Dieter Is Such A Cutie, Really 🥺😍🥺😍🥺😍

Espero que já tenham ouvido Viento Helado do Rocco Posca. Mas caso não tenham, ouçam:

do not chastise the dove (10) ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley

do not chastise the dove ✧ a royal moon knight au | ao3 | pinterest board

pairing: knight!steven grant x fem!princess!reader x knight!marc spector x knight!jake lockley

series summary: you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you. 

chapter summary: operation rescue dove is underway.

word count: 2,218

warnings?: mention of death, mention of kidnapping, mention of psychological torture, not proofread. 

Continuar lendo

I want a romance like that 😭😭😭😭 sending this to my boyfriend so he can learn how to talk about me

Joe passionately rambling on about Y/N for six mins and thirty-four seconds video

Pairing: Joe Keery x Actress!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Category: Fluff. That's all.

Warning: None

Summary: Steve Harrington and Penelope Carter did not stay together at the end of the fourth season of Stranger Things, and the internet has a lot to say about that. In contrast, to warm the hearts of Steddy's fans, one fan shares a six mins and thirty-four second compilation of Joe Keery passionately rambling on about you, his girlfriend, and coincidentally Penny Carter herself.

"Joe literally pinched himself upon seeing Y/N on set for the first time." Matt Duffer told during an interview with Variety in June 2022. "You remember that, right?"

Ross Duffer, sitting next to his brother, laughed as he shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. "There's no forgetting it." He joked. "They sat next to each other in the script room, and you could just see how nervous he was. It was a really fun thing to watch."

Matt nodded, humming as he did so.

"Yeah, I think that's why we can say that we were kind of prepared for the negative fan reaction regarding Steve and Penny's tragic ending in season four, you know?" He added. "We knew from the beginning that it would be hard to convince the audience that Steve and Nancy should be something when we had Joe Keery in love with Y/NY/L/N since the first time he saw her."

To say that the internet was in mourning would be an understatement.

The fourth season of Stranger Things had premiered some time ago, and for fans of the TV show, that was synonymous with hope. This time, Steve Harrington and Penelope Carter will finally be together.

The development from friends to lovers between the characters was something that fans had longed for since the first season, which unfortunately did not happen. Penelope received a tragic ending in Upside Down, and the scene in which her bloodied body was embraced by a miserably distraught Steve had generated thousands of disgruntled tweets and videos on TikTok — most of them featuring puffy-eyed girls, tears streaming down their cheeks as the scene in question played in the background.

Steve and Penelope hadn't gotten the ending they deserved, but you and Joe were the protagonists of another story, this one being in real life, and knowing that you two had been together for more than four years mended a little the crack left in the hearts of Stenny fans.

One video in particular, accumulating a little over 1,5 million views on YouTube, had been shared by a Twitter account along with the hashtag JusticeForStenny, on the rise since the last episode of the fourth season was aired:

@stennylover: steve and penelope didn't get a chance to be together and I know everyone here is heartbroken about it, but here is a compilation of joe passionately rambling on about yn for six mins and thirty-four seconds to warm your hearts

The video in question begins by showing the title text in white capital letters on a black background, the instrumental of Paper Rings by Taylor Swift playing in the background:

Joe Keery passionately rambling on about Y/NY/L/N for six mins and thirty-four seconds straight.

cut

The first recording shows Joe standing in front of a white background during the Glamour's friendship test, arms behind his back and eyes fixed on the floor. He was wearing a plain black shirt, the length of his hair a little shorter than that sported by Steve Harrington indicating that he was preparing for another role.

"I— I was just mesmerized the first time I saw her, honestly." He shakes his head slowly, his lips curving into a comforting smile. "She was visibly excited to be on set. It was like it was her first time in an environment like that, and it was really adorable to see her so excited about every little thing that happened." He said before looking at the camera, the smile not abandoning his lips. "When we had scenes together— which happened a lot, I used get so fucking nervous." Joe laughed, his cussing censored by a beep. "I was constantly getting my lines wrong because of that, and she's always been so thoughtful and patient about it, you know? Which only made my situation worse, actually." He joked, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes meet the floor once again. "She would always ask me if I needed a break, because, you know, she genuinely thought that these mistakes were because of fatigue or something, when internally I was like, 'Oh, I'm fine, I'm sorry about that, I'm just, you know, thinking of a way to ask you out on a date.'"

The video then cuts to the Wired autocomplete interview granted by Joe and Gaten Matarazzo.

Gaten is holding the styrofoam board while the phrases with "is joe keery" remain hidden under white stickers.

"Okay, so let's see what we have here." Joe hums as he pulls out the first sticker. "Is Joe Keey," he begins, "Y/N/Y/L/N's boyfriend in real life?"

"I love the fact that your first question has to do with Y/N." Gaten joked.

"Yeah, I was about to say that, man." Joe played along, leaning forward with one hand on his knee. "But yes, I am Y/N's boyfriend in real life."

"Title he's most proud of." Gaten punctuated, raising his index finger.

Joe clicked his tongue, a smug smile adorning the corner of his lips. "I mean, my girlfriend is Y/N/Y/L/N." He makes a point of stressing your name as if no one knows. "You don't meet many guys this lucky."

Gaten contracted his face in a fake expression of disgust, shaking his head before looking directly at the camera.

"We are still on a mission to find out how much he is paying Y/N."

The next cut is from an interview of Joe to GQ Spain where he was responding to some comments from fans on the internet.

"Youtube." Joe announced before the edit added a lofi song along with a video of Stranger Things fan comments on a scene of Steve and Penelope in the second season, then focusing on one specific user. "I honestly don't know how Steve doesn't realize that Penelope has a crush on him. Is he an idiot?" He reads as the comment remains on the screen.

The video then turns back to Joe.

"I mean, yeah?" He laughs, the video returning to the commentary session as Joe's lines were added as a response along with a typing sound. "I see a lot of Y/N—my girlfriend, in Penelope, you know? Not just because she plays her, obviously, but also because they're both so smart and have such a gentle soul that it's almost like they're magnetic, so when someone asks me what the similarities are between me and Steve, I make it clear that I'm a little smarter when it comes to girls, because I would never let someone like Y/N or Penelope get away. Thank you."

The video then cuts to an interview of Joe on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Kimmel.

"Can we— Can we talk about Y/N/Y/L/N?" Jimmy asked as he leaned over his desk. The audience whistled and clapped loudly as soon as your name was mentioned, making Joe smile. "I mean, we all love her here, and we know you've been together for years— over three years, right?"

"Yeah, that's right." Joe squeaked, shaking his head. "We kind of got tired of just being on screen, you know?" He made a joke, laughing at the thunderous reaction from the audience.

"Man, this is so cool!" Jimmy exclaimed genuinely, causing Joe to nod his head and mutter an almost inaudible "thank you." "And how was the preparation for you two for this fourth season? If I'm correct, the recordings were interrupted due to the pandemic, right?"

"Oh, yes, unfortunately we had that setback and that's why there was a significant delay compared to the other seasons." Joe explained.

"And you two were together during that time?" Jimmy inquired curiously, arching his eyebrows. "Practicing the script together and all that stuff?"

Joe crossed his legs, interlacing his fingers over his lap.

"Well, we did a lot of fun stuff during those months, and of course discussing the script ended up being one of them, but we also kind of took that time to disconnect a little bit, you know?" Joe replied, "We cook together, we write songs together, we learn about gardening on YouTube…" He enumerated with his fingers, "just a bunch of cool stuff."

"Oh, that sounds amazing." Jimmy said in an impressed tone. "Just a couple discovering new hobbies, right?"

"Yeah, but Y/N, she's just— she's just a lot smarter and more talented than me, you know?" Joe said amidst a laugh. "She can act, she can write, she can sing, she can knit, she can read a book about what are the right garden pots for each kind of seed and suddenly become a big Wikipedia on the subject…" he rambled, gesticulating excitedly, "It's amazing. She is amazing. I'm one hundred percent sure she could build a rocket from scratch if she wanted to."

"Wow." Jimmy smiled, exchanging a quick glance with the audience before facing Joe again. "So I guess we can say you're a little bit in love, right?"

Joe blushes, his eyes dropping to the floor before turning to Jimmy." "Yeah, I kind of am."

Steve is so mean... 😫 I think I would panic if I was laying down beside him too 😂

omg scenario #1 with steve, i'll die 😩

thank you for your request ♥ please don't die, love u

[Sleepovers were something we usually did back then. But now that we’re adults, I can’t keep my mind straight with your chest/back pressed into me like that, and your hair splayed over the pillows.]

"Stop moving around," Steve pleads, voice low and husky with exhaustion.

It's a valid thing to ask, you must admit. The bed is warm, the pillow under your head is comfy, and the room is not too dim nor too bright — it's pleasantly dark, just how you like it. Paired up with the sound of soft rain coming from outside, it's a sanctuary for sleeping, one might say.

One who's not lying in the same bed as Steve Harrington, that is.

It was much easier when you were both little, just two friends sleeping together innocently, no confusing feelings or inconvenient thoughts getting in the way. Now all you've got are inconvenient thoughts and confusing feelings.

Steve's not one to make things easier, of course. He is totally oblivious to the effect it has, he must be. Otherwise, he wouldn't be lying so close to you, wouldn't have brushed your hair out of the way and certainly wouldn't be breathing against the back of your neck now, slowly and maddeningly.

You shift restlessly; you can't help it. The immediate response you get is a groan of protest as Steve leans in closer, the tip of his nose touching your warm skin. You breath catches. In your mind, you're swearing enough to put a sailor to shame.

"Y/N."

"Sorry."

His hand slides innocently down your side, fingertips touching your rib. Oh shit, you think, biting the inside of your cheek. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

"You're all tense," he observes. It's a little unnerving to hear his voice in the dark. Not seeing him, but knowing exactly where he is, where your body ends and his begins.

"Sorry," you say again. You're not very confident you can form any other words at this point.

"Stop apologizing."

Steve's hand slides closer to your belly, where it touches a sliver of exposed, sensitive skin.

You feel it the moment he lifts his head off the pillow behind you. "You've got goosebumps," he says. You feel like punching him all of a sudden. "Are you cold?"

It's the damn opposite of cold. It's scorching, suffocating, hot enough to keep you from breathing, you want to say.

"No."

You know he'd offer to get you another blanket if he thought you were cold. You also know you'd quite literally melt if that happened; the heat radiates off of Steve like he's a damn heater, spreading towards your body where his chest meets your back.

It would have been comforting — it is quite cold outside — if you weren't, in fact, very tense. Very aware of the way he lets his fingertips brush against your skin slowly, carefully, of how his hot breath makes goosebumps bloom on the sensitive skin of your shoulder, of your neck…

"Steve."

Sounds dangerously close to a moan. Steve drags his hand over your belly and the exposed sliver of skin expands and expands some more. Your chest rises and falls as you try to remember the right way to breathe, letting your mouth fall open, releasing a sigh that sounds too loud in the silence of the room.

His lips touch the very spot where your shoulder meets your neck, too confident to be accidental.

Then he chuckles — it's low, subtle. Steve's trying his best to hide it. But when you turn around and see the outline of his face in the darkness, what you find is clear — a smirk, a bubbly giggle threatening to break out.

"Oh my God," you say, mortified, jumping off the bed as he giggles sweetly. "You are so mean, Steve!"

"Wait! Get back here, sweetheart!"

Ma'am, why just now I discovered this amazing story?? Everything about it makes me give a silly smile while reading! Hope to see more of your work! You're amazing!!

So I’ve decided to venture into the fanfic world after 20 years of not really writing anything.

Here’s my first attempt, a little Usnavi x Reader story. Hope everyone enjoys.

“There is a war inside of Butcher, and to get to the dawn, you must first travel through the night. Butcher has both the tendency to be the villain and the hero, which makes him a hell of a lot of fun to play.” – Karl Urban for GQ Magazine.

Can't wait to read the next chapters 😍😍

Poor Steve freaked out there for a moment.

Eddieee 🤏🤏

If you do a tag list, can I please be added to it? Thanks! Continue with the great work 😍

Chapter 1: The Beighton Score

Summary: Steve’s new patient is full of surprises.

Word count: 5.1k

A/N: Howdy. Please enjoy part one based on the unfortunate way people with chronic illnesses are treated by the American healthcare system. This is my first Steve fic, so please let me know if I am doing it right! Also: I’m not a Billy Anti. So let’s keep things respectful to all favorites.

1997

The Health Institute of Indiana had been Steve’s home away from home for the last few years. After surviving the upside down, the party had to move on. Steve never had much direction as far as a career was concerned, but he knew he didn’t want to be rewinding video tapes for the rest of his life.

Academically inclined was not a phrase generally used to describe Steve. Math, English, history—none of these subjects ever received higher than a well fought for ‘C’ on his report card. This left him very little hope in the way of a college education, but with some help, he figured out what he wanted to do.

What Steve lacked in book smarts, he made up for in athleticism. So he decided he’d do the one thing he knew how: sports.

More specifically, sports medicine. He thought it would be easy as pie, but like usual, he was wrong. Without Lucas and Dustin’s help with pharmacology and biomechanics, Steve would have never made it through his prerequisite courses. But, by the skin of his teeth, he did. He gave the boys fifty bucks each as a reward with his very first paycheck as a bonafide Physical Therapist Assistant. Dustin said he required more compensation than that, so Steve promised him a shitty Gremlin from his dad’s lot when he turned 21. Steve still had a year before he had to make good on that particular promise.

His dad didn’t like the idea of Steve being an assistant to anyone or anything, and constantly pushed Steve to become a full fledged physical therapist, but Steve was just happy to have gotten this far. He wasn’t going to pursue anything further unless he felt he needed to. He was happy where he was for now.

Well, he wished Robin was here. About as graceful as a newborn foal, she didn’t follow him in his employment—not completely. She was here at the Health Institute as a music therapist. Robin replaced him with Eddie fucking Munson as her new partner in crime while on the clock. The two went floor to floor through the pediatric ward playing music to cheer up the kids. If Steve knew anything about music, he would have followed along with them. Instead, he was put in a makeshift gym that reeks of feet and menthol without his friend to make the time fly by. He missed her, and sometimes Eddie, too.

But it wasn’t all bad. He enjoyed his work quite a bit. The kids who came in were often in really rough shape. Some had to learn how to live without their freshly amputated limb, build dexterity and balance with the new hardware sticking out of their skin that helped straighten the bones in their bowed legs, or trying to help keep what strength they had as Muscular Dystrophy stole their mobility little by little. Steve liked to make them feel better, both physically and emotionally. Usually when they first come in, the kids look like wilted flowers—slumped over, tired, without hope. But after a few sessions of encouragement and sometimes a little tough love, they perked right up and their personalities start to show. In his gym, they’re not sickly and helpless. They’re people who are capable of doing whatever they set their mind to once they learn the tricks that help them do so.

Today would be a light one. He had six patients with only one of them being new. New patients were either scheduled at the first or last appointment of the day to ensure they had enough time to go over the exercises, explain why each one was necessary and what they did for their body, and mostly to answer all the questions parents had, and that was usually enough to have to add an 25th hour to the day to address them all.

Marcy Hargrove, a 12 year old female with unspecified joint instability and inflammation, was due any moment. He received the chart with her detailed evaluation and care plan. It didn’t seem like the kid really needed to be here based on the PT’s evaluation. She had all her limbs, balance was only slightly below normal, no recent surgeries or injury, and did not have any degenerative disease. She seemed like a normal twelve year old.

Steve wiped down the exam table with a bleached rag before gathering the weights and resistance bands he would need when you and Marcy walked into the gym.

“Steve?” you asked with visible shock.

Steve smiled politely, not really sure of the reason behind your bulging eyes and slack jaw. You seemed much too young to be the mother, but he didn’t want to make any assumptions. Last time he misspoke like that he got a smack across the cheek.

“That would be me. Are you sister or Mrs. Hargrove?”

You snorted and sat in the chair by the exam table. “No. Never. It’s Ms. Y/L/N. And this is my daughter Marcy.” You put your hand on the girl’s shoulder and nudged her forward.

Marcy seemed quite normal—short stature with long hair that hid part of her face, which started to break out in angry red zits. Like all his first timers, Marcy seemed very timid. Folded in on herself and fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt, she kept her eyes trained on the floor.

Steve crouched on his knees to try and be within her line of sight. “Hey, Marcy. I’m Steve.” He held out his hand for her to shake, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she looked at his face—not quite meeting his eyes—and gave a small nod.

“Right!” Steve exclaimed, extending back to his full height. “Why don’t you get up here on the table and show me what brings you in.”

Marcy hesitantly did as Steve instructed as you began to rattle off her ailments.

“She’s got problems with her knees, elbows, wrists, ankl—“

“Hold on, hoooooold on,” Steve held his hands up in a time -out T and shook his head. “I would like Marcy to tell me what’s going on. That way I can get a sense on where to start.”

Taken back by his request, you scoffed and made a show of zipping your lips and throwing away the key before crossing your arms over your chest. Marcy, on the other hand, looked as if she was physically trying to bite back a grin.

Steve honestly expected more of a fight from you. Kids were the easy part of the job. Training the parents was the real challenge. Most of the parents he encountered would take up all the air in the room and never let their child speakat all. Steve could understand that the overbearing came from good intentions—the kids were deficient in one way or another and needed an advocate. But here, Steve wanted to teach the kids that even though they were different, they could still be more than sickly and had the ability to speak for themselves. Almost all the parents had a hard time being shushed, often calling him rude and arrogant, but by the third session, the kids were the ones talking so much that the parents were the ones who couldn’t get a word in. It made Steve glow with pride.

He pulled up his rolling stool and took a seat next to the bedside and instructed Marcy to scoot until she could sit flat against the backrest of the table. She did as she was told, and for the first time she was able to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Alright, tell me what’s going on,” Steve prodded.

Marcy chewed the inside of her cheek for a few beats before answering. Stretching her arms to touch her knee caps, she said, “My knees hurt on this side and they pop in and out of place all the time.”

Steve hummed to himself and pinched either side of Marcy’s kneecap before giving it a tentative wiggle.

Marcy immediately flinched away from him with a strangled squeal. “Don’t do that!” she demanded through gritted teeth. The cold glare she was giving him seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

“Sorry, Marcy, but I’ve got to see if your kneecap is where it’s supposed to be. So I’m gonna move it around a little. Try to stay still but if it hurts too much, tell me and I’ll stop, okay? Relax for me.” Steve once again pushed the kneecap to the right, waiting to feel the resistance of the ligament that kept the bone in place. However, the resistance never came, and the small disc of Marcy’s kneecap popped out of place, completely dislocating from its socket.

Steve couldn’t hold back the “Holy shit!” that came bursting from his lips as the patella stayed in an unnatural position. He tried to push it back into place, but Marcy whacked his hands away in a flurry of slaps. He watched in awestruck horror as she pushed the kneecap back into its place with little more than a wince.

Steve met the piercing and unhappy gaze of Marcy Hargrove, her chapped lips twisted into an angry frown. “You’re saying this happens a lot?” he questioned.

“All the time,” she snapped, gently massaging the side of her leg. “My left shoulder and knee more than my right. My right ankle and elbow more than my left, and my jaw.”

“All the time?” Steve repeated in awe.

“All. The. Time,” Marcy huffed. “I don’t have to do anything and things will just pop out. My jaw gets stuck when I try to take too big of a bite. If I run, my ankles give out and I fall, and then my knee buckles. If I fall too hard and try to catch myself, my shoulder will go out, too.” She exhaled sharply and looked over at you for reassurance. You gave her a sad smile and nodded.

Steve flipped through the chart again to see if he missed something. As he skimmed over the notes from Ori, the physical therapist who examined her, he saw no mention of dislocations or subluxations of any of her joints. Confused, Steve tossed the chart towards the other bed and turned back to Marcy.

“Have you ever been in a car accident or injured your knee somehow?” he asked.

Marcy shook her head no. “Never. No accident. I didn’t fall off of a trampoline or anything. It just happens and it really hurts.”

Steve stared into Marcy’s alarmingly blue eyes as if they held the answer. The only thing he could think of was hypermobility, but that just meant she was a little more flexible than the norm and did nothing to explain how easily she could dislocate in multiple places. .

“Okay, I’m going to check something,” Steve announced. “Can you touch your thumb to your forearm?”

Marcy looked at him as if he asked if she could spell her own name. With ease, she pressed her thumb to her forearm, her wrist completely hyperextended.

“On both hands?”

Without blinking, Marcy did the same with her right hand.

“How far can you bend your pinky?”

She laid her hand flat on the table and pulled her pinky back, stretching it far beyond a 90 degree angle. She did the same to her other pinky without Steve asking.

He asked her to stand to her feet, and she did gingerly to avoid further agitating the leg he just injured. When she stood, her knees snapped back, locking and curved like a banana in the wrong direction. He had her hold her arms stretched out at her sides, and noticed that again, her elbows sunk in much farther than they were supposed to, almost creating a fulcrum in the center of her arms. The last test he could think of was to see if Marcy could touch the floor with her palms completely flat. It didn’t come as a shock when she did it without struggle.

What did shock him was when she returned to her full height, Marcy suddenly swayed uneasily and dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Steve caught her by the shirt in order to stop her from cracking her skull on the tile.

“Marcy?!” he shouted, watching her clench her eyes shut. She wasn’t unconscious, but she wasn’t responsive either. “Kid, are you with me?”

Marcy didn’t acknowledge him at all.

“Is she a diabetic?” he panicked. “I have orange juice in that cabinet there!” He had never seen anything like this before, and it was scaring him. In ten minutes he managed to dislocate her knee and make her pass out. He looked to you for help, but you were already by Marcy’s side.

“She’s not a diabetic and orange juice won’t help. Help me put her on the table,” you instructed.

Steve was thrown off by your calm demeanor. He’s had kids puke before and the parents nearly gave themselves heart attacks over it. How were you not freaking out?

He picked Marcy up and laid her on her belly just as you instructed. She folded her arms under her chest and rested her forehead against the blue vinyl of the table. Marcy’s breathing started to slow and stabilize the longer she laid there.

Professionalism be damned, Steve was scared. “What the hell is going on?” he shrieked.

You crossed your arms over your chest and glowered at him. “If you had let me speak earlier, I could have told you that when she changes positions too fast, she passes out. Sometimes she knocks out cold and sometimes, like now, it’s just dizziness that will turn into syncope if she doesn’t lay down.”

Steve looked at you with utter confusion, not totally understanding what you were saying. “What?”

You rolled your eyes and snorted. “You never were a bright one, were you, King Steve?”

Bewildered, Steve gawked. How in the hell did you know about his high school nickname. He stared at your face intently, trying to place you within the halls of Hawkins High School, but nothing clicked. “Do I know you?”

Again, you scoffed at him. “Y/F/N Y/L/N. I went to Hawkins until junior year. We were in O’Donell’s together? Sixth period? I was dating Billy? Billy Hargrove?”

Without thinking, Steve laughed. “All the girls thought they were dating Billy Har—“ Steve’s eyes widened as he looked over Marcy’s still figure. “—grove. Hargrove.” Steve turned to you and blinked, once again trying to find some familiarity in your face. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t conjure up an image of you at all. Not in class, the cafeteria, underneath Billy’s stupid denim clad arm, not even at a par—

“Tina’s Halloween party!” Steve yelled, clapping his hands together as the realization hit him. “You were Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie!”

He remembered that costume in embarrassing detail. Nancy had just ripped him a new one in the bathroom and Steve came storming down the stairs, nearly knocking you over. He caught you by the wrist and was taken back by the exposed expense of your belly in the pink sheer costume. He thought about getting Nancy back. Maybe let her see him make out with Jeanine and show her that she’s the one that’s bullshit, but he didn’t. He tried not to be that guy anymore, and let you go with a half-assed apology.

You were clearly unimpressed at how long it took him to figure out who you were. “That’s all you remember about me?”

“Uh, yeah? I don’t think I saw you ever again,” he answered with a shrug.

“Yeah, well,” you sighed. “My mom moved us here when I got pregnant.”

Suddenly remembering there was a kid in the room, Steve’s eyes snapped back to Marcy. He didn’t exactly know Hargrove on a friendly level, and what Steve did know about him, he didn’t like at all. Max was terrified of him, he beat the shit out of Steve, went after Lucas, disrespected everyone and everything he came across. But even through all of that, Steve couldn’t hate the guy. He sacrificed himself to the Mindflayer and basically saved the entire town, Steve included.

Wordlessly, Steve mouthed, “Did he know you were pregnant?”

Shifting Your weight from one leg to the other, your mouth turned down into a frown. “Yes,” you mouthed back.

“Was he around?” Steve pressed.

You shook your head no, even though the words you said loud enough for Marcy to hear contradicted your movement. “Billy was with us until he came back home for the Fourth of July. I’m sure you heard what happened. So many people died in the fire.”

It took a second for Steve to catch on. He knew damn well Billy was still whoring around until the day he died. He finally understood what you were saying by the look of frustration you were giving him, nodding your head towards Marcy with wide eyes.

“Oh,” Steve gasped. Billy wasn’t there, but Marcy didn’t know that—thinking Billy was only gone because of his untimely death and not because he was, indeed, an asshole. “Yeah, I remember that. Horrible stuff..”

Marcy started to stir, flipping herself over and slowly sitting up. Steve cleared his throat and asked if she was okay.

“Fine,” she answered miserably. “Happens.”

“What do the doctors say about all this?” he questioned.

“They think I’m full of shit!” Marcy spat venomously.

“Marcy—!”

The angry preteen paid no attention to you. “They say they don’t know what it is! They think I’m lying! They say I don’t have enough muscle to support being double jointed because I’m lazy! That I pass out because I just want attention!” She hastily wiped away the tears of frustration from their path down her cheek. “They’re wrong! It’s real and it hurts and I hate it!”

Within a blink, you were sitting on the exam table and holding Marcy into your chest as she cried. You kissed the top of her head and whispered soothing words to her in an attempt to calm her down.

Steve was at a complete loss, unable to really process what was happening right in front of him. For the third time that day, he reviewed Marcy L. Hargrove’s chart for a clue as to what the hell he was supposed to do to help her. There was nothing more detailed than the very vague “unspecified joint instability” which made Steve scoff. Ori’s plan of care was to increase muscle mass through weights, resistance bands, and strengthening exercises. While Steve wasn’t as educated as Ori, he didn’t think fifty repetitions of leg presses were going to cure her with how lax her ligaments were.

Sighing deeply, he went to the cabinets and dug around until he found what he was looking for. He wasn’t sure this was going to work either, but it was worth a shot if it could stop Marcy from crying and feeling unheard.

“Have you tried either of these before?” Steve asked, holding up a roll of multicolored tape and a hinged knee brace.

Marcy pulled her tear stained face from your chest. “I’ve only used ace wraps, but they hurt after a while.”

“Alright, so here’s what we’re gonna do,” Steve began, resuming his spot on his rolling chair. “We were supposed to start with some exercises today, but we’ll settle for the fun stuff first.” He pulled off some sticky adhesive pads from under the table and placed them on both sides of each knee, making Marcy flinch at his touch. “It’s alright,” he reassured her. “I think you’ll like this.”

He untangled the wires from the behemoth of a machine tucked against the wall and plugged the pegs into the channels of the sticky pads. “This is an electrical stimulator. The electric pulses are gonna interrupt the pain signals to your brain. It’s gonna tingle, but it shouldn’t hurt. I usually do this after we finish our sessions, but you’re getting spoiled today, Hargrove.”

God, it felt so fucking weird to say that name again. Billy had been gone for almost ten years now, and Steve only spared him a second thought whenever Max brought it up once in a blue moon. He wondered if she knew about her niece.

As he looked at Marcy, he could see Billy plain as day. The blue eyes, the sharpness in her scowl, the shape of her chin. Never in a million years did Steve except to be treating the spawn of Billy Hargrove. He felt a little guilty for being the one to care for her when Billy couldn’t. Or wouldn’t even if he could by what you were hinting to earlier.

“I’m gonna turn it on now. I can keep raising the intensity until you tell me to stop. Remember, it’s supposed to tingle, not hurt, okay?” Steve turned on the machine and pressed the up button when Marcy nodded in agreement. He kept pressing the up button, waiting for her to tell him to stop. She seemed unphased and kept jerking her thumb up as a signal for him to keep going.

“We’re at 54. You’re sure you're okay?” Steve asked tentatively. He himself couldn’t take more than 62 hertz without crossing over into the threshold of pain.

“Keep going,” Marcy answered encouragingly.

He followed her lead until she told him to stop at 70 hertz. She let out a long sigh of content and smiled at you. “Feels good, mommy.”

You grinned. Genuinely, truly grinned at her. “It must if you’re calling me mommy instead of mom.”

Marcy sneered playfully at you before nestling further down into the exam table. “How long do I get to have this on?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Steve answered, mindlessly spinning around in circles on his rolling stool. “If you want me to turn it up or down just let me know. Then we’ll lather you up with MintFreeze, tape up your joints, and send you on your way.”

If Steve didn’t know any better, he would say Marcy was almost smiling at him as the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “You knew my dad?”

Caught off guard by the question, Steve ceased his spinning with a loud stomp.

He wanted to tell her the truth about Billy, but the ghost of a smile on her face killed that train of thought. He quickly spared you a glance, silently asking what he should say to that, and received a wordless “Be Nice.” in return.

Steve didn’t see a reason to be nice, given that there was only one good thing he could say about the guy, but he legally couldn’t do that either.

“We were at school together,” Steve answered honestly. “He was in my gym class and used to beat me in basketball all the time.”

Marcy’s face lit up like a sunbeam. “What else? Were you friends?”

From the look of adoration on the girl’s face, Steve suddenly understood why you were lying to her about Billy’s true nature. The hope and unadulterated love sparkling in her eyes was almost too painful to look at. Billy Hargrove alive was an asshat. But Billy Hargrove’s ghost could be whatever you said he was, and to Marcy, he was a guy who loved her and was only away from her because he wasn’t among the living anymore.

“He had this really, really loud Camaro that he liked to show off. Drove it like a madman. You could hear him coming from two miles away. Two!”

They spent the rest of the time talking about the very limited knowledge Steve had about Billy. He didn’t have much to share, but that didn’t seem to matter to Marcy at all. She absorbed everything he said like her life depended on it. Steve didn’t think Billy being a lifeguard at the pool was particularly interesting, but it sent Marcy down a rabbit hole. “If Dad was a lifeguard, that meant he could swim, maybe even be a really good swimmer. Did he teach lessons? He probably taught little kids how to swim, too! And trained other lifeguards in CPR and stuff!”

Steve’s chest ached as he watched you smile at your daughter. While it was wide, it didn’t quite reach your eyes. There was a sadness there that even he, as emotionally stunted he was, could see.

Steve unhooked Marcy from the machine and asked her to tell him where she hurt. He applied a generous amount of the menthol based lotion to her knees, ankles, and elbows, making sure to be gentle around the spots that made her flinch whenever he ran his hand over it. She let out another happy sigh as the tingling of the cream soaked into her skin.

“Now this is kinetic tape. I’m gonna put it on your knees and elbows,” Steve announced. He cut off long strips of the multicolored tape and peeled the paper to reveal the adhesive. “This is going to act as extra support and help keep things where they’re supposed to be. It’s also been proven that the tape helps reduce swelling, so that could help with your pain, too.”

You watched him stretch the tape over Marcy’s knees, asking where such a thing could be purchased for future use. Steve listed a few special stores he ordered supplies from and recommended keeping the tape on for three days at a time.

“You can keep these on until we meet again on Wednesday,” Steve said, flattening the adhesive to secure Marcy’s elbow. “Ori has you down three times a week for the next six weeks, so save any tape you buy on your own for weekends if you need it.”

Satisfied with his work, Steve patted Marcy’s shoulder as a signal to get off the table. She winced and said that she could feel her shoulder start to give when he did that, and asked far too politely for a Hargrove to not do it again.

“You got it,” Steve agreed. He held up the hinged brace and raised his eyebrows at Marcy. “You should wear this at school or whenever you’re gonna be active just for extra security, but don’t wear it all the time. Braces stabilize, but they also let the muscles rest a little too much, and we’re trying to make you the next Kerri Strug, okay?”

Marcy nodded and carefully climbed off of the table. Steve tried not to react to the sickening crack of her ankles when she made it to the floor.

“Why don’t you go get a sucker or something from Alice at the front desk? I’ll put you on the schedule for Wednesday.”

Marcy smiled at you and took off towards the crochet old woman who snoozed on the job.

Steve turned to you and put his hands on his hips. “Look, if you’re gonna have me lie about what Billy was really like, you need to clue me in on what you’ve been telling her.”

Your eyes narrowed in disgust. “Are you judging me, Harrington?”

“Wha-? No!” Steve answered with exasperation. “I just don’t want to say something to confuse her. Like Max. Does she even know Billy has a sister?”

Clearly bringing up his redheaded friend was the wrong thing to do. Your lips twisted into a vicious scowl. “Billy didn’t have a sister.”

“See!” Steve exclaimed. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! If you don’t tell me what to say, I’ll confuse her, and I really don’t think you want that.”

“Or, we could just not talk about him,” you offered rather unhelpfully. “You’re supposed to be working with her, not socializing.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Come on. You saw how she lit up thinking he was teaching kids how to swim when we both know he was probably drowning them to see if the fat ones could float.”

You peered at him through narrowed eyes with so much intensity that Steve thought you could see his bones like an x-ray.

He sighed in defeat and rubbed his palm over his forehead when you didn’t answer him after a while. “Fine. It’s not my business. We’ll just steer the conversation away from Billy if she asks, alright?”

You rocked onto the balls of your feet. “I get out of work at six tomorrow evening. Meet me at Fuji’s Bistro by 6:15 and we’ll talk,” you said uneasily.

“No, really, it’s fine,” Steve argued, walking towards the open gym door. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

You followed him. “I don’t. But I will.”

He nodded slowly. “Fuji’s. 6:15 tomorrow.”

“If you’re not there by 6:30 I’m bolting and we let it go—Eddie Munson as I live and breathe! It’s a damn Hawkins reunion here today!”

Steve snapped his neck in the direction of your gaze and saw Eddie grin and wave like an idiot at you.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a sideways one armed hug. “Like seeing a ghost!”

Steve felt like a bigger ass for not knowing who you were if even Eddie knew you from looks alone. “You know each other?”

“Pfft. Yeah,” Eddie chortled. “Spent a whole weekend together trying to keep Hargrove from climbing the walls on a bad trip. That kind of war experience creates a lifelong bond, Steve.“

“Like I don’t already know that,” Steve muttered to himself.

Eddie ignored Steve and pressed on. “What brings you to our neck of the woods after all the time?”

You leaned around Eddie to call Marcy over. When the young girl left her spot at the front desk, looking like maybe she was bending all the paper clips into straight lines and rendering them useless, she came to stand by you.

Eddie gasped as he eyed the last Hargrove. “No! Way!” He stared at you with an open mouth. “That’s why you moved!”

Steve felt even more annoyed that Eddie could spot the resemblance without being told when he couldn’t.

“Marcy, this is Eddie, Eddie this is my daughter Marcy,” you introduced them. “Eddie went to school with us.”

“You knew my dad, too?!” she squealed.

“Sure did, kid,” Eddie laughed. “I could tell you some stories, but I’m not sure your mom here would let me live if I did.”

You whacked Eddie in the chest with the back of your hand. “We’ve got to get going. It was really nice seeing you. We should catch up sometime.” You steered Marcy gently by the shoulders towards the lobby exit. “6:15, Harrington. Don’t be late,” you said with a final nod and disappeared into the hall.

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in and collapsed onto the lobby couch. Of all the things he thought would happen today, Marcy Hargrove was not one of them.

I miss Hamilton's fanfics that I didn't read yet

At six o'clock Steve stares at you from the misted window as you untie the ribbon on your apron, take it off and disappear into the back of the shop. He knows you're tired and you just want to go home. He knows it, because it's the first thing you always said to him after the shift, in another life: before Vecna, before the war, before you forgot about him forever. 

I didn't expect it. Omg. You shattered my heart from this paragraph onwards. 😭😭

And the ending 😭🤌

Remember Me- Steve Harrington

Summary: Every morning Steve shows up at the coffee shop you work in and every morning you hope is the one where the cute stranger will finally talk to you. But it never happens and maybe you don't really need it. Yet, while you wait at the tables with a smile, you can't help but wonder why you feel like you've known him all your life.

Words count: 3.8k

Tags: Fluff and Angst. Post-season4 Steve Harrington / Post War/ Mentions of major character death.

Y/n smells like coffee and lemons. A strange mix that Steve still doesn't know whether its good or not. You move around the shop with a circumstantial smile on your face, a tray in your hands and a green apron used as an impassable wall against the rest of the world, your armor.

Yet you can't take your eyes off that customer, who oders American coffee every morning and sit at the table furthest from people. Sometimes he brings a curly-haired boy with him, other times there's a beautiful girl with big blue eyes - perhaps his girlfriend, perhaps a friend - and with them he smiles slightly more. But he is often alone and clarly wants to be.

You're sorry for that. You don't even know why, you have so much else to think about. You moved in the USA just a few years ago, from your  country you ended up in the middle of nowhere, in Indiana, and when you  arrived you discovered that this place is not as safe and boring as you believed. Strange deaths, accidents, earthquakes, natural disasters like it has been cursed and to be honest you have the feeling of having lost a good part of the time spent here. Now, apart from the fact that this place sucks, you should think about having fun, hanging out with boys, trying to make friends like your aunt says, but you don't. You go home at night and think of a sad stranger and you don't want to, you really don't want to but you do. Silly girl.

"What can I get you sir?" you ask, like every day. When he's alone he usually doesn't reply, he mumbles something under his mouth, looks into your eyes and points his finger at his choice. The menu next to the paper napkins is his voice and you like to listen to it.

"I'll bring it to you right away." There are no smiles between you, even if you would like to. Sometimes you've found yourself wanting a simple "thank you" said properly, not half-mouthed or in a whisper. Yet there's kindness even in the way he moves, the way he isolates himself and it's something you can't explain.

When you place the coffee on the table – a breath away from his fingers – he usually just looks at you. His are not eyes to remain indifferent to. It's not the color that makes them  so special, they're big and dark, but it's their depth, the way they seem to be a portal to that boy's soul, the way they peer into you and seem to contain not a shred of malice and seen too much. They look like a child's eyes, actually. They have something pure, sincere, tremendously tender and at the same time they contain the gaze of a veteran and they defeat you. He looks at you and you are chained. But that's okay, you wouldn't have tried to resist anyway.

He looks at you with something that reminds you of sweetness, hints at a half smile - the first - and this alone is enough to burn you inside,  even if it's snowing outside.

The boy doesn't like snow, he's always in a bad mood when it snows. One day you overheard him talking about it with his friend Dustin, Dexter, something like that. 

"Everytime I fear he is coming back"

"He can't, you know it . We made sure it can't happen again"

"Yes, but at what coast?" and his voice had broken in a yearning way, on the last syllable, like a raging river that you thought you would see burst. When you turned to look at him not a single emotion had appeared on his face. You would like to know what happened to him.

Everyday you look away from him when you realize you've spent too much time staring at him and walk away, ignoring the abandoned baconnotes on the table, silent like him. You feel stupid, a high school girl staring at the mysterious lonely boy. It's ironic and you don't know it yet, but there was a time Steve Harrington was the opposite of mysterious and lonely.

This morning it's different and you don't run away. You linger a moment too long on the marks that can be glimpsed from his shirt, scars on his neck that seem to continue under the fabric of his shirt for who knows how long. You've already noticed some small signs, but usually he's very careful to cover them. Today they are redder and more visible. You notice more scars, these never seen before, on his arms and you realize only now that he has cut his hair and when he moves them you notice and old wound on the left side of his face. 

If he wasn't around your age you'd really think he's a war veteran. You wonder what he must have been through and you don't notice his hand extended towards the cup, which meets yours. For the first time, you feel the contact with his skin, a silent echo of an unexpressed desire. You know nothing about him, barely his name. "Steve" You've heard from his friends. You know nothing of his life; still for an instant you dream of being part of it with all the monsters he must have fought to hurt himself like this. You talk with your eyes for as long as you stay close: you with a silent voice full of questions, he with a single answer. And it's always the same.

To each request, he reacts by moving his fingers, running along your palm and thumb, making red-hot marks that only you can see. You feel them, like burns on your skin, as if you are no longer in the cafeteria, surrounded by people, but in a private place, where every gesture, every touch acquires meaning. And there's no need for him to say anything, you know that today he wanted you to see his scars, he wanted to understand how you would react, he wanted you to see him for real. And you do it, you really see him, and you don't get scared. You never could. You don't know why. 

«Y/n please, could you bring me more coffee?»Another guy asks. He is just another is a customer, an ordinary, common one. Not like him. Just a guy who shows up often, asking you for coffee and smiles. And you're willing to give it to him, you're willing to pretend with the others but not with Steve, with him you only smile when you really want to and it's absurd that in his presence this happens more or less always. 

"Sure! " Breaking contact  with Steve seems more tiring than studying for the last exam, more painful than finding out you didn't pass it. You feel yourself blush as you bow your head and flutter your eyelashes, tucking the tray under your arm. Sorry, you say in one last look, ready to leave him. But he grabs your wrist with the delicacy that distinguishes him, making you turn around again. Blush again.

"I'm Steve." I know, you would like to answer however you avoid doing that. It's the first time you can hear his voice right, with words articulated slowly, fearlessly, spoken for you and you alone .

«Y/n.»

Steve runs his thumb along the inside of the wrist before letting you go, in an almost automatic gesture that he seems to regret immediately. A Last, anxious caress, which reveals what his eyes have always hidden.

"I know"

These words are the most exciting thing you've heard in a while. Suddenly you understand why Steve comes in every day, stealing a look and a few minutes of your life. Or so you believe. You feel a shiver running down your back, turning into a burning caress - the one you would like from him - and going up your spine, up to your ears. It's hope. 

You don't know how or why, you feel as if you already know him, as if in another life your skin has touched nothing but his, and you don't even believe in these things. Maybe he feels the same, the same overwhelming nostalgia for something you haven't even experienced. You hope you're right, you hope he comes here every day  just to see you, to search for a contact that happened by chance - by mistake - and to show you his tormented gaze of him, looking for the peace that he has lost in you. 

«I'll bring you some coffee» You say to another customer, looking at him without seeing him.

I have to talk to Steve. I can't let him go. Not like that. You hurry to get the hot container of coffee and reach the customer's table, dedicating a smile and a moment of your life to him. A moment that he could have, or should have, dedicated to someone else.  "Are you on duty again tonight?" You almost don't hear the question, taken as you are from another table, another customer, one different from the others. Your mind is only on Steve. "Yes," you say, glancing at Steve to make sure he's still there. He is. You suddenly feel calmer. "But only until six."

"It's already dark at six" the boy observes. "I could take you home..."

"There's really no need to, thanks." You walk up to the counter to put the container away. You hear the doorbell ring, and feel the brutal urge to turn around. 

Steve's table is now empty.

*

At six o'clock Steve stares at you from the misted window as you untie the ribbon on your apron, take it off and disappear into the back of the shop. He knows you're tired and you just want to go home. He knows it, because it's the first thing you always said to him after the shift, in another life: before Vecna, before the war, before you forgot about him forever. 

You put on your coat, gloves and wool cap, and say goodbye to your colleague. "See you tomorrow." You pull the scarf up on your chin as you open the door.  

After the war with Vecna and the disappearance of the Upside Down, even the climate has changed. The ice covers the streets, leaving just two gray trails to show the asphalt. There are very few cars parked outside the cafeteria, a badly parked red BMW stands out, it's the only one not covered in snow. Steve smiles seeing you, he holds back from calling you, enjoying the image: a colored spot in the whiteness of winter. You puff. It's cold, and you have to walk home, your high boots sinking into the white blanket, the houses still to be rebuilt across the street are the only sign of the drama Hawkins has experienced. An earthquake so strong that it has destroyed everything. You have been hurt, a head injury big enough to steal a piece of your life. A piece so important that you're only retrieving the fragments of your life here, tales of your aunt, your friends, which for some reason never seem to fit right together 

"Hey." A male voice calls you. You keep moving forward. It is not the first time that some stranger tries to approach you .

«Y/n.» You turn around, you see him and suddenly the snow and the cold disappear and the world is a warm and beautiful place. Steve. "Hello, y/n." You take a step towards him and stop, as if you've dared too much. "What are you doing out here?"

 With this wheater. You think you know the answer. And you hope to hear it from him.

"I'm here for you" Would be the sweetest music. But Steve shrugs, makes an embarrassed noise, pulling his jacket around him. You seem to notice a redness on his cheeck, you wonder if it's not just the cold. "What does it mean?" You ask, letting out a smile, tossing your tied hair. Steve's eyes catch yours, in a silent response that seems to be enough for you. For a moment everything is as before for Steve, you are only you and he is only him and in your eyes he finds the girl he fell in love with during a war that you shouldn't have had to fight. 

You arrived like lightning a year ago alongside the only friend you managed to make in the city at that time: Eddie Munson, and you were the first -together with Dustin- to try to prove his innocence, with all that this entailed: including demobats, Upside Down and Vecna. Now you don't remember anything, and maybe a little part of Steve is happy you don't have to carry the trauma with you, but you don't remember the good things either. You don't remember Eddie. When you look at his old posters or find his photos on the newspapers, to you he is just the killer who terrorized the city and you don't mourn his death. But you did it, you did it until you lost your breath, screaming at the top of your throat in the middle of the darkest night. Steve had to drag you from his  body by force, against your punches and kicks. You melted into his embrace, you vented the pain with such force that he feared your bones might break from the powerful sobs that shook you. Steve lulled you into a tormented sleep and watched over you. And then there was Max. The list of fallen soldiers got longer. Murray.Hopper, again. Will.

And Robin, oh, Rob. 

You were the only thing keeping Steve alive after that. When his best friend fell into his arms, Steve wanted to die and for a moment he stood still, ready to let himself be taken by the same cursed monster that stole Robin from him. But you were there and you needed him, he had to keep you alive. He had to think about Dustin.

Then he lost you too. In a different, unexpected way. When Vecna took you, he thought you were going to die, because the music wasn't playing and you were floating in the air and he, he looked away, like a coward, he gave up. He decided he didn't want to see you die, not like that. He regrets it every day. All he did was prepare to grab your lifeless body, imagining that he would be the next one to die. He couldn't live in a world without Robin.

 But in a world without Robin where he didn't even have you, it was torture, hell. The world was shaking again and the earth was cracking  and Steve desperately wanted to die. But you fell into his arms still alive and breathing and Eleven had killed Vecna and all you had were broken bones and a head injury from the pressure exerted by that monster. Steve didn't know it at the time, but you also had a brain injury, something strong enough to erase everything from the last three years. Everyithing about him. Your family, despite being aware of the situation, has decided not to tell you anything, to keep you away from them, from Steve.

 After all if it wasn't for them you wouldn't have been involved. Also Steve promised to protect you and he didn't. He had failed you , as he did with Robin.

Dustin has kept him alive, keeping him company in the months of solitude spent locked up in his house. Nance forced him to eat every day and Erica, Erica remained silent next to him for hours and that was enough at least for a while. Then, at a certain point, Steve saw you from the shop windows, you were working, smiling. 

And it wasn't enough anymore.

The sky is black, the streetlights barely lit up the street, yet you can understand more about Steve right now, looking at his face wrapped in half-light, than you ever guessed during these endless mornings. «Y/n» your colleague opens the door, investing you with warmth and light, so much so that you lower your eyelids.

"Sorry... I saw you out here. I just wanted to let you know that I'll come early tomorrow so you can go home early." You nod as the door closes. When you turn to Steve, you find him closer than when you last looked at him. You see his breath condense between you and join yours. Heat mingling with heat, and desire meeting desire. Steve nods at the BMW.

"I... I didn't mean to scare you, I just... I can take you home if you want." 

There is a fire inside you, even if you can't explain why. You should be scared of an unknown guy who comes to your workplace every morning and now silently approaches you to offer you a ride home on a dark winter afternoon, but the truth is that Steve makes you feel so many things and fear it's not one of them. You think that this is his car, that the car says so much about people, that you want to see what he keeps inside it, the objects that are important to him. There is probably his scent inside it. 

Steve smells good, clean.You know, you just don't know why.  "That is fine." 

"Steve, can I... Can I ask you a question?" You ask after a few steps in silence. He nods, keeps walking, his arm against yours looking for even the slightest contact. He needs it, or else he'll sink. He needs it to keep himself on his feet when dark comes and in the streets he sees the faces of his dead appear. When your bodies touch, over layers of fabric, you feel your skin melt and you wonder if maybe you're crazy. "Why me?"It's a strange question, you know, you're a little ashamed of it, and you're afraid of scaring him but you feel, somewhere inside you, that maybe he has the answer you were looking for, the missing piece in your story. Or maybe it's just an illusion. He turns around, his gaze softens and he observes you like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. Because there is no other girl.

 He doesn't say it, he can't. He doesn't want to mess with you, he doesn't want to lose you again and scare you. 

"You know y/n, I've never met a waitress as good as you." 

You laugh, putting a hand over your mouth. "You're an easy guy to get Steve Harrington"

He opens his eyes wide and you don't realize it but is'shere, clear, limpid: Steve has never said his surname. You don't notice, not really. You keep walking beside him. "Thanks," you whisper as you let your arm slide, intertwining it with his. What would it be like to really feel his skin? 

Warm. Rough in the points furrowed by scars, soft in the rest of the body. To Feel the sensation of  naked flesh on your lips, the scent of laundry, the saltiness of his body, the pulse of the vein on his neck, where you place a kiss that isn't there, never was. It's a fantasy that looks a lot like a memory. It scares you. "Let's go." He exhorts you, with shyness and a touch of fear his hand moves to your back and your body is warm under his gaze. His breath is against his cheek, slips under the scarf, up to your neck."Yes" he says, holding his breath. It's cold, but not that much, not now, not for you. Not when you feel Steve's nose against your ear, not when he notices your twitch too. Steve closes his eyes, tries to refrain from telling you everything, from holding you tightly to him, it's so difficult now that he has you close again to resist, to keep a distance that hurts and he doesn't want. "Are you cold?" Steve asks  in a low voice, but for you this question is so much like the caress you've been craving since you became aware of his presence in the shop, since you met his gaze."Not at all'."

You feel Steve's smile on your cheek and you feel like you're. You just turn your head, just to give him the opportunity to reach your lips, but Steve doesn't kiss you, he's still with his eyes closed and who knows what he thinks of you, looking for a kiss from someone you don't even know

."You smell like coffee." The words are an incandescent breath on the mouth. His breath join yours,  you can feel the the taste of him – mint and aftershave – before you even smell it, like you've never tasted anything else in your life. 

"You don't like it?" Thrill after thrill, waiting to discover something about him that you don't know yet. Everything, you have to find out everything, but it seems to you that you have known him for a lifetime."I love coffee" You know he is lying. You just know. But you don't care. Just one question goes through your head and in order not to give it a voice you decide to shut your mouth in the best possible way at the moment. You shiver a little when your lips are close to him. You trace his cheek slowly with your lips, waiting for the moment when he pulls back and tells you you're crazy. You look for the right way to kiss him. 

"I don't usually do that. You must have something very special" You whisper against him. And Steve can't take it anymore, like a dam that breaks its banks, he pushes you completely against him, as if you were one. And then, finally, he finds his way. When he kisses you – slowly at first, giving your lips time to get to know each other; then devouring your every thought, as if nothing else exist but you – you find yourself repeating to yourself that you don't want to kiss anyone anymore. Touch no one anymore. Let anyone kiss and touch you except from Steve. 

"Steve" You murmur breathlessly, pulling away from him. "Would you think I'm crazy if I tell you something?"He shakes his head, his lips swollen and beautifully red. "Never"

"I knew you before, didn't I?" Now Steve Harrington no longer has the strength to lie.Steve Harrington has come to get his girl back and far off in the dark of night he swears he can see Robin Buckley smiling at him for it.

I need help, guys!

Someone have some image or something like that from Five, Klaus and Ben (together preferably)? I think that I'm going to make a mug from The Umbrella Academy, because this show is soooo amazing that I need it with me every moment haha