Robyn-118 - Robyn - Tumblr Blog

"Lets start with some letrozole."

Me: *no response*

"Cool, let's double the dose."

Me: *no response*

"Do it again, and take it with steriods to help get some sort of reaction."

Me: *still nothing*

"Okay, you aren't responding to oral meds so we are going to try injectables that cost thousands of dollars. Let's just start your cycle over and try again. Here's some progesterone, take it for 10 days and call us with your period."

Me: *gets period, calls doctor and makes an appointment for baseline labwork and ultrasound*

"Oh, wait you have a follicle?!?! So, your body responded but it was just a very delayed response. Let's have you take a trigger shot (hCg) and have your husband fuck you and hope for the best."

Me: *does all that shit and makes an appointment for labwork to see if i ovulated*

"Bad news, you didn't ovulate. Instead of just a small poke in your belly, your gonna have to get a bigger needle so you can inject intramuscular to make sure your body is absorbing the medicine. Let's give you progesterone to start you period and we will try all this again."

Me: *starts period the very next day with the heaviest flow and worst cramps I've ever experienced in my life coupled with nausea and sore tits from the hCg shot I took not even a week ago*

It seriously blows my mind that people get pregnant without trying... and for free 😒

Healing Wounds

Summary: Sequel to Empty - It had been close to a year since your run-in with Sam Winchester. You had spent the time hunting recklessly, which landed you in a predicament you didn’t think you could escape from. This tells the story of seeing Sam once more after his soul has been restored. 

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of vomit/nausea (no description), blood, Supernatural-y things (vamps), heartbreak (but fixing it with fluff), angsty, very limited talk about mental health and personal struggles

A/N: There may be one final part in this. I felt like there was too much to cover in one part. But this also wraps up all of the angst from Empty. Let me know what you think! And if you'd like to see this storyline continue at all :) Thanks in advance!

The first phone call came about eight months after you had seen Sam.

“Hello?” You answered, unsure of the number that had called you. But in the world of hunting, you always answered. Hunters were known to work their way through cell phones or have burners as back-up.

But this was a voice you had willed yourself to forget over the last eight months. Your name fell in a gentle murmur from his lips, but it sounded bitter to your ear. “It’s, uh, it’s Sam,” he cleared his throat in a way that told you he was uncomfortable making this phone call.

“Sam,” you said curtly. Your friend and hunting partner, Alicia McCaffrey, looked at you with wide eyes.

“Hang up that damn phone,” she muttered through gritted teeth as she followed you into the motel room and closed the door behind her.

You wanted to, really–you did. But somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet. “Are you and Dean alright?” You asked firmly. You had learned that just a few months after your run-in with Sam, Dean had gotten back in the game. Bobby had filled you in on a call he had made to ask you about a hunt you had been on. Dean had tried to reach out twice to see you, but he could tell by the sound of your voice and shortness of your responses, you weren’t willing to come back to hunt with the Winchester duo.

“Y-Yeah,” he stumbled over his words–and here again, he sounded different. But you knew better. You had witnessed it for yourself. “We’re fine, we’re okay,” you were able to breathe a little easier. There was a pause on his end, and you didn’t understand why. “God, this is so hard to explain over the phone. There’s…there’s so much I wanna say…” his voice fell off again. 

“Sam, I don’t really have time for this–” your heart raced against your sternum.

“I know, I know I don’t deserve it. Please, just let me explain–” it was your turn to cut him off.

“Sam, all I want is for you to lose my number,” the words felt angry as they left your mouth. As much as it still hurt, you pulled the phone from your ear and hit ‘End’.

It had been months since you had heard from Sam Winchester. Months of reckless hunting, which wasn’t usually your style. But you had a hard time caring anymore. The heartache from your one night rendezvous with the youngest Winchester had wrecked you in ways you didn’t realize were possible. 

Alicia McCaffrey had become one of your closest friends, but even she had to take a step back. “You’re dangerous,” she had breathed one night after a hunt. “I can’t keep putting myself in life or death situations with you, kid.” You knew she was right–she didn’t deserve to be put in precarious circumstances because you had gotten your heart broken. Hell, she had even warned you that she thought it was a bad idea. Had you trusted your gut, even you knew it was the wrong decision. Sam wasn’t the same man you had known, and yet you went through with it anyway. You would be paying the price for the rest of your life, even if that would be a short time.

So you hunted alone now. It was for the best. You avoided the phone calls from Bobby, and anyone else you knew from that past life because you refused to open up the book of pain. You no longer cared if another hunter was calling you for help, the emotions were too overwhelming: hurt, pain, embarrassment…

With a quick shift of your wrist, your blade slashed through a vampire’s neck. You didn’t even flinch as his head rolled–eyes wide open as he had a moment to process his demise. 

“You bitch,” an older vampire spat in your direction as his body moved quicker than you could turn. He caught the spot on your neck in an instant. The shrill pain of his fangs as they gnawed through your warm flesh elicited a scream from your lips. Without hesitation, you reached in your back pocket and very quickly popped the plastic cap off before you smashed the syringe into the side of his neck. He pulled back from you with a shriek as he stumbled. 

“Dead man’s blood, asshole,” you grumbled as your fingertips pressed to the wet spot on your neck. It almost felt like you could feel your pulse through the blood and torn flesh. You shook the white spots from your vision and didn’t falter as you swung your machete across his neck. For a moment, you were disappointed. You could hear others coming down the hall of the abandoned estate–their chatter and growling echoed along the halls and bounced off of the marble floors.

You weren’t sure why you were disappointed. For months now, you had been living life on the edge–like Alicia had said before she left, “You have a death wish, kid. And I’m not stickin’ around for you to see it through.” So wasn’t this it? Wasn’t this what you had wanted? You thought the answer was yes, so why did it feel so wrong now that you were practically staring Death in the face?

With a quick breath, you tried to swallow past the lump of emotion bubbling in your throat. You pulled your fingers from the spot on your neck that leaked with more blood every time your heart reverberated against your chest. With narrowed eyes, you stared down the hallway where the other vamps were swiftly approaching. After a few rotations of your machete, you took one last breath. “Come and get me!” The words fell from your lips in a hasty yell.

But then, something happened. Just beyond the heavy double doors made of a dark wood, you heard screaming; slashing. You gulped once, then twice…and then the doors opened.

In your heart, you had a sinking idea who stood behind those doors. But at the same time, you didn’t think they cared enough. Or maybe that he cared enough. 

Even beyond the spots in your eyes and the darkness of the room around you, you noticed Sam’s jaw tighten as his eyes moved over your frame. From the distant look across your face–the one that told him you weren’t happy to see him–to the blood still dripping from the crook of your neck just above your collarbone. Without thinking, he moved forward towards you. He didn’t miss the way your body flinched as he moved, but he forced it out of his head as his machete clanked to the ground and echoed around your bodies.

“Don’t,” you muttered through gritted teeth. He stopped, only for a moment. “Don’t touch me.” You managed once more as his large hands moved fallen strands of hair away from your neck so he could get a better look at your open wound.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed with furrowed brows and a look in his eyes that took you by surprise. The way his eyes moved between yours, it made you pause–was that…was that the light that you were so desperately searching for the last time you encountered Sam? “I have to look at it, okay?” His voice was just above a whisper.

Anger rumbled in the pit of your stomach, but seemed to quiet down at the specks of glint you saw all of a sudden. You knew he was right; you had been seeing spots ever since that vamp snacked on your jugular, or so it felt. You managed a small nod.

With maybe a second passing, he moved. One hand cradled the side of your face while the other tilted your head a bit, so it relaxed in the feeling of his hand. His eyes moved over the injury as he quickly reached away with both hands to take off his flannel covering a sweat-stained gray undershirt. You wanted to vomit when his hands left your skin, and that made you angry again. “How dare you just waltz in here like a fucking knight in shining armor,” you hadn’t realized your mouth had picked up on your brain’s thoughts and instead of having an internal dialogue, you had spoken them out loud. Oh well…at least he knew how you felt now, if he hadn’t already.

Sam’s eyes moved to yours swiftly. He nodded once, then twice before he ducked his head to look at the ground. “Sorry will never be enough,” he murmured. His head moved back so he could look at you once more. He didn’t say anything before he took his flannel and pressed it to your neck with a pressure that made you hiss in pain and squeeze your eyes closed. “I know,” he continued. “We gotta keep pressure on it…” his voice trailed off as Dean spoke up.

“I know there’s a lotta shit happening right now,” he said as he looked around the abandoned space. “But we gotta keep moving. I don’t think that’s the last of the nest and we’re fightin’ an uphill battle. We’ll come back later, but let’s get you cleaned up.” He nodded to you–Dean’s way of saying ‘hello’. 

Going with the Winchesters was the last thing you would ever decide to do at this moment–well, maybe not the last thing. It was settled on the list just above getting eaten by a vamp. But your options were limited, and you felt yourself feeling more and more lightheaded the longer your neck bled. 

“Fine,” you managed as you followed them back to the Impala. Sam kept his distance, and you were thankful for that. As you climbed into the backseat, Sam hesitated by the door but got the message when you pulled it closed behind you. He settled for the front seat while Dean drove.

As you headed to whatever motel they were staying in, you repeated in your head: Get in, get cleaned up, have Dean take you back to your motel. Get in, get out. Get in…get out… 

Your eyes watched as the yellow light from street poles moved past the car on the drive. Tears and emotion prickled the back of your eyes and throat, but you pushed them away. You’d be damned if you let Sam Winchester get under your skin again. Fool you once, shame on him. But fool you twice…

It was only a few minutes before the Impala shifted into park in the lot of a seedy highway motel. You internally groaned when you realized you recognized this seedy highway motel–it was the same one you had been crashing at for the last two nights. They must’ve gotten in that day, because there was no way you wouldn’t have noticed the Impala.

The ride had been silent, which made you realize that Dean must also know about what happened between you and Sam all those nights ago. That made your stomach flip flop even more than before–embarrassment crept up into your chest and face. Trying to brush it off was useless, but you still attempted. You pulled the car door handle open before Sam could try to help and brushed by him.

“Assuming you guys have a med kit here?” The bleeding had slowed to a stop, which you were thankful for because it meant the damage was mostly cosmetic and everything important was still intact. 

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Dean chuckled as he closed the driver side door. “We got you covered. It’s, uh…it’s good to see you.” He nodded as his eyes lingered over you–you couldn’t be sure what he was looking for, or maybe even seeing. But you felt like his eyes were full of pity and sympathy, which made you nauseous again.

“Yeah,” you nodded, not able to return the sentiment. “If we could get this over with, that’d be great. I have things to do.”

Dean led the way to the door of their motel room. Sam kept his distance, but you could feel his gaze again. His hands shoved into the front pockets of his dark jeans. 

“Where ya staying?” Dean asked nonchalantly as he put the key card in the slot to unlock their door. 

You took a moment before answering. “Here. Just down the hall,” your words were soft. You didn’t really want to share that information with them. 

Dean nodded but didn’t seem surprised. There weren’t too many motels just off the highway, which was what the Winchesters always booked. In that realization, you wanted to kick yourself. Even though you hadn’t meant to, you were still following their rules of hunting. “Stay just off the highway so you can peel out quick if shit hits the fan,” Dean’s words echoed through your brain. 

Dean nodded as the door opened and you followed him inside, Sam just behind you. “I gotta go pick something up,” you knew Dean was just trying to find an excuse to leave. Before you could argue, he tossed the med kit from the small bathroom onto one of the beds and hurried back to the door. “I’ll be back a bit later. Sammy will get you cleaned up.”

Before a word could flow from your brain to your lips, Dean was out the door. You closed your eyes for a minute and bit down hard on the inside of your lip—so hard, you thought you tasted blood. 

He had the audacity to utter your name, and it made you want to scream. 

“Don’t you dare say my name like that,” you gritted through the words. “You don’t get to talk to me anymore. Seriously.” You glanced around the room in his silence, and headed back for the door. “I have my own med kit, I can do it myself.” You muttered. 

“Please, don’t go,” while everything inside of you told you to keep walking, the conviction and pain in his voice made your feet stop moving. “Please. I’m begging you. I just need a few minutes to explain. Let me take care of you and explain everything from the last year and a half, and then if you still want to leave, I won’t stand in your way.” 

Against your better judgment, your feet moved to turn back to face him. You could see the same emotions on his face—the anguish, in typical Sam Winchester fashion. “Let me take care of you,” his words echoed internally and stung almost as much as the cool air that was about to hit the gash on your neck.

“You have five minutes,” you said carefully as you walked to the edge of the bed and pulled Sam’s flannel away from your skin. You winced as the fabric pulled at the already drying wound. 

If you had blinked, you would have missed the way Sam’s jaw tightened and how his eyes traced a path from the wound on your neck to your eyes and back. 

His hands opened the med kit; as he began to work, he spoke softly. “Cas pulled me out of Lucifer’s cage. But when he got me out, my soul got left behind,” your eyes darted to his face as he poured antiseptic onto a cotton pad. 

“Your soul?” You asked, his eyes glued to the cotton pad as he focused on working. 

He nodded once as he brought the pad to your neck. He hesitated for a second. “Yeah, my soul. This is gonna sting, okay?” He asked carefully. He waited for you to nod before he placed the pad, cool from the antiseptic, onto your skin. Your face contorted for a minute and you swallowed the hiss that threatened to escape. “I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. I didn’t know how I got out of the cage or what was wrong with me. I just felt…numb.” 

So far, nothing Sam had said swayed your judgment or how you felt. Sam understood that by your silence. Nevertheless, he continued working on your wound. 

“Dean got back in, and then Cas…and that’s when we realized my soul was just gone,” he moved on to unwrap some packing gauze and broke his train of thought. “It doesn’t look like it needs stitches, just a surface wound. You okay if I pack it and tape it up?”

You managed a nod and looked down a bit so your hair fell into your face. Sam’s fingers grazed your chin so gently, you weren’t sure you felt it until you saw his hand. 

“Sorry, gotta get the right angle,” he cleared his throat. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and went back to work. “I remember everything now,” he started again and pulled his gaze away from your eyes. He busied his fingers with the packing gauze, but you could tell it was so he wouldn’t have to look directly into your eyes. “I didn’t right away…it’s kind of a long story. But I would get glimpses of memories and things that happened when I didn’t have my soul. And I saw you…and that night…” his voice trailed off. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” you cut him off before your words were swallowed by emotions—emotions you had tried so hard not to feel for all of these months. You were on your feet pushing past his broad frame before he could say another word. “I’m not doing this, Sam. I’m not going to sit here and have some bullshit heart to heart about what happened. I can’t.” 

Sam stood immediately but he didn’t approach—he knew better than that. “I know I don’t deserve it. God, I know…”

“Do you?” You spat back. This time, the emotion broke through. Everything you had fought so hard to swallow came tumbling back. “Do you know how hard it was when I watched you jump into the cage? Or how I mourned you and the loss of the person I considered my best friend? Or how about how the entire time I hunted with you I wanted so desperately for you to want me the way I wanted you?” You wondered if you would regret the words, but you couldn’t stop them. Nor could you stop the angry tears that began to pool in your eyes and spill just over the edge. The look on his face remained the same—pained. “How amazing it was when I saw you standing in the bar that night? And then how hurt I was when I realized you had been back for ten months and didn’t call? But then you wanted me…and you had me,” your voice fell and you could no longer look into his eyes. “And then you left.” Your voice was so low, you weren’t sure if he had heard you. 

Sam couldn’t stand in one spot anymore. He moved to you so quickly, it took you by surprise. You could tell by the way he moved his arms he wanted to touch you, but he refrained. 

“I know that saying sorry means absolutely nothing right now,” he said slowly, carefully. “But I am so incredibly sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sorry about anything before in my life.” His words dripped with an emotion you had never heard from him before. You thought he might cry—and you had never seen Sam Winchester cry. “If I could change it—”

“I know,” you cut him off with your eyes closed, only allowing more tears to slip through the cracks. “You would take it back. I know. It was a mistake, Sam.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “The only mistake I made that night was not showing you how much I care about you.” 

Through blurry blinks you looked back at him, and it was then that you saw what you couldn’t see the last time you and Sam Winchester were in a motel room together–the light. There was still pain, but the emptiness was gone, filled again with what had been missing all along. He moved so slowly, cautiously as he brought his palm up to cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb swept under your eye to wipe at the tears that had settled there.

“You were the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt…I am so sorry I hurt you,” his eyes connected with yours to show you he meant it. “My feelings were real, I was just so screwed up…I had zero emotional connection to what was happening.”

You pulled back from his touch as your eyes found the multicolored carpet below your feet. While you had already spilled so many feelings to him that you hadn’t planned for, you couldn’t hold his gaze while you told him this one. “I wanted to die, Sam. I gave up. Being with you that night…it left a wound I couldn’t figure out how to heal. The pain was so bad, I didn’t care about anyone or anything anymore…”

This time, you knew you could see Sam’s eyes glass over. He was hurting because he knew his actions had left a scar deep within you and caused you so much anguish. 

It was then that you realized—Sam hadn’t asked to be brought back without his soul. Hell, he hadn’t been asked to be brought back at all. When you had run into Sam that night, he didn’t even realize his soul was missing. 

“But it’s not your fault,” suddenly, your heart fluttered. Since that night all those months ago, you hadn’t felt that flutter for anything or anyone. The feeling of emptiness was replaced with a flutter of hope. “You didn’t know, Sam.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered with a shake of his head, his eyes still on yours. “It doesn’t make it okay.” 

“It doesn’t,” you breathed, your tears slowing. “But it isn’t fair for me to hold something against you that you didn’t even know was happening…” as he heard your words, you saw a gleam of hope in his eyes that matched the feeling in your chest. 

His brows furrowed as he closed his eyes and dropped his head a bit. “Thank you,” the words fell in a breath. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to hear you out,” your fingers instinctively reached to touch the palms of his hands. His head jerked back up so his eyes were on you, his brows still knitted together in a frown. He grasped your hands tightly in his, and a feeling of warmth washed over you.

“Do not apologize to me,” he said firmly. “You don’t owe me anything, you hear me? I hurt you. I would do anything in the world to fix it.”

Your throat suddenly felt dry, so you swallowed so you could try to get the words out. “I don’t really know what that looks like, but I’m willing to work on it together…”

For the first time that night, you saw a smile tug at the corners of Sam’s lips. He gave your hands another squeeze. “Thank you…” his words trailed away before he cleared his throat. “Now, can I please finish packing that gash on your neck? We really need to get it covered.” 

You managed a nod and allowed him to hold your hand as he led you back to the bed. 

“I’ll do everything I can to help you heal,” he breathed as his eyes focused on yours again once you were on the edge of the bed. You wanted to tell him it was a superficial wound and would heal just fine, but you knew he was talking about more than just the spot the vampire had bitten. And you were willing to let him try. 

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Tag List: @lacilou

Eddie always writes reminders for himself on his hands, small stuff like “get an oil change, buy more eggs, just kiss Steve already you coward” and he never washes it off good enough and wonders why Steve keeps asking him “Are you sure you’re not forgetting something?” every time they hang out

Thinking about Eddie, who keeps finding Steve cuddling up with everyone in The Party except him.

Steve and Robin spooning (Robin is always the big spoon) he's used to, they nap together all the time.

But then, there was the time he found Dustin all curled up next to Steve on the couch, Steve's arms holding him close. Dustin's beat-up edition of The Hobbit open on Steve's lap.

And that morning after a sleepover where Steve wasn't in his bed and Eddie found him cuddled between El and Max in his parent's unused queen size bed, Els face buried in Steve's chest and Max clinging to his back, doing the best imitation of an octopus Eddie had ever seen, Max hand reaching over Steve to hold El's hand. (Eddie had run to get Robin's polaroid and taken a picture) Turns out Steve went to say good night but ended up being dragged into their conversation about how stupid boys were and ended up falling asleep.

And then there was that afternoon he was skating with Max and they found Lucas and Steve snoozing in the grass after basketball practice, Steve on his back, arms behind his head and legs crossed and Lucas using Steve's stomach as a pillow.

Weirdest one was Steve and Argyle in the Wheeler's basement that one time Nancy invited them over cause her parents weren't home. The excuse was they were too high, or at least Steve was since Argyle's tolerance is way higher. But seeing Steve sprawled out on the couch with Argyle on top of him, laying between his legs, cheek mushed over Steve's pecs while Steve lazily combed his fingers through Argyle's hair, changed Eddie as a person.

Just...everyone clinging to Steve and Eddie witnessing it all and dying inside because, when is his turn?!

The worst part is he doesn't even want what everyone else had. He wants to be the one to hold Steve, not the other way around, he wants to cuddle him, caress his hair, to hold him close and be his pillow, and offer his body and mind as comfort for the boy who offers everything of his to others and asks nothing in return.

Whenever I’m alone with you You make me feel like I am free again Whenever I’m alone with you You make me feel like I am clean again - The Cure, Lovesong

This whole scene is damn near impossible to work with because dark af and zero quality, but. Two very important things:

Steve putting on Eddie's vest

Eddie staring at Steve as he walks away in his vest and blatantly checking out his ass

🎶 Your heart on a tilt always sliding… How good does it feel? 🎶

This is like, low key spice, no junk visible? Please leave me the fuck alone tumblr censorship police.

golden boy

Prince!Steve x Kitchenboy!Eddie

Hi, all! So, this is my first attempt at writing for this particular pairing. I've been in a hell of a slump recently so please be gentle with me. I started out wanting to write the scene in The House of the Dragon where the guard and the princess get together and somehow it turned into this fluffy shit. Hope you enjoy ❤️

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Eddie's elbow deep in a large pot scrubbing the day's dinner remnants off, lost in thought and humming a tune he'd heard while at the market that morning, he's taken out of his resolve when the door leading to the back of the castle swings open quickly.

"What th - " he starts, splashing soapy water up onto his apron as he turns toward the sudden intrusion. He is at a loss for words once he finally lays eyes on who just came bursting through the door.

Prince Steven.

The two of them lock eyes for a moment, Eddie noticing his tear-stained face and his red-rimmed eyes immediately. Before he can react, say anything of comfort to the poor boy, Steven is ducking his head shyly, mumbling his apologies and hurrying up the few stone steps and out of the scullery.

Eddie can only stand there for a moment, keeping his eyes on the trail the prince left. His chest tightens at how pitiful the boy looked standing before him.

This wasn't their first interaction, not by a long shot. Eddie's Uncle, who stepped in as a father when Eddie's own left him without a home when he was seven, is part of the Royal Guard. It's how Eddie came to work in the palace in the first place.

His Uncle Wayne served King Harrington for many years on the battlefield. When Wayne was wounded and could no longer keep up with the young men coming in to the guard, he was kept on as a guard in the palace - looking after Prince Steven and sometimes the Lady Queen among other noblemen that visited.

Eddie had grown up alongside Steven - though they lived in two very different worlds. They weren't friends, Eddie wasn't simple enough to believe that, most of their 'interactions' involved Eddie watching Steven from afar.

He would watch him practice his archery and sometimes his sword-work, dueling in the courtyard with other boys his age of much more noble birth than Eddie. Usually, that would involve getting caught staring; Prince Steven was attractive, to say the least. With tan skin peppered with freckles, brown hair long and flowing, and eyes that Eddie could get lost in. Eddie usually ended up averting his eyes and trying to hide the blush he could feel burning through his skin and returning to whatever task he was tending to before he got caught in the magnetic pull of Prince Steven Harrington.

Steven, though he seemed about as spoiled as a pampered prince could be, wasn't cruel, not like his father was. The King was known to be merciless to most people and that included his family. He had no qualms putting down the one and only heir to his throne, no matter who was around to witness it.

Eddie had witnessed the King striking his son across the face on more than one occasion. He always secretly wished Steven would fight back.

A child was easy to pick on but as Steven grew older, he'd grown more domineering, his young, lanky body turning into all swollen and hard muscle.

Each time, though, Eddie watched Steven tighten his jaw and retreat into himself more - like he had no other choice than to take the abuse.

That's why seeing Steven so clearly distraught had Eddie a little shaken up. What had happened that was bad enough to make the prince cry - bad enough that he looked well and truly wrecked.

Eddie finished his scrubbing before heading up to the kitchen proper. He scurried by mostly unnoticed by the few ladies still preparing night meals for the royalty in the castle; not a hard feat since most of them never so much as gave Eddie a passing glance.

He froze in his step, eyes landing on one of the many trays about to be taken to each person's bedchamber. Before he could think about how bad of an idea it truly was, he was grabbing a tray and hurrying out of the room headed toward the Prince's bedchamber.

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Steve's eyes burned as he hurried down the dark hallway leading to his bedchamber. He never should have climbed down that damned trellis, he never should have met up with him, he never should have left his bedroom in the first place.

He wishes more than anything he could take it all back.

"Your Grace?" A gruff voice sounds in front of him. He knows it's Sir Munson without looking up, the old man's voice that's become so familiar to Steve, already laced with concern.

"I'm fine." He says weakly, darting inside before another soul can bear witness to his pathetic breakdown.

He hears the guard throw a questioning "Sire?" before the heavy door closes between them. He sags his back against the door, letting a quiet sob escape him as he sits down onto the cold stone floor.

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What in the seven hells am I doing? Eddie wonders to himself as he makes his way down the corridor - only the warm light of the candles that hang on the walls lighting his way.

Eddie has been down these halls before but not often enough to feel any sort of comfort in doing so. He has already gotten a few suspicious looks but, thank gods, no one has spoken of it... yet.

He finally comes to the last turn, seeing none other than his Uncle standing watch outside the Prince's door - though, he seems to be pacing rather than merely standing.

His Uncle catches sight of Eddie and stalls his movements his brows raise in silent question. Eddie slows his approach, already telling on himself - his uncle knows him like a book, Eddie makes it a much too easy sometimes. He continues toward the lone bedchamber at the end of the corridor, as in answer to his uncle's unasked question.

He comes to a stop a few steps away, "Uncle."

"Nephew. What are you doing up here?" Wayne asks, Eddie being able to discern his uncle is speaking to Eddie as more of a knight of the Royal Guard and less of an uncle.

"I - uh - I saw the Prince," Eddie begins simply, hoping that would be sufficient but continues when he learns it is not. "His Grace seemed... distraught. I only want to ensure that he has not taken ill." He finishes, hoping his uncle asks no other questions.

Wayne gave him a suspicious look but Eddie could see the tension in his shoulder recede the slightest bit.

"In and out," His uncle stresses, giving Eddie a stern look before turning to knock gently on the door. There's a moments pause, then he hears the muffled voice of the Prince, "Come."

Eddie squeezes past his uncle once he has opened the door. Though Eddie has been down these halls before, he has never entered into one of the royal's bedchambers. He's fairly certain that the tiny house he shares with his uncle could fit inside this room two or three times over.

The entirety of the room is filled with furniture, needless things with fanciful fabric covering each one, tufts of lace and furs decorating every part that isn't. Eddie lets out a chuckle but quickly swallows it down, reminding himself where he is presently standing.

He clears his throat, hoping his voice will come out much more confident than he feels. "Your Grace. I - I have food for the night."

He hears a shuffling on the other side of the wall that blocks what Eddie assumes is the bed from view. "Where's El?" the voice questions, though not out of anger - Eddie hears more concern in his voice.

At that moment, the boy emerges from the other room. A tunic hanging loosely on his shoulders, the laces undone so as to reveal a splattering of dark, course hair across his tan chest. His hair is unruly and Eddie can still see the faint tint of pink on his skin from the tears he shed earlier.

Eddie pulls his gaze away and focuses on the floor, unsure of how long he had been standing there gawking at the fucking Prince of Hawkins.

"I - It's you."

Eddie swallows thickly, only now realizing what a mistake all this truly was. "I..." Eddie stutters, forgetting himself - people have had their head on a platter for far less than forgetting to address royalty properly. "Your Grace. I do apologize," the words come out a stuttering mess but he pushes through. "I - I don't... I should not be here."

Eddie is quick to put the plate down, clumsily of course with a loud clatter, almost causing it to fall off the table entirely. He curses to himself as he turns to leave.

"You - You are Edward?" He hears Steven say and freezes where he is. There's a moment of silence before the Prince says, almost... nervously, Eddie thinks. "Correct? Sir Munson's son?"

Eddie turns around, a mixture of shock and confusion clouding his already anxious mind. How does he - Prince Steven Harrington - know Eddie's name?

"Y - yes, Your Grace. I mean - No, he's not..." Eddie stopped and took as deep of a breath as he could muster. "He is my uncle, Your Grace. But, he is the closest thing I have known to a true father."

The Prince nodded, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and Eddie tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach at the sight.

"Is El okay?" The Prince asks, thankfully steering the conversation away from Eddie's rambling.

"Yes. I- I mean, I'm unsure..." He trials off, unsure of how much he should say. He catches the Prince's eye. his brows furrowed in confusion. "I saw you coming back into the castle. Y - you looked distraught. I only wished to make sure you were okay."

"Oh," Prince Steven says but it's a delicate thing.

Eddie lowers his head in a slight bow and finishes with a weak, "I should go, Your Grace."

"Um, I actually - I like Steve..." The prince hurries to say, taking a few unsure steps toward Eddie, catching him before he turns around completely. It's Eddie's turn to look slightly confused. "I like Steve... better than Your Grace."

Eddie can't help when his eyes widen just the slightest bit and it makes a smile spread across the Prince's - no, Steve's - face. If he wasn't already smitten enough over the dashing good looks and the flawless hair, he's certainly a goner with that winning smile.

"I like - um - I like Eddie. Edward is too formal." he says, unable to fight the blush that he knows is creeping up his neck.

"Well, Eddie," Steve pays special attention to the name passing his lips. "Would you like to sit? Have a bit of fruit?" There's something in the question that makes Eddie's stomach swoop. He gives Steve another shy smile and a small nod.

Steve gestures to a seat, big enough for them both, sitting and waiting for Eddie to follow. As soon as he sits beside him, feeling the warmth from the other boy, he hears the large door open and springs back up, distancing himself from Steve.

"Forgive me for this intrusion, Your Grace. Edward I can only assume you have gotten lost on your way home." Lady Joyce, who Eddie knows all too well from his day to day work in the castle, says a little louder than Eddie personally believes is necessary.

"Yes, ma'am." Eddie ducks his head, making a bee line for the still open door where his uncle watches holding the helm of his sword. "Sorry, sorry."

"Edward," Lady Joyce barks, catching Eddie in his escape. "Manners, Edward. He is your Prince."

"Oh," Eddie nods to the intimidating woman, turning and bending into a bow, his arms dramatically floating out beside him. "Good evening," a pause, his head tilting up to watch Steve's eyes dance across his body a the gesture. A rather large smile and a dash of rose coloring his cheeks. "Your Grace." Eddie gives Steve one of his biggest smiles, twirling out of his bow and skipping out the door.

His smile doesn't fade despite hearing Lady Joyce's excuse of kitchen boys not knowing how to be presentable in front of royals or the disapproving (but knowing) look his uncle fixes him with.

golden boy

Prince!Steve x Kitchenboy!Eddie

Hi, all! So, this is my first attempt at writing for this particular pairing. I've been in a hell of a slump recently so please be gentle with me. I started out wanting to write the scene in The House of the Dragon where the guard and the princess get together and somehow it turned into this fluffy shit. Hope you enjoy ❤️

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Eddie's elbow deep in a large pot scrubbing the day's dinner remnants off, lost in thought and humming a tune he'd heard while at the market that morning, he's taken out of his resolve when the door leading to the back of the castle swings open quickly.

"What th - " he starts, splashing soapy water up onto his apron as he turns toward the sudden intrusion. He is at a loss for words once he finally lays eyes on who just came bursting through the door.

Prince Steven.

The two of them lock eyes for a moment, Eddie noticing his tear-stained face and his red-rimmed eyes immediately. Before he can react, say anything of comfort to the poor boy, Steven is ducking his head shyly, mumbling his apologies and hurrying up the few stone steps and out of the scullery.

Eddie can only stand there for a moment, keeping his eyes on the trail the prince left. His chest tightens at how pitiful the boy looked standing before him.

This wasn't their first interaction, not by a long shot. Eddie's Uncle, who stepped in as a father when Eddie's own left him without a home when he was seven, is part of the Royal Guard. It's how Eddie came to work in the palace in the first place.

His Uncle Wayne served King Harrington for many years on the battlefield. When Wayne was wounded and could no longer keep up with the young men coming in to the guard, he was kept on as a guard in the palace - looking after Prince Steven and sometimes the Lady Queen among other noblemen that visited.

Eddie had grown up alongside Steven - though they lived in two very different worlds. They weren't friends, Eddie wasn't simple enough to believe that, most of their 'interactions' involved Eddie watching Steven from afar.

He would watch him practice his archery and sometimes his sword-work, dueling in the courtyard with other boys his age of much more noble birth than Eddie. Usually, that would involve getting caught staring; Prince Steven was attractive, to say the least. With tan skin peppered with freckles, brown hair long and flowing, and eyes that Eddie could get lost in. Eddie usually ended up averting his eyes and trying to hide the blush he could feel burning through his skin and returning to whatever task he was tending to before he got caught in the magnetic pull of Prince Steven Harrington.

Steven, though he seemed about as spoiled as a pampered prince could be, wasn't cruel, not like his father was. The King was known to be merciless to most people and that included his family. He had no qualms putting down the one and only heir to his throne, no matter who was around to witness it.

Eddie had witnessed the King striking his son across the face on more than one occasion. He always secretly wished Steven would fight back.

A child was easy to pick on but as Steven grew older, he'd grown more domineering, his young, lanky body turning into all swollen and hard muscle.

Each time, though, Eddie watched Steven tighten his jaw and retreat into himself more - like he had no other choice than to take the abuse.

That's why seeing Steven so clearly distraught had Eddie a little shaken up. What had happened that was bad enough to make the prince cry - bad enough that he looked well and truly wrecked.

Eddie finished his scrubbing before heading up to the kitchen proper. He scurried by mostly unnoticed by the few ladies still preparing night meals for the royalty in the castle; not a hard feat since most of them never so much as gave Eddie a passing glance.

He froze in his step, eyes landing on one of the many trays about to be taken to each person's bedchamber. Before he could think about how bad of an idea it truly was, he was grabbing a tray and hurrying out of the room headed toward the Prince's bedchamber.

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Steve's eyes burned as he hurried down the dark hallway leading to his bedchamber. He never should have climbed down that damned trellis, he never should have met up with him, he never should have left his bedroom in the first place.

He wishes more than anything he could take it all back.

"Your Grace?" A gruff voice sounds in front of him. He knows it's Sir Munson without looking up, the old man's voice that's become so familiar to Steve, already laced with concern.

"I'm fine." He says weakly, darting inside before another soul can bear witness to his pathetic breakdown.

He hears the guard throw a questioning "Sire?" before the heavy door closes between them. He sags his back against the door, letting a quiet sob escape him as he sits down onto the cold stone floor.

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What in the seven hells am I doing? Eddie wonders to himself as he makes his way down the corridor - only the warm light of the candles that hang on the walls lighting his way.

Eddie has been down these halls before but not often enough to feel any sort of comfort in doing so. He has already gotten a few suspicious looks but, thank gods, no one has spoken of it... yet.

He finally comes to the last turn, seeing none other than his Uncle standing watch outside the Prince's door - though, he seems to be pacing rather than merely standing.

His Uncle catches sight of Eddie and stalls his movements his brows raise in silent question. Eddie slows his approach, already telling on himself - his uncle knows him like a book, Eddie makes it a much too easy sometimes. He continues toward the lone bedchamber at the end of the corridor, as in answer to his uncle's unasked question.

He comes to a stop a few steps away, "Uncle."

"Nephew. What are you doing up here?" Wayne asks, Eddie being able to discern his uncle is speaking to Eddie as more of a knight of the Royal Guard and less of an uncle.

"I - uh - I saw the Prince," Eddie begins simply, hoping that would be sufficient but continues when he learns it is not. "His Grace seemed... distraught. I only want to ensure that he has not taken ill." He finishes, hoping his uncle asks no other questions.

Wayne gave him a suspicious look but Eddie could see the tension in his shoulder recede the slightest bit.

"In and out," His uncle stresses, giving Eddie a stern look before turning to knock gently on the door. There's a moments pause, then he hears the muffled voice of the Prince, "Come."

Eddie squeezes past his uncle once he has opened the door. Though Eddie has been down these halls before, he has never entered into one of the royal's bedchambers. He's fairly certain that the tiny house he shares with his uncle could fit inside this room two or three times over.

The entirety of the room is filled with furniture, needless things with fanciful fabric covering each one, tufts of lace and furs decorating every part that isn't. Eddie lets out a chuckle but quickly swallows it down, reminding himself where he is presently standing.

He clears his throat, hoping his voice will come out much more confident than he feels. "Your Grace. I - I have food for the night."

He hears a shuffling on the other side of the wall that blocks what Eddie assumes is the bed from view. "Where's El?" the voice questions, though not out of anger - Eddie hears more concern in his voice.

At that moment, the boy emerges from the other room. A tunic hanging loosely on his shoulders, the laces undone so as to reveal a splattering of dark, course hair across his tan chest. His hair is unruly and Eddie can still see the faint tint of pink on his skin from the tears he shed earlier.

Eddie pulls his gaze away and focuses on the floor, unsure of how long he had been standing there gawking at the fucking Prince of Hawkins.

"I - It's you."

Eddie swallows thickly, only now realizing what a mistake all this truly was. "I..." Eddie stutters, forgetting himself - people have had their head on a platter for far less than forgetting to address royalty properly. "Your Grace. I do apologize," the words come out a stuttering mess but he pushes through. "I - I don't... I should not be here."

Eddie is quick to put the plate down, clumsily of course with a loud clatter, almost causing it to fall off the table entirely. He curses to himself as he turns to leave.

"You - You are Edward?" He hears Steven say and freezes where he is. There's a moment of silence before the Prince says, almost... nervously, Eddie thinks. "Correct? Sir Munson's son?"

Eddie turns around, a mixture of shock and confusion clouding his already anxious mind. How does he - Prince Steven Harrington - know Eddie's name?

"Y - yes, Your Grace. I mean - No, he's not..." Eddie stopped and took as deep of a breath as he could muster. "He is my uncle, Your Grace. But, he is the closest thing I have known to a true father."

The Prince nodded, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and Eddie tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach at the sight.

"Is El okay?" The Prince asks, thankfully steering the conversation away from Eddie's rambling.

"Yes. I- I mean, I'm unsure..." He trials off, unsure of how much he should say. He catches the Prince's eye. his brows furrowed in confusion. "I saw you coming back into the castle. Y - you looked distraught. I only wished to make sure you were okay."

"Oh," Prince Steven says but it's a delicate thing.

Eddie lowers his head in a slight bow and finishes with a weak, "I should go, Your Grace."

"Um, I actually - I like Steve..." The prince hurries to say, taking a few unsure steps toward Eddie, catching him before he turns around completely. It's Eddie's turn to look slightly confused. "I like Steve... better than Your Grace."

Eddie can't help when his eyes widen just the slightest bit and it makes a smile spread across the Prince's - no, Steve's - face. If he wasn't already smitten enough over the dashing good looks and the flawless hair, he's certainly a goner with that winning smile.

"I like - um - I like Eddie. Edward is too formal." he says, unable to fight the blush that he knows is creeping up his neck.

"Well, Eddie," Steve pays special attention to the name passing his lips. "Would you like to sit? Have a bit of fruit?" There's something in the question that makes Eddie's stomach swoop. He gives Steve another shy smile and a small nod.

Steve gestures to a seat, big enough for them both, sitting and waiting for Eddie to follow. As soon as he sits beside him, feeling the warmth from the other boy, he hears the large door open and springs back up, distancing himself from Steve.

"Forgive me for this intrusion, Your Grace. Edward I can only assume you have gotten lost on your way home." Lady Joyce, who Eddie knows all too well from his day to day work in the castle, says a little louder than Eddie personally believes is necessary.

"Yes, ma'am." Eddie ducks his head, making a bee line for the still open door where his uncle watches holding the helm of his sword. "Sorry, sorry."

"Edward," Lady Joyce barks, catching Eddie in his escape. "Manners, Edward. He is your Prince."

"Oh," Eddie nods to the intimidating woman, turning and bending into a bow, his arms dramatically floating out beside him. "Good evening," a pause, his head tilting up to watch Steve's eyes dance across his body a the gesture. A rather large smile and a dash of rose coloring his cheeks. "Your Grace." Eddie gives Steve one of his biggest smiles, twirling out of his bow and skipping out the door.

His smile doesn't fade despite hearing Lady Joyce's excuse of kitchen boys not knowing how to be presentable in front of royals or the disapproving (but knowing) look his uncle fixes him with.

Steve lost a bet, but Eddie is a fan of the cheerleading uniform 😏

Character Development (Steddie)

“If I were you… I would get her back.”

Steve snaps suddenly out of his trance—Eddie’s a pretty boy to look at. Dangerously so. In fact, half of this conversation has gone completely over his head, which is probably why he’s misinterpreted it completely.

“Hold on—pause,” he says, perplexed, “We’re not flirting?” They stop walking in unison, Eddie freezing out of shock, Steve anticipating it. Eddie looks at him, wide eyed, jaw going slack and then taught like he can’t decide which conveys his surprise better.

“I… what?”

“I was just making eyes at you,” Steve says, and then groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God damn it, I’ve really lost my touch.”

“No!” Eddie exclaims quickly, “Ah, no.” He’s flustered. Steve sees the flush in his face—he’s not trying to hide it. “No it’s… it’s working. I just didn’t think… you’re into guys?” Steve shrugs.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, and then Eddie bumps his shoulder into Steve’s and they continue walking, easing out of the tension.

“So… how long?”

“How long what?”

“Have you known?” Eddie clarifies, and Steve notices their knuckles are brushing between them. He gazes up at Rob and Nancy, who are blissfully unaware.

“Well… someone came out to me recently so I started looking into it, called my uncle—man, that was an awkward conversation.”

“Your uncle?”

“Oh—he’s gay—has a partner and stuff. They live in California and we visited sometimes when my parents still took me places, you know.” Eddie blinks at him, nodding his head a little bit, but doesn’t look like he’s fully comprehending anything Steve’s saying at all. Steve takes a turn bumping Eddie’s shoulder, thinking maybe it’ll jolt awake some of those gears in his brain.

Their pinkies hook.

“So… what was the conclusion?” Eddie asks, like he doesn’t already know.

“I’ve had nasty thoughts about Harrison Ford way too many times to be straight,” Steve admits cheekily, “He said I’m bi, I guess. It means—“

“I know what it means, Steve.” Steve grins at him, a little sheepish, and Eddie smiles back, something soft and personal. It’s an expression Steve hasn’t seen him make yet, even with all his damn theatrics. To be fair, Steve’s growing quite fond of those theatrics, premature as it might be.

“So, go on,” Steve teases, “What were you saying about me getting back with my ex?

“Hmm, I don’t recall saying anything like that,” Eddie responds.

“Oh really?”

“Really. In fact, that’s a terrible idea. Bad for character development.” Steve laughs then—fully laughs—a sound that must be revolutionary for the Upside Down. No one has ever laughed here, no way.

“Character development?”

“Indeed.”

Joe Keery in Finalmente L’Alba

somehow somewhere he is happy and warm and safe!! twt

Shitty public bathroom make out session. Romance

they'll make it work

If you squint they are just (aggressively) making out

It's Waynesday, my dudes. We all need someone in our corner. And Uncle Wayne is always in yours.

Want him on a sticker, pin or t-shirt?

Buy it in my little shop

warming up with my warm boys :)

Life imitates art.

Steve + planting his feet

It’s the spinning that does it. Eddie couldn’t look away if someone paid him. Every single time it happens, he just stops what he’s doing and stares. Drooling. In the kitchen, out by the pool, in Eddie’s own bedroom and now…now at band practice.

Steve took over for Corroded Coffin’s drummer when he left for college. Turns out, Steve can actually keep rhythm really well and while he can’t read music to save his ass, he can understand beats and notes like a natural. The problem is– the problem is that he keeps spinning those fucking drumsticks and Eddie’s gonna jizz in his goddamn jeans one of these days.

The thing is, Eddie knows it’s leftover from his Scoops Ahoy days. That Steve used to spin an ice cream scooper directly into his ‘scoop loop’ to dangle from his shorts like a total fucking jock. Robin said it was both impressive and disgusting how quickly he taught himself to do it and how slick he looked nonchalantly spinning a damn ice cream scoop day after day.

Eddie full on believes her because his dick has been hard for weeks now. He was already struggling when it was just utensils in the kitchen, but then he’d seen Steve with his bat out to check for a noise in the backyard. It was a raccoon but Steve had spun that bat like it was an extension of his own arm.

And now. Fuck. Now he sticks his fucking drumsticks in his back pocket and takes every opportunity to take them out, spin them, and then tap out a rhythm on whatever flat surface he can find. Eddie’s dresser, the kitchen counter, tables, the side of Eddie’s van, the counter at Family Video. Eddie’s fucking heart.

Eddie would hear the rat tat tat tat tat of the sticks and look over - even though he knew he fucking shouldn’t - and catch Steve unconsciously spinning one of the sticks in his dexterous fingers, tap tap tap tap, spin.

He loved it, is the thing. Steve loved drumming. He grinned all through practice. He made music everywhere. And Eddie wouldn’t ever tell him to stop. Even if that meant putting up with that damn Steve Harrington patented Spin.

It gave Eddie thoughts. Ideas.

He wanted to put those fucking fingers in his mouth and suck on them until Steve begged him to never stop. He wanted those fingers wrapped around certain parts of his own body. Maybe buried in his body. Wanted to see Steve spin a bottle of lube as he leaned into Eddie’s space like the hottest thing to ever happen to a gay super senior.

“You okay, Eds?”

Fuck. No. Jesus. Put it away, Harrington. All of it. Put it all away. “Huh? Yeah man, I’m cool.” Eddie said instead. “You?”

Smiling, Steve spun one of his drumsticks in his nimble fingers, then the other. Rat tat tat tat tat. “Yeah man, I’m pretty fucking great actually.”

Yes. Yes you are, Harrington.

Steddie bits and pieces

WHY I WATCH STRANGER THINGS: THE “PLOT” - PART ONE 

Is there a steddie fic where Eddie is super touchy-feely with everyone EXCEPT Steve because he knows once he starts touching him he won't be able to stop

But, poor little touch-starved Steve wonders what he has to do to get Eddie to show him affection like he does everyone else. What did he do wrong? Can he try to get Eddie to touch him like he does everyone else? Why does he want to be touched by Eddie so bad?