#ST fic
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Thinking about Eddie using an old trick his father taught him when he was eleven years old to sneak in any big place by just carrying a ladder and looking like a worker, to get Steve in a concert that had been sold out for weeks.
Thinking about Steve complaining all the way there, calling Eddie irresponsible, reminding him that he followed the rules, that he's a good guy, telling him that they were going to be caught, that it was stupid and wasn't going to work.
Thinking about how hard Steve rolls his eyes when it actually works and Eddie is just one breath away from his "I told you so," but it never comes.
They actually get to see for free that show of Tears for Fears and Steve expects Eddie to complain about shitty music, or how lame Steve taste was, or even Steve's lack of faith in his poor soul.
And again, it never comes.
Everything in Eddie's behavior is so nice that something must be awfully wrong, and Steve spends the whole concert trying to get a reaction out of him, spiraling, thinking that maybe he'd been ungrateful by spending all that time complaining and that he very much earned that silent treatment (not really a silent treatment, more like a not 'in your fucking face, Harrington' treatment), so immersed in his own thoughts he barely enjoys the concert.
Thinking about a comfortable silence in Eddie's end, when they're driving back to Hawkins, and Steve breaking it by finally muttering a soft "I'm sorry."
Thinking about Eddie puzzled about whre that apology came from and asking why he's sorry, and pulling over when he just glances at Steve's troubled face when he can't actually answer.
Thinking about the heaviness of Eddie's voice when he asks a second time, looking Steve in the eye, why is he apologizing, and Steve breathing that he doesn't exactly know, for whatever he did that Eddie's mad, he guesses.
Thinking about Eddie pulling every bit of knowledge about Steve Harrington together, and finally, finally realizing where Steve's coming from.
Thinking about Steve's face when Eddie tells him softly "I just wanted to do something nice for you. Just wanted to make you happy."
Thinking about the ten seconds of full silence, ten seconds both of them staring at each other, the air feeling heavy, Steve's shallow and fast breathing, and his whispered "but why?"
"Because you deserve to be happy. You really, really do, Steve."
Thinking about every fiber in Steve's body yelling "that's a lie", and Steve having no energy to actually discuss Eddie's estatement. Steve looking down, then away, then swallowing around nothing. Steve just saying "uh, okay," in a shaky, whispered voice.
Thinking of Eddie finally hitting the road again, with his eyes ahead, his heart in the passenger seat, and his head replaying the chorus of Head over heels in repeat (and he's shocked to his core that he's actually liking it.)
#inklessletter#ficlet#stranger things#st fic#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#just feeling a bit soft okay?#just leave me be
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Falling
(ao3 link)
Dedicated to @madigoround, my one constant Steddie cheerleader. I hope you like it! ❤️
It’s said if you truly want to get to know someone, tell them no. Watch how they act when they’re angry, when they’re sick, when they’re wrecked by grief.
The truth is, Eddie thinks, the way to truly get to know someone is to watch them when they think they’re not being watched.
So, Eddie watches people. He watches Tommy Hagan ascend the ranks of social hierarchy, climbing closer and closer to the top of the totem pole until he reaches the zenith and finds himself stuck with fake friends and a fake life. He’s mean, in the way that Eddie knows someone is mean to him and he doesn’t know how to handle it.
Eddie leaves him alone, ignores him best he can, and hopes Tommy will have the dignity to do the same.
He watches Carol Perkins, faux-model that she is, use her body like a weapon, like a credit card. He knows that she knows that way only heartbreak lies. No one moves to stop her. Eddie knows she’s hurtling towards self-destruction. He knows she’s ignored at home.
He watches Steve Harrington. His ascent to popularity, then in the blink of an eye, his fall. How easily he shrugs off the mantle of King Steve, starts carting around middle schoolers.
How he flinches at loud sounds, abrupt movements, flickering lights.
Steve Harrington intrigues Eddie, is the thing. And Eddie’s never been the type to deny his intrigues. So he studies the fallen king more.
Some things make sense, after spring break. Some things don’t.
Steve has three smiles: the real one, the one everybody thinks is real, and the fake customer service one. He hardly ever uses the first. He’ll use the second a lot. The kids are dipshits, brash in the way only a teenager can be, unaware and uncaring of the effect their words have. Specifically, the effect their words have on Steve.
When they make jokes about his intelligence, Steve will force on a little half-smile, an unaffected air, even as his shoulders slump inward and his chin tips down.
Eddie sees it. He also sees what Steve looks like, eyes wide and wild, grinning and gesturing freely, as he discusses basketball with Lucas or football with Uncle Wayne. Eddie understands the stats he somehow manages to keep track of (even Eddie has notebooks for all his character sheets and all the math everything requires. He’s forgotten, more than once, how he’d done something for a past campaign, and digs through his notebooks until he finds it. But Steve pulls the numbers out of thin air, hardly even pausing as he finds them in his mental filing cabinet, and Eddie is impressed, to say the least). He knows Steve’s smart, even if it’s in a different way than the kids are used to.
He makes a point to mention it. Steve’s over watching the game with Wayne, and Eddie whistles as he listens in to their conversation from the kitchen where he’s making lunch. “That’s some memory,” he says, shaking his head. “I know I couldn’t keep all that straight.”
Steve blinks at him. “What, like all your D&D people?”
“Characters. You don’t want to see the amount of notebooks I have, trying to keep everything straight, and it still ends up all going to hell when I can’t find something.” He raises a challenging brow, daring Steve to argue.
Steve just laughs and leans back into the couch. “Whatever, man, I still think it’s impressive. I’ve been watching for years, it just kinda makes sense that I’d remember a few facts.”
“A few?” Eddie’s eyes light up. “Wayne, quiz him.”
Wayne snorts. “What’m I, your errand boy?”
“Yes,” Eddie says, just to be contrary. He grins at the snicker it pulls from Steve. “Please, Wayne?”
Wayne narrows his eyes at Eddie, then softens his gaze when he moves it over to Steve. “You up for it?”
Steve chuckles. “Sure, I guess. It’d be nice to see how much I actually know.”
For the next few minutes, Wayne gives a name and within a few seconds, Steve’s answered with stats about that person.
Eddie, ever the competitive soul, ends up invested, grinning and high-fiving Steve when Wayne runs out of names. “Knew it,” he said, happily noting the blush making its home on Steve’s cheeks.
“Ha,” Eddie jokes later, ribbing Dustin because he can. “Kiddo, that was worse than-” he thinks for a few seconds, then sighs and raises his voice. “Steve? Who was the guy who did the thing you and Wayne were mad about?”
Dustin judges him with his eyebrows. “Even if Steve had any idea what you’re saying, what makes you think he’d know-”
“Phil Simms,” Steve called back from the kitchen. “Great player, actually, just wrong team.”
Eddie hummed, enjoying the shocked look on Dustin’s face. “Nah, not quite doing it. Who’s the losingest team?”
Losingest team, Dustin mouths, mocking. Eddie notes that he doesn’t actually say anything this time, though.
“Depends. Jets started at ten to one, then lost their final five games. But the Giants beat the Redskins 17 to zero. They also beat the 49ers 49—heh—to three, but that was earlier in the season, and no one expected San Francisco to win anyways.” He walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a towel, a thoughtful look on his face. “Does any of that help?”
“Absolutely,” Eddie says, even though he has zero idea what Steve actually said. He’s staring, smug grin firmly affixed to his face, at Dustin.
Lucas, over on the couch, sits up straight and stares at Steve. “Did you see Montana’s comeback?”
Steve grins. “Fuckin’ wild, man, but I kinda hate Walsh for letting him. Like, I’ve been there, right? And that was…” he shakes his head. “Not good. Yeah, it’s been weeks, whatever, but an injury like that?” Steve crosses his arms, shakes his head.
Eddie stares, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, possibly, falling.
When the kids make jokes about Steve’s appearance, he’ll put a hand to the back of his neck and rub, force down the blush, avoid eye contact.
Eddie knows Steve’s not shy. So he doesn’t understand why Steve reacts like that until one day he compliments Steve. It’s a simple little line, you have gold in your hair, but Steve beams. Eddie’s left wondering about the difference, realizes there’s a certain type of compliment Steve’s received all his life, that probably ended up less than welcome at some point.
So Eddie makes it his life’s mission to make Steve beam the way he had the first time.
One time they’re out lounging by the pool while the kids splash around, beers in hand, talking about everything and nothing. Steve tips his head back to take a drink and Eddie realizes something. He leans forward to get a better look. “Your eyes are hazel,” he says delightedly, grinning at the flush rapidly showing on Steve’s cheeks.
Steve looks like he’d very much like to take a page out of Eddie’s book and hide behind his hair in that moment. He hides behind his beer instead, takes another sip as he waits for his face to get back under control. “Are they?” He asks, like he doesn’t know. He’s such a little shit. Eddie’s obsessed.
Another time, Eddie breaks in (is it breaking in if everyone and their mother knows where Steve puts the spare key?) and starts making breakfast while Steve’s out on a run. He almost swallows his tongue when Steve walks back in, sweaty and flushed, wearing shorts that God Himself must have sculpted just for Steve.
Instead of saying that, Eddie adopts an unaffected face and raises a brow. “Pretty sure there’s a fine for public indecency, sweetheart, and those shorts break about eight of those rules. ‘Course, no one’s gonna say anything when they’re on you.”
Steve laughs, light and happy as he accepts the water Eddie hands him. “And why’s that?”
“Because I think you single-handedly caused every gay crisis on the police force.”
Steve laughs hard enough he snorts, and Eddie’s immediately hellbent on hearing that sound again. “That so?” He asks, then pauses. “Wait, what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”
Eddie shrugs, like it should be obvious. “Making breakfast. I wanted pancakes.”
“And you couldn’t make them at your place?”
Eddie just shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. Steve badly hides his grin as he shakes his head and turns around, citing a need for a shower as he heads upstairs. “Don’t burn the house down!”
“Betrayal!” Eddie yells back, grinning when Steve cackles again.
Eddie stares as Steve walks upstairs, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, probably, falling.
Eddie studies Steve. Studies him and watches him more and more. His mannerisms, his interactions with others. And he realizes something very interesting: Steve’s always the one to reach out.
He tugs Dustin into a teasing headlock, rubs his knuckles over the top of his head. Flings his arm over Lucas’s shoulders, pokes at Mike until he responds, bumps Will’s elbow with his own. Brushes his fingers over Max’s arm, pulls El into a hug. Robin is the only person who consistently pulls Steve into a hug, and even so, most of the time it’s teasing; a quick, sharp thing, jerky movements and practically pushing him away when she’s done.
So Eddie starts. Brushes his hand across Steve’s shoulders as he’s walking by. Poking at Steve’s cheeks to get a reaction. Quick, tight hugs, at first.
Or… that was the plan. The first time he pulls Steve into a hug, they’re alone, because Eddie does not want to have to deal with Dustin and his dramatics in that moment. So Eddie pulls Steve in, arms flung around him and squeezing in a half-joking manner, and Steve practically melts.
“Jesus fuck,” Eddie mutters, stumbling a little. “You good, Stevie?”
Steve pulls back, a blush making its way across his cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry. It- it won’t happen again.”
Eddie frowns. “How the fuck is that what you got from it?”
Steve shrugs. “I know I can be… well, Nancy called it clingy, and I’ve had a few girlfriends in the past who called it clingy, and if it looks like a rose and smells like a rose, then…”
“Shit, Steve, no, that’s not- what the fuck were your girlfriends on? Why would they call that clingy? That’s not- Christ, Steve, if that’s clingy, sign me up. Seriously. Just warn me next time, we don’t all have the body of a Greek god, we can’t all carry our somewhat-acquaintances out of hell.” He grins at Steve, a half-thing that grows when Steve tentatively grins back.
“Body of a Greek god?”
“Oh, don’t go fishing for compliments, I know you, you’re not that shallow.” He rolls his eyes, smiles. Tentatively places his hands on Steve’s arms, just above his wrists. “You hear of something called touch-starved?”
Steve cautiously looks him in the eye. “I can guess,” he finally says, and Eddie pulls him into another hug.
This one lasts for something close to a minute, and Eddie ignores it when Steve takes a step back and molds his face back into shape. “Anytime,” he says quietly, like a promise. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Steve agrees.
It happens again a week later.
Everyone’s over for Hellfire. Steve was in the kitchen, had been there practically since everyone had trickled in.
There’s a quiet clatter, an even quieter shit, then a pause before Steve heaves a sigh. “Eddie?”
Eddie furrows his brows in concern, motions for everyone to stay where they are, then makes his way into the kitchen, seeing Steve gripping the edge of the sink. “Steve?”
“I’ve been having a shit day,” he starts. “If… if you meant what you said. Last time?”
“Anytime,” Eddie swears. “Hey, Stevie, c’mon, the sink’s not going anywhere, let’s let go, yeah? Wanna stay down here or go upstairs?”
Steve makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Your game-”
“Will be there later,” Eddie finishes. “Here or upstairs?” Steve shakes his head, a sharp movement, and Eddie recognizes it. “Want me to pick?”
“Please.”
“Upstairs. Can you do it yourself?”
Steve makes another guttural noise, pulls away from the sink, and marches upstairs.
Eddie follows. All the way upstairs, into Steve’s room, pausing to close and lock the door. “We’re safe,” he says quietly, and opens his arms. “Stevie?”
Steve trembles as he allows himself to be hugged, hands fisting in the back of Eddie’s shirt, head guided to the junction of Eddie’s neck and shoulder.
Eddie pets a solid hand down Steve’s back, squeezing at his waist for a moment before bringing it up again, just below his neck. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’re all okay, we’re all safe. What’re you seeing, Stevie?”
Steve takes a breath. It only stutters a little. “Had a dream ‘bout you last night,” he admits. “Kinda fucked me over.”
Eddie’s heart clenches. “I’m here,” he promises, and guides them onto the bed. “D’you want to be on top or bottom?”
He feels Steve’s brows scrunch against his shoulder. “What?”
“Some people need the pressure of someone on them. It’s grounding. For some, it’s too much.”
“Oh,” Steve mutters. “You on top.”
Eddie bites his tongue on the joke that wants to come out. “M’kay, c’mon, then, still not the one with the body of a Greek god.”
He feels Steve’s tentative smile as they roll over, a breath huffed into his chest. “Always liked Apollo.”
“God of the sun,” Eddie agrees. “Suits you.” He gets his arms out from under Steve, puts them on his shoulders. “This work?”
Steve hums. His eyes are shut. “Didn’t wanna take you from your game. Sorry.”
“And I told you it’ll be there later. If you need something, I want to help you get it. Simple as that.”
Steve sighs, tips his head to the side. His chin brushes the back of Eddie’s hand, and he does it again. “This works.”
“Steve,” Eddie says, watching Steve brush his chin over the back of his hand. “If there’s something you want, I need you to ask for it. I can’t read your mind.” Steve’s brows furrow as his eyes open, and Eddie clicks his tongue. “Close your eyes.” They drop shut again, and he nudges the back of his hand a little harder against Steve’s chin. “What do you want?”
Steve sighs again, gathering courage. “Want you to play with my hair.”
Eddie’s heart skips a beat. He brushes his hand up, traces the line of Steve’s silhouette, up his chin, his nose, around his eye. Drags the backs of his fingers across his forehead, surreptitiously checking for a fever. Nothing. Steve relaxes back into the pillows.
Eddie gets a hand in Steve’s hair and tugs gently, releasing to scrape his fingertips over Steve’s scalp. Revels in the hum Steve lets out. “Sunshine boy,” he murmurs. “Who takes care of you?”
“Sunshine boy?”
Eddie smiles softly, even though Steve’s eyes are still closed. “Gold hair, gold eyes. My own personal Apollo.”
Steve smiles. “You’re Dionysus.”
“Mm. God of drunken joy and madness.”
“And theater.”
“Oh, yes, how could I ever forget one of the billion things one of the billion gods was known for.”
Steve snorts. “Thank you,” he murmurs, hands brushing Eddie’s waist. “I shouldn’t need this. Any of it.”
Eddie cards his hand through Steve’s hair again. “But you do.”
“But I do,” Steve agrees with a sigh. “And you just… you’re selfless.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
Steve snorts. “You’re full of shit.”
“Yup. Selfless and full of shit. Sounds about right.”
“Oh my god,” Steve laughs, cracking open an eye to look at him. They both still, caught in each other’s gaze, realizing just how close they are to each other.
Slowly, so slowly, Steve looks away. “Go back to your game,” he whispers. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Okay,” Eddie responds at the same volume, and slowly gets up. He lifts his hand off the doorknob when Steve calls his name. “Yeah?”
“Stay? After?”
“Sunshine boy,” he says again, just to get that smile. “Yeah, Stevie. I’ll stay after.”
After comes sooner than either of them expect, but Dustin got sloppy, and what’s the point of one-shots if not to throw them to the wind when it all goes to shit, so there’s a lot of good-natured ribbing and thoughtless decisions and uncaring dice rolls before it ends and everyone’s packing up.
Dustin’s mom comes to pick up everyone who didn’t drive there, because she’s an angel of a woman, and Eddie makes excuses for why he’s staying until finally he doesn’t have to, it’s just him and Steve, and Steve’s looking at him with the softest smile and something that looks like adoration shining in his eyes.
Eddie opens his mouth to start, then shuts it with a shake of his head. “C’mon,” he says finally. “Let’s go sit on the couch.”
Eddie sits first, and Steve stands, hands wringing one another, until Eddie leans forward, grabs them, and gently guides him to sit next to Eddie. “There.” He holds one of Steve’s hands in his. “Do you want to start, or should I?”
Steve worries his lip. “Do we need to talk about it? If we both know what we’re saying?”
Eddie grins. “So if I were to start talking about buying little party hats for raccoons…”
Steve snorts. “Okay, you ass, point taken.” His smile falls. “You’ve been… really nice to me, these past few months. And that’s not why, not at all, but it doesn’t exactly hurt either. I just…” he shakes his head. “Why me?”
“Why you what? Why am I nice to you? Why have I been taking care of you? Why-” the question sticks in his throat for half a second. “Why do I like you?”
Steve smiles, bashful, and looks down at their intertwined hands. “All of the above, basically.”
Eddie taps the back of Steve’s hand thoughtfully. They both watch the movement. “Because you’re worth it,” he says simply. “Because no one else does it. No one else sees what you do for them. No one else cares. I do. I don’t think I was given a choice, honestly, you looked at me and I was fuckin’ gone. And I’m gonna keep doing this until you believe me. Until you believe that you deserve to take up space, to exist, to have wants and opinions and preferences.”
“It might take a while.”
“I’ll be right here.”
“I might never fully believe it.”
“I’ll be here forever.” He pulls their intertwined hands up to press a kiss to the back of Steve’s.
“It sounds like a lot of boring work.” His voice is high, thready. There are tears in his eyes that fall when he blinks.
“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”
Watery eyes narrow at him. “Did you just quote a fucking Greek tragedy at me?”
“Uh. Maybe?”
Steve snorts, shakes his head, and leans in to lay his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re such a dork.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s old news, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, feels his heart skip a beat when Steve responds by nuzzling his throat. “Is that it, then? We’re done talking?”
Steve sighs and tilts his head up so they can look at each other. “I like you too,” he says quietly. “Just… for the record. And I want this. And…” he bites his lip, then just as quickly releases it. “I wanna kiss you. Um. If that’s alright.”
“Sunshine boy,” Eddie murmurs. “Of course that’s alright. Get up here.” He pulls as Steve pushes up, meaning Steve overbalances and sprawls across Eddie’s lap. They stare, wide-eyed, at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter.
“Okay?” Eddie checks, even as Steve rights himself and scrambles the rest of the way onto Eddie’s lap, grinning as he plays with the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck.
“Perfect.” His grin grows and a tiny little giggle slips out, like he’s so happy his body just can’t contain it all anymore. “I’m gonna kiss you.”
It’s less a warning, more an explanation for why he’s so happy, and it has Eddie’s heart full to bursting in his chest as he slips his hands just under the hem of Steve’s shirt to rest them directly on his waist. “You are,” he agrees. He almost jokes—not if I kiss you first—but knows Steve needs this. “Take your time,” he says instead, even though he feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, like he’s about to vibrate out of his own skin. His hands are steady, though, as are his eyes when he looks into Steve’s.
“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” He’s whispering now, so Eddie drops his voice to match.
“It’s a big thing. You’re allowed to be nervous. Is there any way I could help?”
Steve scrunches his nose up, then moves to rest their foreheads together. “Um. Close your eyes? Maybe?”
Eddie’s eyes immediately shut. “Take your time,” he promises. “Or we can wait. There’s no shame. I won’t be upset.”
“Yeah, but I will,” Steve jokes, and Eddie chuckles.
“There’s a movie,” he starts. “An old silent film that Wayne likes. I watched it with him because he said something about vamp, so of course my mind went to vampire. It wasn’t, to my dismay, but there’s a line. A seductress bewitches men by getting them to kiss her. One man’s about to kill her, like gun-to-the-head about to kill her, and she says kiss me, my fool.”
He can practically feel Steve’s grin. He can definitely hear it. “Which one am I?”
“Oh, definitely the seductress, have you seen yourself, sunshine? I’m the fool in this scenario. Or any scenario, really.”
Steve hums. “Dionysus.”
“Shut up.” He’s laughing, though, grinning at Steve’s giggle, then freezes when Steve’s lips land on the corner of his. “Oh,” he whispers when Steve pulls away.
Steve laughs softly, puts a thumb at the corner of one of Eddie’s eyes. “You can open your eyes.” He’s whispering again, and Eddie looks to see Steve staring at him, a small, wondering smile on his lips.
“Heya, sunshine,” he whispers, almost choking on the amount of emotions he feels.
“Hi.” He pauses, fidgets. “Can I kiss you for real?”
“Yeah. You want me to close my eyes?”
Steve shakes his head. “Just… kiss back.”
Eddie grins, wide and in love. “I was planning on it.”
Steve grins back, just as wide and just as happy. “Shut up.”
“And if I said make me…”
Steve giggles. “I might just have to,” he says before finally leaning in, slotting their lips together in a slow, sweet kiss.
He tastes like the pizza they’d been eating and the beer they’d been drinking, and underneath that is something so Steve, and Eddie wants to spend the rest of forever discovering that taste. When they pull apart, his eyes open—when had he closed them?—and land on Steve, who’s also in the process of opening his eyes. “Wow,” he murmurs, and Steve giggles as he rests their foreheads together again.
“Just about.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” Steve whispers, so Eddie wastes no time in sealing their lips together again. It’s still soft and slow and sweet, and Eddie focuses on making Steve relax against him. He cards a hand through Steve’s hair, squeezes a little at the nape of his neck, runs it down his back, down his side, to knead at his hips. In response, Steve hums into the kiss, shifting a little to let more of his weight rest on Eddie’s lap. Eddie does it again and again, thrilled at the feeling of Steve finally relaxing fully onto him. They both pull away, lips wine-dark and tender, and Steve smiles, eyes still closed, as Eddie runs his hand through his hair one more time. “Keep that up and I’m gonna fall asleep,” he murmurs, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the trust in his voice.
“Maybe that’s my plan,” he answers. “I seduced you just to get you to take better care of yourself.”
Steve’s smile widens. “That’s the only reason?”
“Obviously,” Eddie teases. “Well, that and the fact that I’m ridiculously into you, but that seems like a separate thing.”
“Right,” Steve agrees, giggling. He opens his eyes and presses a quick peck to Eddie’s nose. “I’m kinda ridiculously into you, too.”
“Well,” Eddie says, because out of everything, of course this would be what takes his words away. “Good.”
“Good,” Steve agrees, laying his head on Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie leans back into the couch, adjusting his hold on Steve so he’s as comfortable as possible. “G’night,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss over Steve’s temple.
He can feel Steve’s lips lift into a smile. “Night, Eds.” He presses a kiss to Eddie’s neck, and Eddie smiles as he tilts his head back into the couch.
He stares up at the ceiling, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, definitely, falling.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#touch starved steve harrington#I don’t think I’ll ever write him another way honestly#stranger things#steddie fic#st fic#Eddie has the patience of a saint#(mostly he’s just in love)#Steve is struggling#honestly idk how else to tag this#starambles
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"Hey," Steve says, voice both firm and gentle as he holds both of Eddie's hands in his own. "Why are you panicking about this?"
"I'm not panicking, I'm just being realistic." Eddie shakes his head and avoids making eye contact, looking at the ground as though a complicated puzzle that requires solving has sprung up on in the patterned tiles of the record shop's floor.
Steve knows what this is about, but he also knows that calling Eddie out when he's dealing with Tornado Brain gets him nothing but more Tornado Brain and a brick wall. So instead, he just keeps Eddie's hands warm and still and waits. His boyfriend isn't one for silence, so it shouldn't take too long--
"How are you not freaking out right now? Our profits were like, half what we've been pulling since we opened."
There it is.
"Because it's Thanksgiving and the holiday rush is coming. Because I actually did pretty well in those stupid accounting classes at the community college and know that we have plenty banked up to balance out the slower months now and then. Ed," he squeezes Eddie's hands until Eddie finally meets his eyes, wide with eyebrows knitted between them. "It's gonna be okay, I promise."
"Guess I can't do anything but trust you, huh?" Eddie shrugs and the hint of a smirk ghosts his lips. "It's growing up poor, man. Makes you a little... obsessive? About money? Or, about not having enough? This shop was my idea and God, if it fails, you're in it with me now. I can't drag you down with a sinking ship--"
Steve pulls one of Eddie's hands up to his lips and kisses the back of it. Eddie quiets.
"I'd rather be on a sinking ship with you than land with anyone else, okay? And it's not gonna fail. No matter what, we're gonna be alright."
"Okay, fine. I'll believe you." Eddie's shoulders fall away from ears and an actual grin blossoms across his face. One of Steve's many favorite sights. "Fancy numbers guy."
Steve rolls his eyes and smiles, releasing Eddie's hands and leaning against the back of the counter. "And you love it."
"Mhm," Eddie hums, leaning forward to kiss him, soft and chaste. "Sure do. I'm gonna flip the sign to open but when we flip it closed tonight, I'll show you how much."
sometimes, you've gotta take your own freak outs and complexes and project them onto your favorite blorbos, right?
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie munson x steve harrington#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#st fic#myblurbs
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@eddiemonth prompt: first concert | read on ao3
The first concert of Corroded Coffin's that Steve goes to, Eddie's a nervous wreck beforehand.
His hands are sweaty and he's wringing them as he paces outside after they get their equipment inside.
Jeff takes one look at him and sighs.
He knows how Eddie feels about Steve and he knows how important it is that they make a good impression on him. He might not understand the whole Steve thing, but he gets having a crush on someone unattainable.
Well-
When Eddie first told him about it, he thought it was just an unattainable little crush. Just something that happened because they got close after the earthquake. Steve was a new friend, someone Eddie hadn't known long enough to get used to, and he's - Jeff's not going to pretend he isn't attractive.
So he understood it, kind of. And the thought that the crush would fade once Eddie knew him for longer.
But Steve hanging around them, making an effort to get to know Jeff and Grant and Gareth, being nice to Jeff's mom- that had Jeff pausing and taking another look at the situation.
Because Steve didn't have to do any of that. He could hang out with Eddie, maybe the one freak he could tolerate, and call it a day.
But he was trying, and he was being better than he was in high school. Which, if anyone asks, Jeff would say he actually wasn't all that bad in high school compared to the others.
So Jeff looked a little more closely.
And saw the way Steve looks at Eddie, his eyes tracking him as he crosses the room. He saw the way Steve laughed at all of Eddie's jokes, even the ones he didn't understand. He saw the way Steve was always looking for an excuse to touch Eddie, putting a hand on his arm, putting a hand on his back, his arm around him, hugging him at the end of the night and the hugs lasting longer than any hug Jeff's ever had with a buddy.
He saw that and saw that this isn't a passing fancy for Eddie. He saw the way Eddie leaned into Steve unconsciously, the way he always looks for him first when entering a room, the way he lights up when he sees him. He saw the way Eddie seemed to like him more and more, and subsequently talk about him more and more, the more he got to know him.
So it wasn't just a crush.
And it wasn't unrequited like Eddie thought.
But now Jeff is watching him pace a hole in the ground and he can't exactly tell Eddie that he's 99% sure that Steve feels the same because 1. he wouldn't believe him and 2. that 1% of doubt is enough to deter him. This isn't something he can be wrong about. Even if feels mostly sure, he wouldn't ever say that he should go for it when it could turn ugly for him. This isn't a crush on some girl where the worst that could happen is that she says no.
So, for now, Jeff watches.
And Jeff hopes.
He hopes that they'll be able to see it for themselves. That Eddie will catch the way Steve looks at him and realize that it's the same way he looks at Steve.
He hopes that Steve will make a move, put those rumors of his suaveness to good use and woo Eddie.
He heads inside when he sees Gareth talking to Eddie, trying to calm him down.
He sees Steve and Robin, talking at a table near the front of the venue, and he makes a beeline for them.
"Jeff!" Steve says, smiling at him when he sees him coming over. He waves at both of them.
"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?" he asks and when Steve furrows his brow and nods, he leads him away from Robin.
"What's going on?" Steve asks, looking worried.
He says, "Just, Eddie's really nervous about performing in front of you tonight. So, like, even if we suck or you don't like this kind of music, can you not say you didn't like it? Not that I think you'd be mean about it, but like-"
Steve looks at him confused. "I've listened to your tapes before. I like your music. I wouldn't- okay, I mean I'd still be here even if I didn't like it, but I do like it. Wait- why's Eddie nervous?" he asks. And Jeff hadn't planned on Steve asking that. Shit.
He says, "Because you're his coolest friend and he doesn't want to screw up in front of you."
Steve's expression softens. "I'm not- you know what? Okay. If it makes you feel better, I won't say I didn't like it."
"Okay," Jeff says, nodding, relieved. "And don't, like, mention I said anything."
"'Course," Steve says with a smile. "You're a good friend, Jeff."
Jeff grins at him and walks him back to his table. That 1% is looking awfully less and less with every conversation Jeff has with Steve.
The manager waves him over and tells them they can start setting up on stage, so he goes to get the others.
-
The show is good, once Eddie snaps out of his nerves.
It's actually impressive, seeing him with shaky hands as they get ready to start and then seeing him turn it on seamlessly like he was never nervous in the first place.
They play and Jeff watches the way Eddie keeps looking at Steve, keeps looking to make sure he looks like he's enjoying himself.
And Jeff sees Steve smiling the entire time, singing along to the cover songs they do and also to one of their original songs.
At the end of the night, after they get their stuff back in their van, he sees Eddie and Steve talking, standing close, one of Steve's hands playing with the hem of Eddie's shirt.
And he knows they'll get there eventually, even without his help.
They'll find their way to each other and see what Jeff sees.
He's sure of it.
As he gets in the driver's seat and looks over at Grant, he can only hope he'll get that too one day.
#eddiemonth#steddie#outsider pov#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#st fic#st ficlet#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie & jeff#janai.doc
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Steve finds out early on in his teenage partying years that tequila and him don’t mix well. It leads to terrible decisions and waking up in someone else’s bed.
But he doesn’t wanna be a party pooper when Eddie shows up for the Party’s pool day with all the stuff for margaritas and a grin on his face. He says that someone needs to put Steve’s fancy blender to use anyhow and he makes the best strawberry margaritas ever so Steve relents easily, resigning himself to try just sipping at the same one all afternoon.
He can’t stick to that though.
The first sip is like heaven. Cold and sweet on his tongue with just a hint of the sheer amount of tequila that must be in it. Eddie literally cackles at the little moan that slips out of him at the taste.
‘Told you, Harrington! I know what I’m about!’
The afternoon slips on, Robin and Nancy stopping after two so that they can drive all the kids home but Eddie just keeps filling up Steve’s cup before he can even protest. He’s floating a bit by the end of the day, not enough to be drunk but enough that he can’t stop himself from staring at Eddie.
Eddie has been in and out of the pool all day, water making his swim shorts cling to every single muscle underneath them. Steve can’t help but giggle at the sheer lack on ass on the guy but when he turns to face Steve, he has to actively try to keep his jaw shut.
He can see a perfect outline of Eddie’s dick. Even soft it looks big enough to choke on and Steve has to drag one of the towels over his lap quickly lest other people see how hard he got in the last thirty seconds. Luckily the kids are packing up now, calling their goodbyes.
Letting Nancy and Robin lead them out the door until it’s just him and Eddie left. Eddie is watching him curiously, and the attentions makes Steve flush from his cheeks all the way down his chest. ‘You doin okay, Stevie? You look a little warm’ Eddie sounds like he’s teasing, but there’s an edge to it that does not help Steve’s situation. Eddie practically glides forward toward where Steve is sitting on the lounge chair. Steve has to hold back the whine in his throat when Eddie leans over him, hands braced on either side of the chair.
‘Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?’ Eddie’s got a sharp grin on his face, close enough that Steve can see the pink staining his tongue from the drinks and he can’t hold himself back any longer. He drops his death grip on the towel so he can tangle his hands in Eddie’s hair, yanking him down into a searing kiss.
Eddie loses his grip on the chair, practically toppling into Steve’s lap, noses smushing together as they both try to keep from disconnecting their kiss Steve uses one hand to grab Eddie by the waist as he falls, using the momentum to pull him into his lap. Even as tipsy as Steve feels, it’s delightfully easy to move Eddie where he wants him. He can’t help himself when he rolls his hips up to meet Eddie’s, the wetness of their shorts making it slightly uncomfortable but Steve doesn’t give a shit right now.
He’s finally getting what he’s been wanting and Eddie seems just as into it. Eddie rocks downward in a slow, steady grind of his hips, his dick hard and hot where it presses against Steve’s. He shudders under the deliberate movements, praying to whoever’s listening that he can get Eddie to fuck him just like that.
For now though he desperately needs to get his mouth on Eddie, pulling away from the kiss and taking in a shaky breath. ‘Inside.’ He whines into Eddie’s ear, gently taking the lobe in between his teeth so he can bite down.
Eddie scrabbles off his lap like a cartoon cat, making Steve giggle at the sight before a thought pops into his head He stands, steadying himself for a moment before crouching slightly, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman carry.
Eddie fucking moans, using his position to shove his hands down the back of Steve’s shorts to grab at his ass. ‘This should not be so fucking hot what the fuck’ Eddie mumbles, half to himself as Steve carry’s him to the living room and tosses him on the couch.
He doesn’t miss a beat before dropping to his knees in front of Eddie, tucking eager fingers into his waistband and dragging them down his legs. When Eddie’s dick is finally exposed, Steve feels all the blood in his body rush south, a whimper falling from his open mouth at the sight.
It’s as big as it felt, long and thick nestled into a pretty thatch of curls at the base. There’s a bead of precome gathered at the tip that he can’t stop himself from leaning down and lapping up. Eddie hisses at the feeling, hands fisting into the cushions under him.
Steve can’t have that, gently peeling Eddies hands open and guiding them to his hair. Eddies mouth is slightly open, a look of awe over his features as Steve leans forward to run his tongue from base to tip before sealing his lips over the head. He doesn’t care that he’s never done this before.
The only think he can think about is making Eddie feel good, and he gotten blowjobs before so how hard it can be? He steadies himself, wrapping a hand around Eddie before taking a few more inches into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as best as he can.
Eddies fingers tighten in his hair, not pushing but just grounding himself. Steve pulls off with a pop, nuzzling his nose into the downy hair smattered across Eddie’s stomach. ‘Want you to use my mouth. Had dreams about you fucking my face.’ The look on Eddies face is enough to make Steve grind the heel of his hand into his own cock, nearly crying at the minor relief it brings.
He lets Eddie guide him back, sinking his mouth down as far as it can go before letting his jaw fall lax, tongue sliding forward to cushion over his teeth and lower lip
He squirms when Eddie’s hips roll up carefully, his brain already going delightfully fuzzy from the solid weight of hands in his hair and the ache developing in his jaw. ‘Oh baby you’re already cockdrunk aren’t you? This what you needed? Someone to take you down and apart?’ Eddie coos at him, movements growing more bold as he pushes a little further with every thrust.
The condescension makes Steve squirm and whine, vibrations in his throat dragging a moan out of Eddie. Steve loses the thread after that, his world narrowing to just Eddie and the way he’s making him feel.
Every thrust nudges at the back of Steve’s throat, the occasional too hard thrust making him gag and drool around Eddies length. He feels proud of himself when Eddie speeds up, rhythm faltering as he gets closer to the edge. It only takes a few more thrusts and a few moments of hard suction before Eddie is spilling down his throat with a shout.
Steve does his best to swallow it all, only missing a bit that drips down his chin. He feels high now, the tequila starting to wear off a bit. When Eddie pulls back, he’s just got a dopey grin on his face, eyes practically crossing in pleasure.
Eddie drags him up from the floor into his lap, smashing their lips together before reaching between them to shove his hand into Steve’s pants. He stills quickly and Steve’s face heats up as he realizes what he found.
‘I uh, I came when you did.’ His face burns with shame but Eddie looks like he could go again right then and there, dragging Steve into another heavy kiss. When he pulls back, he’s met with Eddie laughing. ‘Well I guess Nancy was right. Tequila really does make you outrageously horny!’
He’s still laughing when Steve registers what he said. ‘
Wait, what the fu-?’
#steddie#my writing#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#st fic#stranger things fic#steddie ficlet
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Eddie Munson's Guide for How to Adopt a Jock in Four Easy Steps (1/5)
Part Two
Eddie Munson is many things, but he is not the kind of guy who will kick someone while they’re down.
Call it a hero complex, call it too many hours spent licking his wounds after particularly harsh words from a bully- whatever name you give it, Eddie is vehemently against hurting someone who's clearly already hurting, no matter how much he may hate that individual.
Which is why, in early November of ‘84, Eddie hatches a plan.
It starts in the library, as most of his brilliant ideas do. He’s spending his lunch hour pouring over a borrowed fantasy novel to try and get ideas for NPC’s for his latest campaign with Hellfire, but he gets distracted by a loud thump and a whispered ‘shit’, followed by a sniff. Eddie turns, book still in hand, and proceeds to drop the book onto the carpeted floor of the library in shock.
Because there is Steve Harrington- face beat to hell, hands shakily holding on to a lunch tray, and a salad spewed in all directions at his feet. The librarian- Ms. Boliene (a bitch to everyone other than her outcasts)- began cussing Steve out, demanding he pick up the salad, and Steve got a glossy look in his eye that told Eddie that he was about two seconds from breaking down in tears.
Which- honestly, that was probably the strangest part of this whole ordeal. Steve was King of Hawkins High (and maybe, Eddie theorized, was was the operative word there). Steve had been on a downward slope of popularity since last year when he and Tommy had their falling out. Billy Hargrove (barf) had been getting more and more popular, and, after last weekend, there was a rumor going around that Steve’s girlfriend, Nancy, broke up with him then immediately hooked up with Jonathan Byers.
(Hey, Eddie’s always one to root for the outcasts, he is one, after all- but kinda a dick move, Wheeler. Also, not great of Byers to agree to something like that, especially if he knew about the situation.)
Eddie focused his attention back on the scene in front of him- Steve was now crouching down to pile the wasted salad onto his lunch tray and was blinking rapidly, trying to stave off tears. His head was also doing this thing where it was dipping forward than instantly picking up, like he was trying to even stay awake. Which… huh.
Eddie was sure at this point- this was the lowest he’d ever seen someone get. Even his dad after his mom passed wasn’t like this- at least that bastard could still go out and break shit and get arrested. Steve looked like the only thing he wanted to do at this point was fall apart. Why was he even at school?
Eddie sighed and stood, crossing the room to where Steve was crouching. He gently batted Steve’s hands away and finished cleaning up his lunch, tossing it (and the plastic tray- because fuck this school, honestly) into the large garbage can sitting by the front door of the library. When he turned around Steve was standing, looking a bit shell-shocked. “I… that was my lunch.”
“The floor salad was your lunch? I could believe that before you dropped it, but after? Dude, that’s a low that you cannot reach. I have an extra sandwich in my bag, c’mon.”
Eddie grabbed Steve’s arm, letting go immediately when he felt the whole-body flinch that Harrington gave. Eddie held his hands up, backing up towards the table where he was sitting previously. “I won’t touch you, but you should probably eat, Harrington. I’m extending the metaphorical olive branch in the form of food, I promise that I’m not gonna bite your head off.”
Steve assessed the situation, eyes darting around the library, before he finally nodded and joined Eddie at his table, sitting across from the spot where all of his materials were strewn about. Eddie grabbed his book from the floor and ripped into his backpack, pulling his lunch out and passing it to Steve. (It wasn’t really an extra sandwich, it was his lunch, but it was fine. Jeff always brought snacks to Hellfire and Eddie wasn’t even that hungry today).
Steve stared at the cling-wrapped sandwich in shock, then carefully set to unwrapping it. Eddie noticed a slight tremor in his hands, but decided against commenting on it. “So, uh… what happened?” Fuck, Eddie, abort, abort, that was literally the last goddamn thing you were supposed to ask.
“Um…” Steve finished unwrapping the sandwich, pulling the bread slices apart. “Bologna?”
“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. I know it probably goes against your rich folk sensibilities, but I promise it’s worth a try.”
“Yeah.” Steve took a bite of the sandwich, then washed it down with the bottle of water Eddie slid his way. “S’not my first time having bologna and it won’t be my last. Not bad, though.” Steve set the sandwich down, licking his lips. “Thank you, by the way. Eddie, right? You played at battle of the bands last year?”
Eddie blinked in surprise. The change in conversation topic made him totally forget his previous question. “Um- yeah, that was me. Me and the boys- Corroded Coffin. Not your thing?”
“No! I liked it, actually. Very ‘stick it to the man’. I can get behind that.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow at Steve, to which he received a responding chuckle. “My dad- he’s an asshole.” oh shit, did Steve’s dad do this?
Eddie’s expression must have shifted, because Steve immediately started rambling. “Shit- no, fuck, I know what you’re thinking, he didn’t do this, my parents have been out of town for like, three months. This was Billy- but it’s fine, really! Like, I can see, and I’m not super dizzy, I’m just a little lacking in coordination which- yeah, the lunch tray. You know what? I’m gonna shut up now.” Steve took another bite of the sandwich and another swig of water, and Eddie noted that Steve’s knee began to bounce up and down.
Eddie decided to push everything aside and deal with it later. Apparently this wound was still fresh (both emotionally and physically), and while Eddie could get into a number of things that Steve just spewed out (his parents have been gone for three months? Billy did this? Steve is halfway to falling over but he’s still at school?!) Eddie elected to change the subject.
“So, Steve, do you know anything about D&D?” Steve’s eyes lit up and he launched into a rant about a couple of kids that he hung around. Eddie listened with a small smirk on his face, eyebrow raised.
Steve was… different than expected. Kind, a little awkward, anxious. There’s only one reason that a jock like him has lunch in the library, and it’s because he didn’t have anyone left to sit with in the Cafeteria. He reminded Eddie of an abandoned dog… specifically a golden retriever with Steve’s eyes and his floppy hair.
Curse Eddie’s big heart and savior complex, but he knew what he had to do. Steve was about to become the newest member of Eddie’s little herd of lost sheep, whether he liked it or not.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I haven’t decided if I’m going to write a part 2- let me know if you’d be interested in one! I’m so glad to be back to writing after a very long semester of school. I should be writing a lot this summer, so drop some prompts in my ask if you want to see something specific!
#steddie#stranger things#Steve Harrington#Eddie munson#pre s4 meeting#<- top 5 favorite steddie tropes#my writing#once again my writing style fluctuates but this is my stream of consciousness so you just have to deal with it#stranger things fic#stranger things ticket#st fic#st ficlet
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Trailer park Steve AU part 20
part 1 | part 19 | ao3
"Eddie! Hey!" he brightens. Tells himself to take it down a notch; schools his face and voice into something a little less pathetically eager. “What’s up, man?”
“Not much, dude,” Eddie teases, one dimple popping out. He looks good. Dressed up. Red and black flannel with the top buttons undone; light dusting of chest hair on pale skin, the edge of a tattoo Steve’s never seen. He’s got his black leather jacket and black jeans with no holes and black riding boots on. All he’s missing is a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm.
“What’s with the, uh…?” Steve gestures to his outfit, because he realizes he’s sort of just been staring at the dip of his throat. Eddie raises an eyebrow. Steve clarifies, “You got a date or something?”
“Oh, this?” Eddie laughs. “Uh, no. Nope. Can’t say that I do.”
He hops up backward onto the counter, his ass right next to Steve’s elbow, legs dangling over the edge, and he ignores Steve’s protests to get down from there as he leans in to ask in a mischievous hush, “Can you keep a secret?”
Steve’s breath catches in his throat, twists into a bitter twinge of nerves. He can keep a lot of secrets. Maybe he learned that from his dad.
“Yeah…?” He leans in on his elbows.
Eddie moves in closer still, cups his hand around his mouth and whispers, “I totally forgot to do laundry last week.”
Oh, my god. “You’re an idiot,” Steve laughs. “That’s your big confession?”
Eddie’s smile widens. “Yeah. I got distracted with rehearsals. This was the only clean shit I had left.” He kicks one leg out straight to show off his boot. “I’m only wearing these so you can’t tell I don’t have socks on.”
“Gross!” Steve laughs harder and shoves at Eddie, who tumbles theatrically over the edge of the counter, flinging himself to the ground and rolling onto his back so he can fake a couple death spasms and then lie there with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a fucking weirdo. “You’re so weird.”
“This night sucked before I showed up, and you know it,” Eddie says from the floor. He opens one eye to wink at Steve, then he gives one final death twitch and drops the act, popping back up to mirror Steve’s pose, elbows propped on the counter between them.
Steve’s arm hair stands on end. “How was your show, anyway?”
“Oh, it was greeeat,” Eddie says. “Drunk assholes yelling slurs at me, Gareth barfing in the bushes. Standard Hideout gig.”
"Was someone harassing you?" Steve frowns. He knows the Hideout's a shithole — a ‘dependable dumpster fire where we practice for the gigs that actually pay us,’ as Eddie had put it — but he thought the people there were, like, accepting, or whatever.
Surely Eddie's style isn't any more out there than the rest of the regulars.
"Holster your eyebrows," Eddie sighs, "it was fine. Really.”
“Holster my— dude, what?”
“Your eyebrows,” he repeats. He reaches out with the tip of his pointer finger and gently prods the space between them. “At ease, gentlemen.”
“So weird,” Steve says again. He rolls his eyes and swats Eddie’s hand away, and Eddie just laughs and says ‘There we go!’ because his antics actually did get Steve to unfurrow his face. Little bastard. “Were you gonna rent something, or…?”
“Hell no, my late fees are fucking ridic—”
Eddie cuts himself off, his eyes darting over Steve’s shoulder.
He goes skittish all of a sudden, starts backing toward the exit, stammering, “Ridiculously non-existent. Is, uh, is what I was gonna say. Obviously. Um. Right.”
His back hits the front door, the bell jangling overhead, and before Steve gets a chance to ask what the hell his problem is now, Eddie starts rambling at triple speed that “Dustin wanted me to check in on you and now I have checked in on you so okay-gotta-go-bye” and practically sprints out of the store.
Doesn’t even look back to give Steve a parting wave.
What the fuck?
What the fuck?
“What. the fuck…” Steve jumps a foot in the air at the sound of Robin’s voice. He whips around to look at her; realizes she must have been what spooked Eddie. Her nose and cheeks are bright red from the cold, her eyes bugging out of her head, and her jaw is halfway to the floor as she gapes at him, “...was that?”
—
part 21
tag list part 1 below cut comment if you want to be added tomorrow
@heartsong18 @hellion-child @hiimlevi @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @noodle-shenaniganery @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @pending-dope-username @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @questionablequeeries @remosdeerica @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @shamelesspatrolshepherdcowboy @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @taleah-bonnick @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thespaceantwhowrites @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures
#trailer park steve au#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#st fic#my writing#my fic
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It's the third day in a row that Wayne Munson has seen the girl in the diner.
Usually, he doesn't pay attention to new faces. He's been frequenting the diner for some years now and there's often ones he doesn't recognise: people passing through Hawkins, visiting family, etc.
The girl has caught his attention, though. She's sitting tucked into the far corner of the diner, a glass of water in front of her and nothing else. She's wearing the same t-shirt and flannel shirt she'd been wearing yesterday, and the day before, he's pretty sure. She didn't order any food yesterday; she hasn't ordered any food today.
Bev likes to joke he has a sense for kids who need help. Says there's an alarm in his head that makes him worry himself sick whenever there's a waif in need.
She's sitting next to him now, one eyebrow raised. He sighs. Waif in need alarm, indeed.
"What's the deal with the kid?" he murmurs, nodding subtly in the girl's direction.
Bev shrugs. "Beats me. That's Robert's girl, that's all I know."
He frowns. "Robert?"
"Nurse. Took good care of me when my knee went bad." She takes a swig of coffee, her eyes going sad. "Died, oh, maybe eight months back."
Wayne looks back at the girl. She's staring down at her half-empty glass of water. Tucked under the table there's a bulky-looking backpack.
"She got family?"
"Just her mother, far as I know. Met her a couple of times, too. 'Nother nurse. Seems nice enough."
"Hmph." Wayne turns back to his coffee. Ain't his business, he tells himself firmly. He should focus on his lunch.
When he gets up to pay, he glances once more in the girl's direction. He'll give it a couple of days, he decides. If she's still here then, still in the same clothes, he'll see if she's alright.
—
Wayne doesn't even last the day.
He's on his way home from work when he sees movement in a phonebox on the side of the road. The road's empty aside from him, and it's raining, and the sky's getting dark, so it immediately strikes him as odd. When he sees it's the teenage girl from earlier, he nearly crashes his truck with how hard he hits the brakes.
She's huddled down in the phonebox, clasping the backpack he'd noticed. She looks sodden. It had been raining heavier earlier; from the looks of it, she'd been caught in it. Her hair's plastered to her face and she's shivering.
He's winding down his window before his brain's even caught up to the movement. He's actually not sure how to go about it, very conscious of the fact that it's just the two of them out here and she's a teenage girl while he's an old man.
Feeling very much like he's approaching a wild animal, he clears his throat. "You okay, miss?"
The girl jumps, her head jerking up. She looks at him with wild eyes, wide and afraid. She reminds him of Eddie the day he showed up on his doorstep, timid and small.
"I'm f—fine." Her teeth chatter as she speaks. Where is this girl's mother? Where are her guardians?
"You need to call someone? I got a couple o'quarters, I think."
She shakes her head. Wayne frowns. Something ain't sitting right with him.
"You waiting on your ma?"
To his horror, her face crumples, and she buries her face in her arms. He's out of the truck like a shot, rushing over to find her shoulders heaving.
"Now, now—" He's panicking, admittedly. She can't be much younger than Eddie is.
"She—She—" the girl sobs. "She kicked me out and I—I don't have anywhere to go and it's so cold and wet and—and—"
A bout of rage washes over him. He pushes it down, tugging his jacket off and draping it over her shoulders. It doesn't have a hood, but it's dry. Christ, she must be soaked to the bone.
"Listen," Wayne starts, hesitating almost immediately. It's an insane suggestion from a strange man; he doesn't want to scare her off, but he doesn't want her spending the night in this phonebox, either. "I got a kid about your age. My Eddie. You come to mine and we can get you sorted out, okay? Or—Or I can find you a motel room, or something."
Sniffling, the girl looks up at him, wrapping herself up in his jacket. "Is that... is that okay?"
His heart breaks. "Yeah. Yeah, 'course."
She stands, wobbly, still clutching her backpack. She's soaked through like he'd thought, and she shivers once she's in the front seat. He's quick to turn the heating up, starting the truck again, and for a moment he's furious: her immediate agreement, the lack of hesitation about getting into a vehicle with a strange man, makes him boil with hatred towards this girl's mother.
The journey's quiet and, thankfully, not too long. Wayne ushers her into the trailer, already preparing to make a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Eddie's out at Jeff's for band practice, so he says, but Wayne knows him well enough to know he'll come home stinking of weed.
The girl stands awkwardly in the living room, still shivering. It occurs to him, suddenly, that he doesn't even know her name.
Still. An issue for later. He focuses on the hot chocolate. Once it's ready, he hands it over to her, and doesn't miss how eagerly she accepts it.
Only then does he broach the subject. "What's your name, miss?"
She's quiet a moment, cradling the mug in her hands. "It's Robin. Uh, Robin, sir."
"None of that 'sir' business," he says gruffly. "Name's Wayne. Eddie'll be home later but you can have his bed if you need a place to stay for the night."
This might be the most he's spoken in years, trying desperately to come across as reassuring. It breaks his heart how trusting she's being, though.
"Thank you." Robin goes quiet, her fingers curling around the handle of the mug. "I, um, I can pay you back for the ride—"
He waves a hand, frowning. "None of that. I'd like to think if it were my Ed in your shoes, someone would be there for him like this."
She manages a small smile. She's still in her soaking clothes. He hustles over to Eddie's room, raiding the drawers for whatever looks most comfortable. Eddie won't complain, he knows.
Robin gratefully accepts the clothes. He goes back into Eddie's room to give her privacy, unsure exactly how long to wait. There's that stereotype that women take forever to change, right? It must hold some truth.
He gives it an hour, just to be safe. When he emerges, he finds that she's curled up on the couch, out like a light. His jacket's pulled up to her chin like a blanket.
Waif in need alarm. He sighs. Bev's right after all. He won't be surprised if this situation resolves with him having another kid in his care.
Well, Eddie always wanted a sister, anyway.
#wayne adopts robin au#stranger things#wayne munson#robin buckley#eddie munson#my writing#st ficlet#st fic#this ran away from me so unbelievably badly#my wips
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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 1
Eddie doesn’t even know why he’s at this stupid party. It’s full of jocks showboating for their girlfriends, their girlfriends clustering together and giggling like watching Tommy Hagan do a keg stand is somehow dreamy. He’d had an entire beer spilled on his shoes, been heckled out of the kitchen and into the backyard, and left to brood out by Harrington’s ostentatious, heated in-ground pool. And it’s barely been an hour.
Within that hour, he’s made enough money to buy two month’s worth of cigarettes. That’s the rub of it all, isn’t it? Counting his time with packs of cigarettes, and bald tires that need replacing. And stupid things like food for their barren fridge and heat in the trailer once fall fully bleeds into winter. Wayne can only do so much, with rolling blackouts hitting the plant, and rent increasing a little more every year.
So Eddie goes to parties full of people he hates, lunch box secured to his person with the chain at his hip, switchblade stuffed in his back pocket. Just in case.
This party is only ramping up, people trickling out from the overstuffed house to loiter on the back porch, occasionally stopping by to procure his services. As the first hour dwindles into the second, Eddie’s supply is getting dangerously low.
He’s just considering leaving when he notices the King himself trailing after two girls he vaguely recognizes as the two that have been haunting the edges of the jock table the past few weeks.
The brunette is scowling, hand wrapped tightly enough around her redheaded friend’s wrist to make the skin turn unnaturally white as she yanks her along none too gently, her short legs making ferocious strides that have both her captive friend and Harrington stumbling to keep up.
Harrington’s got his hands up like he’s placating a spooked horse, talking too quietly for Eddie to hear over the pounding beat of the music. The girl isn’t spooked though. Despite being the shortest of the group, she looks like a predator on the hunt, just waiting for a slip up to make her kill.
Whatever Harrington is saying must not go well. The brunette shoves her friend behind her, stabbing her finger into his chest, voice rising in rage. “–know he meant it, Steve!” she yells, flatting her palm to push him back harshly. She spins on her heel, continuing her trek past Eddie’s spot by the pool and out toward the open gate to the driveway. “As long as he’s here, we’re not going to be!”
“Don’t be like that Nance,” Harrington placates, following in her wake. “Tommy’s just drunk.”
“I don’t care about Tommy!” Nancy snaps. “I care that you’re friends with such a despicable person.”
“Nance–”
“I thought you were better than this, Steve Harrington,” she says.
Then they’re both through the gate and gone. Harrington doesn’t follow. He stands there, staring where the girls had been, back to Eddie. He’s still as a statue for a long, endless minute before growling, low and angry, pulling his fist back and punching the side of his house.
The hit makes a meaty squelching sound of breakable skin striking an immovable object and parting under its pressure. It almost echoes through the yard in the silence between songs, the whispering from all the onlookers starting up just before the next top forty song begins blaring.
Harrington spins, glaring out at the clustered people on the porch, hands on his hips, blood dripping down onto the green of his sweater, the light blue of his jeans. It’s a little thrilling to see the King bloody, even at his own hands. Like a true royal, he snaps, “go inside,” voice demanding obedience. And they do obey, scuttling back into the house in small clusters, shutting the sliding glass door behind the last of them.
Harrington sighs, shoulders drooping as he lifts his injured hand up to look down at it. He still hasn’t noticed Eddie in his spot by the pool.
“Trouble in the kingdom, your majesty?” he asks, jumping up from his cross-legged position on the pavement to saunter up to the other boy. He leans into his space, smiling coyly as Harrington leans back like he carries an airborne disease. “Anything this lowly court jester can do to help?”
He looks shocked at Eddie’s presence, like he never even considered that his decree wouldn’t be obediently followed by everyone in his backyard.
Eddie smirks, fishing in the pocket of his jean vest for his cigarettes. He taps one out, and holds it out–ever the consummate servant–to Harrington, who curls his lips up in disgust and takes a step back away from him. Eddie shrugs, stuffs the pack back into his pocket and fishes his lighter out of his jeans.
“Munson?” Harrington asks, squinting like he’s never seen Eddie before, despite living in the same janky town, and going to the same schools for the past five years. “Who invited you?”
Eddie takes his time lighting his cigarette and taking a drag, marveling as the little divot between Harrington’s eyebrows grows deeper with every passing second. He holds the smoke in, feeling it settle his nerves as he stares daringly into Harrington’s eyes. He doesn’t look away as he exhales, smoke blowing into Harringotn’s face. He doesn’t cough, just gestures his hand in front of his face impatiently to clear the smoke, looking one more insolent move away from smacking Eddie in the face.
“Someone has to sell party favors to Hawkins’ elite,” Eddie replies, shaking the lunchbox where it’s resting just below his hip.
Steve scoffs. “Well, the party’s just about over so why don’t you fuck off, man.”
He gestures behind him to the open gate. Eddie takes another drag, ashing his cigarette on the pristine concrete below him. Harrington balls up his fists before immediately releasing the tension with a wince, shaking out his injured hand.
“Looks like it’s in full swing to me.” Eddie gestures to the sliding glass door back into the dining room. The curtains are closed now, but Eddie can see the darkened silhouettes moving to the beat still pumping through the house.
“I’m kicking them out.”
Harrington crosses his arms, seemingly once again forgetting about the bloody state of his hand. He’s almost pouting now. Eddie has the insane urge to boop him on the nose. He takes another drag.
“Upset your little girlfriend wouldn’t put out?” he asks, jutting his bottom lip out, trailing a fake tear down his own cheek with his free hand. “Poor little rich boy.”
“What the fuck is your problem, man?”
“Me?” Eddie asks, dropping the burning filter of his cigarette to the ground and using the heel of his boot to smear it into the pavement. “I’m dandy. Who wouldn’t want the undivided attention of the King?”
He smiles then, condescending and bright, planting his feet as Harrington’s gaze darkens further.
“I always knew you were a freak,” Harrington snarls, drawing out the F sound like he’d rather use a different word that begins with the letter F.
“And a startling comeback from the King!” Eddie calls, showboating like he’s DMing for Hellfire in the dingy drama room. “How many F words did your Daddy teach you?”
Eddie didn’t realize that Harrington wasn’t angry before until all the light leaves his eyes. They go blank, soulless, like there’s no real person behind them. He uncrosses his arms, fists once again clenched, not even seeming to realize that it further splits his knuckles as he takes a threatening step forward. It’s a little scary, the way one question seems to have flipped him into an entirely different person.
Note to self, do not mention the absentee Father. Eddie takes a step back on reflex as Harrington uses his bloody finger to jab into his chest, hard enough to sting. Eddie looks down as blood smears, idly grateful that he’s wearing black.
“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Harrington spits.
Eddie, having never learned to bite his tongue, opens his mouth to crow about this new F word in Harrington’s repertoire, when he hears a sound behind him.
It sounds almost like the foxes that sometimes chitter in the woods surrounding the trailer park. But there’s something wrong with it. It’s high pitched and cutting in and out, like a record skipping again and again. It’s staticy, reverberating behind him like the static of the television between channels but worse. A recording of television static sped up too fast and fed through three long distance phone calls.
Eddie’s hands tremble, something animalistic coursing through him at the sound–fight or flight kicking in with only one option left. In front of him, Harrington’s gone quiet, eyes wide and unblinking as he looks fixedly past Eddie’s left shoulder.
Then, abruptly, the sound cuts out, replaced with a guttural growling so deep he can feel it pulsing through his muscles, urging him to run. It unsticks his feet, but before he can dart through the open gate, or maybe to the shut sliding glass door to hunker down with the other party-goers, Harrington shoves him backward. Hard.
He loses his feet, loses his breath, until he’s choking on chlorinated water. He comes out of the water spluttering, coughing up water until it burns, his layers of clothing doing their best to drag him down into the bottom of the pool to drown.
His eyes are closed against their stinging, ears clogged with water where he’s struggling to tread in the deep end of Harrington’s stupid heated pool that the King himself just shoved him in.
It’s a low enough moment that Eddie can feel his mind covering up the impossibilities of the night, paving over the impossibilities to rewrite the story to make sense: King Steve saw him, set up some speakers to spook him, and then shoved him in the pool. Nothing unexpected there.
But then Eddie opens his eyes.
Harrington’s on the ground. Harrington’s on the ground fighting against the grip around his wrist, pulling him toward the water Eddie’s struggling to stay afloat in.
It’s not a person dragging him, not a practical joker wearing a suit. It can’t be. The thing is standing upright, sure, but it’s too tall, too thin, too featureless. Its forearms are uncannily long, fingers twisting and look as if they have too many joints facing the wrong directions where they curl around Harrington’s wrist, claws sharp enough to make him bleed. Its ribs are showing. And there’s no face at all, just creased flesh puckered together where a mouth ought to be.
At least, that’s what Eddie thinks until Harrington struggles harder, fingers of his free hand digging into the crack in the pavement, momentarily stalling their forward momentum. Then, the seams where its head connects open, like a flower toward the sun, if each petal was fleshy and covered in dozens of sharp looking teeth. And it screeches, ear-splitting and horrible, as if reprimanding Harrington for not laying imobile like a good little live meal.
It tosses Harington into the pool. He hits with a splash, immediately flailing out, smacking Eddie on the side of his face. Eddie reaches out on instinct to pull the guy toward him, trying to keep the both of them above the water line while Harrington reorients himself.
It shouldn’t have taken long. Harrington is the captain of the swim team. He should have been able to kick his feet under him and been off to the other end of the pool within seconds.
It wasn’t fast enough.
Eddie doesn’t even see it move, it’s so fast. He’s holding onto Harrington, arm slung around the other guy’s waist, clutching tightly at the front of his sweater. Then, Harrington’s being pulled forcefully to the bottom of the pool, Eddie along with him.
All of his orifices are burning from the chlorine–throat, nose, eyes, ears. He feels blind, deaf, lost, anchorless, except for the feel of Harrington’s skin beneath his hand, so he clutches, hooks his hand through the guy’s belt to keep his hold.
There’s a sensation, like meat parting around him. Then he’s breathing, sucking in oxygen, eyes still closed, head spinning. Harrington’s ribs are rising and falling rapidly. It lasts only a moment, the pair of them breathing and touching and panicking in tandem.
Until there’s that sound. Foxes chittering strangely, but it’s echoing now, weirdly like they’re in a cave forty feet underground.
Eddie opens his eyes. The sky looks wrong–darker than it should be, and it almost looks like it’s snowing. One of the flakes hits Eddie in the cheek and he rubs at the spot, feeling it flake apart and smear across his face. Not snow. Dust? Ash?
They’re in some sort of pit made of concrete, cracked under the force of the sickly vines crawling across its surface. It’s deep enough that Eddie’s not sure how they’re going to get out.
It’s not until he sees the ladder at the edge of the hole that he realizes where they are: impossibly, in the bottom of Harrington’s pool, somehow drained of water and decayed and made wrong, in a matter of seconds.
The chittering turns to a growl. Harrington jumps up. Eddie’s hand, where it’s still tucked into his belt, jerks violently up with him, pinky getting stuck between belt and pants as he hastily tries to extract it. Harrington darts away, and Eddie’s pinky pops. It’s barely audible beyond the growling, but he feels it as a release of pressure and then sharp pain.
Eddie looks down at his now free hand. There’s chaffing on his palms, and his pinky sits at an awkward angle, already swelling around the knuckle where it connects to his hand.
Nausea rolls through him–shock, maybe–at the sight. More than the pain, it looks like another wrong thing in a long line of wrongness that makes up his night, this time, attached to his own body. He heaves, water spilling out of his mouth, burning with chlorine as Eddie forces his eyes away from his hand.
Harrington’s across the pool, holding some sort of pole with a torn net at one end, thrusting it into the creature’s mouth, farther and farther. But the metal’s warping, almost decaying under the saliva in the thing's face, pole becoming shorter and shorter until It’s almost upon Harrington.
Without thought, Eddie jumps to his feet, stumbling behind the thing and bashing his lunchbox into its head.
It’s probably the surprise of the hit that makes the thing stumble. Harrington wastes no time, jabbing the rest of his pole, fast and deep into its maw. It wails, the strike fast enough to get through whatever was melting the metal, piercing something deep inside the thing.
Eddie’s not stupid enough to think it’ll stay down. He skirts around the thing, latching onto Harrington’s wrist and pulling him along in his wake. He doesn’t hear the pole clatter to the cement of the bottom of the pool, hoping that means they have a little more time, doesn’t dare turn around to look as Eddie drops Harrington’s wrist to climb, hand over aching hand, up the ladder and out of the pool.
Nothing looks better once he’s topside. The sky is still wrong, filled with ash and discolored light. There’s vines up here, too. And it’s quiet, so quiet he can hear every sound Harrington makes as he scrambles up the ladder behind him.
Eddie doesn’t wait for him. He runs, fast as he can to the sliding door to the house, wrenching it open and falling past the curtain into the house. He hopes, hysterically, that no one sees him making such a fool of himself, hopes somewhere deeper that someone does and will put themselves between his fleshy body and whatever comes through the door behind him.
But no one’s there. Harrington’s kitchen is dark, the living room past it dark as well, a disturbing red glowing faintly through closed curtains like he’s landing himself in a scene straight from Evil Dead. There’s no shadows of partygoers moving, no top forty, no drunk teenagers to spill beer on his shoes.
He stands, frozen, something horrific building in his throat, like a scream or a sob as he stares, unmoving, curtains moving against the small of his back until something slams through them, pushing him to the cold linoleum.
He pictures teeth, swears he hears a growl, but when he twists wildly from his prone position to scoot backwards on his ass, arms preemptively raised, he sees Harrington sliding the door closed and clicking the shitty plastic lock into place.
It's hilarious, like the thing they’d both seen back there would be stopped by a little piece of plastic, or doors, or the safety of his house. Eddie bites back a laugh that’s fighting its way up his throat like chlorine, burning and not where it’s supposed to be.
Harrington’s back is shaking with the force of his pants as he yanks the curtains closed. He pivots, face devoid of anything as he bends down and yanks Eddie up by his wrist hard enough to sting.
“Harrington, the people–” he starts, but his wrist is yanked harder as he’s led up carpeted stairs and into a bedroom.
Eddie gets only a sense of plaid and emptiness before he’s being shoved into a closet, Harrington stumbling in behind him and closing the doors quietly and squatting down next to where Eddie had fallen. The outside of their thighs are pressed together. Something hysterical bubbles up his throat again at the irony of the moment. He bites his lip against it.
Harrington’s feet are beneath him, ready to jump and fight anything that might follow them up here. Eddie can’t seem to get his ass on the floor, the lethargy of shock making him complacent, the knowledge that he’d never stand a chance if that thing makes it into the house making the effort of vigilance not seem worth it.
Harrington looks fierce, like he really is in a scary movie, an action hero, the final girl, the one who’ll get to the end of the movie by any means necessary. But Eddie can feel his body shaking where their legs are pressed together. Eddie gets the insane urge to hold his hand.
It feels like hours pass like this, Harrington at the ready, Eddie succumbing to his sleepy shock, before Harrington slowly lowers himself to sit on the ground beside Eddie, knee overlapping his as he sits crisscross, still looking at the door.
“Harrington, what–”
“I don’t know, Munson.” His voice is a sharp whisper, biting in its carelessness. He doesn’t even look away from the closet door.
“Your house is just empty, man.”
That gets him a scoff and a loosening roll of his shoulders as Harrington finally turns his head to the side and meets his eyes. Eddie tries not to notice the way it slides his thigh more firmly atop his own.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Harrington demands, and for a moment, Eddie’s afraid he somehow heard his thoughts, another in a long line of indignities in this new world they’ve found themselves in, but he continues, “–the people? Not the flower monster that tried to eat us, or the red sky, or the shitty vines all over my house?”
“People means help! Who’s going to help us now?” Eddie demands, voice rising higher than it should. He swings his hand wildly, less of a gesture and more of a limb seizing with panic until it hits the closet’s wall with a hollow thwack, sending a bolt of pain from his pinkie finger down his wrist.
Harrington turns violently, almost climbing in Eddie’s lap in his bid to both cover his mouth and wrench his hand away from the wall and clutch it tightly in the space between their chests. Eddie bites his own lip at the pain of the squeeze. It’s dark, but he can see the way Harrington’s eyes are widened with fear, the whites too visible.
“Shut up,” he hisses, hand squeezing a little tighter around his cheeks.
They sit in the silence of the moment, staring at each other, ears straining for the sound of anything coming for them.
All is silent. Harrington’s hands ease away and he slowly shuffles out of Eddie’s space.
“Sorry,” Eddie says, almost reflexive.
Steve doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t turn away either. They’re still both staring at each other. Eddie’s too tense to feel awkward about it.
He sits in the silence. He’s never been good at it—the quiet. It eats at him, picks away at his skin until he’s back in a run-down apartment with a Father in jail and Mom gone from the room even as she rots away on the couch. The silence eats and eats and eats, until he can almost smell the mildew of the always-closed windows, can feel the springs of his old mattress digging uncomfortably into his back.
The springs prod him, and he blinks into the closet, Harrington’s finger jabbing into his side.
“Don’t crack on me now, Munson.” He’s not smiling.
“Aww,” he replies, trying to make his tone its usual cloying flirtation, “didn’t think you cared, your highness.”
He twists his mouth up at the side. It doesn’t quite land on a smirk—he can feel the way it wobbles. If Harrington notices, he doesn’t call him on it.
With a roll of his eyes, Harrington responds, “like you said, no people means no help, means you’re all I’ve got.”
“Don’t sound too happy about it,” Eddie mutters, but the house is too quiet and they’re sitting too close together.
Harrington scoffs, but he leans back further, settling fully on his ass for the first time since he’d dragged Eddie into the closet with him, like all he needs to feel at ease is Eddie being a dick to him. He’s not sure whether or not that’s infuriating or charming, but the knot in his throat that feels suspiciously like tears breaks loose when Harrington leans back on the heels of his hands.
There’s something to the ease of Harrington in this moment that makes Eddie wonder if he’s ever actually seen him at ease before. When Eddie had watched him across the lunch room, eyes unwillingly drawn to the jocks table, his shoulders were always relaxed, mouth always turn up at the corners, but there was still something so stiff about him. Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen him lean back like this.
It's almost like, without eyes on him—or with only Eddie’s—his body has gone ragamuffin. A marionette with all it’s strings cut. It’s like. Like—
It’s like hiding from a horrific Lovecraftian monster in the alternative dimension version of his own closet with Eddie Fucking Munson is the first time Steve Harrington has felt comfortable in his own skin. Either that, or Eddie’s spiraling.
“Stop staring at me, man,” Harrington says, draping a hand over his eyes to block out the nonexistent light.
It’s only then that Eddie realizes he has been staring. He snaps his gaze to the floor, running his fingers through the soft shag of Harrington’s fancy carpet. It’s things like this that got him marked as queer within weeks of moving here.
“What’re we gonna do, man?” Eddie asks, like a broken record.
Harrington sighs, drooping further into the carpet. “I vote we go to sleep and hope this was all a bad dream.”
And as if his word had been decreed, Harrington stretches out as much as he can in the confined space, using a pile of dirty clothes as a pillow, and closes his eyes. The side of his leg ended up pressed across the entire side of Eddie’s thigh.
Eddie stares, struck dumb by the audacity of Harrington checking out in a moment like this. When his silence gets no reaction, he slumps down, dragging his cheek into the soft carpet as Harrington slumbers beside him. It feels like hours until he falls asleep.
Part 2
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you were warm when everything was cold
5,470 words
lucas/max, steve/eddie, lucas-centric
Lucas can't stop staring.
“Whaddya think?” Eddie twirls, showing off every angle of his borrowed letterman jacket with Harrington embroidered across the back. “So, Harrington? Gonna take me to the prom?”
Steve laughs, taking Eddie's outstretched hand and spinning him around again. “What, are we going steady?”
Eddie gasps. “Why, Steve, what kind of girl do you take me for? Of course we're going steady, I don't just go parking in cars with any old boy!”
Steve dissolves into laughter, pulling Eddie close by his belt loops and resting his forehead on his shoulder until the laughter subsides. Eddie runs his hands through Steve's hair aimlessly, playing with the strands, and shit, Lucas needs to look away, but he just can't.
“It looks good on you,” Steve says, so low that Lucas can barely make it out. He raises his head from Eddie's shoulder, leans in close so their foreheads are pressed together.
“Would you be mad if I added a few patches?”
“You can add patches if I can fix up the rips in your jacket.”
Eddie frowns. “Hey, I earned those rips.”
“And I earned my letterman.”
Eddie hums. “You'd make a good housewife.”
“How's that?”
“Well, you like to sew.”
“It's a basic life skill!”
“That you often practice for fun. You do all the cooking, you look after the kids, you love to clean…”
Steve clicks his tongue. “Only one problem there, Munson.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows. He's doing a terrible job of hiding his smile. “Oh really? What's that?”
Steve lightly grabs Eddie by the front of his jacket. “I'm not doing all that for a bum.” He pushes Eddie back a little just to pull him back in, knocking their foreheads together.
Eddie gives up on hiding his smile. “Oh, a bum?”
“That’s right. I need a man with a good job. Steady paycheck.”
“I provide.”
“You think I'm gonna raise children with a drug dealer?”
Eddie laughs, shakes his head, leans even closer to Steve, and—Okay, yeah, Lucas has gotta look away. He turns back to the pile of clothes he and Max have been sorting through.
Max is looking right at him, single eyebrow raised. Lucas’s stomach drops. “What?”
Max shrugs innocently, looking down to the stack of clothes in her lap like nothing happened. “Nothing. You like this?” She holds up a dark blue turtleneck sweater.
“Uh, for me or for you?”
“You, I can’t stand stuff around my neck like that.”
It does look soft. “I’ll try it.”
Steve apparently has an infinite abyss for a closet. Every time Lucas thinks Steve must have brought down the last of it, there’s another box, another armful of sweaters and t-shirts and polo shirts that Steve doesn’t need anymore even though they’re functionally indistinguishable from the stuff he wears every day. He’s got a lot of jackets, too, and Max has already claimed three for herself while Lucas has yet to snag one. Probably because he’s been distracted from their treasure hunt by… Well. He’s not sure what.
There’s something about watching Steve and Eddie that makes his chest ache, just a little bit. Something that feels like it’s just out of reach, like if he could just jump an inch higher he could grasp it and know what it is, have a name for it, figure out what feels like it’s missing with Max. He never felt like something was missing with Max before. She was perfect. She is perfect! Like, sure, not actually perfect, because nobody’s actually perfect, but she’s perfect for him just like he hopes he’s perfect for her, and they’re perfect together.
Maybe Lucas is overcompensating.
Max has been more present lately. More herself. Honestly, if anything, she’s more herself than ever. Vecna gave her this… confidence, sort of. Sureness in herself. Like, she just has this aura now, like she’s been to hell and personally kicked the devil in the nuts, and even though he knows it’s because she did essentially go through hell and personally kick the devil in the nuts, Lucas still kind of loves it. It’s like he’s dating the actual Max Max, or Ripley from Alien.
And yet. Even though Max isn’t hiding anymore, even though they talk now, even though their relationship is objectively better than ever, sometimes Lucas is just a little bit sad.
—
Movie nights are becoming worryingly essential to Lucas's mental wellbeing.
It doesn't have much of anything to do with the movies. It's how he feels safe surrounded by all of his friends, how the darkness forms a blanket to block out the rest of the world. Everyone that matters is right there in the glow of the TV. He knows they're all safe.
Right now, half of them are asleep.
Erica conked out early. So did Robin, who's curled up into a little ball and snoring lightly against Steve. Steve is awake, but Eddie is asleep in his lap, Steve's arms around his waist and chin resting on his shoulder. Dustin is awake, but he keeps jerking his head suddenly, like he's trying to keep himself up, and Lucas figures it's just a matter of time before he's out, too.
Max is awake. She's lying on him, and Lucas knows from experience that his arm is going to fall asleep pretty soon if she doesn't move, but what kind of guy asks his girlfriend to get off of him? Maybe a guy who doesn't even like girls.
But he definitely likes girls. Like, that's not even remotely up for debate, and it's not some deep-seated repression thing, it's just the truth. He loves when Max lays on him, up until the point where his arm gets numb and tingly. So what gives? What's the problem?
Lucas closes his eyes. He tries to picture Max with short hair, although Eddie's hair is long, and El's is short, so maybe that doesn't mean anything. He imagines her with a sharper jaw, although Dustin's jawline is soft, and Nancy's is sharp, so that probably doesn't mean much either. He imagines a Max with broader shoulders, maybe an inch or so taller than him, a Max he has to lean up to kiss, a Max with more than just peach fuzz on her upper lip.
He's not particularly into it, but he's not repulsed, either. Franken-Max is still beautiful. Handsome. Lucas still loves him. But that's a bad example, probably, because he already has feelings for Max, and changing some superficial stuff doesn't change the feelings. Who's a hot guy celebrity? Max likes Ralph Macchio. When he thinks about Ralph Macchio, though, all Lucas really feels is jealousy, maybe a little bit of disdain. So he thinks of Han Solo. Lando Calrissian. Luke Skywalker. They aren't bad-looking, sure, but Lucas doesn't feel too strongly about any of them, appearance-wise. Maybe he just can't find guys in movies hot.
His mind drifts, as it often has lately, to Steve and Eddie. It's not the way they look that has Lucas obsessing over them. He knew Steve and Eddie both long before they were Steve-and-Eddie, and he never had this kind of fixation on either of them before. Well, sure, maybe he's spent some time looking at Steve's arms, but that was more of an athletic inspiration thing than anything else. What is it about the two of them together that's so fascinating?
So many little scenes are burned into Lucas's brain. Eddie holding the door for Steve, calling him sweetheart and babydoll and a thousand other little nicknames that make Lucas's face and ears go hot. Steve carrying Eddie piggyback through the rain because Eddie was wearing those ratty old Converse with the floppy sole and Steve was worried that if he stepped in a puddle he'd get frostbite or trench foot. The two of them sharing clothes, wearing each other's jackets. The way they move, how sometimes when the radio's on they'll dance, and first Eddie's the girl, and then Steve's the girl, and neither of them is actually a girl, and it doesn't even matter, it's all just whatever's fun in the moment, whatever makes them feel good, and holy shit. Oh, shit. Oh, God.
Lucas wants to fall asleep during movie night in Max's lap. He wants her to drape her jacket over his shoulders when he shivers. He wants her to put her arm around him, hold him like he's precious. He wants Max to want all of that, too.
His arm feels numb. If Lucas were a girl, or if Max were a boy, he'd ask if they could switch places. But he isn't, and she isn't, and what kind of guy asks his girlfriend to get off of him so he can use her as a pillow instead? Lucas isn't sure if there's a word for a guy like that. If there is, it probably isn't very nice.
So he lets his arm go numb. He tries not to look at Eddie, at the way he nuzzles into Steve's chest and Steve just holds him closer.
“Hey,” Max whispers in his ear. Lucas jerks a little in surprise and she huffs out a laugh. “You okay?”
“What?”
“You've been spacey lately,” she murmurs, “Usually you'd be trying to figure out the logistics of all the Muppet action.”
She's not wrong. Lucas is fascinated by how they make the Muppets ride bikes and stuff. There must be a lot of wires and people involved.
“Everyone's asleep,” Lucas whispers back, “Didn't want to talk. You know Erica hasn't been getting much sleep lately, didn't wanna mess it up.”
Max shifts, pulling Lucas' arm around her shoulders so she can snuggle into his side. It's a bit better, but now he's gotta endure the pins and needles phase.
���You're sweet.”
He can almost hear it, sweetheart like how Eddie says to Steve, but that isn't Max's style and it's silly of him to even think about it. It's not like he wants her to change. It's just nice to imagine a world where none of the gender shit really matters and they can be like Steve and Eddie, and Lucas can be held and feel safe because the real-life Ripley's got his back.
God, he's pathetic. Lucas sighs, flexing his arm to encourage that terrible tingling to run its course. He has an amazing girlfriend and he's whining about nothing. Well, whining to himself. In his head. It still counts. It's still total pussy behavior.
Lucas pulls Max closer, kisses the top of her head. He can feel her head turn to look up at him, but he keeps his gaze leveled at the TV, and she doesn't say anything. They're fine. He and Max are fine.
—
“You know you can talk to me, right?”
“Huh?”
Max turns her head sideways to take a bite out of her hot dog. It's cute. She always gets ketchup and mustard smeared on her nose if she just bites straight into it.
“It goes both ways,” she says, chewing, and it should be gross, but it's not, really, because it's Max. She finishes chewing and swallows before she opens her mouth again. “I'm your friend before I'm your girlfriend.”
“You got some…” Lucas picks up a napkin from the picnic table, leaning forward to wipe a smudge of ketchup off the corner of her mouth. He kisses her, quick, because he's there anyway, and she smiles into it before shoving him away.
“Nice try. You gonna answer me?”
“Answer what?”
Her smile fades. It's replaced by a look of concern that makes Lucas feel nauseous.
“You can talk to me. You know that. Right?”
"Right." Lucas takes a sip of his Coke, just for something to do with his hands.
“I'm not…” Max looks down, sighing before she meets his eyes again. “I'm doing better. I can… you don't have to be okay all the time, you know? You can tell me things. You can tell me anything.”
God, his chest aches. Lucas reaches out and takes her hand.
“I know,” he assures her. “I know.”
He hasn't seen Max look this deeply sad in a while. She looks down and lifts their entwined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles, and his heart flutters.
“Okay,” she says. She lowers their hands, drops his, and picks up what's left of her hot dog.
As she tilts her head to the side and gets mustard on her cheek, Lucas gets the distinct impression that she doesn't believe him.
—
When did he start spending so much time around Steve and Eddie?
It sort of makes sense. He used to spend a small amount of time with Eddie, a moderate amount of time with Steve, and then they all went through some shit and bonded and Lucas's Eddie time got bumped up to moderate, and then Steve and Eddie became an annoyingly adorable package deal, and now Lucas can't escape them. He's a little pissed, honestly. Fuck them for being gay and in love and equal and shit. Ruining his life. Lucas has never really been the type to envy other people's happiness, and he feels like maybe Steve and Eddie are making him a worse person. Before, he always figured that if his friends are happy, then he's happy, and that's it.
Upon further reflection, though, it occurs to Lucas that perhaps he just never had friends with much of anything to envy.
“You look adorable, sweetheart,” Eddie states out of nowhere, and some small part of Lucas still expects Steve, with his jungle of chest hair and unreasonably large biceps and many years of womanizing, to shove Eddie away, to reject the sweet kiss Eddie presses to his cheek, but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't.
Lucas suddenly recalls the wild look in Steve's eye, the ferocity in his voice, the strength with which he batted the demodogs away back in the junkyard. It feels like so long ago.
Steve does sigh a little. When Eddie tries to move away, Steve tugs him to his side and kisses the mass of curls on his head. The vibe is kinda weird today. Steve seems… off. So does Eddie, but Eddie is so perpetually strange and erratic that Lucas could just be making shit up.
“Okay, okay,” Robin says, more to herself than anyone around her, “I think this is it? Yeah, this is…” She squints at the binder in her hand. “Okay, yeah!”
She hands over the impressively large binder to Steve and Eddie, who each hold one side so that it'll stay open and Robin can read her sheet music. Robin raises her trumpet to her lips. She pauses.
“Just remember, this is, like, totally unofficial, and I'm only playing one part, so it—”
Mike groans. “Oh my god, just play it.”
Nancy flicks his ear. He bats her hand away.
Robin waves Nancy off just before she delivers what looks like a devastating smack to the back of Mike's head. “No, he's—yeah, I'm gonna play it.”
She raises her trumpet, takes a deep breath, and then Lucas is hearing an incredibly loud rendition of the Star Wars theme reverberating through Mike's basement. It's honestly, like, really impressive. When Robin finishes, Lucas claps and whistles, and Mike says, "Holy shit, that was awesome," and Dustin and Nancy cheer too, and Robin's bashful smile warms Lucas's chest.
“Just imagine it with, like, a bunch of other trumpets and trombones and a tuba and some other horns and I think there's, like, piano and synthesizer and maybe a timpani too, but I think it sounds okay just with the trumpet. I mean, nowhere near as good, but you can, like, recognize it, you know?”
Robin's concert continues. This was supposed to be a big group study session, but Lucas doesn't mind the delay. Steve doesn't even need to study, he's just here because he's Robin's ride, so he'd probably say something if it was a problem. She plays Fly Me To The Moon and a few others that Lucas vaguely recognizes. Eventually, Robin tires, packing the trumpet away and condemning them all to hell.
“This shit sucks,” Dustin mutters, flipping a flashcard back and forth without looking at it.
Mike sighs his agreement.
Lucas shrugs. “At least we're not Eddie.”
All three of them glance over to where Nancy and Robin have been drilling Eddie for the past hour, only to find that he's nowhere to be seen.
“Huh. Guess he had enough.” Mike sounds jealous.
“I'm gonna go to the bathroom,” Lucas says, “Do me a favor and kill me when I get back.”
“Kill yourself,” Mike says.
“Don't worry, I'll kill you,” Dustin says supportively, “I'm a real friend.”
“Thanks.”
Lucas leaps over the coffee table to avoid disturbing the pile of backpacks and textbooks on the floor. He takes the steps two at a time, enjoying the chance to stretch his legs after an afternoon of sitting on Mike's couch. When he gets to the bathroom, the door is closed, and he reaches for the handle but freezes when he hears a voice.
“...didn't mean it like that,” Eddie says.
Lucas puts his hand down, but he inches closer to the door, just shy of pressing his ear up against the wood.
“I know, I already said it's fine.” Steve sounds tired.
“But it's clearly not because you're upset.”
“I'll get over it. You had a point.”
“Well, yeah, but I was being a total dick about it.”
“You know I don't mind a dick with… wait. Wait, I meant… uh, I'm used to your… shit.”
“You're used to getting dick from me? Or… uh, you don't mind a dick when it's mine?”
Steve snaps his fingers. “Yes! Yeah, those. Ugh, you're a genius.”
“No,” Eddie whines, “Don't be nice to me right now, I feel evil.”
“Ed, it's literally fine. You're right, it doesn't matter if I look perfect every time I walk outside.”
“But you do, that was my point, you don't need to worry about—”
“Eddie. Let it go. It's fine. I'm fine.”
“Can I just… Okay, I know this morning it seemed like I was just being an asshole because you were making us late with your hair stuff, but can I just explain what I meant to say?”
Steve sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, go for it.”
“I just… I see you freaking out all the time about how you look, and what people think of you, and it's not that I think it's dumb, because I can understand wanting to feel confident and wanting people to accept you, but the thing is that you don't have to do that. You don't have to. You are the kindest, sexiest, most badass person I know, and that's not something you have to put on for other people, it's just who you are. So it drives me crazy to see you driving yourself crazy over who thinks you're a loser and who thinks you're a douchebag and all of that, because not only does it not matter at all what some random assholes think of you, but, like, when you're just yourself? When you're just being yourself, Steve, everyone falls in love with you, that's how I fell in love with you, and it breaks my fucking heart when you feel like you need to put on some kind of act or have perfect hair or whatever for people to like you, because you don't.”
Silence. Lucas waits, afraid that somehow they realized he was listening, but then Steve speaks, his voice thick with emotion.
“You love me?”
“Yeah,” Eddie breathes immediately. “Yeah, I hadn't mentioned?”
“Mm, no, no, I think I'd remember if you—”
“You sure? You forget things a lot, you know—”
“Oh, shut up, I love you.”
“Ardently?”
“If that means a whole lot.”
“More or less. Means passionately. It's, uh…” Lucas can hear the embarrassment in Eddie's voice. He doesn't think he's ever seen Eddie embarrassed before. “It's from Pride and Prejudice.”
Steve laughs. “God, I love you. Then yes, Eddie Munson, I love you ardently.”
“And I you, Steve Harrington,” Eddie says, with a tinge of that regality he uses for upper-crust NPCs, but it sounds sincere at the same time, nothing about it even remotely artificial. “I love and admire you ardently.”
Lucas backs away from the door. His head feels kinda… buzzy, as he walks to the upstairs bathroom. He shouldn't have been listening in. That was a private moment, seemingly an important one, but Lucas has terrible impulse control lately and he has that feeling again, that one like he's reaching up for something that's barely out of reach, his fingers brushing it when he jumps, but he just can't quite jump high enough to get his hand around it and bring it down to his level.
When he gets back downstairs after his overly long bathroom break, he says he's feeling sick and heads home early. Steve seems concerned, but even as he asks if Lucas needs anything, he has this air about him, like he'd float right off the ground if his shoes weren't weighing him down. It's been a long time since Lucas felt like that.
He goes home. He switches out his jeans for sweatpants. He lays in bed, he stares at the ceiling, and he wonders.
Steve has kind of been, like, the pinnacle of being a man to Lucas these past few years. He's cool. He's strong. He's brave. He always goes in first, always comes out last, always puts himself between the people he loves and the source of danger, and Lucas wants to be like that. He's always tried to be a good friend, to listen and empathize and help when he could, but once the world shifted and suddenly bullies weren't the biggest threat in everyone's lives, he was left reeling.
He can still remember fumbling with his wrist rocket, shooting rocks at the Demogorgon because there was nothing else he could do, and he remembers the dawning realization that he was going to fail, and that his friends were going to die, and that it was going to be because he wasn't strong enough.
Steve fought off the Demogorgon.
He had a bat, yeah, and a lot more height and muscle than Lucas, but still. He did it. And if he could do it, then maybe so could Lucas one day, if he just kept working out, kept practicing with his wrist rocket and watching The Karate Kid. In retrospect, Lucas's logic wasn't great, but he was in middle school, so whatever. He's gotten a lot smarter since then. The wrist rocket is more useful for distraction than outright combat, and karate moves aren't really that helpful in a fistfight.
Steve was just… always solid. He always bounced back. He could take the worst beating Lucas had ever seen and then get up and save the world, and he was always okay at the end of the day, always Steve underneath no matter how bloody and bruised he was on the outside.
Lucas has never been hurt like that, but he's still had nightmares for about four years now. They never really go away. They aren't constant, but every time he thinks maybe he's kicked it, they come right back and leave him panting, sweaty, trembling with the lamp on at three in the morning because he needs to have a light or else he won't know that something's coming. He worries about not being strong enough. He worries about not being enough in general.
According to Eddie, all this time, Steve's been worrying too. Worrying what people think of him. Trying to earn his keep and be what everyone else wants him to be. Showing up late sometimes not because he was too cool to care about being on time, but because he was trying to make sure he looked perfect before going out in public. Eddie wasn't just complimenting him out of the blue earlier for no reason, he was trying to reassure him, comfort him, because Steve Harrington has insecurities. It should have been common sense, but the knowledge hits him like a firework to the face, lighting everything up and leaving Lucas disoriented in its wake. What else has he been missing?
When Steve and Eddie started dating, they didn't, like, announce it or anything. They just didn't hide it, and eventually everyone got the memo, and Lucas is still deeply ashamed of the fact that he was one of the last to realize. It was less about the fact that Steve was dating a man and more about the fact that Steve was letting a man stroke his hair and put a leather jacket on his shoulders and call him dollface, like, seriously. Lucas thought it was a joke. In his defense, he thinks a lot of Eddie's little nicknames are jokes, but there's also something painfully earnest about them that he recognizes now, like each one is a little I love you, and it had been hard for Lucas to see Steve as somebody who wanted that, as someone who needed reassurance and affection and wanted to be treated with care.
Maybe Steve has nightmares too. Maybe even muscles and a nail bat aren't enough to keep the demons at bay. Maybe if Lucas stopped hiding the fact that he needs reassurance and affection and sometimes he wants to be treated with care, maybe if he talked to Max… But Max has had to deal with so much worse. It wouldn't be fair to just dump all of his issues on her, too.
God, she'd be mad if he said that out loud. Lucas can almost hear her voice, saying something like, don't decide for me what I can and can't handle, and he smiles, alone in his room staring up at the ceiling, because he's been a little bit of an idiot.
If even Ripley can need some support now and then, why can't he?
—
“You seem lighter.”
“Hm?”
Max nudges his leg with her own. “That thing you've been weird about all month. You figure it out?”
Nobody is paying attention to them, sitting on the floor in front of Mike's couch side by side. The others are all debating something to do with DnD, he thinks, but he hasn't really been paying attention. Max rented The Karate Kid, and the two of them have been focused on the movie while everyone else got distracted.
“I think so,” Lucas says, and takes a chance. He leans over, resting his head on Max's shoulder, and immediately her arm comes up to wrap around him.
“And you're not gonna dump me?”
Lucas sits up to look at Max incredulously. “What? Why would I dump you?”
She looks embarrassed. She leans in and lowers her voice. “Okay, don't be, like, offended, and this might make me sound stupid, but I noticed you've been looking at Steve and Eddie a lot lately.”
“Oh my god,” he mumbles, and Max laughs.
“So, you’re not…”
“No.”
“That’s good.” Her eyes widen a little bit as soon as the words leave her mouth. “Uh, I mean, that’s good for me as your girlfriend, not, like, in general. And I mean, obviously you could like guys and still like me, but, you know, you seemed really deep in thought, so…”
Lucas laughs. “Wait, so you thought I was, like, having a sexuality crisis, and you didn’t…”
“I didn’t want to push you on it,” she shrugs, “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. But then you just seemed like you were getting more upset about it, and you were doing that thing where you pretend like you don’t have feelings—”
“What? I don’t—”
Max raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do.”
“...Maybe.” Lucas sighs. “I kind of was. But that wasn’t… it wasn’t about, like, guys. Trust me, I tried, and the closest I got to being into a dude was you.”
Max’s face scrunches up. “Me?”
“It’s… listen, I was going through a lot of hypotheticals!”
She giggles. “And one of them was me as a guy? Was I hot?”
Lucas shrugs. “Yeah, I wasn’t not into you.”
“High praise.”
“No, it was…” Lucas trails off, unsure of how to say it. He turns back to the TV and lowers his head to Max’s shoulder again. She lets him, wrapping her arm around him, and actually, how did Lucas ever think this would be wrong? It’s Max. It’s only Max.
“I wanted this,” he mumbles.
“This?”
He grabs her hand where it rests on his arm. “Yeah. You know, they always… like, I just wanted you to hold me.”
“Lucas,” Max says, her voice uncharacteristically tender.
“I’m not saying I wanna be all gross like them, but… I don’t know.”
“...Could I give you my jacket sometimes?”
“Oh my god, yes,” Lucas says, and Max laughs.
“You don’t even know how many times I’ve wanted to give you my coat because you never learn—”
“I learn!”
“No, you dress for fashion instead of function and then you freeze your ass off!”
Lucas laughs too, turning to bury his face in Max’s dark blue jacket, one of the ones she snagged from Steve, and she tugs him closer until he’s practically sitting in her lap. He feels light, like he might float away if she wasn’t holding on to him. But she is. She’s holding him, and she’s laughing, and none of their friends seem to have noticed anything different. It’s just Max, and Lucas, and they’re better than ever.
—
Lucas holds the door for Max, letting her enter Family Video ahead of him. Steve and Robin are at the counter, Robin gesturing wildly as usual. Steve raises a hand, waving as Lucas and Max approach. “Hey, nice jacket, Sinclair. Is that one mine?”
“It’s mine now,” Max says, wrapping an arm about Lucas’s waist and pulling him into her side. “He only wore a t-shirt even though it’s freezing out because he needed everyone to see his arms.”
He rests his arm over her shoulders. “I don’t need to bring a jacket, I have you.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know, one of these days I’m not gonna take pity on you and I’m gonna let you freeze to death.”
Lucas hadn’t even been cold when Max took off her jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders. She had just done it out of the blue, stepped back, grinned, and said he looked good.
Robin sighs. “Ugh, you two are adorable. See, Steve, this is what I’m talking about!”
“And I’m telling you, all you have to do is have a conversation like a grown-up!”
“But it’s scary,” Robin whines, leaning her forehead against Steve’s chest and groaning. He pats her head comfortingly.
“I know. Max, I got your stuff on hold right over there.” Steve nods at a small stack of tapes on the counter. “Already checked them out for you.”
“You had stuff on hold?”
Max had spontaneously decided she wanted to have a home movie night instead of going to the theater, and Lucas had assumed it was just because she didn’t feel like going out.
She pulls him over the counter, and Lucas sees all three Star Wars movies in a neat pile.
“Surprise!”
Max isn’t that into Star Wars. She likes watching horror movies on date night, and she hates sitting through more than one movie at a time, but here she is with three space operas and a tentative smile on her face, and Lucas can’t help it.
“I love you.”
Max raises her eyebrows before dissolving into laughter. “That’s it? This is the moment?”
“Yes, shut up!”
She does not shut up. Max continues laughing. “Really? Because I rented Star Wars?”
“Because you know me.” Lucas grins. “You love me.”
“Well, yeah,” Max says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’d said that the sky is blue or that El’s a superhero.
Lucas hears a high-pitched squeal, and he turns to find Steve with a hand clamped over Robin’s mouth. Her eyes are wide and excited.
“Go have your little date before she explodes,” he says, waving them off.
“Thanks, Steve.” Max takes the tapes and turns to the door. Lucas jogs ahead to open it for her.
As Lucas follows her outside, part of him feels like he might just float off the asphalt right into the clouds, but he doesn’t worry about it. There’s no need. Max is right there, and he’s wrapped in her jacket, and she’s taking his hand for the short walk from the store to their bikes. No, Lucas won’t float away.
Max will keep him tethered.
#lesbianrobin.fic#stranger things fic#lucas sinclair#lumax#steddie#st fic#em talks#stranger things#btw this was written prior to volume 2!! pls keep that in mind#i've had people on ao3 be like uh but lucas HAS been hurt like that 🤨 and it's like i know but that had not happened yet. sorry.
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Autumn of 86. Robin is working at the most boring record store of all Hawkins to save up for escaping that hellhole where she lives in, where the weirdest shit happens all the time (kids coming back to life, classmates killed by chemical leaks, another gas leak that makes the mall blow up, a murderer from Pennhurst breaking free and going in a teenager killing spree, rumours of satanic cults...). Thank god she is working there with his best friend Eddie "love at first sight is an illusion" Munson, who makes her days less painful, and who, right now, is flirting with this all beaten up guy she has never seen before.
She wants to interrupt them, but the way they are talking it is so unlike Eddie. Staring, mildly blushing, soft voices and the strangest interaction going on there when he is purchasing the first cassette he grabs and he is not even paying attention to what he is buying because this new guy can't take his eyes off of Eddie. It even takes him a while to reply to Eddie when he asks him if he wants anything else.
Robin could swear that guy wanted to say something different from his actual answer. "No. No, yeah, that's–that's all. Thanks."
And Eddie half smiles, looks down. "Yeah. Great, here is your change, man. Enjoy your Christmas Carol tape."
"What? Oh, yeah. I will. I guess," and the guy smiles, and it looks painful because his lip is split. He bites his bottom lip and looks away. "See you around."
"Yeah. See you around."
And they—they just stare.
It takes him a few seconds before he purses his lips, nods, and leaves the establishment. And what has Robin standing there, and not bashing at Eddie the second that guy closes the door after him is the fact that she could swear that this guy was... was about to cry.
And Robin is a lot of things, but above all she is curious.
And smart.
And she is stubborn enough to find her answers.
She indeed teases Eddie about him gaping at the guy like a mad man. And she expects pushback, she really does. Eddie always gives her some resistance of her teasing but when Eddie says "I don't know, Robs, I feel like I have seen him before," she believes him.
So Robin does what she does best and finds the guy.
She follows him for a while, and thinks she is doing a great job at the grocery store, following him from the end of the aisle, but she loses him for a second and runs to find him again. She runs into him him as soon as she turns the aisle, face to face.
"Sorry, hi," he says.
"Hi," Robin parrots.
And they stare at each other.
Robin is good reading people. She always has been. And she doesn't really know what she is seeing in this guy's eyes but whatever it is is warm. And familiar.
"Are you okay?" he asks. And she is a bit lost in her own thoughts to reply right away. It takes her ten seconds to realize that he was asking because they actually crashed against each other. They were so close. He was holding her by the elbows.
She immediately steps back.
"Yeah, sorry. I am so clumsy sometimes, my coordination is not what you may say, sharp," she explains rapidly and awkwardly.
And the guy smiles, and it is the kind of smile that reaches the eyes. And she smiles too.
"I bet you stand out for some other qualities," he chuckles. "You seem smart."
"I am. I think," she adds. She can't realize why she is so disoriented.
"My name is Steve. Steve Harrington."
"Robin Buckley."
And he does this thing with his face, almost like a flinch, a recognition. It is brief but it is there and Robin has seen it, and there is something so weird with him.
Steve drops his gaze, and the weirdness of this situation hits Robin. Why would someone introduce himself just by randomly crashing into someone in the grocery store? What was that familiarity feeling? Why couldn't she just let him go? She followed him there, for fuck's sake.
"Do I know you?" she asks.
Steve just looks at her again, and stares. There is this gleam in his pupils, eyes almost wet, and Robin could swear that it looked so much like hope. For what, she doesn't know.
"I don't think so," and his words sound like a lie.
"Oh. I am–I am sorry, um, this is weird. It's just that I—I have this—"
"Gnawing feeling?" Steve finished.
And yes, that was exactly what she wanted to say.
There is something that Robin feels like it's trapped in the air. Something strange and beautiful, and caged somewhere, fighting with all its forces to break free, but she can't identify it.
"It's okay," he says. "It'll go away. It always does."
Steve smiles at her and it is sad. Robin is starting to get mad, and weirdly emotional and she doesn't know where it comes from and it's infuriating not to know. Her voice kind of wobbles when she speaks again.
"You speak like a total dingus."
Steve laughs. Suddenly and bright and honest, and she laughs too.
"I do. Yeah, I do."
Something is off, but it feels so right. Robin just can't place it. And it must shows in her face because Steve says, "it's okay."
And it is how he says it, like he knows what she is going through, but how could he possibly know.
"See you around, Buckley," he says, so affectionate that aches to hear.
He leaves her there, standing in the middle of the aisle, organizing her own thoughts.
Facts: she knows him. Her body, her heart, her soul reacted at his presence, that much is true. Eddie knows him too. But they just can't remember him.
So many questions, so may things to discover.
Robin smiles.
Robin is a lot of things, but above all, she is curious.
And smart.
And stubborn enough to find her answers.
#inklessletter#fic#stranger things fic#fanfic#ficlet#robin buckley#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#st fic
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Never Forgot
Based on this post.
Steve knew something was wrong when she ran out of the room, choking back tears.
He felt bad, felt like there was something missing, but he didn’t remember her. Thinking about it, he realized he didn’t really remember anything.
“Robin?” Dustin asked when she all but ran out of the hospital room.
She stifled a sob and collapsed onto the bench next to him, holding a hand over her mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Dustin, he… he doesn’t remember me.”
Dustin took a deep breath and very carefully did not freak out. “Okay. You stay here, I’ll go talk to him. See if we can shake it loose or something.” He rolled his eyes at the look she gave him. “Not literally, Buckley, jeez. Keep your pants on.”
He squared his shoulders and walked into the hospital room. Steve looked fine, if tired—hospital lighting never did anyone any favors—but the absent smile he sent Dustin spoke volumes. “Hi,” he said quietly, stilted in a way he never was anymore. Not with Dustin. “Um, can you apologize to her for me? She seemed really upset and I’m not sure what I did but I think it’s my fault.”
Dustin sighed and sat in the chair by Steve’s hospital bed. “You really don’t remember her, huh.” It wasn’t a question, so Steve didn’t answer. “And I’m guessing you don’t remember me, either?”
Steve picked at the blanket on his lap. “I’m sorry.”
“Jesus fuck,” Dustin whispered, screwing his eyes shut. “Don’t apologize, Jesus, it’s not your fault. It just… sucks.”
Steve snorted. “Imagine waking up and only remembering one person.”
Dustin looked up at him sharply. “One person?”
Steve shrugged. “Guess I’d be a pretty shitty boyfriend if I didn’t, yeah.”
“Boyfriend?” Dustin blinked. “Steve, you’re not dating anyone.”
Steve frowned. “I am. Maybe you don’t know him? Eddie? Eddie Munson?”
“Eddie- Christ, Steve, of course I know Eddie, and you two aren’t dating. You’re, like, as straight as they come.”
“No- no, I am, I’m dating him, I’m- we’re-”
“Whoa, okay, hold up, calm down,” Dustin said, holding his hands out. “It’s fine, dude, okay, we’ll figure it out later but I don’t think you should be stressing this hard after just waking up.”
Steve hummed. “What, uh. What actually happened to me?”
Dustin sighed. “The doctors said your body essentially performed a hard reset. You’ve been running on fumes for too long. You collapsed from sheer exhaustion. At least you didn’t hit your head this time, though maybe that would’ve prevented you from losing your memory, so who fuckin’ knows.”
“Language,” Steve chided, then blinked when Dustin looked at him excitedly. “I don’t know where that came from.”
Dustin just laughed. It was only a little forced. “You’re just incapable of not being a mom.”
——————————
Robin went back in next, lightly tapping Dustin’s shoulder as she passed him in the doorway. He shook his head, and her heart sank. “He-” Dustin shook his head, bit his lip. “He thinks he and Eddie are dating. Eddie’s the only person he remembers.”
Robin gave him a little half-smile. “He’s had a crush on Eddie for a while. I didn’t realize it was this bad, but.” She shrugged. “I’ll talk to him. You call everyone else?”
“Yeah.”
She took a deep breath and walked into the room. “So,” she started. “You really don’t remember?”
Steve shook his head, eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry. I wish I did.”
“Dustin said you remember one person?”
“Mhm. Eddie.”
“Right. And you and Eddie? What are you?”
Steve frowned even deeper. “Boyfriends. If we’re this close, shouldn’t you know that?”
Robin shrugged. “I’d like to think so. That’s why Dustin and I aren’t convinced you are dating. Maybe your memories are just… really vivid daydreams.”
“You really think so?”
Robin sighed heavily. “I don’t know what to think, Steve. Hell, I didn’t even know how bad it was until you collapsed. Some soulmate I am.”
“With a capital P,” Steve said, holding up a hand before Robin could say anything. “Sometimes certain memories are triggered. It’s… like a puzzle piece slotting into place. But I’ve got about a million more pieces missing. I can’t see what that specific piece connects to.”
Robin hums. “Okay. So you remember Eddie. And if I say Hellfire..?” Steve just frowned. “Or�� Metallica?”
Steve smiled. “Yeah, I know that one.”
“Did you know that before I said it?”
Steve nodded. “Hellfire’s related to Eddie?”
Robin chuckled. “You could say that.”
“What is it?”
She laughed again. “I think I’ll let your boyfriend explain that one.”
“Even though you don’t believe we’re dating.”
Robin spread her hands. “Soulmates with a capital P, Steve. I can’t think of any reason you wouldn’t at least tell me. Especially since you know—err, knew—I’m a lesbian.”
Steve frowned. “Maybe Eddie didn’t want to? Does he know?”
“Yup.”
“Oh.” He frowned again. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers. Especially now. Just… think about it, yeah?”
“I will,” he promised. “Um. Are you okay?”
“Jesus, Steve.” Robin laughed. It was only mostly hysterical. “Of course you’d still be thinking about everyone else. I’m fine. Or- I will be. You just take care of yourself, dingus.”
He chuckled. “Will do, Robbie.”
She sighed. “Another puzzle piece?” He nodded. “Alright. I’m gonna go track down Dustin and see where he’s at with all the other ankle-biters.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” She lingered for a half-second, then sighed again and walked out.
——————————
He was released two days later. Drove himself home, Robin in the passenger seat and Dustin in the back row. Dustin quizzed him about the rest of the Party the whole way home, made sure Steve knew their names forwards, backwards and upside down, as well as what everyone was like. “Max is kickass,” he said. “Like, she’ll absolutely smile in your face as she knees you in the balls. And it’s the kinda smile that strikes fear into a man. She’s awesome. And-”
“Okay,” Steve said, amused. He didn’t know how Dustin could go that long without a breath. “I’ll know what you’re talking about as soon as we get out of the car and get inside, right?”
Dustin yelped when he looked up to see them parked before scrambling out the door and running inside.
Steve grinned at Robin, who grinned back, before they made their way inside, albeit at a slower pace than Dustin had.
Steve vaguely recognized everybody, but his attention focused in on a very specific person. “Eds.”
Eddie smiled, small and soft and sweet, one of Steve’s favorites. “Heya, Stevie.”
Suddenly he couldn’t help himself. He had to be with Eddie, right then, it couldn’t wait, so he didn’t. Practically flung himself at Eddie, like he knew Eddie would catch him (he did). Attaches his mouth to Eddie’s, a silent promise, I never forgot you, flowing between them.
When they pulled back, Eddie stared at him like he’d hung the fucking sun. “You remember?” Eddie asked in a whisper.
“Never forgot,” Steve promised, at the same volume.
“What. The actual. Fuck,” Robin said. Eddie and Steve froze as they turned to face her and the rest of the Party, who were all staring with the same expression.
“Fuck,” Eddie whispered. “We forgot to tell Robin.”
#Dustin: not us?????#Eddie: no bc you’d be annoying af about it#eddie munson has adhd#steve Harrington has adhd#they’re both my precious babies and I love them#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steddie fic#stranger things#stranger things fic#st fic#muse deserted me but I actually mostly like what I have#I’m begging someone. anyone else to do it better though#starambles
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The tile floor is disgusting.
Not Starcourt disgusting, but disgusting all the same. Grime build-up colors the grout lines, the back of his head is damp from condensation that drips down the sink he’s resting against, and there’s a damp spot beneath his left calf that he sincerely hopes is just the aftermath of someone washing their hands. A single lightbulb hangs in the center of the ceiling, dim but not flickering.
Thank God, it’s not flickering.
It’s not the place to have a meltdown— he knows it’s not— but rationality is just the latest in the ever- growing list of things fighting the Upside Down took from him. After all, the dingy basement bathroom of a stranger’s house party is better than the densely populated living room of a stranger’s house party.
He wishes Robin was with him, but he can’t bring himself to tear her away from the first real party she’s enjoyed. It’s not her fault that crowds set him on edge these days, or that he can’t stand the feeling of unfamiliar bodies pressing against him anymore, or that small talk about how humid it’s been lately makes him want to rip his hair out because how can anyone possibly give a fuck about the weather when the world nearly ended six months ago? No one outside of the group he’s come with gets it and he wonders if even in that group, even with the people he’s bled with, if he’s an outlier.
No one saw him sneak down here.
He’s not expecting anyone to come looking for him.
He should’ve known better.
“Steve?” A voice whispers from outside the door. “Steve, it’s me. Open the door.”
Robin. Of course.
Steve drags a hand down his face, hovering near his nose where his fingers tremble at the bridge, and lets out a deep exhale before reaching over and unlocking the door.
Wordlessly, he rights himself against the sink again as Robin locks the door behind her and sits cross-legged next to him. Silence sits with them, a welcome guest now with Robin’s comforting presence, her head tipping to lean on his shoulder and his falling to rest on hers.
They sit like this for long moments, silence and the scent of Robin’s strawberry shampoo grounding him in the present. There’s no emergency, no threat, not when Robin is safe and clean and warm right next to him.
Finally, he breaks the stillness. “You don’t have to sit here, you can go back to the party. It’s fucking gross down here.”
“It’s way more gross upstairs without you there.”
“Oh c’mon, everyone’s up there. Eddie, Nancy, Argyle, Jonathan. Vickie.” He looks down and grins, one eyebrow quirked up.
Robin rolls her eyes playfully and gently elbows him in the side. “Shut up, oh my God. She’ll be there when we go back up or I can call her tomorrow. Besides, she’s with Nancy and Jonathan looking for you.”
“Looking for me? Fuck, I didn’t think anyone would notice—”
Robin pats his thigh and cuts him off. “It’s fine, they all know you’re okay but we just didn’t wanna leave you alone in the Brain Tornado.”
“Brain Tornado?” Steve asks.
“Argyle’s words, not mine. But it’s fitting, don’t you think?”
Steve contemplates for a few seconds, considering the years worth of fighting and hoping and living that spin him around in untethered and unpredictable circles.
“Yeah, yeah it is.” Steve sighs. “How’d you know where I was anyways?”
“I know you.” Robin says, simple and matter of fact, as if it’s not the best response he could’ve gotten. She readjusts her position to stretch out both legs in front of her and Steve reminds himself that they’re both in jeans and not Scoops uniforms.
“I just don’t know how to fucking relate to people anymore, Rob. And the crowds, if something were to happen and I couldn’t get to the bat in my trunk fast enough, or get to you or Nancy or Eddie—”
“Hey, it’s okay, we’re all okay,” Robin rubs her thumb in soothing circles into his bicep with her opposite hand. “We’re safe. We won. It’s gone.”
She says this like an oath and Steve wants to swear to it. It’s just hard.
“I know. But it’s still… I don’t know. This huge thing happened and no one else knows, so we’re in this sea of people who have no idea we all nearly died six months ago? And they look at me like I’m still Party King Steve Harrington when that guy did eat it three years ago.” His heart begins to slow and he sighs, less anxious and more confused.
“I’m not gonna pretend I know what to say to that because you’re right, but there are at least five other people here right now who get it. And we’re the lucky sons of bitches, getting to know the Real Steve Harrington anyways.”
Steve can’t help the delicate thing that blooms in his chest when he’s reminded of the odd little family he’s built around himself. Or, in some cases, that forcibly built themselves around him.
“Besides,” Robin smirks and Steve immediately knows what’s coming, telepathic communication and all. “Some people upstairs really like the Real Steve Harrington. And he might be going a little insane looking for you outside with Argyle.”
“Shut up, oh my God.” He mimics her tone from earlier and drapes an arm around her shoulders, his voice softening. “We’ll go up in a few minutes?”
He doesn’t need to say it. Steve knows Robin hears what he means.
Just a few more minutes with you, and then I can face the world.
happy (sorta belated) birthday to @stobinesque! I know I already sent this so it's not technically late but the last couple days have been a little wild so I'm just late to posting. <333
#steve harrington & robin buckley#steve harrington#robin buckley#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#st fic#steddie#myblurbs#platonic soulmatism my beloved#stobin
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bet.
steddie | 2.8k
read on ao3
Happy Birthday @wynnyfryd 🥰🥰🥰 I've had this idea floating around in my brain for a while now and seeing it was your birthday prompted me to finish it 💕
---
It's his first time in Indianapolis as an out bisexual, so of course Robin takes him to a gay club - to experience the drag queens and to see other queer people having fun, she says.
It's a little overwhelming, the bright lights and the music and the people. But he's having a great time, people watching and drinking virgin daiquiris and talking with Robin.
She's been here before - she came with Vickie when they were still together one weekend and they had a blast. So when Steve figured his sexuality shit out and came out to her, this was the first place she wanted to take him.
Now, he can see why. It's a haven of sorts. Gay men dancing together and kissing each other, gay women getting cozy in the booths, drag queen and drag kings about. He hasn't felt like he's belonged somewhere in a long time, but it kind of feels like he belongs here. The atmosphere is welcoming and kind.
They dance a little before everything gets overwhelming and then they find an empty booth to sit down and sip at their drinks in.
Robin keeps trying to encourage him to find someone to kiss so that they can call this night a success, but he keeps telling her that no one has caught his eye. And it's kind of true. He's seen some men that he thinks might be his type, but they're all paired up with men who look nothing like Steve. Even then, the few people that have caught his eye weren't right, somehow.
He keeps holding out, hoping to find someone that makes his heart skip a beat, or whatever the appropriate cliche for a gay club is.
And it. It happens.
He glances over at the bar as he's taking the last few sips of his drink, thinking about if he wants to brave the crowd at the bar, when he sees him.
His heart doesn't skip a beat, but he knows as soon as he lays eyes on him that he wants him. He's beautiful - and intimidating.
He's sitting facing away from the bar with his legs splayed open, ripped jeans revealing what looks like fishnet stockings underneath them. He's wearing a tank top that's showing off his many tattoos and Steve is struck with the urge to know what they taste like. His combat boots are clunky and could seriously kick someone's ass if they messed with him. His wavy hair is half tied up, a messy ponytail holding his hair out of his face, but the bottom half is freely falling past his shoulders.
He kind of feels like he's been bit by the love bug - he can't take his eyes off him.
He knows Robin is saying something to him, but he can't even hear it. It's all just background noise. He doesn't think he's ever been so captivated by someone before. He wants to put his mouth on him.
"Steve? Oh my god, stop ignoring me!" Robin says and snaps her fingers in front of his face, pulling him from his reverie. He looks over at her sheepishly.
"Sorry, Robbie," he says, looking back over at the guy briefly and yep, he's still just as hot as the first time he looked.
"What was that? Did you see someone you like? You looked like you blacked out for a minute there," she says, a smirk pulling at her lips.
He rolls his eyes. Of course she already knows - his type is people that look like they could stomp on him and he'd say thanks. "Black tank top, ripped jeans, at the bar. I think I'm in love," he says with a sigh. He's way too intimidated to go over there.
She squeals in his ear and says, "This is so exciting! You have to go kiss him now."
"Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm not just gonna go up to a stranger and ask if he'll be my first gay kiss."
"And why not?" she asks, stirring her drink.
"Because that's insane," he says. "He's probably already got someone. He's, he's gorgeous. There's no way he's here alone." It's a shame, but it's probably true - he's way too good looking to be here alone.
"There's only one way to find out," Robin says. She leans forward and whispers in his ear, a challenge of sorts.
"You can't be serious," he says to her, questioning his own sanity for even entertaining her for one second.
She leans back in and whispers more into his ear and he groans.
"You're diabolical," he tells her, pulling back to smack a kiss on her forehead. He stands up and takes a deep breath before marching over to the bar. He can't believe he's doing this.
He marches right up to the guy and immediately every word in his vocabulary is gone. He's so fucking pretty.
"Um. Uh, hi," he says, stupidly.
The guy bites his lip and grins at him. He says, "Hi," back to him and Steve is literally going to die, he thinks. He couldn't see it from across the club before, but this guy has a lip piercing, and Steve wants to know what it feels like against his mouth so fucking bad.
"I need you to kiss me," he blurts out, trying not to cringe.
"You need me to, to kiss you?" the guy asks, and this was a bad idea, the worst idea Robin's ever had. There's no way he's going to agree to this.
"So, my friend-" he stops, looking back at Robin - she waves at them. He's trying so hard not to blush as he turns back to the guy and says, "She bet me that I couldn't get a guy to kiss me since it's my first time here. So I was wondering if you would kiss me, so I can win the bet." He's steeling himself for rejection, for this guy to tell him to fuck off or maybe have mercy and let him down gently by telling him he's taken.
But he just smiles, tilting his head at Steve. "Why me?"
"Hmm?" Steve asks.
"Why me?" the guy asks again. "Out of all the guys here, you picked me. Why?"
Steve sputters for a second. "You, I mean. You have to know how you look, right? Like, you're gorgeous."
He grins again, tonguing at his lip ring and Steve is so down bad for him, it's actually insane. "Okay," he says. "I'll accept that answer. Now, if you get your kiss, you win your bet, but what's in it for me?"
Steve is hoping that if he's still talking to him, that means he actually has a shot. He's feeling dizzy with how much he wants to kiss him. He really fucking hopes he can kiss him.
He says, "A kiss?" with what he hopes is a charming - and not at all maniacal - grin.
The guy snorts. Rude. He snorts at Steve and says, "I think I'll need a little more that that, don't you think, sweetheart?"
Steve nods dumbly, says, "I'll split my winnings with you. Would that work?"
He's not expecting it to work, is the thing. He doesn't expect him to say yes.
Which is why he's so surprised when he reaches out and tugs Steve closer by the collar of his shirt. He did not know being yanked around was his thing, but apparently it is because good god.
"That works for me," the guy says, eyes going molten as he looks at Steve.
He can't believe that worked. Holy shit.
He's. He's nervous, he realizes. He's had a lot of first kisses, been on many first dates that ended in him kissing someone unfamiliar. But this is nerve-wracking for him in a way it hasn't been before.
He lets the guy pull him in further by his collar, lets him control when the kiss happens.
The first press of their lips has Steve sighing and opening his mouth slightly, wanting more, wanting to taste him. He kisses him, lets himself be kissed really. He opens his mouth more when a tongue snakes out and presses into his mouth.
Steve's hands come up to pull him closer, to pull - fuck, he doesn't even know his name, yet. He's doing this all wrong. He meant to get his name before shoving his tongue down his throat.
But it's good, the feeling of soft lips pressed against his, the cold metal of his piercing pressing against his mouth, his tongue stroking over Steve's in a way that makes him wish they were alone, wish they weren't here surrounding by all these people. He wants to kiss him and keep kissing him until the breath runs out of his lungs. He wants to put his hands on him, to dip his fingers into the rips in his jeans and feel the rough fishnets against his fingertips.
He pulls his mouth away to gasp out, "What's your name?" because he needs to know, needs to have some connection, some thread to hold onto, to grasp as they're kissing.
"Eddie," he whispers against Steve's mouth. "What's yours?" Eddie asks. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
"Steve," he says before pressing his mouth against Eddie's again. He wants to kiss him forever. He never wants to stop. He wants Eddie to keep licking into his mouth like he owns it until the bartender yells out that it's last call. He wants Eddie to keep holding him like this until Robin drags him away as they turn the lights on in the club to kick everyone out. He wants, he wants, he wants.
He gets a hand tangled in Eddie's hair and gets their heads tilted right so that they can lick deeper into each other's mouths. It's burning him up inside, the way their tongues are sliding together, the way Eddie's licking behind his teeth and sucking on his tongue like he's trying to taste the daiquiri he was drinking earlier.
Eddie tastes like tobacco and something sweet, like he was drinking something sweet before Steve came up to him too. God, Steve wants to know everything about him - what's his go-to drink order, does he smoke, does he prefer beer over mixed drinks, is he seeing anyone, please don't be seeing anyone, god.
He feels desperate, he feels out of control. He wants Eddie to take him apart like he's never wanted anything else in his life. He wants those hands on him, wants to feel the rings on his fingers pressing marks into his skin. He want his hands gripping his hips, sliding down and touching him. He doesn't think he's ever wanted like this.
The only reason they break apart is because someone's elbow ends up in Steve's back and he ends up pushed further into the crease of Eddie's thigh. He feels him hard against him and he knows Eddie can feel how hard he is too. Fuck, it's like everything else faded away when Eddie's mouth was on his, but now that they're not kissing, he's suddenly achingly aware that he's hard in his incredibly tight pants after making out with Eddie for god knows how long.
His face is probably red and sweaty, but Eddie's still looking at him like he wants him and god, does he want him back.
But he pulls back a little, puts some space between their hips because he quite literally can't ditch Robin here go hook up with Eddie, no matter how much he wants to.
He bites his lip and pulls his hand back, the one that was tangled in Eddie's long hair. He puts it on Eddie's chest and asks, "Was that okay?" because he thinks he knows the answer, but it never hurts to hear it.
Eddie huffs out a laugh and says, "Was that okay, he asks. Sweetheart, I think you and I both know that was something on a completely different realm from just okay."
If Steve wasn't blushing before, he definitely is now. He says, "Good, good. I'm glad we're on the same page."
Eddie leans close like he's going to kiss him again. He brushes his lips against Steve's in a dry press - barely a kiss, but it has Steve aching all the same anyway. He drags his mouth along his jaw, just mouthing at it, and it's the hottest thing Steve's ever felt.
He whispers in Steve's ear, "Your friend is trying really hard to get your attention right now," and that pulls Steve right back down to earth.
He pulls away again and turns around to see Robin waving her arms at him. He puts his hands on his hips and raises his eyebrows at her. She waves her hand at him, beckoning him back to their table so he holds up a finger to tell her to hold the fuck on.
He turns back around and says, "I think I'm being summoned. As much as I want to stay and as much as I, like, desperately want to keep kissing you, I should get back to my friend."
Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the bar and Steve can't help the way his eyes sweep over him again. Eddie's smirking when he looks back up at him.
"That's fair," Eddie says. "So, what did we win?"
Steve makes a questioning sound, before he remembers what Eddie's talking about. He sheepishly brings a hand up to swipe his hair out of his face where its begun to stick to his forehead. "Oh, uh, about that. There never really was a bet."
"Really?" Eddie asks, leaning forward again into Steve space, like that's the most interesting thing he's heard all night.
Steve shakes his head. "I promised half of the winnings, but the winnings are zero, so half of zero is still zero, you know?"
Eddie grins at him and says, "You're kind of devious, you know that? Here I was, thinking I'd get a prize at the end of that kiss."
"Sorry for getting your hopes up, but I mean, it was a good kiss, right?" Steve asks, boldly leaning forward to press his mouth against Eddie's again. Eddie lets him, lets Steve kiss him, softer than before. Before it was all new and exciting and hot, and it still is, but this kiss is tender, pulling a gasp from Steve's lips when they separate.
"It was a good kiss," Eddie agrees, pecking him on the lips again, soft and sweet.
"Can I have your number?" Steve asks, trying to be brave for once. He got Eddie to kiss him, even if it was under less than truthful circumstances, but he hopes it was good enough to warrant a call back.
"Your friend, is she seeing anyone?" Eddie asks, and Steve's head is kind of spinning at the redirection there.
"She and her girlfriend broke up a couple months ago. Why?" he asks, wondering where this is going. If this guy is actually somehow straight and only kissed him to get with Robin, Steve's gonna lose it.
"I'll tell you what, if you can convince your friend to kiss my friend, you can have my number," Eddie says, gesturing to the girl that's been sitting next to him at the bar this entire time.
And- oh. Oh god, he's embarrassed.
Has she just been awkwardly sitting there while Eddie made out with him? He was half a second away from dry humping Eddie and his friend was sitting there patiently waiting for them to stop. That's embarrassing.
She's cute - she's got this whole cheery, bubblegum vibe to her that didn't make Steve glance twice at her once he had his eyes set on Eddie because the two of them are kind of polar opposites. He didn't think they were here together.
His eyes shift back and forth between them and she waggles her fingers at him in a wave, smirking at his caught out look.
"Chrissy," she says, sticking out her hand to shake Steve's. He's kind of intimidated by her too, but he's got to hand it to her - he doesn't think even Robin would sit through him making out with someone right next to her. He guesses he does kind of owe it to both her and Robin. He and Eddie were making out for a while.
"Steve," he says, lamely. "Sorry for making out with your friend right next to you. Um, I'm gonna go grab Robin now."
They both watch him as he leaves, which makes his skin prickle and his heartbeat speed up. He makes a beeline back to Robin and lets her coo at him for a minute about having his first gay kiss.
She's talking a mile a minute asking about how it was, if he got his number, when Steve interrupts her.
"Bobbin, you are not gonna believe this," he says, and when he's got her attention, he continues, "I think I just found you a girlfriend?"
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@eddiemonth day 22: first concert
“Are they coming on? I can’t see!” A small Eddie screeches over a roaring crowd, stretching up on his toes as if he may miraculously grow taller before his uncle’s eyes.
Wayne chuckles fondly, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder so he’ll turn to look at him. “C’mere, son.”
He crouches to offer his back for the kid to clamber on. Despite how scrawny he is, Eddie has almost grown too big to lift since Wayne last saw him. As he struggles to stand back upright with the added burden to his shoulders, the awestruck look on Eddie’s face when he was handed the tickets flashes through Wayne’s mind, giving him the strength to make it to a standing position.
Ah, what the hell, I can make it a few songs.
Eddie hollers from his new vantage, raising his arms in triumph, nearly losing his balance and bending back down to clutch Wayne’s neck tightly to anchor himself, laughing. He can sense the breadth of the grin on his nephew’s face. Before he knows it, the little scoundrel has plucked his hat off of his head and placed it on his own, resting his hands where the hat once resisted.
I’ll let him keep it.
#stranger things#wayne munson#eddie munson#wayne & eddie munson#eddie munson fanart#st4#stranger things 4#st fan art#stranger things fanart#stranger things fanfic#st fic#eddie munson blurb#eddiemonth#lexidoodledoo#2023
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A Shiny Rock
Eddie touched people - like a lot - he did it with most people he became even slightly close with, for the most part, but unbeknownst to Steve, he also liked to give gifts. The gifts that Eddis gave weren't the typical candy bar or flowers with a nice card -- as a matter of fact that weren’t anything of the sort. Eddie liked to pick up things he found that he liked, and carry them in his pocket -- Wayne called him a goblin for it -- but now, he’d been developing a new habit.
Eddie would find something he liked - usually something shiny, or a rock, sometimes both - he would carry around whatever he found for the whole day, and then when he inevitably saw Steve, he would present it to him.
“Stevie! Look what I found!” Eddie gleamed.
Steve would admire whatever trinket Eddie had found that day and had in his palm, then look in his eyes, seeing the glimmer of excitement, saying something along the lines of: “Eddie, this is lovely!” Steve would smile the soft smile he unknowingly reserved just for Eddie and his little trinkets.
Eddie’s smile would shine brighter than the sun, then, he’d hold out his hands, “Here Steve-o, you can have it.”
Steve would accept it, of course, and keep it in his pocket, until he put it in the little box of gifts from Eddie that he’d accumulated over a few months.
One cloudy afternoon, Eddie was walking as he saw in the corner of his eye something shiny -- and for Eddie, this meant something great, because he loved anything shiny, especially if it was useless junk he would never use. He crouched down over where he’d seen it to see a glimmering, silvery rock. He picked it up, admiring its ruff texture and pale silver color, and slipped it into his pocket, not thinking too much about it for the rest of his afternoon.
That evening he was hanging out with the part, as had become quite common, and the party, of course, included Steve.
“Hey Stevie! Look at this!” Eddie said, slipping the silvery rock out of the pocket of his black skinny jeans -- walking over to Steve, holding out the trinket.
“Oh, Eds! That's so cool, I love it!” Steve said smiling. Eddie noticed this -- he always noticed this. Steve would always smile brightly telling Eddie that whatever he brought to show him was lovely and that he loved it. It made Eddie shine as brightly as the rock he’d found earlier - but that rock was a pebble compared to the resplendent glimmering inside Eddie whenever Steve so much as looked at him. Eddie knew it wasn’t right, he knew it wasn’t smart, and he knew it would never happen, but the spark in his eyes and warm glow in his heart didn’t seem to get that message. Eddie had been staring at the rock for a good few moments now, before he looked up at Steve to see the brightness of his smile had faded into a confused and slightly confused miniature frown.
“What’s wrong, Stevie?” Eddie said knitting his eyebrows
“I- it’s nothing Eds… don't worry” Steve said glancing down once or twice
“Steve, come on, I know something’s up. You can tell me.” Eddie laid his hand on Steve’s arm, holding the stone in only one hand now.
“I- I don’t know, it’s stupid, but you always tell me I can have whatever little thingy you find and- ugh” Steve interrupted himself with a groan, and a facepalm. “It’s just- I don’t know, you didn’t and I feel stupid about it now but… i guess i just… really like it” Steve said
“Hey Steve.” Eddie asked, smiling a soft smile.
“Yeah?” Steve felt like a total idiot, but he answered anyway.
“Would you like to keep the rock I found?” Eddie can’t contain his bright, gleaming smile.
Steve’s eyes started to tear up, “Yeah, yeah I do, Eds.” He smiled.
The night Eddie go home to his trailer, but instead had gone with Steve to his house (you couldn’t really call it a home, it looked like it was picked straight out of a magazine) and he watched as Steve pull out the box of every rock, trinket, or, to be frank, piece of garbage that Eddie had ever offered him -- Steve accepting every time. Eddie began to tear up, knowing that Steve had kept it all.
“Eds? What’s wrong?” Steve asked, having set down the rock in the box.
“You… you kept them?” Eddie said, tears beginning to well up.
“Of course I did, I mean… you gave them to me.” Steve smiled, walking over to Eddie, hugging him.
Eddie knew it probably wasn’t anything more than a platonic exchange, but Eddie wished it were more, because fuck, he really liked Steve. He liked Steve in a way he’d never liked anyone before -- sure Eddie had had dumb crushes before, but this? This was so much different than that. Eddie knew he had close to no chance, that if he told Steve, he would push him away and never want to hang out with him again, and Eddie just couldn’t bear that. He stayed quiet, soaking up as much as he could out of the embrace, but never taking it any further.
Steve pulled back -- Eddie knew it wouldn’t last forever, but he wished he could have paused the world at that moment, taking in every drop of Steve’s affection. Steve brought his hand to Eddie’s cheek, wiping away the tears that Eddie hadn’t noticed had fallen.
Steve paused.
“Eddie.” Steve whispered.
“Yeah?” Eddie responded, worried he’d accidentally leaned into Steve’s touch and he had noticed, or that he’d somehow taken things too far and ruined everything between the two of them.
“Can I kiss you?” Steve breathed.
Eddie’s heart both stopped and beat faster than it ever had -- the world stopped, whether in the good or bad way was yet to be determined, because of course, Eddie’s mind would tell him that Steve was just fucking around with him.
“W-what.” Eddie croaked out,
“I- I, um, said ‘Can I kiss you’” Steve swallowed.
Eddie’s eyes started to shine, whether with tears or hope -- or both, who was to tell.
“Yes, god, yes.” Eddie breathed out, smiling.
Steve lifted his hand once again to cup Eddie’s cheek, smiling before kissing him. Eddie was almost convinced this was a dream -- but he was really here, kissing Steve Harrington, the guy he definitely hasn’t had a pathetic crush on since sophomore year.
Steve pulled back -- and of course it makes Eddie second guess himself.
“Hey Eds.” Steve whispers, his face still so close to Eddie’s that Eddie can feel the warmth as Steve talks.
Eddie hums in response.
“Thank you for the rock.” Steve said before kissing him again.
Eddie was the one to put a pause in their shared affections this time -- he wrapped his arms around Steve, hiding his head in the crook of Steve’s neck. Steve hugged him back, but the hug felt different than the one they had shared only some minutes ago - much more romantic.
“Steve.” Eddie mumbled into his neck.
“Yeah, Eds, what’s up?” Steve replied.
“Does this mean… that you like me too?” Eddie asks.
Steve breaths out a short laugh, “Mhm… It does. Does that mean you like me back?” He says softly.
Eddie looks up at him, scoffing, “Only since forever, dumbass.” He says, before returning to Steve's neck.
Eddie smiles, “If you think about it, we kissed because you wanted a rock.” Eddie says into Steve’s neck, trying to hold back a giggle.
Steve rolls his eyes, trying (and failing) to hold back a smile, “Shut up.” He says, kissing the top of Eddie’s head, then Leading him over to his bed where the two cuddle, and kiss, until way to late into the night.
-
(A/N) hi hi!! i hope u liked that :) it was kinda a silly concept but i really like how it turned out :) if u did like it, a like or reblog would be SOOSOSOS appreciated!! love u <33
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#st#eddie#steve#steddie ficlet#steddie fic#st fic#stranger things fic#steddie fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#steveddie#steve x eddie#steve and eddie#eddie x steve#eddie and steve
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