for @steddie-spooktober "witch" & @stevieweek "i don't know about this one..." prompt which i've altered quite a bit but used it twice so it kind of evens out, right???
E | 2568 | transfem!Steve (goes by Eve), witch!Steve, demon!Eddie, medieval fantasy, some arson and murder boyfriend vibes, magical srs, possible continuation, im sorry for all the lore | Ao3
more spooktober: "would you please stop trying to scare them?"
Eddie hated his job. Not only the human realm was much colder than Hell, but also, the Deal didn't always work. The success rate has been increasing each time, but it still pissed him off when nothing happened after he's been freezing his balls off for hours. He was starting to think all his fur was just decorative.
When he had arrived at Heimdall's, the guy threw him a skimpy tunic that barely covered his privates.
"Is this the only one you have? You can see my whole dick and balls in it," Eddie had complained, but beggars can't be choosers and all that.
He wraps the fabric tighter around himself when the next gust of air moves clouds away from the moon, making the pile of debris in the clearing visible. Time passes and Eddie waits impatiently, tapping his hooves against the ground, and idly picking stray grass blades from his tail. It seems like the pile moves a couple of times, but it's just the wind disturbing it.
A distant clock tower strikes midnight, and finally, the ash pile moves and keeps on moving, until a hand emerges. Eddie straightens up, his tail twitching in interest.
The ashes start breathing, the charred remains get knocked down and a coughing fit raises a dark cloud into the air. She'll be spitting soot for hours, but at least she's up now, another success for the statistics.
He decides to take pity on the poor girl and steps away from the fence he's been perched on, making room for his wings. With two good swats, the dirt is gone, leaving a slightly dirty, very naked woman in the middle of a charred circle.
He raises his eyebrows.
"These fucking perverts burnt you naked?"
She finally notices his presence, her red-rimmed eyes blinking rapidly to clear her vision, and stands up on shaky legs, still low on energy after her resurrection, barely maintaining her balance. Suddenly, Eddie doesn't seem to matter anymore, as her hands fly to her chest.
"What...?" she murmurs to herself.
Eddie tilts his head, watching the human with curiosity. Usually, the arrival of a demon gets a bigger fanfare, he's almost insulted, but he waits patiently. He already did for so long, and now he has something pretty to lay his eyes on for once. Witches usually came with ugly meat sacks, even after their resurrection.
"Where the fuck is my dick?!"
Ah, yes, that would explain it. The naked thing, too.
"Do you want it back?" Eddie asks because he's a demon with manners.
"No!" she protests immediately, eyes snapping up to him from observing her crotch. "No," she adds softer. "I like it like that." Her hand reaches down to inspect her new parts, so Eddie takes it upon himself to swat it away with his tail.
"Hey!"
He tsks, his long tongue slipping out to flick in a warning.
"Let's not put any more dirt in your holes, okay?" he berates her. Regretfully, he shrugs off the tunic he's been wearing and throws it at the girl. "For your modesty, m'lady."
She glowers at him but slips it over her head anyway. What was small for the demon, doesn't do much more for a human, especially not one with the curves that she has. She wrinkles her nose.
"Is there even a point? You can see my whole—"
Eddie slaps her hand preemptively.
"Hey! I wasn't even touching it!"
"Your hand was too close."
"No, it wasn't!"
Eddie rolls his eyes.
"Let's clean you up and then you can touch it all you want. You have a river in this ditch?" he asks, nose twitching in the air. He turns at the same time the witch points her hand.
"To the left of the village."
Eddie's eyes stray to the cluster of houses she seems determined not to look at.
"Do you have anyone left there?" he asks curiously.
"Not anymore," she scoffs, taking off towards the river.
Eddie has to follow her, he can't risk losing a witch, but an urge flares inside of him that he has to let loose. He claps his hands together and starts rubbing, sparks flying until a fire forms in his palm. He bounces it from one hand to another and nuzzles it with his finger, always happy to work with the little guys. When he feels the witch is watching him, he refocuses and whispers to it:
"Go, little one. Do your worst."
The flame flies off his palm, aided by a push from Eddie's phantom wings.
She doesn't ask, only eyes him curiously, but he pushes gently on her back to prompt her into walking along his side.
"It's gonna take a while," he says without any other explanation.
The walk isn't long, and soon she's handing over the tunic and dipping into the lazily flowing water, dark like ink but glittering with the reflection of stars above. The night sky is probably the only thing Eddie misses in the Underworld.
He sits on the plush grass, observing as the witch dunks under the surface and rubs her skin until it turns pink. It still contrasts with the water like it's made of the finest porcelain.
"I guess you're clean enough to explore now," he says as her movements slow down like she's already contemplating it. She must be, he can taste her curiosity from his spot on the river bank.
"You're gonna sit there and watch?" she glowers at him.
"Of course," he answers matter-of-factly. "I'm a demon."
She huffs, but this time it sounds more amused. Her hand travels down her body.
"What's your name, witch?" Eddie asks, resting his chin on his hand.
"Stev—" she hesitates.
"Eve?" he picks up curiously. That would be hilarious.
She kind of nods, kind of shakes her head.
"I was Steven, then I went by Stevonne, but..."
"That's okay, take your time," Eddie reassures her. "This is your Rebirth, you can pick any name you like."
She hums, and he can see her hand making slow, circling movements under the water.
"I like Eve," she admits.
"Yeah?" Eddie perks up with a smile. "You can call me Eddie. It's nice to make your acquaintance, Eve."
She smiles and opens her mouth to say something, but her attention is pulled somewhere above Eddie's shoulder. The water starts glowing orange.
"Looks like the little guy is having fun," he hums, not looking around. The glow of fire looks better on Eve's skin anyway.
The river carries distant cries for help, a reminder that it's not just a big, pretty bonfire.
"Don't worry, he'll get them all," he says.
"I'm not worried," she assures quickly.
Eve's fixated on the fire consuming her village, her eyes full of awe and the reflection of flames. She's glowing in the now orange water and she looks gorgeous reflecting Eddie's carnage like that. She'll look breathtaking among hellfire.
"Maybe we could spare some," he wonders out loud with a lazy smile. She looks back at him. "So we can hunt them down later. The way they hunt my new favorite witch."
She smiles, mean and thrilled. He'll have to fight fang and claw to keep her.
"Maybe we could."
They look at each other for a long while, until his eyes dip.
"You done?" Eddie looks pointedly at her stilled hand. She sighs with frustration.
"It's way different from this angle," she complains.
Eddie laughs out loud, the sound echoed by the collapsing church that used to tower over the townsfolk.
"Need a hand?" he offers, rolling his eyes when she eyes his claws with distrust. He flicks out his tongue instead. "Need a tongue?"
Eve's totally on board for that, clambering out of the water, her hazelnut hair dripping over her curves. The wet shine on her skin reflects the dancing flames and Eddie would be in love if he knew how to.
"Weren't you appalled that I was watching you just seconds ago?" he laughs at her, a little bit mean, but he already knows she can take it.
"Turns out I like that," she shrugs without shame, making Eddie's smile grow. The sight of his sharp teeth doesn't deter her either. In an instant, he has a lap full of a human, or at least as much of one there was left in Eve. He has her tits right in his face and he wouldn't be a demon if he didn't give them a taste, licking the river water off her skin. She sighs, fingers tangling in his unruly mane of hair, seeking purchase in his horns. He groans when she grabs them, and wraps his arms around her, pressing into her skin so he can flip them around, and lay her down in the bed of grass.
Her yelp turns into a delighted laugh and Eddie trembles with the sound. They don't make witches like that anymore. Free and open to the joys of life, ready to frolic and mingle with the things Unknown. Christianity made it so hard for demons and fae to get laid.
He presses hot kisses down her torso, spends extra time sucking around her navel, then nibbling around her mound, hiking her thighs higher and higher, nosing at the crease there, inhaling her scent, until he gets to his destination. It takes two, three expert licks for Eve to lock her legs around him and scream into the night.
Eddie gently laps up around her hole, her juices too precious to let fall on the grass below. Her breath hitches and she trembles but doesn't move away.
"Do you want more?" he asks, black eyes searching for an answer.
Her eyes are still full of fire.
"Yes."
So he gives her one more, then three, until he loses count and his tongue is numb and Eve's but a puddle of human-shaped limbs underneath him. When he laps at her entrance, drunk himself on her smell and taste, she spreads her legs invitingly, eyes blown and impossibly wide, sparkling with flames.
They stare into each other's dark eyes as he slithers his tongue inside. He rubs against her walls, searching for her face for a reaction, but she's too out of it for anything more than an involuntary twitch of muscles. However, when he moves away, she seems disappointed. He crawls up her body to properly look at her face, but before he can say anything, she lurches forward.
Kissing is not something he's used to in such circumstances, but he indulges anyway, letting her tongue inspect the sharp points of his teeth, and maneuver his hand on her breast. He squeezes, laps, and sucks, letting himself get lost in this new dance.
"You know," he says when she breaks away to restore oxygen. "I don't do that outside of sealing a deal," he admits.
Eve blinks at him owlishly.
"You don't kiss just for fun? Aren't you a demon?"
Eddie barks out a laugh.
"I guess kissing is too tame for our tastes."
"What's your taste?" she asks, curiosity radiating off of her in hot waves.
He hums, caressing her side.
"Insane witches, apparently."
"What do you do with them?" she presses on, her leg moving dangerously high up his body, the coarse hair of his thighs not enough to deter her.
"Well, personally..." Eddie likes to play with his food, a habit he couldn't shake since his childhood, so he rolls away from Eve to lie on his side instead. To placate her, he starts playing with the hair that grow low on her belly. "I collect the resurrected witches and show them around. You'll get a tour of Hell and any other realms you wish to see, and then I'll help you settle wherever you feel like."
With every word, the pout on her face only grows.
"You're not keeping me?" she asks, playing up the whine in her voice, but he knows there are genuine feelings behind it.
"Witches aren't meant to be tied down," he explains apologetically. "They're free spirits abusing the laws of reality." He reaches for her hand to press a kiss against her fingers. "It's a power best wielded in solitude."
She pries her hand away and sits up.
"Why would I want the power if I can't share it? Don't witches have like... familiars? Or something?"
Eddie frowns.
"A witch of your power doesn't need one. They're meant to amplify and aid spells, and you're pretty much on the same level as a common demon."
"Are you a common demon?"
"Yes," he nods.
"So we can't make a deal?" she presses on.
His frown deepens.
"Why would you want a deal with someone equal in power? Deals are made between a master and a servant."
"But is it not possible? Can't I have an equal by my side? A partner in crime?"
Maybe he should backtrack on her being his favorite. She's asking too many questions, ones he's not used to from a freshly reborn witch. He sighs.
"Technically you can, but it's an exclusive deal. You're tied for eternity, you belong to each other. It's not a common practice," he says, playing off what he's been told and overheard. "Master-servant contracts have an expiration date and are easier to break. I'm not sure a deal like that could even be broken."
Eve wraps her hands around her knees, processing the information.
"So I could tie a demon, or an equally powerful being, to myself for all eternity?"
Somehow, Eddie doesn't like the idea of Eve making a deal like that with a random demon. He nods, though.
"Yes."
"Let's say I'd want to do that with you, right now. How would that look?" she asks curiously.
He thinks about it, imagines it, and it pains him deep into his core.
"A simple deal is sealed with a kiss or a blood pact. A deal between equals requires an intercourse."
"Huh."
The idea doesn't seem appalling to her, which doesn't surprise him at this point. He can feel her eyes sliding down his body.
"You're not going to find my dick like that," he says with amusement.
She huffs but doesn't budge, searching his gaze instead.
"Wouldn't you want to make me yours? And you mine?"
Eddie considers it.
"I never thought about it before," he admits. "Is that something you'd want?"
She lays back on the grass with a sigh.
"I'm just tired of being alone. Of nobody staying. You're the nicest person I've met in years, and you're not even human." He laughs at that, and she turns towards him with a smile. "You burnt a village for me." She frowns. "Unless you do that for all the witches."
Eddie quickly shakes his head. Too quickly.
"Only the most mistreated ones," he admits.
"Is it a pity thing, then?"
"No," he protests again. "I wanted to do something nice for you."
Eve smiles.
"Thank you."
He smiles back, and when he leans down, she meets him for a lazy kiss.
"Would you make me yours?" she asks when they part and the offer sounds alarmingly tempting.
"You should meet other demons before making a commitment like that," he says, and she rolls her eyes. Then, his ears twitch as he finds the perfect distraction for them both.
"You ready to hunt?" he smiles down at her, wide and dangerous. "Someone escaped the fire."
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Finding out that Billy had never been with anyone comes as a surprise, to say the least.
It’s been a month since Billy kissed Steve, pulled him close by the neck of his red sweater and slotted their lips together, pressed his tongue into Steve’s mouth and turned his life upside down. Steve can’t get enough of him since.
All they’ve done in the past month is kiss, going so far as to roll around in Steve’s bed one afternoon, only for Billy to pull away abruptly once their hips touch.
Steve watches as Billy lays back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling, both hands clenched into fists.
The thing is, Steve doesn’t mind that they’re not having sex. He’d gladly kiss Billy all day if that’s all he wants to do, but it weirds him out a little how Billy pulls away like he’s been burned when things were fine a second ago.
“Are… You okay?” Steve asks, the words coming out slow and tentative.
“Yep,” Billy says tightly. Steve’s having a hard time believing him.
“You don’t look okay, man,” he tries. Billy only grunts in response. His face is twisted up in a scowl, but the look in Billy’s eyes is a little distant, like he’s… concentrating? “Is this a werewolf thing?”
Billy’s silent for a long time, enough that Steve doesn’t think he’s gonna answer.
“No,” Billy says, finally, and Steve can feel the zing of the lie in the air. He frowns.
“You know I don’t care about that stuff, right?” Steve says. “Like, I know you’re extra strong and fangy, but I’m just as magic as you are.”
“It’s not about the fangs,” Billy spits out, showing actual anger for the first time the whole day.
“So what is it about, then?” Steve insists, searching Billy’s face for an answer. Then his eyes flick down to Billy’s hands, which are still clenched tight. “Is it about the claws?”
“Shut up,” Billy says. Too quickly.
“Oh my God, it is!” Steve’s jaw drops, and he sits up abruptly.
Billy grunts, half a huff and half a snarl, pushing himself off the bed and stomping toward the door.
“Wait, Billy, come on!”
Steve reaches out, and his hand closes around Billy’s wrist. For a second, he thinks Billy is going to snap, is going to push him against the wall and snarl in his face, but Billy just… stops. He goes completely still, refusing to look at Steve.
“I’m sorry,” Steve pleads. He doesn’t feel right letting Billy leave like this, on this sour note, and the need to pull Billy against his body, wrap him up close, sticks to his throat. “I didn’t mean to push you. It’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it.”
Billy lets out a harsh breath, and Steve can see his jaw tense like he’s trying to grind his teeth into dust. But his wrist turns in Steve’s grasp and slips through his fingers until their palms slot together, soft and warm. Billy turns around.
“It’s not…” Billy starts, then stops, twisting his mouth into a grimace. “I just don’t wanna hurt you,” is what he settles on. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he adds when Steve opens his mouth to protest. “You don’t have invulnerable fucking skin. What if I lose focus at the wrong time, and my claws catch on your scalp? On your throat?”
Billy finally looks at him, and Steve sighs, shoulders going lax, all tension leaving him in one moment. Billy doesn’t look angry. He looks tentative and unsure, and more open than he’s been the entire time they’ve been doing this.
“Okay. I get it,” Steve says, voice dipping to a low murmur. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“Yeah,” Billy says, and they go quiet. He does step closer, though, and half-leans against Steve, digging his nose into Steve’s neck. He can feel Billy breathe in deep, and Steve lifts a hand to wrap around Billy’s waist.
“I just thought… The girls you’ve been with, they’re mostly human… And none of them found out about you being a werewolf, so I…” Steve starts, but is cut off by a snort coming from Billy. The hot air from his breath tickles Steve’s neck, and he shivers.
“I don’t lose my focus around girls. Not like when I’m around you,” Billy says, barely above a whisper. Steve feels his breath catch, and wants so badly to say me too, you make me feel like that too, but Billy speaks again, dragging his nose across Steve’s skin as he lifts his head to look at him. “Besides, I never do more than make out with them. It’s never been a problem before.”
Steve freezes, hand going still where it’s been stroking Billy’s side.
“You’ve never…?” He lets the question hang in the air, and Billy stiffens.
“That a problem?” His voice is carefully even, face going blank, and Steve panics.
“No! No, of course not. No,” Steve hurries to say, squeezing Billy’s hand tightly. “It doesn’t matter. Well, I matter a little, but like, not in a bad way, I just— I mean—” Steve takes a deep breath. “It’s okay. We can— We’ll figure it out together,” he says. Pleads.
Billy huffs a laugh, lips forming that smug smirk that Steve once found infuriating but now only fills his stomach with warmth.
“Yeah, alright,” Billy says, nosing at Steve’s neck again. “I guess I’d like that.”
---
I set out to write werewolf smut but ended up with fluff instead, which is so on brand for me actually. I'm having a lot of fun with this AU right now.
enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part
pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T
Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.
“Since when?” He’d asked.
“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”
“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.
“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.
“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.
“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”
“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”
“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”
“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”
“...I’m sorry, honey.”
“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.
Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”
“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.
“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”
Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”
“No!” Robin belts out immediately.
“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”
“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”
“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”
“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”
Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.
Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?
It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?
Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.
He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste.
“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.
He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.
That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.
Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.
Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home.
He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.
Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.
He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.
Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.
If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.
Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.
The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.
He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression.
It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.
“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries.
Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.
Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.
“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly.
The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”
“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.
Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.
“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.
Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.
“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.
She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”
He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”
She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”
He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.
As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.
“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”
He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.
Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.
“I have a date!”
Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.
“Steve?”
Should he put soap in it?
“Steve!”
No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.
“Steven Otis Harrington.”
“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.
“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.
He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”
“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”
He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”
“Steve, the bowl?”
“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”
“He? Who’s he?”
“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”
“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”
“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.
The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.
Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”
“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.
“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”
“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”
“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”
“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.
He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later.
As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.
Whatever.
All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—
Wait..
Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?
Is…
The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.
What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?
That..sounds right....why is that so famili—
Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.
Is he…?
And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.
tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts
also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊
To @kittyphoenix12-xx for Harringrove for Turkey!! Thank you so much for donated and a big thank you for your endless patience!! 💗
~ read on ao3 ~
• • •
Steve Harrington smelled. That was Billy’s current problem.
Because Harrington smelled good. Like the gold and amber warmth in sunlight that has soaked into a slept-in, pine-green blanket sort of way.
Billy didn’t like thinking of smells in terms of colors, but here he sat. Smelling colors while being stuck on Steve Harrington because their last names were right next to each other. Hawkins was so small that even outside of school, Billy felt like he was playing bumper cars.
And he could always find Steve. That proved to be a boon and a curse at this very moment, because Billy swung wide between feeling deliciously warm and satiated on Steve’s lap, and absolutely furious and indignant at being on four legs instead of two.
“Ow! Jesus shit, I should’ve known you were a cat,” Steve griped after a claw sliced his palm open. The smell of salty blood was gratifying, at least. Billy yowled deep in his chest as Steve picked him up like a heavy towel, dumping him onto the passenger seat. “I’ll apologize to you later. For now, try not to piss on the upholstery.”
How in gods name a party in bum fuck Hawkins had turned into Billy riding in Steve Harrington’s car…more specifically, how a piss in the woods had turned into Billy writhing in the most itchy, burning, bone-piercing ache, and then staring up at Steve…who seemed weirdly larger than Billy remembered.
Steve wasn’t larger.
Billy had turned into a cat.
And his excursion to the woods had been too successful, because he would very much like to give Steve’s car exactly what it deserves.
“Are you still Billy in there? Because you’re not speaking English right now, dude,” Steve said as he drove through the winding suburban roads. Billy stood on his passenger seat with his front paws on the window ledge. He was vaguely aware that his voice—his fucking meow—was deeper than a standard cat’s whine, but he was too overwhelmed to give a shit.
Night vision was nothing like movies made it out to be. Instead of really being able to see through shadows, his eyes snatched onto every moving detail. Hawkins had a lot more rabbits than Billy had previously noticed. And deer. Why the hell were deer strolling around backyard pools and flowerbeds?
Sound moved differently around his ears than it did for a human head. But on top of it all was Steve. All of his car. Every variation of scent that one human teenager could saturate within the interior of his stupid BMW. Behind it all, Billy could distinguish what must have been the aromas left behind by the original driver, Harrington Senior, but Steve had long since moved into this vehicle.
Billy could smell the days he landed in the car after basketball practice. The mornings he drove after a fresh shower. He could smell the moist soil on Steve’s shoes now and the salty freshness of new sweat and outdoor air on his skin—
“Jesus Christ,” Steve groaned. “I always knew you got mouthy when you were full of yourself but this is something else. Someone’s going to think I cat-napped you.”
Billy cast a silent glare at him, willing Steve’s brain to blow a fuse as Billy fumed, Worse, you gave me paws, asshole!
Almost like he had heard this, Steve sighed, “I assume you didn’t know you were able to turn into a cat, huh? We’re here.”
Billy’s smaller body sagged with the car turning into a driveway and rocking with the brakes. In record speed and agility, Billy sleuthed out of the war when Steve stepped out on his side—
“Wait a second, Billy! ” Steve shouted, and to Billy’s acute annoyance, he paused. Steve took advantage of the moment and stretched his arms out before they fell to slap against this thighs. “Where are you gonna go? I know you don’t think much of it, but Hawkins is dangerous at night. Can you at least let me take you inside and explain?”
Billy hissed, ears pinned back against his skull. In the back of his mind, he felt his earring weighing down the thin pinna of his ear. You’re not carrying me like a fucking pet.
Steve huffed tiredly. “I know you understand me. At least let me help you get back on two legs.”
Billy growled again, but even he could hear the annoyed tolerance in his yowl. Relief infused Steve’s features when he realized Billy’s slow footfalls were in the direction of the house. He pressed his thumb against his house key as he teased, “I won’t make you eat cat food—Hey!”
Billy swiped at the back of his ankle, catalyzing Steve’s pace toward the front door. Despite being a witch, Steve used his key to unlock the house and toed his shoes off on the welcome mat. Billy didn’t have clothes to remove. They were bunched up under Steve’s elbow—after Billy had zapped into a smaller body and Steve used the clothes like a burrito to wrestle Billy into the BMW.
Billy’s ears swiveled toward the sound of Steve rubbing his hands together. For a long moment, Billy processed how Steve’s fidgeting meant nervous, alongside Billy’s own desire to claw his way up Steve’s body so he wasn’t standing below knee level anymore. Considering this would result in Steve carrying him, Billy grumbled a low growl and started walking down the length of the foyer towards what he presumed would be a living room—
“Here, we’re gonna need to burn something.” Billy froze, Steve’s jogged steps making the floor tremble on his way to the sliding glass door. As soon as he looked back at Billy, he realized this and winced. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
Billy yowled on his way past Harrington’s stupidly large feet. Steve followed him out but left the door open. The backyard was…too much. The landscaping was all fragrant herbs and then there was the pool. Thankfully the saltwater was not as pungent as a chlorine pool, but Billy found himself retreating back to the carpet just inside the door. From there, he observed Steve ripping leaves off of one plant, and then flowers form another.
When he noticed Billy sitting inside, he barked, “What? Get out here.”
Billy pawed at his nose. He and Steve stared at each other until Billy chirped at him and touched his nose again. Steve’s large eyes drifted down to the herbs in his hand, before he pivoted to look at all the criminals in his smelly yard. “Oh. Okay.”
He came inside and, to Billy’s relief, shut the door. Like he was wadding up a ball of paper, Steve crushed the leaves and flowers in his hands before sprinkling them over the carpet. To Billy’s surprise and fondness, he recognized the flowers.
No wonder Harrington’s never with the weed kids behind the bleachers. He grows his own stash.
Billy filed this away for later, under the caveat of how, if this went well enough, he might hit Steve up for some of this later. Preferably free, at the expense of Steve’s guilt for getting him in this situation in the first place.
Billy’s mind infused with the familiar sour fragrance, as well as the neutral bitterness of green things. His ear twitched, making him vaguely aware of Steve going to the kitchen. Not having a pair of eyes on him helped him relax after what felt like a long night. It had only been perhaps half an hour, but Billy lowered himself over the carpet all the same, sniffing at the leaves and petals, wondering distantly what kind of spell Steve could do. Didn’t witches need cauldrons or something? Steve had just dumped everything on the floor…
The kitchen began to smell like spaghetti sauce. The telltale oven door sounds before garlic bread infused the air. Billy let his back legs flop to the side as he blinked slowly, one side of his skull drifting on sour kush, and the other tickling with the promise of spaghetti and bread…
Perhaps the pain brought his mind into clarity. Or simple hunger. Either way, Billy distinctly thought, Why the shit is Harrington cooking dinner instead of helping me? the same time he found Steve watching him over the island counter.
What’s more, Steve grinned like a teenager after experiencing his first tequila sunrise. “That was easier than I thought.”
Out of some whim of annoyance, Billy stood up—
All the way up.
Blood rushed to his head and he teetered, heavy, human feet loud and clumsy underneath him. All of a sudden, Steve’s hands were around his ribs, holding him up like a child. In other circumstances, Billy would have knocked his hands off and shoved him to the ground, but he had never faced this kind of nausea before. It was like all of his limbs had gone numb and his blood was too slow getting back to his fingertips and toes.
“Come here, sit down. I’ll get you a soda. You’ll feel better in a few minutes. I hope.”
“You’re a ray of sunshine,” Billy groaned. He couldn’t say that Steve was wrong, since with every step toward the couch, he did feel more clarity. Clear enough to notice Steve jerking the throw blanket down to spare the couch from Billy’s naked ass. “I’ll try not to be insulted by that.”
“You can wrap up in it, asshole,” Steve remarked on his way to the fridge. When he came back, he poured the ginger ale into a glass. Billy huffed at the gallantry, causing Steve to warn, “Don’t make me prefer you as a cat. Do you want food or not?”
“Oh, I’d love some. Do I get a placemat too?”
“No, but I can get you a bib,” Steve smiled.
“The faster you feed me, the less likely I am to beat your ass…unless you’ve got other tricks up your sleeve that you’ve been holding out on me.”
Something behind Steve’s eyes lit up, visibly processing that as a compliment. Billy frowned a little, since his track record over Steve was still one to zero.
Instead of answering, Steve worked on getting two heaping piles of pasta to the coffee table, with half a baguette, each, slathered with garlic butter. Billy nursed his soda, taking one, wrapped up forkful at a time. His stomach had just shrunken to the size of a cat’s, after all. And now that he thought about it…
“After drinking at the party, why haven’t I thrown up yet? My stomach has just accordion shifted between sizes.”
Steve’s eyes went wide as he worked on chewing through the lump of food in his cheek. “Wishful thinking? Please don’t barf.”
Billy’s lashes fell to half-mast. “So you don’t know anything about turning into a cat even though you forced this on me?”
“I didn’t force anything! You can turn into a cat on your own.”
“I’ve never run on four paws, Harrington,” he argued tiredly. Billy resigned himself to beat his ass tomorrow. For now, he just wanted this meal and a heavy night’s sleep.
Steve sighed and set his pasta on the table. “I take it your dad and stepmom don’t go for moonlit runs in the woods?”
Billy grimaced at him. “The hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you don’t know anything about this. Which means your mom is a big freaking help—”
“Don’t talk about my mom,” Billy said quietly. Like one monotone warning.
Steve took it. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
Billy pursed his lips into an impertinent line as his nostrils flared with his inhalation. “If I can turn into a cat, why haven’t I? Plenty of nights behind me to have discovered that party trick.”
The air crunched with Steve’s bite into his bread. His cheek refilled as he shoved the bite to the side and enunciated, “Well, you’re not a werewolf. If no one prompted you to change, I guess, why would you?”
“Then what were you doing in the woods, Steve?” Billy accused. “You were awfully available to scoop me up as soon as I went down.”
Steve countered, “What were you doing so close to me?”
“Taking a piss. Regular woodland activities. Last I checked, Hawkins was way too Christian to have Wiccans.”
Steve shook his head. “What are those?”
“It’s like witch religion. California’s full of them. They own half the incense stores that front for weed sales.”
Steve’s brows lifted, absorbing that with a chirped, “Huh.”
Billy’s eyes widened. “Explain, already! Don’t make me leave you bloody on the floor again.”
“Christ, okay,” Steve cursed under his breath. He rubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath. “I’m a witch but an atheist one, I guess. All the practice but none of the…pagan stuff. We don’t needs god mojo but we still need energy for spells. The party was like a power plant.”
Billy plunged his fork back into his food, feeling like this was even enough footing for his stomach accept nourishment. Even if Steve sounded like a crackpot. “What sort of spells? Trying to get Wheeler to take you back?”
“No, we’ve been over for months.”
“New girlfriend?”
“I’m too busy getting rejected from colleges and job applying to have one right now.”
“So, what, then? A spell for good fortune? What does a rich boy like you need help with?”
Steve exhaled heavily again. His large hands rubbed over his knees, making Billy glad his heightened ears and nose were gone. “Witches don’t need Satan or gods…but familiars are real.”
“What is that? Familiar what?”
“An animal familiar,” Steve reiterated, and the light bulb went on above Billy’s head.
“You cast a spell to get a dog?”
“I cast a spell to invite a willing animal to keep me company. That’s the whole shtick about witchcraft: consent. I can’t just go into a pet store and buy one. I can put out an invitation, but that’s about it. And then you showed up.”
“I’m not a damn animal, Harrington,” Billy growled.
“I know, but unfortunately for both of us, you’re the one who answered the invitation.”
“I didn’t answer shit, but you’d be damn lucky to have me.”
A laugh sputtered out of Steve. And then of all the questions to ask, “Do you even like me? Outside of all the bullshit you throw at me, do you actually have an interest me? If you can answer honestly, I’ll make you a stronger drink.”
Billy frowned at him, staring hard enough that Steve squirmed, “What? What? ”
“Who was the one who lied to my face?”
Steve cleared his throat, having the grace to look ashamed. “Me.”
“Who was the one trying to make you suck less at basketball?”
“Your coaching needs a lot of work. I can’t tell the difference between harassment and advice from you.”
“Tommy was right there, giving you shit about Wheeler and Byers. You were an easy target, but who tried to remind you that girls don’t matter?”
Steve’s face scrunched up until he licked his lips with a popping sound. “I can’t tell the difference between a guy who hates women and a guy who’s just gay. Especially when you’re both—is that what I’m supposed to get from that?”
“I didn’t say shit about being gay,” Billy fumed. “That’s like me assuming you wanted something disgusting from those animals.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” Steve recoiled. “Relax, jesus. I mean, I don’t know a lot about it, but realizing you were the one in the woods wasn’t the worst news I’d ever gotten.”
Something diffused in the air between them. Like a coiling wire had finally relaxed and unwound. Billy’s eyes narrowed at him as he processed that. “What exactly is a familiar supposed to do?”
Steve shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just keep me company. Maybe act as a lookout and an alarm bell while I’m distracted with spells.”
“And you’d…want me to keep you company.”
For the first time tonight…not the first time in a while, though, Billy noticed how tired Steve looked. His posture was bad, and he looked like he hadn’t had any wind in his sails for a long while. Frankly, he looked lonely. Billy knew what that looked like. Every time he saw it in the mirror, he smiled at whoever stared at him the most and got them in his bed.
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess I would. If you could get your head out of your ass long enough.”
“No, I’m gay, we can’t do that.”
“That’s impressive. You should put that flexibility to better use.”
Billy couldn’t help the smile warming his features. “Like what?”
“Like practicing being a cat. It’s as much a part of you as running or swimming. I’d love to hear you purr.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Or mine,” Steve huffed, and Billy grinned.
“Yeah, or that. What did you use to make me change back?”
Steve had to get another bite down before he answered, “Weed and catnip. I was trying to make you relax long enough for your body to do the rest.”
Billy shook his head. “You’re lucky I’m sore like a car wreck.”
“That’s why you should practice,” Steve chimed encouragingly.
“I’m not going to sit on your lap so you can pet my fur. Get over yourself.”
Steve shrugged, unbothered. “That’s a shame. You smell nice as a cat.”
Billy froze, and whatever grimace he wore made Steve clear a laugh out of his throat and say, “I didn’t know cats smell good. Like a clean, salty breeze. It suits you better than those awful colognes you use.”
“You know what? I’m not sore enough to hit you.”
They had a long night ahead of them. And against all odds, many nights to come.
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We all have heard about Werewolf!Steve but may I please bring forward Witch!Steve to the conversation:
Alice Howe did not want to talk about her childhood or the family she distanced herself from after marrying Richard Harrington. When asked she would mention finishing school and growing up with old fashioned values, never giving more details and certainly not mentioned the talents her and the women of her family possessed. It was not that she gave up magic all together, of course not it would be foolish to not use all tools at your disposal to keep the life you have made for yourself, but she keeps it around in small ways. Using spells to keep her house tidy and in order, potions she can pass off as home remedies secrets sthat her mother taught her. And if she was being honest, she was relieved to find out that her first born had in fact been a son. She swears that she would have loved the baby either way but she was hoping for a boy. A boy meant her secret could be safe, Magic was rarely passed down to boys (something about dominant and recessive genes) but then Steve grew. When the boy was about three Alice started to notice him imitating her movements as he watched his mother cast wordless spells that moved dishes around the kitchen into the cabinets, evaporating water off the recently washed plates. At first she thought nothing of it, there was little chance that anything would come of it but then when Steve was about five, she realized she was wrong. It would turn out that by some strange twist of fate that Steve was born with the gifts that so many of Howe Family had possessed, evident in little ways like teddy bears and blocks levitating an inch above the ground before falling back down and it is after witnessing that does Alice make the chose to stop using her powers in front of her son. She chooses not to tell him about the power he was born with, thinks if I don’t teach him he won’t learn and the problem will go away and in someways it does. Steve doesn’t learn any true spells and yes, sometimes things will happen when the boy gets emotional but nothing too out of the ordinary. Sometimes there’s a little zip of electricity that feels like a static shock when touches something while too excited, a lamp might flicker slightly when he stubs his toe.
But then Steve turns ten and it’s the first time his parents decide that he’s old enough to be left alone while they attend a conference over a long weekend. The boy doesn’t know why he’s looking around the basement, it just felt like something was calling to him and packed away amongst the holiday decorations, old camping gear, and snowsuits, he finds this old wooden chest. He feels weird looking at it, like if he were to open it would alter the course of his life forever, but there’s a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he should. And so he does. At first glance the contents of the chest seem to be just old Halloween decorations, dusty leather bound books of spells and potions with a small blacken and tarnished metal cauldron, but then Steve opens one of the books and sees in a crooked version of his mother’s neat looping penmanship “Property of One Miss Alice Howe.” He can’t tell you why he starts to read them, maybe it’s to feel closer to the mother that seemed so distant or maybe it was just because they looked cool or maybe some third option, all he would be able to tell you is that it just felt right. Then one day while Steve is home alone during that stretch of time where school has ended but his parents have not returned home from work, he tries one of the spells he read about in his mother’s old school books just to see what would happen. And it is then, sitting on his bed with the door locked shut does Steve learn that his mother has given him more than he could have ever thought. Steve was able to use Magic, like actual magic. Steve was a Witch.
He wants to talk to his mom about it but he wasn’t supposed to find these things and who knows how she would react, so he hides. Hides the leather books on his shelf in the dust jackets of old hardcovers, hides the cauldron with a carefully stacked wall of folded clothes in his closet. He teaches himself in secret, he makes rules for himself. Only reading the books in his room so no one can read over his shoulder, only practicing spells in the house when he’s sure his parents won’t be coming home, and during those stretches of time between business trips he sneaks into the woods, out to skull rock and practices under the cover of the forest at night. Steve never thought that he was smart when it came to school but this made sense, he finally feels like he gets something.
As his skills grow over the years he becomes more sure of himself, more confident, and he starts to bend the rules. Using magic in subtle ways to mess with the other team during sports, making a player on the court stumble so his team gets the ball after an unfair call, makes sure the right fielder when the bases are loaded and it’s the bottom of the ninth, add a small amount of a potion that allows him to breath underwater to his water bottle for swim meets not enough to make a huge difference but just enough to not phase him when he accidentally inhales some of the chlorinated water when his lung capacity fails him. He’s not hurting anyone and the books are useful, especially when it comes to the idea of crafting an image. Potions for hair and skin care, spells that cover your imperfections. So while he bends his rules, he adds to them as well. No magic to cheat on tests, nothing that can change other peoples’ appearances. But sometimes he wonders what would happen if he stopped… if he didn’t use magic to keep his images King Steve, Steve “The Hair” Harrington? Was his charming personality real or just an illusion?
Then he meets Nancy, and Barb goes missing, his parent’s business trips go on longer and longer, the fight with Jonathan, and then the Demogorgan. And so he starts honing in on anything he can find for protection, for healing, for defense and he just wants some normalcy back in his already weird life. So yeah it’s Halloween, he wants to be a dumb kid and go party and have fun. He accidentally makes Nancy spill the red punch on herself and if she would just let him help her he would have been able to get the stain out but he’s stumbling and trying to be discreet about the spell and then “It’s Bullshit, all of it. Bullshit.” And he doesn’t want to break, not there in that bathroom in that house with all those people, it’s to dangerous to risk. So he gets out, he leaves, makes sure Nancy can get home safe but he leaves. Parks his car by the quarry and lets himself break, the man made pool of water rocking with unnaturally violent waves that crash against each other as the boy cries.
And then he’s protecting the kids from the demo dogs, every incantation of protection, defense, and god forbid healing that he’s ever learned flutter at light speed through the back of his thought like a Rolodex attached to a power drill.
And he meets Robin and he feels like she has this beacon about her that he can’t put his finger on but mistakes for a crush. And he tells her while sitting on that men’s bathroom floor, she tells him about Tammy Thompson and later notices a sort of amber glow to her eyes in moonlight as they drive the convertible and just chalks it up to drugs and last parts of his brain still switching from romantic to platonic love. But he notices it when they work the late shift at Family Video and during movie nights till one night he asks about it. And she tells him about being a werewolf and for the first time Steve tells someone that he’s a witch.
And then he meets Eddie, not Eddie “The Freak” Munson but Eddie. And then Eddie dies, and Steve has to get Dustin to leave, to get him safe. It is in the lull of the days after the Battle that Dustin finds out about Steve’s gifts and begs for Steve to find some way to bring Eddie back. And Steve wants to break, not in the way he did on Halloween two years ago but in a different way, a way that he doesn’t know that he can recover from. He can’t promise Dustin anything more than he’ll try. Necromancy is not for the faint of heart but, after everything the nineteen year old has seen, he would assume he’s not included in that category. The young man ventures into the Upside Down to find the fallen party member, no clue of if his plan will even work but he’s going to try and try like hell. He finds the older boy’s body, his eyes welling up with the tears he had refused to shed and he apologizes, for everything, for being an asshole in high school, for leaving him here, for him having to get mixed up in this, for not being there to protect him, and as he lets the tears fall, he promises that he is going fix this, that he will fix this. The ritual is performed, Steve brings a man back to life, and Eddie is the third person to learn Steve’s secret.
Something must have gone wrong with the spell though. Eddie is back and while he is still Eddie, he’s just different now. His senses are sharper, he’s stronger, he’s…. he’s a vampire. Not that Eddie minds, says that it was a sort of consolation prize for, you know, dying. Steve however, does mind. Blames himself for messing up the spell, for turning Eddie into a monster and is sure that Eddie only hangs out with him because of some fucked up power imbalance that comes with bringing someone back to life. But he hasn’t turned Steve away yet, so like a stray that has been fed, he keeps coming back.
The truth is that Steve likes Eddie, likes hanging out with him, likes showing off the stupid little tricks he’s learned to do with his powers, likes how he comes alive onstage with his band, likes that he’s a little too loud when he’s excited and talks with his hands and has issues with personal space. He likes being with Eddie and one night it hits him. They’re hanging out, watching a movie when Steve looks over at Eddie, profile illuminated by the glow of the screen giggling at the way a background actor is apparently trying so hard not to stare at the camera, and he thinks “god I want to kiss him.” The boy freezes, his eyes wide at his own thoughts and as if he can sense the stutter in Steve’s heartbeat, Eddie turns to face him when something in the other boy snaps. Next thing Steve knows he’s kissing Eddie and Eddie is kissing him back and he doesn’t want the moment to end. But the light from the tv goes blue and Steve yawns into Eddie’s mouth which causes the older boy to call it a night, carrying them off to bed. In the morning, Steve wakes up curled into the other boy’s side and smiles softly cuddling closer as he drifts back to sleep.
“You’re a witch hunter,” Steve says, cold trickling down his spine, and Billy gives him a slow blink.
“Well, yeah,” he says, as though this means nothing to him at all. Steve sighs.
“So I’m a witch?” he points out, hauling himself up onto an elbow so he can look at Billy.
But it only makes it worse. Because when he looks at Billy he’s reminded by everything that he’d be giving up. Everything that he’s spent his life searching for.
“I don’t really give a fuck, Harrington,” Billy says flatly, stretching his long arms above his head. Steve watches the muscles flex, how the motion makes his red t-shirt shift just enough to reveal a strip of creamy tanned skin. “It’s not like my family are really active hunters anymore.”
“Your dad will be pissed,” Steve says quietly, because he knows enough about Neil Hargrove to know that while no, the Hargroves don’t hunt anymore, that Billy’s dad definitely won’t let him stay with a witch. And a male one at that.
Billy scoffs loudly.
“I really don’t give a fuck,” he says again, bitterness creeping into his voice. “And neither should you.”
Steve flops back down onto the tartan blanket and stares up into the glittering night sky. His backyard has always been perfect for this sort of thing - the clear open sky above Loch Nora, the soft glow of the pool, the complete absence of his parents. Steve had had very different intentions in mind when he invited Billy over for dinner and some stargazing. It had been a perfect third date, right up until Steve had caught sight of the witch hunter's mark on Billy’s wrist.
“I don’t care,” he lies. Because even though Billy rents a shitty studio apartment above the bowling alley, he’s still not free of Neil Hargrove. The distance isn’t going to be enough to save Billy, and Steve doesn’t need any runes or cards to tell him that. He can see it in the fingerprints around Billy’s wrist, in the long white scar on the soft skin of Billy’s thigh, the set of Billy’s jaw.
It terrifies Steve that Billy is choosing him over his own safety. “It’s not like the dating app has a ‘no witches’ option,” Billy says flatly. “And I wouldn’t fucking tick it anyway because I don’t give a shit.”
“You knew though,” Steve protests, because hiding a witch mark is far easier and something Billy must have deliberately covered on their past few dates. Billy had never taken his denim jacket off on their first date. And he’d worn long sleeves on their second date, and the few times he’s stopped in Family video to visit Steve. “You knew straight away in the coffee shop, you could smell me…”
“So what if I did?” Billy bursts out, hauling himself upright. His eyes flash in the moonlight, the unearthly indigo shade of a witch hunter, and he’s never looked more beautiful. Steve sits up too, wondering if Billy can see the glow of gold in his own eyes, the color of magic. A`dead giveaway of Steve’s lineage. Witches and witch hunters have been enemies since before Salem. And while most are no longer active, it’s still unheard of for the two to mix. “I didn’t care, Steve! You could have transformed into a bat in that coffee shop and I wouldn’t have given a shit, alright? I didn’t ask to be able to smell magic, I didn’t ask for my stupid ancestors to go out burning witches and I wasn’t about to stop our first date for something so idiotic and outdated.”
“Not about to tie stones to my feet and chuck me in my own pool then?” Steve asks, curling his fingers around Billy’s bare left wrist, just over the jagged witch mark seared into Billy’s skin. He can so easily spend the rest of his days with his skin pressed into Billy’s.
Billy gives him a flash of teeth and Steve’s stomach swoops at the sight of it. This night might go the way he had planned after all.
“Not unless you really annoy me,” Billy murmurs, eyes heavy and dark, and presses his mouth to Steve’s. It’s not their first kiss, but it’s certainly their most honest one.
When the kiss grows more heated and they fall back down to the ground, Steve takes the opportunity to use a little magic. Not something he does on the day to day, not in a tiny town like Hawkins, but he thinks maybe he can show Billy that there are benefits to dating a witch. It takes Billy a good few minutes to realize that the night sky has changed to Steve’s bedroom ceiling.
“Handy,” Billy comments, looking impressed at the sudden teleportation. His hands slide further down inside Steve’s jeans and his fingers curl around the curve of Steve’s ass. Steve sucks on Billy’s full bottom lip to stifle his moan.
“Got any good spells for getting naked?” Billy asks lasciviously.
