Eddie was determined to sulk his way through the basketball game. Just because the kid he used to babysit for was now in the NBA, why did that mean he had to attend these games.
At least he was sitting next to a super hot guy, even if said super hot guy was actually into the whole thing, screaming at the ref and calling out support. Everybody had flaws, Eddie supposed.
His being that he was an absolute chaos gremlin.
Which he proved the moment the Kiss Cam swung their way and put him and Super Hot Guy up on the jumbotron. Eddie didn’t even think about it for a nano-second, just turned to SHG, grabbed his cheeks and laid one on him
So I'm doing the Steve Harrington Bingo and on my card is a soulmate prompt and well..I have started a Stancy soulmate au. It's angsty and umm yeah lol. Here is a snippit:
Nancy and Jonathan had decided to say fuck it, to what the rules and laws of soulmates said and decided to make a life together despite not being soulmates.
They'd decided to make their own rules and yet somehow Steve still had Nancy's name on his wrist. Steve was still sitting in his car outside of his apartment feeling the urge to drive off and not stop until that urge died down because it was the pull of his soulmate calling out for him.
It was letting him know Nancy needed him, despite the fact that she didn't believe that to be the case. Despite the fact that she had Jonathan and was trying to show that you didn't need to be with your soulmate to be happy.
Some part of her was calling out to Steve and he could feel it, no matter how many miles or hours or states seperated them.
Steve could feel Nancy's call and he almost felt like he had to follow it. He needed to follow it.
Nothing could keep him from Nancy, not even a damn pack of wild horses could stand between him and the girl whose name was on his wrist and it was that knowledge that caused Steve to start his car and take off driving.
He wasn't sure where he was going to end up, but he knew he had to follow the pull he felt. He had to follow the call of Nancy's magnetic tie to him.
what if i wrote a fic where robin was nervous abt going to prom in a suit so steve went with her to buy the suit and tried on dresses to make her feel better but he actually ended up loving some of them
Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five
A/N: Even if you haven’t read the rest of the series, you can totally read this part! It could pretty much be its own stand-alone one-shot. The series just adds a little more context.
If you have been reading the series, (yay! hi again!), you’ll notice that the formatting is different than usual. I started doing this part in bulleted points, but I decided to go with a more traditional format since this part of the story focuses on one main scene. It’s also a HECKING LONG part (at least for this series-it’s about 3K words), so I’m going to put it under the cut for anyone who doesn’t want to scroll through the whole thing.
Warnings: Swearing
Half an hour later, you and Steve are sitting in a little red booth and squinting at menus in the dim lighting of the diner. Posters and framed pictures line the teal walls, along with colorful neon signs and license plates from just about every state. Elvis Presley croons from the jukebox in the corner of the room. His voice mixes with the sound of feet shuffling across the black-and-white tile as servers bustle between tables. The tantalizing smell of juicy hamburgers lingers in the air, mingling with the sweet, fruity scent of the freshly-baked pie.
Your stomach growls in protest. If the waitress takes much longer to get to the table, you’re going to start slobbering all over the menu.
“What’s good here?” you ask casually.
It’s more of an attempt to make conversation than an actual question. At this point, you don’t care what it is, as long as you get food in your mouth ASAP. Fortunately, Steve assures you that “everything’s good here. You can’t go wrong.”
“Okay,” you say, laying the menu down on the table. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”
Steve lowers his menu and raises his eyebrows.
“Are you sure about that? I can eat a lot of food.”
You narrow your eyes at him.
“So can I, asshole.”
That was probably a little harsh.
But if anyone can take it, it’s Steve Harrington.
“Fine, fine,” he sighs.
Over his shoulder, a busty waitress makes her way toward your table.
“But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, then proceeds to order half of the items on the entire menu. “And the same for the lady.”
The waitress peers over the top of her cat-eye glasses at the boy in front of her.
“Now, you’re not about to order all this food and then skip out on the bill, are you, Harrington?”
“Now, Janet, have I ever cheated you or this fine establishment?”
The woman’s tight corkscrew curls bounce as she shakes her head gently, the whisper of a smile on her lips.
“Not that I know of. But you’re full of surprises, Steve,” she says, then directs a wink at you.
You’re still staring after Janet when Steve’s voice tears you from your thoughts.
“Don’t mind Janet. She’s a little loony,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes.
“How do you know her, anyway?” you ask, swirling the straw around the glass of water Janet’s just delivered.
“Oh, I’ve been coming here for years. My parents used to take me here after Little League games for a celebratory milkshake when my team won. That stopped around the age of ten, when I finally admitted to my dad that I didn’t actually like baseball, and my mom convinced him to let me quit,” he says, laughing despite himself. “My parents quit coming, but I eat here at least once a week.”
“Yeah?” You’re still staring into the glass as you add, “I guess you bring all the girls here, then, huh?”
“I don’t, actually. I brought Tommy H. and Carol here once, and all they did was complain about the jukebox because they’re assholes with no taste in music,” he says, and his matter-of-fact tone makes you laugh.
“I thought they were your friends?” you ask. You knew he hadn’t been hanging around them much lately, but you figured they still partied together, at the very least.
“Nah. Not anymore. To be perfectly honest with you, I shouldn’t have ever been friends with them,” he says. His tumultuous chocolate eyes meet yours for a microsecond before his gaze flickers to his own drink. “The only person worse than Tommy H. and Carol is ‘King Steve’ Harrington.”
“Was,” you correct him. He looks back up at you for clarification. “‘King Steve’ was the worst. But just because you were a piece of shit in high school doesn’t mean you have to be for the rest of your life. You can change as a person, evolve as a human being-in fact, I think you already have.”
Steve stares at you for several moments longer. His lips finally part, as if he’s about to speak, and-
“Hot stuff coming through!”
The steel kitchen doors swing shut behind Janet, who pushes a metal cart stacked with plates of steaming fried foods across the tile floor. To your surprise, she stops at your booth and unloads the contents of the entire cart onto your table. By the time she’s done, plates cover every square inch of the surface.
“Hope you’re hungry, sweets,” Janet says, throwing another wink your way before disappearing back into the kitchen.
You’re so overwhelmed by the mountain of food in front of you that you completely forget about the conversation you and Steve were just having. Thus, when you notice him still watching you,
you figure it’s because he’s smugly waiting for you to admit that you’ve made a mistake-that there’s no way in hell you can consume even half of this feast.
But you, being the ultra-competitive, incredibly stubborn person you are, refuse to accept defeat without putting up a fight.
“I bet I can eat more of this than you can.”
Steve simply blinks in disbelief.
“Don’t look at me like that. I can. I’ll prove it to you,” you say, picking up a fry and popping it into your mouth. “We can make a little competition out of it. And whoever loses has to pay for everything.”
You reach for another fry, but Steve swats your hand away.
“Stop it. You’re getting a head-start.”
“Oh, a two-fry head-start. Consider me the world’s biggest cheater,” you say, waving your hands in the air mockingly.
Steve uses this opportunity to grab a fistful of fries and shove them into his mouth.
“Hey! That’s not fair, jerk!”
“Fight me,” he says, the words muffled by the food.
You kick him under the table hard enough to give him a dead leg.
“Ow!” he yells, just loud enough to make an older couple at the next table shush you both. Steve glares at you.
“What? I thought we were playing street rules.”
“When have you played this game on the street, Y/N?”
“Shut up.”
It takes a whopping twenty-three minutes for the two of you to polish off the buffet of food. And by the two of you, I mean Steve. You tap out about ten minutes in, after devouring your third plate of greasy goodness. As much as you don’t want to foot the bill for this meal, you definitely don’t want to vomit all over the floor of Steve Harrington’s BMW.
Janet’s not nearly as impressed by Steve’s food feat as one would expect her to be when she returns to check on you. Apparently, this isn’t even the most Steve’s eaten in one sitting. Clearly, you were doomed from the start.
Janet even has the audacity to ask if either of you would like dessert.
You answer with a resounding “no.”
But Steve practically yells, “Hell yes!”
“Mr. Harrington! Language!” Janet says, tsking with her tongue. “What would your mother say?”
“Oh god. Please don’t tell her. She’s already on my ass about college-damn it, sorry! Wait, sorry again, sh-shoot.”
Janet laughs at her flustered customer.
“You want your usual?”
“Of course-”
“Now, wait a second,” you interrupt. “I’m cutting you off, Harrington. Unlike your stomach, my wallet isn’t a bottomless pit.”
A denim-clad knee bumps against yours under the table.
“Don’t worry, Y/N. I got this.”
“But the bet-”
“-that I never even agreed to?” he says with a disarming smile that makes it impossible to argue.
“I’m lost. Am I getting you ice-cream or not, baby?” Janet asks.
“Yes, please, Janet. And the bill, whenever you get the chance, so I don’t have to bother you again. I know you’re swamped.”
Janet nods, still half-confused, and wanders into the kitchen.
You glance around the diner. Aside from a group of college students gathered around a corner booth and a couple sharing a banana split at a nearby table, the place is completely vacant.
“Swamped?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at Steve.
“Well, not exactly. But Janet...she takes her time. She’s one of those waitresses who will promise to ‘be right back with the bill’ and then disappear for an hour,” he explains. “I figured you probably have some sort of curfew, so it would be best to avoid that.”
“That was really considerate of you,” you say, and the shock in your tone is probably evident, but Steve doesn’t comment on it. “And speaking of considerate, thank you for paying for dinner. We could have split it or something.”
“Don’t worry about it. I ate most of the food, anyway,” he says. He pauses, then adds, “Besides, it’s a small price to pay to spend an evening with a pretty girl.”
Thank goodness for the dimness of the lights hanging overhead, because your cheeks are as red as the scarlet booth you’re sitting on. At this point, you’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. Then again, flirting is Steve Harrington’s main mode of communication, so it probably means nothing.
You remind yourself of this enough times to finally get your blushing under control-until Janet returns with a tall strawberry milkshake with two bright red straws sticking out the top.
She drops it off at the table and tells you two “lovebirds” to enjoy. Steve’s too interested in the milkshake to notice your coyness. It isn’t until he’s drained a third of the glass that he realizes you haven’t had any.
“Aren’t you going to taste it, Y/N? I ordered the larger size for us to share.”
“I didn’t want dessert, remember? That’s your milkshake.”
“There’s two straws for a reason.”
“Yeah,” you say, flicking yours toward him. “Use both, and maybe you can give yourself a brain freeze even faster.”
“Come on, Y/N. This is the best shake in town,” Steve pouts.
You swear the strawberry milkshake is turning his lips more pink.
“Fine,” you huff, leaning forward and taking a sip.
A stream of sugary yet slightly tart ice cream flows into your mouth. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted. You’re so distracted by the deliciousness that you don’t notice Steve bending down for a sip until his lips are curled around his straw, inches from yours. You jolt back so fast that you choke on milkshake. Steve watches with wide eyes as you cough violently into the fold of your arm for a few seconds. Finally, you get your cough attack under control, and Steve asks if you’re okay.
“Yeah,” you say, voice raspy, “it’s just-mm. Too...too sweet for me.”
“Really?” Steve asks, tilting his head slightly in confusion. Then he shrugs and says, “More for me, I guess.”
You watch with secret jealousy as Steve finishes off the glass.
You offer to leave the tip, but Steve insists on covering it.
“My dad would kill me if he knew I let a girl pay for anything.”
“Well, your dad’s not here. And besides, isn’t that a rule for, like, dates or whatever?”
“Not necessarily. It’s just a rule of chivalry.”
He lays a few extra dollars down on the table and gestures for you to lead the way out.
“Steve Harrington: Master of Chivalry,” you tease, elbowing him as you walk past.
On the drive home, Steve cranks the music up and the windows down. The two of you sing along to just about every song. When he doesn’t know the words, Steve makes up ridiculous lyrics that clash terribly with the melody.
You cackle with laughter almost the entire ride home. And when he pulls in your driveway, there’s a part of you that wants to stay in the car forever. You unbuckle your seatbelt, dial down the radio volume, and rotate in your seat to face Steve.
“Thanks for tonight,” you say. “I had a lot of fun.”
“Me, too,” he says, beaming so bright that it seems to glow in the dark. “We should do this again sometime.”
“Yeah, we should.”
There’s a pregnant pause, interrupted only by crickets chirping in your yard and an owl hooting somewhere down the street. You look out the car window. Outside, stars are sprinkled across a velvet sky like sparkling confetti, but none shine as brightly as Steve’s eyes as he looks at you
Finally, Steve shatters the silence with a simple offer that comes out as more of a request:
“Can I walk you to your door?”
You can’t stop the giggle from escaping your lips.
“My porch is literally right there, Steve. Nobody’s going to jump out and murder me on my ten-foot trek to the front door.”
“You can never be too safe, Y/N,” he says with the most serious expression he can muster.
“Fine, dork. Walk me to my door,” you laugh.
No matter how hard you try, you can’t force your stomach to digest the butterflies currently swarming around in it.
After approximately eight steps, you’re on your porch, and that nagging feeling of I don’t want to leave you returns. Unfortunately, you know you can’t stay on your front porch forever, so you tell Steve “goodnight” and start to twist the doorknob
“Wait!”
“Yes?” you ask, hand still on the knob.
“Could we talk for a minute?”
“Yeah, of course,” you say. You gesture toward the porch swing.
As soon as the two of you are seated, Steve finds the planks of your porch fascinating. His eyes scan them as if there are letters carved into the wood. He speaks slowly, as though he’s reading those words.
“Do you...do you remember what you said earlier? About...the whole ‘King Steve’ thing?”
You rack your brain for a moment. You eventually recall the conversation at the diner that Janet’s appearance had cut short.
“I don’t remember my words verbatim,” you say, “but yes, I remember the gist of it.”
“You said that just because I was a piece of shit in high school doesn’t mean I have to be one for the rest of my life. You said I can grow and change as a person-that you think I already have changed,” he says.
“I did,” you say, scooting slightly closer to Steve, “and I stand behind everything I said-except for that last little bit. I don’t think you’ve changed. I know you have.”
Finally, he turns to look at you. His eyes shine with years of regret.
“You really believe that?”
And suddenly, it’s not King Steve sitting on the porch swing on your house. It’s not the idiot who broke your best friend’s heart. It’s not Steve “the Hair” Harrington, whose mane is almost as high and mighty as his attitude.
It’s just Steve-a broken boy yearning to be better.
And that’s when you wrap your arms around his neck for the second time today. This time, you’re much more gentle. Steve only freezes for a millisecond before his arms twine around your waist. It’s been so long since someone’s held him like this, and Steve’s starved for physical contact, so he pulls your body flush against his. He buries his face into your neck as a single drop of water soaks through the sleeve of your shirt. One of your hands gravitates toward his hair; you comb your fingers through his soft curls soothingly.
You stay like that for several minutes, embracing the boy you could have sworn you hated two days ago.
When the tears stop falling, Steve raises his head. His damp face shines in the moonlight. Before he can pull away, embarrassed by this show of emotion, you reach up and lay a palm on his cheek. You tenderly dry his face with the sleeve of your sweater, then press a kiss to his forehead. His eyelids flutter shut, and you can’t resist making your junior high fantasy come true by pressing another kiss to his mouth. Steve’s lips are as velvety as you imagined and even sweeter than you could have dreamed, thanks to the strawberry milkshake residue left behind.
Steve’s eyelids peel back as soon as you pull away. His eyes flicker between yours, focusing on one and then the other. Clearly, he’s panicking. He didn’t want to kiss you. And now-
Steve’s lips crash onto yours like a tidal wave. He tightens his hold on your waist, and you tangle both your hands in his hair. You both break away at the same time, breathless. Steve leans his forehead against yours. The two of you admire the stillness of the night.
“Bark! Bark! Bark!”
“I’m coming, Rufus. Mama’s going to let you out to potty.”
Steve leaps out of your embrace, nearly falling off the porch swing, as a light flickers on in your kitchen.The luminescence spills out of the window and onto the porch, darkened only by the silhouette of a woman in curlers.
“That’s my mom,” you hiss at Steve. “You gotta go.”
Steve pecks the top of your head, then sprints to his car. He peels out of the driveway and takes off down the road as your mother swings open the front door. The family dog trots out and onto the lawn to do his business. Mom squints at you, and you offer a tiny wave.
“Y/N? Is that you? I didn’t realize you were home.”
“Yeah, it’s me. I haven’t been here long. I was just-looking for constellations,” you say, pointing to what you think might be the Big Dipper.
Your mother narrows her eyes at the sky. But considering she can barely recognize her own daughter’s face a few feet away, you know the bodies of gas in the sky, light-years away, are all a blur to her naked eye.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” she asks.
“I did,” you answer, standing and brushing off your jeans. “I really did.”
“Good,” she says, then grimaces. “It wasn’t your boyfriend who made that god-awful screeching tire noise a few minutes ago, was it?”
Her question’s annoying, sure, but you can’t keep the smile off your face as you say, “No, it wasn’t.”
Technically, it was his car.
“And he’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”
Not yet, anyway.
A/N 2: So that’s that! I think this is a pretty good stopping place for the series, but if you guys want more parts to it, I could probably do a few more. I love you all. Thanks for reading. :)
