¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ we could be heroes ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡
Superman!Steve Harrington x Lois Lane!Reader mini-series by @munson-blurbs + @corroded-hellfire
Warnings: Superman (2025) spoilers, superhero AU, female!Reader, blood, violence (no extreme gore), existence of the Upside Down but not otherwise canon compliant
WC: 3.7k
divider credit to @saradika-graphics
chapter one. everybody wants to rule the world
Steve Harrington was late for work. Again.Â
It wasnât because heâd spilled coffee on his way out the door, or because heâd forgotten to set his alarm, or because his Beemer wouldnât start, or any of the other excuses heâd provided over the last three weeks.Â
And every single one of them was a lie, just as todayâs excuse would be.Â
He bounded through the glass doors of The Hawkins Post building, waving a quick hello to the receptionist on his way in.Â
âMr. Harrington,â Rose said, her blue-gray eyes widening in concern, âyour lip is bleeding.â
Steve stopped in his tracks, silently cursing himself as he swiped his tongue over his lower lip. He did his best to feign shock when the familiar taste of metal filled his mouth. Â
âAllergies must be making my lips chapped,â he said with a half-hearted chuckle.Â
Roseâs brows pinched together. âDo allergies cause chapped lips?â She asked, using a pencil eraser to scratch above her ear.Â
âOh, yeah. I mean, m-mine do,â Steve stammered. âMust be some weird genetic thing or something.â He dashed towards his office before the older woman could question him further.Â
Weird genetic thing. An absolutely bizarre explanation that was somehow more believable than the truth: Steveâs actual weird genetics gave him the strength of one thousand men, the speed of a bullet shot from a gun, and heat vision that could melt the polar ice caps.Â
Just to name a few.Â
And the cut on his lip had come from a monster that had escaped containment, breaching the gap between worlds. Steve had fought them before, but the large creature who had stumbled out of Loverâs Lake was flanked by two smaller yet equally-strong comrades.Â
And when one of the smaller creatures shrieked beside Steveâs ear, slimy saliva dripping from its petal-like skin, the leader seized the opportunity to dig its claws into Steveâs face.Â
If he hadnât been trying to get to work, he would have taken more time to heal himself. But the sting from the scratch was nothing compared to the searing pain heâd felt when the third monster flailed its long arms and knocked him to the ground, so that injury took priority.Â
Now, Steve adjusted his tie and kept his head down as he hurried past Mr. Hollowayâs office. After the morningâs chaos, the last thing he needed was to be scolded for his tardiness.Â
Tom Hollowayâs door squeaked open just before Steve could turn into his own office. He cringed, knowing his guilt would be even more obvious if he ignored his boss.Â
âMorning, Mr. Holloway.â Steve managed a small, nervous smile, trying to ignore the twinge of discomfort at the corner of his mouth.Â
But Mr. Hollowayâs smile was far more genuine. âHow many times have I told you: Call me Tom?â He clapped a strong hand on Steveâs back and gave him a little shake. âDo me a favor, kidâask your dad if we can push back our golf game to noon tomorrow. Iâve gotta get a cavity filled in the morning.â
Steve exhaled, hoping his relief wasn't too evident. âOf course. Iâll let him know.â
His boss left without a thank you; not that Steve expected one. He only got this job at The Hawkins Post because his father and Mr. Holloway were friends. Steve had a feeling that heâd still be serving ice cream to whining children or rewinding hundreds of hours of movies if it wasnât for this family connection.Â
He plopped down at his desk, flicking open his notepad to his most recent interview with Colts quarterback Jeff George.Â
âJeez, Harrington. What the hell happened to you?â
There was never a moment of peace with Eddie Munson around. He pushed his swivel chair from behind his own desk and careened into Steve. His grin never left his face.Â
âNothing,â Steve mumbled, instinctively bringing his hand over his mouth.Â
But Eddie wouldnât relent. âDid you get into a fight? Henderson told me you used to get beat up a lot in high schoolââÂ
âEddie!â Nancy Wheeler snapped. She kept a pencil tucked behind her ear. âI canât concentrate with you yapping!âÂ
Jonathan Byers was never one to speak up, but he put his arm around Nancy in solidarity. His camera dangled from a strap around his neck.Â
Eddie rolled his eyes and wheeled himself back over to his comic sketches. âEvery party has a pooperâŚâ he muttered.Â
Steve mouthed a thank you to Nancy, but she was already poring over a draft, furiously editing and revising like her life depended on it.Â
Probably one of mine, Steve thought. Itâs not like English had been his best subject in school; he pulled solid Cs and stumbled towards graduation without a semblance of a plan. This gig at the newspaper was his first and last chance to have a meaningful career.Â
The fact that it paid enough so that he could move into his own place didnât hurt, either.Â
And then there was another perk of the jobâone that Steve tried and failed to ignore. But your cubicle was empty, your chair facing away from the desk.Â
âLooking for your girlfriend?âÂ
Flames of embarrassment nipped at Steveâs face; he was almost certain that the tips of his ears were turning scarlet. It took every ounce of willpower not to smack the Cheshire Cat grin off of Eddieâs face.Â
âNot my girlfriend,â he huffed. âYouâre the only one here in a secret relationship.â
Eddie scoffed, crossing his tattoo-covered arms over his chest. Despite the Postâs business-casual dress code, he somehow always got away with wearing old band t-shirts.Â
âSpeaking of that.â He thumbed an unfolded sheet of paper that heâd tucked beneath his own scrapped articles. âChrissy sent me another one today. This one was under my windshield wiper.â
Steveâs brows pinched together as he read the note.Â
canât w8 2 see you again
âSounds like a stalker,â Steve quipped. âWhatâs with the random numbers this time?â
âDunno.â Eddie shrugged. âMaybe itâs so Henry canât figure it out.â
Steve didnât bother to point out that anyone with two brain cells could crack that code; doing so would require him to continue talking to Eddie about his love life.Â
There wasnât enough coffee in the world to get him through that discussion.Â
Luckily, Eddie took the hint. âWell, your not-girlfriend is talking to the Boss Man right now.â
Sure enough, Steve could hear your voice coming from Mr. Hollowayâs office, even with the door closed. He couldnât help but creep closer, hoping to catch snippets of the conversation.Â
ââŚand there was another one today,â you were saying, âbut no oneâs talking about it. Weâre just acting like it doesnât exist.â
Mr. Holloway let out an irritated sigh. âI have it on good authority that the mayor has it under control. We donât want to interfere withââ
âIâm not asking to interfere! But the people of Hawkins deserve to know the truth.â
âDo you know the truth?â Mr. Hollowayâs question was met with a heavy silence. âListen, kid; Iâm not trying to turn my newspaper into some trashy gossip rag. If people want to read about monsters or alien invasions, they can pick up the Enquirer.â
Steve clenched his fists, but shamefully stayed rooted to where he was standing. Heâd fought off some otherworldly creature not even two hours earlier, but his courage failed him now.Â
That wasnât quite true. Steve wasnât afraid of defending you. If Mr. Holloway fired him, heâd just trudge back to Family Video and beg Keith for his old job back.Â
No, Steve was afraid that if he stepped into the office and saw the anguish that was no doubt written all over your face, heâd beat Mr. Holloway until his face was unrecognizable.Â
And heâd promised himself that heâd never use his strength in such a way. That slope was too slippery. The fine line between âheroâ and âvillainâ would become fuzzy once he exerted his powers without a reasonable threat.Â
Mr. Holloway lowered his voice and continued. âOur job is to keep the status quo. Write about picking pumpkins at Merrill Wrightâs farm or whatever bullshit, fou-fou musical the community center is putting on. Thatâs what Hawkins needs to read about.â
You grumbled a resigned âyes, sir,â and Steve scrambled back to his desk before you could catch him eavesdropping.Â
If journalism or being a superhero donât work out, maybe I can pursue a career as a spy, Steve thought wryly. He was already no stranger to hiding and concealing his identity.Â
Kid.Â
The word prickled beneath your skin, barking at you to remind your arrogant boss that you were a grown woman. A woman with a degree in journalism, who would like to use that degree to write more than just fluff pieces.Â
Not that much of anything ever happened in Hawkins, but there were certainly more pressing stories than Halloween celebrations.Â
âAsshole,â you muttered under your breath. Your fingernails left crescent-shaped marks where theyâd bit into your palms.Â
You plastered a smile on your face before rejoining your coworkers. It didnât take long for the smile to become real once you saw Steve.Â
Steve looked up from his work, hiking his wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. âHey, Cronkite.â
Your heart surged at his nickname for you. âHey, Harrington.â
Steve practically flung himself across the office, his chair skidding on the carpet as he pushed from his cubicle to yours.Â
You arched an eyebrow. âCan I help you?â
âYou sighed.â
âI what?â
âSighed,â Steve repeated. âLikeâŚâ he let out a long, melancholy breath.Â
Did you sigh? You hadnât even noticed. Apparently, Steve had.Â
You shrugged, trying to play off your residual frustration. âMeeting with Holloway. Yâknow how it is.â
Except he wouldnât know how it is, because simply having the Harrington name made Steve the officeâs golden boy.Â
Steve knew it, too, which was why his response was, âWant me to talk to him?â
You couldnât shake your head fast enough. The only thing more embarrassing than being shut down by Hollowayâagainâwas sending Steve in to fight your battles for you.Â
âItâs fine,â you assured him. âI mean, itâs not fine, because thereâs something weird going on, and he wants me to focus onââ
âWait.â Steveâs eyebrows disappear beneath his hair. âWhat do you mean, âweird?ââ
You froze, your eyes shifting around the room. No one else was paying attention to your conversation, so you let your guard down enough to whisper, âhave you seen, likeâŚâ you paused, carefully selecting your words, â...creatures around here?â
You felt ridiculous as soon as you said it. Creatures? You expected Steve to laugh and spend the rest of the day claiming to have seen Bigfoot in the woods or the Loch Ness Monster swimming around Lovers Lake.
Instead, he lowered his own voice. âWhat kinds of creatures?â
âLike, not animals. But not people, either. They walk like people, but they,â you swallowed, trying to ignore how absurd you sounded, âthey have these weird faces, but I didnât see any eyes. Just theseââ
âPetals.â Steve finished for you. âThey look like flower petals with teeth.â
âYes!â You slammed your palm down on the desk, wincing at the unintentional attention it drew. When the rest of the office went back to their work, you continued. âAnd this morning, there was a guy fighting one of them.â
Steve flinched, but he collected himself before speaking again. âA guy?â
âYeah.â You nodded, thinking back to that morning. It felt like a fever dream. Bright yellow beams emanated from the manâs eyes, forcing the creature to cower back, before he pummeled it to the ground. âSteve, this is gonna sound insane, but I swear the guyâŚflew away afterwards.â
If Steve was shocked, he hid it well. âAnd Holloway wonât let you report on it?â
You shook your head. âHonestly, I thought he would call me crazy, but he just brushed me off and told me to âkeep the status quo.ââ
A fire ignited behind Steveâs hazel eyes for half a second; if youâd blinked, you would have missed it. âFuck it,â he grumbled, ripping an empty page out of your notepad. He scribbled something down before handing it back to you. âMeet me here at seven oâclock tonight. IâŚI know the guy who you saw today. Heâll tell you everything.â
âHow do youââ You stopped when Steve gave you a sharp look. Sure enough, Holloway was stalking out of his office, furiously waving an empty coffee mug at a beleaguered intern.Â
Before you could interrogate Steve any further, heâd already tucked himself into his own cubicle.
The rest of your questions would have to wait until tonight.
What the hell am I doing?
Steve paced around his apartment, keeping his eyes on the intercom like he could stop it from buzzing if he stared at it hard enough.
Sheâs gonna show up and itâs just gonna be you. And then what? Youâre gonna say that the guy didnât show up and look like an idiot? Or like you invited your female coworker to your place, where it will be just the two of you? Great plan, Harrington.
There was another option: Tell the truth. But that posed its own problems, like trusting you to keep his secretâand to believe him in the first place.
Why had he even opened his big mouth?Â
He knew exactly why, even if he wasnât ready to admit it. Instead, he convinced himself that it was a favor for a friendâno, a colleagueâwho deserved a chance to prove their misogynistic boss wrong.
When the intercom buzzed, Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. âU-Uh, yeah?â
âItâs me!â You chirped. Your enthusiasm curdled in his stomach. He was going to have to let you down.Â
With lead fingers, Steve buzzed you in. Heâd decided that his friend had just called and said that he wouldnât be able to make it. Why? Oh, heâs sick. A little under the weather, but he should be back to fighting those pesky monsters in no time.Â
How long would it take you to get up the four flights of stairs to his apartment? Surely he could think of a more solid excuse before youâ
Knock knock.Â
Steve squeezed his eyes shut and swore under his breath before opening the door. As always, you were prepared, already unpacking the messenger bag that was strapped across your body. He reached out in a futile attempt to help you juggle your pencil, notepad, and tape recorder, but you didnât notice.Â
There were only so many pleasantries you two could exchangeâyour place is nice; here, let me take your jacketâbefore you questioned when the mystery hero would show up.Â
âHe canât make it,â Steve offered sheepishly. âHe, uh, he got sick. Food poisoning. Could barely hang up the phone before he had to run to the bathroom.â
You wrinkled your nose. âI hope he feels better.â Your hands fell to your sides in defeat. âWell, I guess Iâll see you at work tomorrow?â
All Steve had to say was âyes.â Maybe throw in a âget home safe.â Instead, he found himself saying:
âI can answer some questions for you. Like, as his friend, or whatever.âÂ
The disappointment that had briefly flickered behind your eyes vanished. âYeah, absolutely. I mean, if you have time.â
Steve forced out a nervous laugh. âIâve got nothing but time.â He patted the back of a plush sofa chair. âHave a seat. I can handle whatever you throw at me.â
The smile on your face was genuine, and Steve felt himself relax into his own chair as he sat across from you. He polished the lenses of his glasses on his white button-down shirt and rested his forearms on his thighs. âTake it away, Cronkite.â
âOkay.â The cassetteâs wheels began spinning. âMr. Harrington, do you understand that everything you say is considered âon the record?ââ
He ignored the way his stomach flipped when you addressed him formally. âOf course.â
âGreat. So,â you took a deep breath, âwould be too forward to ask you who your friend is?â
Steve nodded.Â
âIâll need a verbal response, Mr. Harrington.â
Right. Steve had become so accustomed to being the interviewer that heâd forgotten the intervieweeâs protocol. âYes, that would definitely be too forward.âÂ
âI figured.â That damn smile again. You made it nearly impossible for him to focus on the questions with that smile. âIn that case, Iâm wondering what your friend is battling. Because these arenât the usual coyotes that we might find around Hawkins, are they?âÂ
Steve shook his head before remembering to give his answer aloud. âNo, they definitely are not.â He raked a hand through his wavy hair. âWe donât know their exact species, but he refers to them as, uh, monsters.â
Your eyebrows shot upwards. âMonsters? That sounds ominous.â You glanced at your list of prepared questions. âHow did youâhe, sorryâget involved in protecting the town from these âmonsters?ââ
âHeâs the only one who can.â
Your impatient finger jabbed the pause button, and the reels came to a halt. âSteve,â you bemoaned, âno vague answers. Please.â
âRight.â He sat back in his chair with a soft thud. The easiest way to go about this was to tell the true story in the third person and omit some details.Â
Steve watched your eyes widen as he spoke, detailing how his friend, at eight years old, tagged along with his father, who was a real estate developer working on a project for Hawkins National Lab. How his friend wandered off while the adults discussed business, ignoring the STAFF ONLY and BIOHAZARD signs plastered on one particular door. How his friend had been exposed to all sorts of radioactivity by the time anyone found him, and how that exposure had left him with superhuman abilities.
âLike what?â You cringed at the casual delivery. âI mean, what are these superhuman abilities?â
âWell, for one, heâs insanely strong. Like, if this building started to fall, heâd be able to hold it up long enough for everyone to get out. Flying, of course, he can fly.â Steve scratched at the back of his neck and kept his eyes on a speck of lint on his pants. âAnd he can shoot laser beams from his eyes, which is useful because the monsters hate fireââ
The sound of your pencil slamming onto the paper startled him. When he looked up at you again, his heart nervously thumped at the rage written across your tightened jaw.
But when you spoke, your words were laced with more hurt than anger.
âIs this a joke?â Your voice shook. âIs this funny to you?â
The cassette reels kept spinning, though you made no attempt to stop the tape.
âLet me get this straight,â you continued, shoving your papers back into your bag. âYou invited me here under false pretensesââ
âIt wasnât false!â
His rebuttal went unheard. âAnd then you give me some bullshit story about a guy, who conveniently happens to be sick, with these crazy powers that he got from a science lab?â
âI know.â Without thinking, Steve reached for your hands, immediately feeling the loss when you pulled back. âI know how it sounds. But youâve gotta trust me, Cronkite. You saw that monsterââ
âI donât know what I saw,â you snapped. âIt couldâve just been aâŚa bear.â
Steve crossed his arms and poorly stifled an eyeroll. âA bear whose face opens up?â
Why was he fighting you so hard on this? Why couldnât he just pretend that heâd been playing a prank? Sure, youâd be furious at him, but his secret would be safe.Â
âMaybe it was deformed!â
âLook,â Steve hissed through clenched teeth. âI know what you saw. You know what you saw. So justâŚjust sit down, and you can ask me anything youââ
âHelp!â
Steve swiveled towards the shriek at neck-breaking speed. He unlatched his window to see Doris Driscoll standing on the sidewalk, clutching an empty leash.Â
Ten paces in front of her, clutching a fluffy white bundle in its claws, was one of the largest monsters Steve had ever seen.Â
âHelp! Itâs got my Misty!â
âWhatâs going on?â Steve hadnât even realized you were at his side until you spoke. âSteve, whatââ
âStay here, Cronkite.â He grasped your shoulders and looked you square in the eyes when you opened your mouth to protest, effectively silencing you. âStay here! Do you understand me?â
All you managed was a trembling nod. Heâd never spoken to you like that before, and he suspected heâd scared you.
Good. Better to have you scared and safe in his apartment than unafraid and at the mercy of whatever was hunting outside.
âStay here,â he repeated, âand lock the window as soon as I leave. Donât open it again until I knock. Got it?â
âY-Yes.â
If you hadnât been there to witness what happened next, you never would have believed it.
Youâd been so sure that Steve was messing with you, so wrapped up in your own fury, that you could hardly register what was going on.Â
The man who had just been sitting before you, nervously picking at his fingernails and begging you to believe his wild story, now stood tall and alert. He rolled his shoulders back, never once stopping to consider his next actions. It was as though he was on autopilot, like he had done this many times before.Â
Steve moved in a blur. He was in his work clothes in one moment; in the next, he was wearing a dark blue suit. It was too thick to be spandex, but too form-fitting and rigid to be cotton, and it clung to his every muscle. A red âSâ was emblazoned on the chest, seated in the center of a yellow diamond. His glasses were nowhere to be found, and a red cape flowed behind him as he jumped out of the open window.
No, not jumped. Flew.
With his arms stretched out in front of him, Steve Harrington flew out of his living room window into the inky black night.
And right towards the open mouth of a monster.
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