are as thick as thieves, practically inseparable, both in school and after it.

Lisa is quite done with how they seem to make a game out of annoying the other, or how they’ll compete about stupid little stuff. But she tags along whenever she can, making sure Chrissy and Steve don’t accidentally kill each other by stunting without a back spotter.

Steve has also made it a habit to bring extra lunch to school, since Chrissy’s mom refuses to give her more food to bring. It isn’t perfect yet, but it’s comforting to see her eat during lunch period and there is a sense of pride that comes whenever she thanks him for it. Like he’s taking care of her, doing something right for once.

Chrissy meanwhile asks him every day if he slept okay, noting when the bags under his eyes get darker when he’s going through a rough patch.

She helps him hide most of it with some makeup that she brings to school and convinces her mom to let her sleep over that weekend. It’s nice to not wake up alone for a change.

In their months of friendship, Steve has never met Chrissy’s parents, not that Chrissy has met his either.

Quite honestly, he truly doesn’t want to either. Whenever Chrissy talks about her mother especially, he is reminded of his own parents, who still haven’t returned home. He doesn’t know what it says about him that he hopes they’ll stay away until he can go to college.

Still, he is quite well known by Chrissy’s mother, who is delighted that Chrissy has befriended a good christian girl named Stevie. Chrissy delights in telling him about their fictional adventures that she spun to her mother. It’s kind of funny, Steve has to admit.

In reality most of their afternoons are spend in cheer practice. Competitions are coming up again, so they’re perfecting their new routine. Molly is convinced they’ll win this time and her laser focus and enthusiasm is infectious.

Not all is perfect of course. He often has to clean his locker when it is vandalized again and he is tripped up whenever possible, not to mention all the insults that are slung in his face.

On top of that, he hasn’t had a single acceptance letter in the mail yet, which isn’t great for his anxiety and the only reason he thinks he even has a shot at graduating is because Sofia graciously offers her time to him. He has taken to buying her lunch as a thank you.

Outside of school he still drives the twerps around as well. They mostly want to go to the arcade, but he has also brought them to Hopper’s cabin a few times or picked them up the Wheeler’s house after DnD.

One weekend he even drove Max to a skating rink a few towns over and watched as she performed all sort of dizzying stunts on her board.

Dustin is still his main little guy and he will show up whenever he pleases and brighten Steve’s day, a fact he will never let him know. However, Max and Will are both quickly making it up there as well.

He and Will never talk about that connection in the kitchen, about what they share. Neither of them is willing to acknowledge it, but sometimes they share a look when something happens and that is enough for now.

Steve has for example figured out that Will has a crush on Mike, which he thinks is stupid. Sure, the kid is Will’s best friend, but he’s also a bit of an asshole. Granted that can also just be because he is thirteen years old and everyone is an asshole at thirteen, but Steve stands by it.

So, whenever he thinks Mike does something idiotic, he’ll look at Will with judge-y eyes and Will will pull a face as if to say that he knows, but that he can’t help it and there are good parts to Mike as well.

It’s fun.

He knows that Max doesn’t have it easy at home. He sees Billy on a warpath nearly every day in the halls of Hawkins High. He hasn’t gotten a date with a cheerleader in months now and Steve is just waiting for the day he’s going to snap.

So, Steve tries to get her out of the house and doing something fun as often as he can. They never acknowledge it, but he’s trying to be a better brother than Billy is. So far, he thinks he’s pretty successful all things considered.

His efforts aren’t as appreciated by Billy, who doesn’t show any interest in his step sister beyond tormenting her, yet will glare at Steve whenever they see each other out in public. Still, he hasn’t done too much since their encounter last November.

However, not all good things are meant to last and it comes to a boiling point in the week before spring break.

Steve is sitting in the cafeteria talking to Chrissy and Lisa when his eyes are drawn to some movement. He looks up to see Molly walking away with a huff and a little bit of a thunder cloud over her head.

He looks to see what got that reaction and sees Billy leaning against the wall with an annoyed look on his face. If Steve has to guess he’d been leaning over Molly moments before in an attempt to ask her out. Something that seems like it wasn’t a success.

Tommy is coming up to Billy, likely trying to placate his anger. He’s been Billy’s little lapdog since the fall and it still hurts a bit to see his old friend now hang around his primary bully.

Right as Tommy is doing that, Billy looks up and happens to meet Steve’s eyes. Billy’s eyes immediately narrow, probably thinking that Steve is getting some amusement out of his misfortune or something. So to try and negate the damage, Steve quickly looks away, but it is too late.

Billy straightens up and shrugs of Tommy’s hand as he starts to march towards Steve. His face looks like murder. It looks like that day at the Byers house. It looks like Steve is in deep shit.

Without being conscious of it, Steve gets to his feet. If he is going to be attacked, he’s not letting himself be trapped at the table of a cafeteria, ready like an animal for slaughter. Steve might have made it a habit to get beaten up, but at least he’ll do down swinging.

None of the girls have noticed the danger yet, so when he gets up Lisa asks: “Steve?” in a confused voice.

Before he gets the chance to explain, Billy is already on him. He has grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt and this time he won’t be able to wiggle out of it that easily. “You,” Billy seethes.

“What about me?” Steve shoots back, trying to look unaffected as he searches for a way to get out of this, or fight back.

“You fucking fag,” Billy rages. “You and your little pathetic protection squad. Can’t look even after yourself. Need the cheerleaders to do it.”

“Come on, man, no need to be jealous,” Steve smirks, oozing King Steve charisma. “Not my problem you suck at getting the ladies to like you.”

He knows it isn’t the smartest idea to poke the bear, so to speak. However, he hopes that he can keep some of his dignity throughout this ordeal, to not just fold like a straw. And he might as well take Billy down a peg if he is going to get his ass beat.

Billy doesn’t reply to his taunt, instead tightening his fists as he readies himself to punch.

“What?” Steve continues now that he has found a sore spot. “Nothing to say, Hargrove? You can’t get a date? So what. You’re going to beat me up over it? Like you tried to fight that twelve year old you didn’t like?”

They’ve gathered quite the audience now and Steve decides to fuck it. Billy is making his life miserable, he can choke on his own actions.

“Yeah, I remember that,” he says, projecting his voice so everyone can hear. “Real mature move that was. You might have beat my face in, but won’t change that your first target was a little kid, you pussy.”

Over Billy’s shoulder he can see Tommy looking conflicted, his eyes flicking between Billy and Steve, as if he’s unsure if he should step. Steve can’t care less. Tommy is an asshole and he hates him.

Meanwhile Billy is apparently pushed to the brink of insults he’ll take. He lets out a roar – Steve can’t describe it as anything else – and throws a punch. A hard one.

Steve recoils from the force and hopes he doesn’t get a concussion out of his. He vividly remembers the doctor’s visit after his last fight with Billy. He can’t go through that again, literally. He physically can’t. Well, he could, but it has a big chance of ending badly for him. Very badly.

So, he immediately start to struggle to get free, knowing from their last fight that he can’t let himself be pinned down, because Billy will ruthlessly rain down on him and this time, there is no Max to save him

He hunches into himself and starts walking towards Billy, both of them moving back again. But they hit Tommy, who picks Billy, supporting him and pushing until Billy can turn the tide again and start pushing Steve back.

Vaguely Steve is aware that there is screaming around them and that his nose is bleeding. However, he can’t concentrate on the chants and the chaos, as he desperately fumbles in the hope of prying Billy’s fingers loose from his shirt. He’s already asking himself if he can rip the fabric to get out, before Billy can make him loose his footing.

The answer is: he can’t.

Billy hits him again and he barely manages to duck out of the way so that the hit only slides alongside his face, hitting his ear.

Still, the punch is enough of a distraction that Billy manages to push him over, letting go of his shirt so that Steve can’t hold on to his arm to keep himself upright. So he goes down like a sack of flour, hitting the floor with a dull thud that travels up his arms.

He doesn’t allow himself time to reorient himself, already envisioning Billy pinning him down like he did before.

So, he’s already scrambling back when a dark blur fills his vision. For a second he fears that it’s one of Billy’s lackeys, but no pain comes. Instead the form stands over him in an almost protective manner.

Steve blinks a few times, there in front of him is Eddie Munson. He is holding both of Billy’s fists in his hands, holding him back from attacking again. He is smirking and not looking like it’s taking him much effort. However, Steve can see how his neck is straining, muscles likely bulging under his leather jacket.

“You know, the pulling on pigtails thing is so overdone,” Eddie informs him casually. “If you want to sleep with Stevie-boy here, there are better ways to go about it.”

“I’m not some fag,” Billy snarls as he pulls back as if burned. Then he directs his next words at Steve, who is still on the ground behind Eddie. “First girls, now your boyfriend? It’s pathetic how you hide behind others, Harrington.”

“At least I could get a date, if I wanted,” Steve shoots back, not letting Billy have the last word.

Billy moves to jump him again, but is stopped by Tommy. He pushes Tommy out of the way, but doesn’t start shit again and instead he stalks away.

With Billy gone the excitement dies down and people turn to their own things again. Chrissy and Lisa are at Steve’s side checking him over. Chrissy’s brow is pinched as she asks: “Should we get you to a nurse? Your nose is bleeding.”

“Yeah, you don’t look okay,” Lisa adds.

“Wow, thanks. You two really know how to make a man feel special” Steve jokes, attempting a smile even as his face throbs. “No, but I’m fine, really. It’s okay.”

“I think you should get that checked out, pretty boy,” a new voice cuts in.

Eddie has squatted down in front of him and is checking him over as well with those concerned Bambi eyes. That gaze makes Steve aware how messy he looks. Blood is soaking from his nose into his shirt and he is entirely rumpled. He is also still on the floor.

A blush creeps over his face and he tears his eyes away from Eddie as he huffs: “I didn’t need you protecting me. I had it handled.”

“You call that having it handled?” Eddie asks with a raised brow, like he’s having a hard time believing it.

“It’s better than last time,” Steve defends himself. “He smashed a plate over my head then.”

“What!” Chrissy shrieks.

“I was fine,” Steve assures her, already regretting letting that tidbit slip.

“That sounds bad,” Lisa frowns.

“I was fine,” Steve repeats. “I went to a hospital and everything. It’s all okay. Just like I’m okay now.” He glares at Eddie. “I was fine.”

Eddie faces his glare head on with an air of nonchalance that always hangs about him. “I’m sure you are, big boy,” he tells him. “It still won’t hurt to get a tissue for that.” He nods towards Steve’s still bleeding nose.

When Eddie doesn’t respond to his hostility, Steve switches tactics and asks: “Why did you even help me? You’ve only made yourself a target.”

“Nah, man. Not if Billy wants his drugs, I’m not,” Eddie grins. “Besides, whereas the basketball team looks after the popular kids, I look after the lost sheep. You’re one of the outcasts now, Stevie, that means you’re under my jurisdiction.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Steve protests, but he manages a smile. Eddie might want some mysterious thing from him, but he also looks out after his own. He had almost forgotten they shared something now.

“Well,” Eddie stands up again and claps his hands. “That was enough excitement for today, I think. See you around, Steve. Look after yourself.” He nods at Chrissy and Lisa. “My ladies.” Then walks back to his table.

“He is not like I expected him to be,” Chrissy whispers.

“Mean and scary?” Lisa asks.

“Yeah,” Chrissy nods.

“He’s a weird guy,” Steve says, unable to hide a bit of fondness that creeps in. He gets up from the floor and says: “Might be smart to get a tissue.”

“I’ll walk you to the nurse,” Chrissy offers.

“Yeah, and I’ll take your stuff our next class and explain why you’re late,” Lisa adds.

“Thanks,” Steve smiles.

He and Chrissy walk away. As they make their way to the nurse, she comments: “You and Eddie seemed to know each other.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then shrugs: “We talked once. He seems nice, but- I don’t know… We don’t really associate.”

“Alright,” Chrissy luckily seems to let it go. “Glad he was there. I was really scared.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Steve says, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

~~

A/N:

Chrissy and Steve have parent issues, jock solidarity and u can’t change my mind, lmao

Also, disclaimer: I am not in any way, shape or form a good source on how do deal with someone you care about going through an eating disorder. Please do not take fanfic as a helpful source or guide to deal with such issues.

It’s hilarious in a sad way that I am going against the grain by giving Steve a little bit self worth rip

[icallhimjoey]

What about that time that you accidentally strengthened Steve and Eddie's marriage without you even realizing? Remember that?

Your colleague math teacher Steve sees you shiver behind your desk in your classroom and goes, "Are you cold?" and then lets you borrow his cardigan, because that's the type of guy Steve is. You give it back to him at the end of the day, and he hesitates, but then sniffs it, smells your perfume on it and jokingly says, "Oh no, how am I going to explain this to my husband?"

At home, Steve hugs Eddie whilst Eddie's cooking and he notices immediately. "Why do you smell like a girl, Steve?" Eddie accuses playfully, then follows it up with, "You cheating on me? Who you fucking?" and Steve laughs, says, "My colleague borrowed-," but Eddie is quick and interrupts, "You're fucking your colleague?!"

It's cute, Steve plays along, jokingly stumbles through an explanation of why he smells like caramelized vanilla, and Eddie smirks and goes, "That's what they all say."

It turns into a thing and every time Eddie can bring it up, he will. Just to fuck with Steve. To see Steve sigh, be all annoyed with a secret smile playing underneath.

"How will I ever trust you again?" Eddie's all dramatic, and Steve just pulls him in. Hugs and kisses him, all the smooches for his husband. "You forgive me now?" he asks after he makes Eddie giggle from fluttery kisses in his neck. "Nearly, just like... maybe forty more," and Eddie loves the attention. Hopes that maybe Steve will hand over his cardigan to you more often. He might even go and mess with the heating system of the school a bit to make it happen.

After having done laundry, both Eddie and Steve forget about the caramelized vanilla for a while, until you spot the cardigan a week or so later on the back of Steve's chair at work, and you ask, "Do you mind if I borrow that again? I've got a long afternoon ahead of grading papers, and I swear, the radiators are busted that side of the building."

Steve smiles, knows what it's going to do when he gets home later, and hands you the cardigan immediately. He loves fake-sulky Eddie who demands attention and needs to be loved upon for a few hours.

And that evening, it's so nice to have his husband be all clingy and cuddly that he decides to just buy a bottle of sugary sweet perfume for himself.

Steve secretly sprays it just before getting into his car at the end of the day, especially after long days. Rougher days. When the kids all really do a number on him. Steve thinks he's so smart for it too, gets to squeeze and hug Eddie a little extra when he smells all fruity, thinks he's tricking Eddie somewhat. But Eddie knows. Has seen that bottle of perfume in Steve's bag, absolutely knows that Steve is trying to pull some sort of weird pavlov trickery, but just plays along.

Eddie hugs Steve every day after work and makes sure to inhale extra deep. If there's perfume, Eddie's suddenly very sad. Pretends to not want to go out anymore. Pretends he wants to be left alone for a minute. And Steve gets to swoop in. Be the perfect husband, with soft kisses and sweet touches. They both love it, live for it, would be willing to die for it.

Eventually, the perfume bottle just ends up in their medicine cabinet, and it becomes an unspoken rule: if Steve sprays some perfume on himself, he wants to cuddle on the couch all night. And if Steve sees Eddie's going through something, he spritzes some onto his neck to let Eddie know, hey, I'm here for you, let's cuddle on the couch all night.

Students start complimenting Mr Harrington on his scent. They tell him he always smells very nice, which notoriously teachers almost never do, and it always makes him blush because of the secret meaning they don't know about.

Every first Friday of every month, it's date night. It's Steve's turn to take Eddie out, but Steve forgets. Doesn't get Eddie any flowers like he would usually do. Forgets to get a table at a restaurant. Even stays a little late at work, because Steve always has so much work he has to do. When he walks in, it's nearly eight o'clock and he suddenly remembers, goes, "Oh shit," when he sees Eddie be all annoyed for real.

No playing.

No pretending.

Eddie's sad and disappointed for real this time.

So Steve does what he knows might fix it, dashes into the bathroom to find the perfume and Eddie can hear the spritzes from the living room. When Steve walks past Eddie to find his favorite movie to put on, Eddie can smell him, and he can't help but let out a stupid laugh. This is ridiculous. So, so stupid. But he fucking loves it. Steve orders two large pizzas, gets Eddie's favorite toppings and with Steve's sweet scent, his favorite movie playing and a stomach full of cheese, it's like Steve never forgot date night to begin with.

It's months later when suddenly, Steve appears in the doorway of your classroom wearing a dorky smile.

"Hey, I have something for you,"

And he hands you a gift. Quite a big one, too. You're surprised, because it's not your birthday, and you can't really think of any other reason for your colleague math teacher Mr Steve Harrington to give you a present.

When you open it, you see it's a cardigan. A new, lovely, thick one. Beautifully knitted, very soft. Looks a little like the one you borrowed from him once or twice in November, when the heating in your classroom was a little wonky.

"What's this for?" you ask, all confused.

"Don't worry about it, it's stupid to explain, but thank you. It works every time."

And you have no idea what he's talking about. What works every time? What had you done? You read him, try to gather from his face what he means, but he just... looks very pleased, sort of love-sick and then smiles a dopey smile at you before he turns and walks out.

All you can really think about when you watch him leave is, damn, Steve smells really nice.