#Eddie knows Steve and he knows Steve will have a cow if he finds out that he’s spilling secrets in his sleeps because:

[morganbritton132]

Eddie’s live-streaming in bed one night, just talking stream of consciousness style, because he can’t sleep. He’s been rambling on for a few hours when Steve rolls over towards him and put his hand on Eddie’s chest.

Steve’s in that not-quite-awake state that usually leads to sleepwalking but this time, he’s just listing off either a grocery list or ingredients for a meal. Either way, Eddie stops talking and grabs a pen and paper to write down what he’s saying in case it’s important.

Steve finishes up by saying, “…tomatoes, pie, it’s a secret.”

“Ooh, a secret?” Eddie teases. “Tell me all your secrets, Stevie.”

He’s joking. He’s not expecting to get an answer because rarely does he ever get a coherent response from Steve when he’s sleep-talking. So it’s surprising when Steve presses his finger into the space over Eddie’s heart and says, “Remember when I broke your guitar.”

All the fond amusement in Eddie’s voice drops out of it, “Yes. I remember when you broke the guitar my mom left me when she died.”

“Dustin broke it,” Steve yawns, rolling away from Eddie onto his back. “Didn’t want you to be mad at him.”

[steddie-as-they-come]

Steve's pinning his polaroids up on his wall when his new roommate walks in.

Steve's immediate thought is oh, I'm gonna hate this guy.

Shaggy hair, leather jacket, rings glinting off his fingers, electric guitar slung over his back. Hot as hell, but compared to Steve's polos and perfectly coiffed hair, they could not be more different.

The guy looks like he had the same thought. His shoulders slump as he takes in Steve's appearance.

A man comes in behind his roommate, toting a suitcase full of clothes. "Oh, are you Eddie's roommate?" he says to Steve, who shakes himself out of his thoughts.

"Yes, I am." he says politely. "I'm Steve Harrington."

The man sets down the suitcase. "Wayne Munson." he offers, shaking Steve's hand. "I'm Eddie's uncle."

He nudges Eddie forward, who lets out an almost inaudible groan. "Eddie." he says snippily, shaking Steve's hand.

This'll be a fun year, Steve thinks.

They don't talk. Steve didn't think he was going to be best friends with whoever he got saddled with, but he thought they could at least be civil to each other. Their room is split down the middle. Eddie's half is absolutely covered in posters and music and cutouts of magazines. Steve's is...almost as blank as his room back home.

He misses the shitheads.

No one can ever tell them that. They'll get even more insufferable.

Once or twice, when Steve comes back from a class, he'll catch Eddie peering at Steve's pictures, but he’ll jump away before Steve can call him out on it. It's awful. Steve misses Robin.

It takes him a horribly long amount of time to stop flinching awake at every little sound. He'd stored his nailbat under his bed, out of sight of Eddie, but every time someone yells in the hallway or shouts in the room next door, Steve startles awake, already grabbing his bat. Luckily, Eddie sleeps like the dead, because Steve's not sure he'd be able to explain the weapon without breaking his NDA.

It's three A.M., early November, when there's a knock on their door. Steve isn't asleep yet, so he stands and answers it.

Eight people pile in, talking in hushed whispers. They slam into him, knocking him over.

In the middle of the hug, Steve counts his kids. It's Dustin, nestled against his side, then Lucas, El, and Will under his arm, Max draped over his back, Erica leaning into his shoulder, and Mike on the very outskirts of the group. He pulls them all in tighter, and they all yelp and squawk at him.

"Let us go, Steve!" Erica says, annoyed.

"Nope." Steve says. "You came to find me at three in the morning, you can tolerate a hug."

"Shoo, move." another voice says, and all the kids part like the sea. Robin pushes her way through the group and hugs him tightly. "I don't know how you do it." she says to Steve. "Driving all these nerds around, it's exhausting."

He buries his face in her hair. "Missed you, Robbie." he mumbles.

She leans her head against his. "Missed you too, dingus."

Steve pulls back. "You got your license!"

"I did!" Robin jingles her keys happily.

Eddie sits up, and everyone in the room freezes. "Wha's happenin'?" he slurs sleepily. Then he registers all the people in the room. "Whoa, what the fuck?"

Steve stands up, brushing himself off. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't know they were coming." He shoots a glare at the group, who looks appropriately cowed. Minus Dustin. Steve can now see whose idea this was.

Eddie swings out of bed. "No, it's- wait, are these the kids from your polaroids?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, Erica, and this is my best friend Robin."

"Awww, you have polaroids of us?" Max teases over his shoulder. "That's sweet."

Steve reaches behind him and tussles her hair, shoving her gently. "Shut up, shithead."

"Your room is cool." Mike says. "Not Steve's side. But this part is cool!"

Steve glares at Mike, but Eddie grins big. "Thanks! I'm Eddie Munson." He shakes Mike's hand.

"Is that a DnD poster?" Will says. "That's amazing!"

"It certainly is!" Eddie says. "I used to DM back in high school. Played a bit too."

The nerdier section of the group reacts appropriately, oohing and ahhing, while Max and Erica just roll their eyes and nudge each other.

Steve hesitates. “I know these guys don’t really do anything on Saturday afternoons, and I think they’ve been wanting to start another campaign. Would you mind if they come up, maybe every weekend, and you can…” he doesn’t know enough about DnD “…run a game for them?”

Eddie looks amused. “You mean DM a campaign?”

“Yeah, that.” It’s an olive branch that Steve’s offering.

Eddie takes it. “Well, how can I turn that down? Sheepies of the Harrington flock, how would you like to join a new campaign?”

“I’ll keep the rest of you occupied,” Steve mutters as the guys (and El) start talking excitedly. “Max, Rob, you guys wanna find the closest arcade and set some new high scores?”

“Only one person will be setting high scores.” Max says, gesturing to herself, but she looks excited at the prospect.

Steve lets Eddie and the kids talk for a couple more minutes, then claps his hands. “Okay, it is three in the morning and I have a nine A.M. class tomorrow SO! I have enough blankets for all of you to sleep on the floor if Eddie doesn’t mind-“ Eddie shrugs. “Or Rob can drive you back home.”

Steve looks around and Robin is already in his bed, cuddled up like the blanket hog she is. “Okay, well, sleepover here it is then.”

He whisks out his ungodly amount of throw blankets (courtesy of Joyce’s knitting spree) and the kids get together in their usual movie-night-at-Steve’s cuddle position.

Will’s got his head on Mike’s shoulder, Lucas next to Mike, Max leaning on Lucas, El’s head in Max’s lap and her legs thrown over Dustin’s lap, and Erica with her back against Dustin’s shoulder. Sometimes Robin and Steve are wedged into the pile somewhere, but just as often they’re tangled up under six different blankets across the room, which is why Steve whispers “Scoot over, dumbass,” as he climbs into bed next to Robin.

Eddie watches them assume their positions with an expression of what could be awe on his face. “When I saw those pictures,” he whispered, “I thought they were like your siblings? Or maybe old pictures of your friends. I didn’t think you were a soccer mom.”

Steve glares at him, but unlike earlier in the year, there’s no heat behind it. “Hope you like coparenting then, because these guys need to be watched 24/7 or they’ll run off and start the apocalypse.”

Eddie laughs like it’s a joke. To him it is. He hops back into bed. “Goodnight, weird little family.”

The kids murmur a collective sleepy goodnight, and Steve shuts his eyes.

It’s the most relaxed he’s felt since he moved in.

part two!

[runningupthatvecna]

get the peach(es)

bestfriend!eddie munson x reader

it's the day after chrissy got vecna'd and you and the gang decide to check up on eddie at rick's. he's still in so much distress that you can't help but selflessly stay with your best friend (who you've been harboring a crush on for quite some time) and keep him company. 6k words, not proofread.

cw: the good old friends to lovers trope, eddie is an anxious bean who just needs to be held (by you, ideally), mutual (and not so secret at all) pining, i wrote this with fem!reader in mind (she/her pronouns) but can also be read as gn i guess, fluff, hurt/comfort (for eddie), pet names, mentions of chrissy's death, there shall be kisses and a lot of softness. nothing too explicit but minors are still advised to LEAVE

a/n: totally not self indulgent, that scene of him being so terrified in 4x02 ripped me to shreds so this is my fix-it attempt, trying to still my need to hold him and scratch his head. disclaimer: this piece of writing is based on the ending of that episode, meaning all credits for the setting go to the respective writers. sources to the header images here, here and here. lovely divider by saradika. ok thank you so much for reading byeeee love y'all <3

–––––

The overwhelming need to befriend the satanic metalhead found you at that party at the Wheeler house. You had almost said no to Nancy when she invited you, knowing damn well how the night would end. Steve passed out with a girl on his lap, Robin silently pining after Vickie from some corner of the room while clinging onto the red plastic cup in her hand, Jonathan getting higher than a kite with his old school mates, the younger kids asking you every five minutes if you could give them a ride since you usually were the one staying sober.

Additionally this time, there would be Eddie Munson. This familiar stranger Dustin, Mike and Lucas had met and somehow befriended over the last months, due to them joining his DnD club. "He might come off as a bit intimidating ... but I promise he's super chill and easy going!", Mike had tried to convince his sister, poking the tip of her shoulder repeatedly with a bunch of pleases during lunch break in the editing room of the school's newspaper. Until she rolled her eyes theatrically and agreed to let the ambiguous stranger, which the whole town collectively perceived as not really fitting in (and who you both certainly knew under the not so chill reputation he carried around), attend the celebratory events at Casa Wheeler. Occasion: Karen, Ted and their youngest leaving the house for more than one day, off on vacation.

You'd always kinda stayed out of his ways, used to observe his antics back at school with a silent laugh and this .. intrigue poking at your guts. To you he always stood out, and if anyone asked you'd be hesitant to admit it, but his willingness to go against the flow and not conform to the acceptable standards set by society was honestly impressive. And besides, surely this whole mysterious drug dealer rockstar image must just be a fassade and deep down he's just a dork, right?

His eyes follow you through the living room, an echo of your name crossing his mind repeatedly after having pulled Dustin into a corner for a brief interrogation. He finds it endearing how quickly and almost bashfully you look away every time your curious gaze meets his. As you redirect your focus to the conversation you're becoming engaged in, there's a soft smile creeping onto your lips. Little did he know it would soon start to haunt him in his dreams at night.

"Anything specific you're looking for?"

God, his voice. The close proximity invites your nose to inhale a mix of fresh cigarette smoke, bergamot and sandalwood, allowing you to sense what can only be him standing behind you as you skim through the cabinets of the Wheeler kitchen. You turn your head for your eyes to confirm your assumption and what they find is the deepest brown of round baby cow eyes they've ever met, up so much closer now. The paring of his gaze and plush smile somehow manages to dissolve every little prejudice you've been involuntarily harboring about him. Eddie Munson, the town's freak. Prime reason for the existence of the satanic panic. Drugs. And then you realise that you should probably do the polite thing and give him an answer. "Yeah uh, I was just trying to find the peach syrup", holding his gaze with a small lopsided smile, lost in its warmth which you wouldn't have dared to expect from it, before facing away from him again. He snorts a little, "peach syrup?", pauses to bring a thumb to his upper lip, lightly scratching the skin above as if to wipe something away, before he removes it again and the dimples appear around the corners of his mouth, "that is oddly specific." His response spreads a smile over your face, and the next thing he says widens it, "looks like you have taste though."

You move one step to the side, about to investigate the insides of the next cabinet, the kitchen itself almost empty of people with only three others chatting away in the corner across the island. He follows, undoubtedly trying to stay close, and the heat from the fire he just ignited somewhere inside of you rises to your cheeks. "Thanks, I really like peaches. Especially in my drinks. It adds a little ... kick to my sobriety", you explain, Eddie now quirks an amused eyebrow paired with a lopsided smile at you, and as you get to the last cabinet it dawns on you (and also Eddie) that this household severely lacks peach syrup. An atrocity. Thanks Ted.

After he helped you rummage through the entirety of the kitchen without success but under a lot of small talk, the metalhead vanishes from the function for an hour or so. At least that's what your brain concludes when your vision fails to spot him among the people who are in attendance. Maybe he's selling out of Nancy's bedroom. Maybe he's puking up his insides in the bathroom because he had too much of that weird beer he's been downing all night. Maybe he's banging some random girl in the bathroom upstairs. Or summoning a demon. Or both. At the same time. You once again try focusing your attention back to the conversation you are involved in. Munson already feels so dear to you that the lack of his presence is starting to form an ache in your heart. It's tugging on those strings with how much you already want him near you. Yeah. You're gonna be in trouble with this one.

And then he stumbles into the room from the direction of the front door, an event you're totally unable (and unwilling) to miss. He doesn't look like he just puked, nor sold a whole lot of the stash since you notice it still bulging out the left ass pocket of his black jeans. Instead, as he pushes past the small groups of people socialising – and towards you – while you notice a red net of round fruits dangling from his right hand, and you start to think that his disheveled hair and that rosy tint on his cheeks might actually not be from shagging either. He meets your gaze again as he approaches you with a grin and your heart dares to swell at his attentive gesture (you think you might as well pass away on the spot).

"Have some, peach."

It's not syrup, but you'll take them anyway. And with your next drink, you swallow down not only that peachy sweetness on your tongue, but also whatever this tingly feeling in your chest is.

"Chchhrhch.."

Pause.

"Hey, uh– chrhchhr.."

Silence in your bedroom, the only thing illuminating the space is the moonlight softly falling through the window.

"Chrch– a-are you there?"

You stirr awake from dozing off in your bed, trying to piece together the information your senses are giving you.

Eyes gone dry, you have to blink a few times. Figure out which year it is and so on.

Confusion lies between the static crackle for a moment. That nap after your shift at the diner was necessary. God, you need to fucking quit.

"No I'm sure she'll pick right up, just– hey pleeease b-be awake, goddamn it!–"

Is it already past midnight?

You don't know and you can't tell, the clock on your nightstand still broken. What you do know though is that the familiar voice belongs to your friend Dustin and it's desperately trying to get ahold of you.

They must have found him.

"Dustin? I copy, where are you? What's going on?", you finally grab the device from the nightstand, fully awake and aware of your surroundings now.

You need to know. If he's okay.

There's that all too familiar instant tingle in your chest again, an ache that made itself familiar to you for the first time when he was introduced to you at the one and only Wheeler party several months ago. The dungeon master of Hawkins High's Hellfire club, the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin and a super chill and easy going guy, to put it in Mike Wheeler's words.

What you didn't expect back then was your heart starting to develop that feeling, that tingle you'd always get to feel when you were in his presence, or like now, when his name is threatening to spill from your friend's lips on the other side of the connection at any moment.

"Aha! See? I told you she'd respond in no time."

You can practically feel Dustin's shit eating grin through the frequency, basking in being correct over Steve Harrington once again. It never gets old between these two.

"Oh my god", Steve's muffled voice is what you can make out vaguely from the off, he's probably palming his face.

"Dustin!", your voice disappears into the device, and your impatience grows with every passing second, hoping he gets the hint.

There's the sound of a door falling shut, leaves rustling under shoes, he must be outside now.

"Alright, okay yeah, so we found him at Rick's and he's really upset and he's been asking for you. I know it's late but can you meet us out here? And maybe, uh, stay with him?"

It's not even worth questioning. You're already wearing shoes. Your biggest hoodie in tow, you stumble into your kitchen with the intention to raid your own snack drawer. Pulling out Eddie's favourite, which you of course had stocked up on ever since hanging out with him at your place had become more of a weekly routine for the both of you.

Ten minutes, you told him. You'd be there in ten.

The drive feels like forever. The longest ten minutes of your life, you think.

You know the route like the back of your hand, having driven along the gravelly road leading from the last intersection before Hawkins' border to the outer world, to the serene woods surrounding Lover's Lake countless times. Eddie would take you here ever so often, for picnics, an occasional smoke after picking up a new delivery from Rick's, cloud or star gazing, listening to Metallica and Tears for Fears on Wayne's old walkman.

The gravel crunches underneath your white reeboks as they land on the ground. You close the door to your car as quietly as possible after you've taken out the bag and your hoodie.

Dustin and Steve are stood outside the boathouse, waving like madmen in the darkness once you come into their periphery.

The younger boy hugs you tightly.

"So glad you could make it", he gets out, the relief palpable through his voice as well as the grip he holds you in for a brief moment.

You look at them both after Steve presses you against him cordially, and breathe out through your nose, making your nostrils flare.

Dustin cracks open the case to you as he starts to ramble about the state in which they found your best friend, "well first he attacked Steve with a broken bottle, we had to put in great effort to convince him that we'd be on his side, and we came to the conclusion that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, basically."

What you want right now goes without saying. Everyone here knows how close you and Eddie are. As friends, of course. No one would think anything different.

Without wasting another second, the boys lead you inside where Max and Robin are knelt on the wooden floor. Heads turning towards the entrance of the room where you're now standing.

The sight of what's offered to your eyes, sitting opposite of them, breaks your heart.

You can see that he's slightly shivering, eyes glassy in the dim lit room. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips though once his brain grasps your presence, and he can't help anymore but let the water fall once his eyes lock with yours.

The pain that is swimming in those two deep warm brown oceans hits you like a dagger to the chest. Over the months of being friends with him you'd seen him various different states, none of them comparable to this.

"Peach", his shaky voice announces your arrival and the sound of your nickname spilling from his lips cracks through your bones. The bag that's slung around your shoulder drops onto the wood with a dull thud.

Wobbly legs carry him towards you with a gentle shove past Robin and Max. You're once again reminded of your best friend's sheer physical strength as he wraps his arms around you, instantly burying his face into the crook of your neck.

One arm of your own sneaks around his torso, pressing him against you as tightly as your own strength allows you, while your other hand comes up to bury itself underneath the mane and to end up scratching soothingly over the scalp above the nape of his neck.

Eddie lets out a muffled sob, sniffling into the collar of the sweatshirt you threw on in a haste. He doesn't really want anyone to see him like this, certainly not Steve Harrington, so he clutches onto you so tightly that he thinks you might just feel his heavy heart beating anxiously against your chest.

And you do. How could you not with the amount of world he means to you? Like an automatism your other hand rubs slow circles over his back. Comforting him in the best way you could. Not a conscious decision you make.

"Okay so, m'not meaning to ruin the party, in fact I'd love to stay for another round of doom talk, but I really should get home soon, guys", Robin scratches the back of her head after she gets up from her huddled position next to the wooden crate Eddie had been sitting on. Max joins in and agrees, mumbling something about having to move her mom from being passed out on the couch again into her bed.

"Yeah me too, actually. My dad's gonna be fucking pissed. We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?", Steve's voice echoes through the room and you can tell he's already shoved Dustin back outside, itching to drive the kid home.

As Eddie processes having to stay in hiding, added the possibility of everyone leaving without him, his grip on you tightens even more.

"It's okay, Eds", you speak softly, head slightly tilted so your cheek rests on the dark frizzy mop you could call his hair. The skin on his neck and scalp so warm underneath your fingertips as you keep scratching it, emphasizing your presence, "I'll stay."

A soft muffled whimper is what you get as a response, and the way he lets you see him in this state melts your insides to a puddle.

You just need him to be okay.

They wave their goodbyes behind your back, accompanied by mumbles of "see you in the morning", and you can't even bring yourself to turn your head around, fully focused on making the young man in your arms less terrified of the world. A world he was sure was now going to come for him with all its force – in deep conviction of him being responsible for Chrissy's misfortunate end.

The door falls shut and Eddie muffles a quiet thank you into the fabric of your sweatshirt. The skin on your neck is damp with his tears, wet eyelashes tickling every time he blinks.

"It's okay, Eds", you softly keep repeating your words to him while continuously rubbing over the denim of his signature Dio vest in a slow motion, when he feels the urgency to claim the truth into the collar of your sweater about what has happened, "I– I didn't do it, I swear."

As if you would need any convincing.

"Oh no of course you didn't, I know that", you're looking for a way to ease the distress this entire situation is causing him, his quivering voice adding to your desire to soothe him to inner peace, "can I make a suggestion?"

Eddie nods with another sniffle against your collarbone, the round wet tip of his nose brushing against the column of your throat lightly. To his ears, your voice sounds like silk right about now.

"How about we head over to the main house and get ourselves a little more comfortable? Since we're gonna be here for a little longer? My god you probably haven't slept or eaten at all, have you?"

You can feel him nod his head again with a hum this time, and you start to think that the tears might not just be pouring because he just witnessed someone suffer a gruesome death right in front of him, but also due to physical exhaustion.

It makes your heart ache even more, that tingle still present, even more so now. It hurts to see your best friend hurt.

He just needs to be okay. And in that heart of yours there's that little spark of hope that leads you to believe you could be the one helping him with that.

You'd really want that. Be all his to find comfort in, to hold close, to kiss stupid

Stop.

A sigh escapes your lungs at the thought. That tingle, that longing, it's selfish. It familiarly pools in your belly and slowly drips downwards. You push your brain aside. This is about soothing your best friend now.

"C'mon then", you utter softly, encouraging him with your hand to lift his head from where it leans against your shoulder.

For your heart it's almost too much to look at, the hurt still swimming in the glassy big brown irises, his waterline red and puffy. The soft smile returning to his lips causes the wet apples of his cheeks to push up slightly, reflecting the dim light coming from the one torch Robin left you, placed on one of the crates.

He really hadn't been able to close an eye for a single second since he he'd gotten up for school the day prior.

You smile back at him almost bashfully as you slowly create space between your bodies.

Eddie is grateful that it's you who grabs his ringed hand next.

He squeezes yours, hoping to get the message of this meaning something to him across.

And he closely trails behind you as you lead the way.

The house feels empty, like no one's really been here in months. You'd never been inside. The few times you'd accompanied Eddie grabbing stash you'd stayed in his van, waiting. But as far as you now can make out in the darkness, there's a couch with knitted blankets, a little TV with a whole stack of VHS almost rising as high as the screen itself, spilled and spluttered empty cans and papers and wrappings littered all around. Maybe this is why he never let you come inside with him. Keeping you out of this definitely not sterile mess. Along with keeping you out of the business.

In the middle of the living room, you let go of his hand and shuffle one step away from him. He's inside now. Safe. Job done. Doesn't need physical contact. You shouldn't, he's your friend. You feel like something between you would break if you'd go there.

Eddie thinks otherwise, regarding close proximity at least. He promptly follows you into what you believe to be the kitchen where you hope you might find a tea bag or two. He comes up behind you and encases you in his arms as you rummage through the cabinets (feels familiar, hm?), not at all ready to say goodbye to the warmth of your body pressed against his own just yet.

You giggle at the silliness of him putting weight on you just to make it harder for you to reach into the cabinets. It's endearing. And very Eddie.

Twenty minutes later and there's two mugs – cleaned to your best ability – with steaming hot liquid on the sixties wooden coffee table. Next to them a plate filled with the almost equally hot insides of a ravioli in tomato sauce can. Thank Rick for a still functioning microwave.

You drape the knitted blankets over both you and Eddie as you settle into the cushions. The only light existent coming from two lit candles on said coffee table. It wouldn't be too wise setting up the torch you think.

The side of Eddie's face glows in the orange yellow, his wide brown bambi eyes dried after the first grand storm, and there's this tug on the corner of his pink plush lips again. He exchanged his leather jacket for the freshly washed hoodie for comfort and a small part of you hopes he doesn't spill his dinner onto any of it.

You lean back into the backrest of the worn out couch and watch as he eats, a domestic thing you've done a thousand times already, yet you still find comfort in knowing that he's nourishing himself.

Or well, in this case, inhaling the raviolis.

"Thank you Peach", he moves to put the empty plate back on the coffee table and it makes the spoon chink and glide along the edge, "I really needed this."

His voice is a little hoarse, probably from the emotions of the hours behind him. Maybe he has indeed calmed down a little. His hand moves down to your thigh, squeezing.

You give him the most empathetic smile you can bring yourself to display, painfully aware of the blaze that is transpiring through your leggings and seeping into your bones, "it's no big deal, really. I mean it is– uh, being there for you, is."

And he can't bring himself to look up at you. Instead, he stares at the empty plate on that coffee table in front of him.

"And to me as well. It really helps that you're here."

He doesn't bother moving the calloused warmth of his hand from the soft warmth of your thigh. It lights your entire nervous system on fire. In a good way.

And that's when you begin to wonder if everything that has just happened and is still happening right now changes anything.

"I'm so glad it does", is all you're able to get out.

Eddie decides that it's time to lean into your side and wrap his arms around your torso once again, drop his head back to its favourite place with a soft content little hum.

He just needs physical comfort. Of course. Just that. Nothing more, nothing else.

The words are redundant but your mouth articulates them anyway, "try to get some sleep, yeah?"

His back already lifts and falls evenly. You place your hand on the back of his head that rests in the crook of your neck again, scratching through the curls lightly, searching to help him shut off even deeper.

–––––

The candles have gone out by the time your eyelids slowly open. It takes you a moment to recall the location you fell asleep in, and you hope that the nightly darkness the whole room is now filled with hasn't invited any stranger to take advantage of your unconsciousness.

There's a warm hand holding your face, the pad of a thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek softly. It makes its way from the bridge of your nose to the outer corner of your eye, and back. And forth. And back. And forth.

You must have moved to lie down on your back in your sleep, with Eddie's weight still on your body, legs entangled. It's not the first time you've slept like this, there had been movie nights that had ended similarly.

His hand caressing your cheek though, yeah that is new. There's something unspoken in the air this time around. Your stomach is doing flip flops when you realise that he is propped up on his elbow, just .. looking at you. With eyes that don't require light to hint at whatever it is he is trying to say, or maybe not trying at all.

"Eds, what are you doing?", you ask almost in a whisper followed by a lopsided smile, expecting an unserious answer, because he always tends to make a joke whenever he tries to avoid conversing about emotions regarding his heart.

His thumb stops its acrobatics on your cheek, comes to a halt.

"I'm–", he takes a deep breath before he continues, "I'm just so grateful it's you that's here right now."

Your hand comes up to cup his. Brush over his rough knuckles with a thumb of your own. Enjoying the warmth that is seeping from his palm into your skin.

"Yeah, I figured you were gonna be a little opposed to spending the night with Harrington", you laugh, an attempt to turn your nerves into humour.

Eddie snorts a little, "yeah right, it's almost like you know me", he grins and pushes himself even closer to your face than he already is. It doesn't necessarily help in extinguishing the fire that's consuming you whole at this point.

"It's almost like we're best friends and I know what you think of him because every time Dustin or literally anyone else mentions his name around you, you're not necessarily secretive about it."

"Hey, my own worldview is not my fault, it's just– ... he just kinda seems like a douche of the highest order."

"He's quite alright, Eds. Try giving him a chance, I think he'd look great as Coffin's tambourinist."

He snorts again and you feel his breath on the column of your neck next when he dips his head down, nose pressing against the soft skin, his small giggle being swallowed by the collar of your sweatshirt.

Your favourite sound. Ever. Followed by the relieved moan Eddie lets out at the way your other hand is softly rubbing over his shoulder blade. The vibration against your neck makes you twitch as much as being pinned into the couch cushions by his body allows you.

It's soothing as much for you as it is for him.

When he lifts his head, the soft gaze he eyes you with is enough to let the goosebumps erupt. Even in the darkness of the room you can still make out those round buttons that could melt the entire north pole.

"Thank you, Peach, really. I'd be goin' mental right now and probably tryin' to counter that by smoking an equally mental amount of the stash I've been hiding here."

Your heart aches.

"I'm just glad I can be that kind of comfort to you, Eds. You don't have to go through whatever the fuck this is alone."

"I know I'm never gonna be alone as long as you are there."

You almost cry yourself now, his words making your hand travel from his own to his cheek, almost passing out from the way his eyes bore into your own once again.

Eddie isn't sure what it is that is making him feel lightheaded right now. The whole rollercoaster of events of the past hours. Or your words of affirmation. Or mayhaps it is your cute soft hand with that little ring on your thumb which is gently swiping over his damp skin.

That cute soft hand he'd been imagining countless times at night, silently yearning for your eyes to look at him differently, to finally see him in a different light the next time you'd hang out.

Probably a combination of just everything.

You reciprocate his soft half-lidded gaze, hand moving from his cheek to tuck some of his hair behind his left ear, revealing that delicate silver hoop earring you'd gifted to him for his birthday, after having talked your ear off about getting his ear pierced for literal months.

He'd insisted you join him for the appointment, "another metal moment for the books", as Eddie had called it, the need to have his hand held during the stab comically urgent in the way his voice sounded when he called you that day. And in the pace in which he picked you up.

"I'm here no matter what", you respond to his sentiment, that hand that brushed his hair away resting on the side of his neck while leaning the weight of your head into his palm that is still attached to your cheek.

Eddie's confidence reaches a new all time high with the admission of your unconditional support being stirred into the cocktail of hormones and emotions that's been circulating in his bloodstream for a generous amount of time now.

Because then he goes on by saying impossible things.

Impossible things with a slightly less platonic undertone.

"You're so fucking sweet, has anyone ever told you?"

You smile as you shake your head, heat rising to your cheeks once again and you're sure he won't be able to see just how flustered he's getting you (joke's on you he does).

You're also sure he's out of his mind for saying that. Now.

"A shame, honestly. You should scold your best friend for not telling you sooner. Tell him what a fucking idiot he is."

Eddie earns another giggle from you. Music to his ears. Better than Metallica. Okay maybe not but .. pretty fucking close.

"I'll let him know next time I see him", you say with a grin, playing along with pleasure, and you ask yourself why it is only now that you realise just how fucking close his face is to yours.

There is a moment of silence in which Eddie hesitates articulating whatever is seemingly bugging his mind.

"Do you, uh, still like him?"

If you lifted your head just a little your noses would be touching. A silly and utmost redundant question, and yet, Eddie dreads your answer. If the circumstances were different, less dystopian and tragic, you'd seriously wonder what would spark the doubt in your friendship in him, but considering that everyone else would be going to pour their judgement over him, you understand.

Every word exchanged between the two of you at this hour is soaked in mutual infatuation, something the idiots in both of you are slowly starting to fathom as well.

"Of course I do, he's everything to me."

As you say it, you can't help the grin which reappears reliably each time you finish verbalizing your thoughts. It's contagious, you notice.

"And do you think – just hypothetically of course", it's only then he breaks eye contact to clear his throat, "of course", you interrupt him still smiling and cocking an eyebrow at him, "d'ya think it would be okay for this best friend to, uh, maybe...", Eddie pauses, internally watching the ship containing his confidence set sail slowly and ultimately letting the irrational thoughts win for tonight, "would you let him..."

Eddie generally wasn't someone who lacked confidence. It showed in the way he boisterously wandered the halls of Hawkins High, the way his demeanor never changed, his mask never faltered no matter who was around. Except for you. You who he had always granted a look underneath the impulsive, extroverted surface.

"Eds", you try everything in your power to stay calm even though everything inside of you is screaming right now and you're certain you can feel your pulse in your earlobes.

"Would it be just insane of that best friend to kiss you right now?"

You want to squeal and kick your feet, pull him into your face, pinch your own forearm, pass away, leave the house and never return, and stay right where you are forever, buried underneath your favourite metalhead, the parts where your bodies are touching practically on fire, cosy and content.

Instead, the most fond smile spreads over your lips as you try to contain your internal overwhelm.

It's still dark, the only light source being the full moon outside. Eddie's so hopeful of your reciprocation and even more terrified of ruining his entire life at the same time, those deep doe eyes at this point pretty much resemble the shape of the space rock orbiting earth. Rejection from you, his pretty Peach and the Bonnie to his Clyde, would be unbearable.

"I think so," you almost whisper, the hand that's been rubbing over Eddie's back coming up to lightly trace one of his eyebrows with your index finger because you just can't seem to not touch him in some way, "but you should know that I love his insanity."

Your small giggle is being silenced by a soft and cautious kiss from Eddie Munson. Like he doesn't want to break you. Or he's afraid you'll snap out of a haze, slap him and leave if he starts kissing you like he really wants to.

And then it's you who goes for it, you feel at home, right where you belong, you don't think you've ever felt this good. The hand on his jaw tugs him closer softly, pressing your lips to his with a bit more urgency.

It gives him all the confirmation he could possibly need.

That tingle, it grows and fills up your chest and shoots through your entire being, goosebumps and all. Eddie moans and breathes against your lips, tongue dancing over the thin skin, asking for permission.

His ringed hand digs deeper and slowly moves to the nape of your neck, intending to hold you in place, afraid you could slip away from him if he didn't. This blossoming thing between you could slip away from him. If he didn't.

It's so soft, the way his lips touch yours, and before you know it they move to your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck before Eddie comes up again, smiling from ear to ear, to gently bump his nose against the tip of yours and his lips return home with a soft and deep hum escaping from his lungs into your mouth.

Relief floods his veins along with whatever it is you're doing to him. The ability to shut out the insanity of the past hours is what he so desperately wants to cling to for as long as you allow him, even if the dawn will remind him of the horrid reality he's involuntarily become subject to live through now.

"You're making things so much better, Peach, you're so sweet, so fucking cute, so fucking good for me, do you even know for how long I've been dreaming of this?"

Eddie greedily pulls your face into his again, not even giving you a chance to reply and not nearly getting enough of your affection it seems with how fervently his tongue searches for yours.

A gentle collision of skin.

The soft whimpers you let out only spur him on. You not backing away from him, staying with him, letting him be this close to you?

You, the only constant source of consolation Eddie's ever really had.

Life changing.

Soft touches follow soft touches, your thumb traces his jaw repeatedly.

"You don't–", kiss, "for how long–", kiss, "I've been dreaming–", kiss, "of you as well", you breathe against him and Eddie thinks he might be about to resort to sniffling into your collar again with the amount of relief he is experiencing.

You'd let him.

"Yeah?", he presses his nose into your cheek with his eyes closed, smiling from ear to ear, relaxing his entire body into yours as you let him slide inbetween your legs.

"Yeah, you know how much of a sucker I am for peaches", you grin, another peck to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, your hips slowly finding a rhythm against his own.

Eddie groans at your allusion with a wide grin on his face (and the feeling of your warmth against his dick), before pressing his lips against yours again lovingly, "me too baby, me too."

–––

taglist (thought you might be interested): @josephfakingquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @analogkraken, @wroteclassicaly, @songforeddiemunson, @joejoequinnquinn, @somnambulic-thing, @trashmouth-richie, @eddddiemunson, @ceriseheaven, @userchai

comments, reblogs and other forms of affection towards the author are greatly appreciated thank youuuuu <3

[sarcasticassian]

one day in Family Video Robin and Eddie are talking about films, some gay, some not and Steve is half listening but he eventually decides to join in because hey he’s watched a film with a gay couple in it before so that counts right? He tells the others this, feeling quite proud of himself and they both look kinda incredulous and so Steve, feeling helpful, is like I’ll go find them hang on, we should have copies

and Robin is dumbfounded because the only gay movie Family Video, because it’s right there in the name this place is mainly for families, have is The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Robin is pretty sure that’s because Keith didn’t know what he was ordering in because he admitted he’d never seen it but her and Eddie watch Steve trot off to the sci fi section, sharing confounded looks and waiting for him to return in silence

Steve comes back clutching three tapes to his chest and proceeds to drop the Star Wars trilogy onto the counter in between Eddie and Robin, he looks so proud of himself as he leans into Eddie for a moment blinking his big cow eyes at him, like he’s waiting for approval, Eddie decides for once in his life to keep his mouth shut until he’s figured out just what he’s supposed to say

Robin has no such qualms though and just states a fact for them all ‘this is Star Wars, Steve’, ‘yeah! kinda crazy, right?’, ‘sorry, where is there a gay couple in Star Wars? I know you and Dustin watch them a lot but I feel like I’d have noticed’, Steve’s expression drops slightly and Eddie feels so bad because Steve looks like a sad sad puppy and Eddie wants to wrap him up in a giant cuddle

‘are the robots not gay?’ is what softly breaks the momentary silence that has settled between the three of them

‘they sure are’ Eddie blurts out, determined to keep Steve happy and it works because a smile blooms across Steve’s face again and he nods to himself, leaning against Eddie again instead of on the counter like he normally would, Robin stares and Eddie narrows his eyes and then she’s nodding along too, ‘oh yeah, yeah, how could I forget about those funky little guys? they’re definitely married’

and the conversation moves on, Robin recalling Steve and Dustin’s nerdy handshake which makes Steve press his face into Eddie’s shoulder to hide his burning cheeks when Eddie crows in delight and they only send each other a little smirk the next time the Party is watching Star Wars with them and 40 years down the line Eddie sends Steve a tweet about R2D2 and C3PO having gay vibes and Steve starts cackling in the middle of his 9th graders history test and they all demand an extra five minutes because he distracted them all

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddiemicrofic September challenge.

Take a Picture, It'll Last Longer

September Prompt: Shower | Word Count: 399 | Rating: M | CW: Locker Room Nudity | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Set During S2, Hitting the Showers, Steve Harrington Has A Big Dick, And Eddie Munson Can't Help But Notice

Eddie always waits until the crowd clears a bit before he finds a spot around the circle of showerheads. He doesn't like this part of the day, but he doesn't like to smell like a sweaty ball sack, either.

So, he waits his turn, sprawled across the wooden bench in the locker room, debating on if he'd get away with lighting up a cigarette. Maybe, but he really doesn't need another suspension. Or a third senior year.

When he sees the last of the loud, grab-assing jocks exit, he heaves himself to standing, heading towards the shower room. 

And is promptly stunned by the sight of naked Steve Harrington, head tilted back, water spraying on his face like he's in a goddamn porno.

Eddie's stuck. Eyes unable to look away, as they just rove over Steve's body, going down, down, down.

He's fucking big. 

A shower in the shower.

That's all Eddie can think. Steve's a shower, not a grower, and Eddie's transfixed, knowing he shouldn't be staring, but he's still gonna, and if he gets caught, well, fuck it. Worth it. Harrington can whip his ass if he wants. 

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Steve says, eyes still closed, and Eddie isn't sure how he even knows Eddie's there.

"Does it have its own headshots to pass out to the fan club?"

And Steve barks a laugh at that, opening his eyes, meeting Eddie's. 

"Now there's an idea," Steve says smiling, totally unbothered. Eddie would be unbothered too, if his dick was that big hanging soft against his thigh. King Steve might be dethroned, but he's clearly still well-deserving of his confidence.

Eddie steps up to the adjacent showerhead, turning the handle, starting his own spray. Steve hands him the bar of soap, and this is the most homoerotic thing he's ever experienced. He takes it, lathering it up in his hands.

"What's it like being a shower?" Eddie asks.

"Wouldn't know," Steve says, all easy-like, as he rinses his hair, "I'm a grower."

"Fuck," Eddie hisses, like he's been scalded, only the water is lukewarm at best now that he's the cow's tail to getting showered.

Steve laughs, and the movement of his arm catches Eddie's attention, eyes following it downwards. Steve cups his cock, and then he meets Eddie's eyes, wet lashes making him look even prettier, "Wanna see?"

Fuck yes, Eddie wants to see.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and follow along with the fun! 🚿

Notes: I couldn't resist the shower/shower homograph of it all for this prompt.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 66

part 1 | part 65 | ao3

cw: i don’t do drugs, dad, it’s only marijuana

“Uh,” Steve splutters, choking on his own spit. “Is that wise?”

It’s a question Eddie gives zero fucks about, apparently, because he’s already lighting a joint — cherry bright, shadows sharp, chin held aloft as he hollows his cheeks. “Extremely,” he croaks, blowing smoke out in a thick ring.

Steve’s mouth flattens to a frown. “Literally how?” he begs to know. “I thought we were supposed to be, like, fortifying our defenses. Building our mind shields or whatever the fuck.”

“Au contraire, mon frère.” Eddie takes a hit and holds it. “We are fighting a psychic wizard. Therefore…” Another toke, another trail of perfect smoke rings, ducklings lined up big to small. “It stands to reason that we should trash his battlefield.”

It stands to reason we should what?

“…Ohhhhhh,” Steve nods when he gets it. He reaches up to take the joint, tipping his chin in thanks when Eddie slots it into the V of his fingers, and squints as he sips in a quick puff; adds a French inhale at the end of a second huge hit. Eddie’s not the only one who knows how to do cool tricks. “So this is like the time we let a bunch of cows loose on Thompson’s field the night before the homecoming game.”

“Yeah, exactly— well- well, no, actually, not like that, what in the Indiana bumpkin fuck—? Never mind.” Eddie tosses his hair and rocks on his heels, and Steve can’t help but snort as he watches him shake himself clear like a little Eddie Etch-A-Sketch. “Important things only,” Eddie mumbles to himself. “Essentials,” he’s saying, “Essentials. What are essentials?”

And meanwhile Steve is saying: “Eddie-A-Sketch.”

Eddie hollers a startled cackle as he whips his head around, his face all squiggly with confusion, brows pinched, nostrils flared. “Steve, what the hell?”

Steve giggles uncontrollably. “Etch-A-Skeddie? No—”

“Holy shit.” He scrubs his hands down his face and laughs weakly at the ceiling. “How much weed did you just smoke?”

From anyone else it would sound like scolding, but Eddie just pulls out a few more joints, sticks three in his mouth at once, and mumbles good-naturedly, “Lemme catch up, I guess. Christ.”

While Eddie smokes enough weed to briefly hotbox a room with a hole in the floor, Steve watches the water ripple, spellbound by shimmering shapes in the dark for what feels like decades until he remembers all at once that it fucking sucks in here. It’s cold, and he’s starving, and his back is kinda stiff. “Hey…”

He looks over his shoulder, rolling into the stretch. Eddie’s doing some weird noodly shit in a corner, bent at the waist with his arms pretzeled overhead, swinging side to side, the ends of his hair sweeping the dusty, splintered planks. “Hey! Eddie.”

“Hmm?”

“Weren’t we supposed to be finding supplies?”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie swings himself upright; starts pacing back and forth. “Shit, yeah. What did we need?”

“Besides food and water?”

“Booze!” He steps onto a pile of boxes just to hop back down again. “Booze, music, more drugs…”

More drugs. Great idea.

Steve plucks the stubby remnant of a joint up off the floor; Eddie spins around on tiptoe to peer out the boathouse window, and when he looks back at Steve he’s got a Cheshire cat grin. “Say, Steve-o. Stevie boy. Svennie—”

“I’ll kill you,” Steve coughs around a mouthful of smoke.

“Since I’m pretty sure we’re one hundred percent going to jail for, uh. All of this…” He waves his arms around at their whole situation, then gestures invitingly to the house at the top of the hill. “Whaddaya say we add breaking and entering to the list?”

—

part 67

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Losing It

steddie, omegaverse, virginity kink, loss of virginity, mdni 🔞

Steve has always been good, and good omegas kept their legs closed. His mother loved to say, “No one buys the cow when they can get the milk for free.”

Which, gross. He isn’t a cow, and any milk he has will be for his pups, thank you very much. But his mom clearly knows what she’s talking about—former stewardess who landed a hotshot business man at 21 and got him to build her a house just close enough to her dirt poor parents to rub it in. Who got pregnant a year later, stopping after Steve because, “Pregnancy is miserable, Steven. I could barely keep anything down with you! I lost weight and still got stuck with stretch marks!”

She only started saying that after he presented, while the cow thing started much earlier. Mostly about his father’s secretaries. And anyone in short skirts.

But his mother always would say, “You’re such a good omega, Stevie. So sweet and pure. You’re going to make an alpha very happy someday. Just make sure you get what you deserve first.”

Robin says his mom gave him a complex, fucked him up. “Seriously, Steve, it’s like a fetish. You get off on blue-balling your dates,” she says one night while Steve is shelving new releases.

“I do not! I just wanna make sure I find the right alpha.”

“You thought I might be-”

“Shut up!”

Neither of them needs to think any more about his drunken confession when they first became friends. How he tried to kiss her before she admitted to only liking girls and awkwardly screeching that he had nice tits but she was much more interested in playing with Tammy Thompson’s boobies.

“Besides, you’re a big ol’ virgin, too!”

“Yeah, but not because I wanna be! I’m a virgin in a loser way; you’re a virgin in a porno way!”

Steve’s lower lips trembles, his shoulders hunch, and in moments Robin is at his side.

“I’m sorry, that was bitchy!”

“No, you’re right! I’m a prude and a tease and I’m—Rob, I’m really fucked up.”

They talk it out the rest of their shift, and Steve makes up his mind to find a decent alpha and get it over with, rip off the bandaid so he doesn’t have some virgin/whore complex when he finally gets married.

But finding a decent alpha is *hard* and he goes on too many first dates and zero second dates. He’s about ready to give up, to focus on re-applying to colleges instead, when it finally happens.

He’s running late, picking up Dustin as a favor to Mrs. Henderson, forgetting he needed gas until he’s on the way.

It’s dark, and he pulls into the near empty parking lot, spotting Dustin leaned against a shitty white van. Steve parks and rushes out, apologizing as he pulls Dustin to him, crushing him to his chest.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Dustin huffs, pushing him back. “Eddie waited with me.”

“Figured we’d give you another ten minutes before I drove him home myself,” Eddie Munson says with a smile, blowing out cigarette smoke. “You okay, Harrington?”

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you,” he starts, blushing, not sure why he suddenly feels warm. “For waiting with Dustin, I mean.”

Eddie drops his cigarette, crushes it with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, of course. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Steve, you’re being weird.”

“No, I’m not! Get in the car, Dustin, your mom is waiting. See you around, Eddie?”

“Yeah, see you around.”

Steve considers showing up early next week when he picks Dustin up from Hellfire. Or hanging around the record store in hopes Eddie comes in. But in the end he decides that he’s better off being straightforward and asking for what he wants. It’s not like an alpha would say no. Not to what Steve is offering. Not when he smelled interest and fear coming off Eddie the night before.

And with how his spicy scent made Steve’s mouth water… He thinks he’ll have fixed his little problem soon.

So he gets dressed as carefully as possible, and drives to Eddie’s.

He knocks, pleased when Eddie is the one to answer and not his uncle, the alpha blinking against the daylight. “Um, hey, Steve, what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding a little bit sleepy.

“Can I come in?” Steve blurts, nervous, maybe even a little bit terrified.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie steps aside, bowing as Steve walks past him, and it might just be what he’s planning to do, but Steve’s never been so charmed in his life. “You sure you’re okay? Because you seem kinda… Off.”

“I’m fine! Honest. I just…”

“Steve?”

“Iwanyoutafuckme.”

Even with how fast he mumbled it, Eddie clearly understood. “What the fuck? What? Why! Why ME?”

“Because I’m tired of waiting, and all the alphas I know suck, and you’re weird but nice, and…” Steve pauses, swallows hard as he looks straight into Eddie’s dark chocolate eyes.

“And no one would believe me anyway, right? So no one has to know.”

Shame flames up his neck and over his cheeks, because that was part of it. The tiniest bit. But Steve bites his lip and shakes his head. “I figured you wouldn’t make fun of me. For not being good at it.”

“With how sweet you smell, I doubt any alpha would tell you that you were bad at sex, Steve.”

“They sure do like calling me a frigid bitch and saying my pussy’s gotta be too dry to feel good since ‘I’m so good at saying no.’ But, sure…” He sniffles, and Eddie steps in close.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t—” Eddie reaches to cup Steve’s cheek, and on instinct the omega leans into the touch.

He purrs, takes a step closer of his own and scents at Eddie’s neck. “You smell real nice, Eddie,” Steve whispers, his lips ghosting along the skin of his throat.

“You smell like hot apple pie.”

“Oh yeah?”

“With vanilla ice cream.”

“Nancy said my scent was really mild, and Tommy always said it was sour…”

“So, you’re just sweet for me, Stevie?”

“I wanna be real sweet for you, Eddie. Let me, please?”

Eddie can only nod. He leads Steve back to his room, watches as Steve strips out of his clothes, revealing delicate pink lace. “You really want this…”

“I really do.” Steve takes Eddie’s hand, brings it to his crotch, lets him feel how much slick already clings to the lacy fabric of his panties. “I want you to be the first alpha to touch me here. I thought about it all night, how good your knot would feel in my tight, hot pussy.”

“I don’t think I’ll last long enough to make it good. Shit, Steve, I’ve never—”

“It’s okay. We can always wait until you’re ready to go again—”

Eddie kisses him then, with far too much teeth, but Steve feels the desire in it and grins.

He’s getting what he wants.

Eddie’s right in the end, popping his knot too soon. Steve cries out in pain, his own dick going soft as he whines through the alpha’s near-violent orgasm.

But the second time is better. After that, Eddie begs to eat him out, to come all over his tits, for Steve to stuff those panties in his mouth and ride him.

By the time he leaves, he has a date for the following evening.

Now that Eddie’s gotten a taste, Steve’s pretty sure he’s not going anywhere.

[transvampireboyfriend]

Teacher AU

Eddie who studied to be a music teacher but right before graduation Corroded Coffin takes off. It's fast, they have to mail him his diploma to avoid a crowd of fans at his classmates' ceremony.

But it goes as fast as it comes, a few years of touring and then popularity wanes. Eddie is not bothered by it, neither are the guys, they enjoyed it while it lasted, yet they all knew they couldn't live like that for the rest of their lives, so it's all for the best.

Eddie lives off of album and merch sales and writing songs for other bands and artists now. This is when his best friend, Chrissy, tells him she heard the music teacher was retiring at her old pre-school.

Eddie applies for the vacant position, fearing they won't like his former star status but ultimately, after a good interview, he gets the job.

Steve who became a pre-school teacher and started teaching as soon as he could. He lives with his best friend, Robin, and coaches the town's junior basketball teams (both boys and girls) on his off time.

Steve who's nearing his thirties and getting a little frustrated with his love life. No matter how many dates, no matter how many 6 month relationships, no matter how many 1 year and a half and moving in together debacles, he still just never quite fits his partners, he never feels that thing, that excitement everyone talks about. No matter how amazing the person. Robin calls him an idealist, says he's being naïve. Steve sticks by his instinct to hope for more.

Steve who stares (a little slack-jawed) at the new music teacher for a good minute when he comes pick up his kids. Trying to take in the wild hair pinned up by a pencil, the glasses around big cow eyes, the tattoos peeking out of his long sleeves, the dimples.

He was aware Mrs. Wallace retired and a new teacher was brought on, he just hadn't expected his heart to race at the mere sight of him.

Steve completely misses his name, has to ask him to come again when those beautiful brown eyes get a mischievous sparkle and look expectant, like he got stood up waiting for an answer.

"I said it's nice meeting you" the new teacher repeats

"Oh! Of course! You're very nice. I mean it's very- It's nice meeting you too" Steve says and forcefully shuts his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line.

The new teacher's smile just gets bigger and he nods and leads the kids to his class.

Robin thinks it's beyond funny that Steve doesn't know the new teacher's name, but she refuses to explain, refuses to tell him what it is and encourages him to find out on his own.

Steve approaches the guy in the teacher's lounge at lunch.

Beyond whatever the hell makes Steve's brain functions jump ship when he's around him, Steve does think it was rude of him to stare and not even introduce himself when they first met.

His mother may have been real shitty, but she didn't raise someone impolite.

"Hi," Steve starts, making the other man look up at him from underneath his glasses. Steve looks away for a second to avoid getting lost in those eyes.

"I think I owe you an apology," Steve starts, the other teacher raises his eyebrows and lowers the book in his hands.

"I'm sorry?"

"That's my line," Steve points out, he's rewarded by a small laugh and dimples, "I was rude," Steve explains, "I was staring and I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Steve." he smiles and extends his hands to the other man.

"I know." the guy says, smiling big enough to show his teeth, but gently taking Steve's hand in his own "I told you, they were nice enough to put all the names in my schedule, remember?" he says,

Steve freezes.

How come he didn't think of that? His schedule is the same, all schedules for teachers have everybodys' names. They even distributed new schedules for everyone when the hiring decision was made, Steve just hadn't bother to look at it yet, knowing the important bits hadn't changed.

Steve would facepalm if his dominant hand wasn't otherwise occupied.

"Uh-" Steve starts, thankfully the other man cuts him off,

"Hey," he says, with the kindest eyes Steve has ever seen, and still gently holding Steve's hand, "It's cool. I get it." he tells Steve,

Then he asks, "Are you a fan?"

Steve stares again.

Excuse him?

Judging by Robin's smirk accross the room, Steve's face must be as red as a ripe tomato.

Steve yanks his hand back.

Well, that's presumptuous. Just because Steve isn't very good at thinking whe he's around him, doesn't mean that- Sure, Steve came prepared to flirt with him, but he does not appreciate beaing treated like he's easy.

Steve frowns at him before turning around and promptly walking away. He guesses he'll have to go check his schedule if he wants to know the name of this jerk.

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Chapter 2 - Friday

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two]

Having been on the basketball team all four years of high school, it takes him less than two minutes to find Lucas. He and the team are doing some practice drills before the game.

He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Sinclair!”

Lucas stops instantly, looking for who shouted. Once he catches sight of Steve he breaks out into a grin and jogs over. “Steve, hey! What are you doing here, man?”

“I was informed that no one told you Hellfire did not postpone. Wanted to make sure you knew that.”

Lucas’ face falls instantly, the glee of seeing Steve here gone. “Oh. So, no one’s going to be here for the game?”

It doesn't sit right with Steve that Lucas's first thought is that his friends aren't going to show up. “What about your parents?”

“Well, yeah, they’ll be here. But they have to be. That’s what parents do. I just thought my friends would….” Lucas trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish for Steve to know what he was going to say. Thought they’d have his back. Be here.

Steve pauses before answering, thinking. “So, you want to play in the championship game. Not Hellfire?”

“Well, I want to do both,” Lucas says, “but it’s not like the school’s going to rearrange the entire basketball schedule so I can go play Dungeons and Dragons. I had Dustin and Mike ask for me, ‘cause I don’t think Eddie likes me very much? I think he’d say no immediately if I was the one asking.”

“Hey, that’s not cool,” Steve is a little peeved, but he’s not going to let Lucas see that. Lucas doesn’t need his anger, he needs support. “Uh, why do you think Munson doesn’t like you?”

“I’ve had to miss sessions before, for away games,” Lucas shrugs. “Eddie doesn’t like when people don’t show up. Plus, he’s treated me differently since I joined the team, you know? I can tell he’s colder to me than he is Dustin or Mike. The guy's not exactly good at being subtle.”

“Hey, I’m going to go talk to him, see if I can be more persuasive. I’m not going to be cowed by Eddie Munson the same way Dustin and Mike seem to be,” Steve is aiming for reassuring.

Lucas shrugs with one shoulder, and Steve knows he doesn’t believe him. Knows Lucas thinks nothing will change, and he's not going to have his friends here for moral support. Lucas opens his mouth, then closes, before he nods to himself, like he’s made a decision, and then says, “it’s not even about getting to play the final session. I get that moving it on short notice isn’t, like, easy. I just- they’ve never even been to a game, you know? The guys on the team are great but it’s not the same. Guess it just would have been nice if they’d of picked me.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Steve insists, hating the defeated look on Lucas’ face.

“Sure,” Lucas nods, “I gotta get back to practice. Thanks for trying.”

Steve watches him rejoin Jason Carver. Carver catches Steve’s eye and lifts a hand in a wave. Steve waves back before leaving the gym. He doesn’t know Carver well, but they were on the team together before Steve graduated.

Steve heads back to the green room. He can’t think of a single reason Munson wouldn’t like Lucas, he’s the politest of the kids, and most thoughtful. What’s not to like? Except in the back of Steve’s mind he remembers Billy, and how he singled out Lucas that day he broke a plate over Steve’s head. If Eddie Munson turns out to be a racist bastard, Steve will throw hands.

But perhaps it’s all just a misunderstanding? A lack of communication. Steve knows all about that. He’s had plenty of it before. He still sucks at communication despite Robin's best efforts. He is getting better, and it helps Robin makes it easy for him to open up. Having Robin to talk to has made it easier for him to speak with other people like the adult he’s trying to be. What he wouldn’t give to be able to talk to her right now. About this issue, and the waking nightmare, and about spying more on these kids while she’s at school with them because they are making poor decisions, and also, maybe, about how he finds Eddie Munson attractive (though, maybe that will go away if he gets confirmation Eddie is acting like Billy).

“-can, it’s Steve. Just you wait,” Dustin is saying when Steve steps back into the room.

“Oh no,” Erica sighs, slumping in her chair. She’s the first person to catch sight of Steve, “that’s your Disappointed Parent face.”

“I don’t have a ‘Disappointed Parent’ face,” Steve says before calling out to Munson. “Munson, Lucas thinks you don’t like him.”

“Why does he think that?” Munson stands up from where he was sitting. Steve been in enough fight or flight situations to recognize that there is a tension in Munson's body that seems to be gearing up towards fight more than flight.

“He thinks you don’t like him because he’s missed previous games. Thinks you don’t like him so much that he had to have Dustin and Mike ask about this game because he believes you’d have said no immediately to him,” Steve steps further into the room and he can almost physically see the hackles raise on the older members, like they’re gearing up to jump to Munson’s defense. Steve’s not going to get physical, he doesn’t want to. He just wants to talk to Munson.

“I don’t hate him, but the budding jock made his choice,” Munson scoffs, dismissive.

And that’s it, Steve thinks. Munson doesn’t like jocks and he’s singling out Lucas. He’s a little relieved that it’s not racially charged, but it still leaves Steve angry, so his mouth starts running before his brain. He’s on the defensive. “You’re a fucking hypocrite, Munson. You don’t get to bully people around here. It’s only okay for you to be the bully, huh?”

“Of the two of us, Harrington, I’m not the fucking bully,” Munson moves away from the table, rounds it like he’s going to get into Steve’s face, but Gareth reaches out and grabs his elbow when Munson passes by him, stopping Munson in his tracks.

“You don’t know shit about me,” Steve fires back. “I was a dick in high school, yeah, but I grew the fuck up. You’re singling out a fifteen-year-old because he wants to, what, play sports? Making him choose between the two? That’s fucked up.”

“Again, I didn’t fucking make him choose!”

“Whatever,” Steve says, dismissive because Eddie’s not the real problem here. The real issue is that Lucas wants his best friends to pick him and they didn’t. “Lucas is allowed to like sports and nerd things. And you two,” he pivots to point between Dustin and Mike now, “are being kind of shitty right now. After everything you’ve gone through together, you couldn’t stick by his side for this?”

“Hey, I have to get on a plane tomorrow morning,” Mike defends himself. “If they postponed, then I wouldn’t have gotten to play!”

“So, it’s fine that Lucas can’t play, but terrible if you can’t? That’s a load of shit, Wheeler. Lucas is supposed to be your friend.”

“He is my friend-“

“Then act like it!” Steve didn’t want to play his card, but he’s going to. “Will and El aren't here anymore; are you really okay with losing Lucas, too?”

“That is not fair,” Mike’s voice is oddly even for how angry he looks as he stands up to meet Steve's eye level instead of looking up at him.

“Steve, you’re being defensive, right now,” Dustin says, and Steve hears the message he’s trying to get across. Hears Dustin’s words from earlier ‘you’re an asshole when you’re defensive’. It makes him take a deep breath in because it’s true. He is being an asshole right now, which is exactly what Munson and the other Hellfire members thought he’d be. He’s not going to win them over and get them to see his point like that. Not when he's attacking them. And Mike.

Steve turns back to Munson now, trying to sound calmer as he says, “If you want Lucas to believe you don’t hate him, you’d go to the game, too.”

“Lucas can draw his own conclusion about how I feel. I’m not responsible for his emotions, Harrington,” Munson growls, clearly not a forgiving person.

“You’re right, but you’re also older than him and should take some responsibility for how you act around him,” Steve says, trying to be the bigger person here but he must admit it’s tough. “He thinks you’re being shitty to him, on purpose. He thinks you treat him differently than you do Dustin or Mike. And that’s fucked up. He’s just a kid, he looks up to you, and he's been through enough.”

Munson doesn’t argue back. He stands there, but he does look like he’s thinking about what Steve said, so that’s something.

There’s a shuffling sound and it draws Steve’s attention. Dustin is standing, shoving his things into his backpack. He doesn’t say anything, but he does look at Mike. The two seem to have a silent conversation because after a moment Mike nods, and begins to gather his stuff, too.

Steve’s proud they’re doing the right thing.

“So, you two are out?” Munson’s voice isn’t nearly as angry as it was before. Instead, it's flat. He’d almost call it monotone if not for the fact it did sound like a question.

“Steve’s right,” Dustin says as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, “Lucas does really want to be here. He sounded real upset when he asked us to talk to you about changing the day of the game. I also really want to play, it’s going to suck missing the final session, but it’s going to suck more to bail on a years-long friendship.”

“Yeah. Lucas has never bailed on us,” Mike adds, even though he sounds upset for agreeing.

Erica lets out a put-upon sigh, “he has bailed on me, but never when it mattered, I guess. I expect that you’re buying the tickets, Steve?”

“Unbelievable!” Munson throws his hands in the air, which pulls Steve’s attention to him. He catches the look on his face; Eddie Munson looks… hurt?

Steve’s stomach turns a little and he scrambles to figure out how to settle it. “A compromise?” Steve offers. “Mike, when are you back?”

“Uhh, the plane is supposed to land Thursday afternoon; I’ll be back in town that night sometime.”

“Great,” Steve looks to Munson. “Can you guys play next Friday, or even Thursday night if Mike isn’t jet-lagged too much?”

“School’s locked up next week,” Dustin says.

“What about your basement, Mike?”

“Won’t fit all of us,” Mike says. “It was barely enough room when it was just Dustin, Lucas, Will, and I. The table's not big enough.”

“Plus, it stinks like boy,” Erica wrinkles her nose, “unwashed, gross boy.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“Yes, it is,” Steve says, even though he hasn’t been in the Wheelers’ basement since he and Nancy were together.

“Steve, I have a compromise,” Erica says. “Regarding a promise you made to me. For life.”

Erica now has Steve’s full attention. “Yes, Erica?”

“We play at your house next Friday. You will provide snacks and pizza,” she says it like it’s decided, before pointing her finger at Steve, then dragging her hand through the air to point at everyone, “and all you nerds will stop bickering like old people. You’ll also have to buy our tickets because I didn’t bring any money. In return, I will shorten your life debt to the day after I graduate from high school.”

“Done! Deal!” Steve accepts instantly, because a day of snacks and pizza will be so much cheaper than a lifetime supply of ice cream. He knows Erica would have held him to that for, quite literally, his entire life. “I’ll be buying all the basketball tickets, and just tell me what pizza you want. That work for everyone?”

“Your parents will be okay with that?” Dustin asks.

Right. He forgets about the major secrets he keeps from the kids sometimes. “Oh, they’ll be gone by Friday for sure so no issue. So, will that work for everyone?”

The older members of Hellfire exchange glances, and, one by one, they all say yes. Even Munson.

Erica stalks up to Steve, stopping just in front of him, hand out, palm up. With a sigh, Steve pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and drops it into Erica’s hand. “I’ll get back to you on the pizza I want. I’ll go buy tickets. Are you all coming?”

The other three members look surprised, but it's Gareth that speaks, “Uh, Harrington’s not gonna buy-“

“I said are. You. Coming?” Erica repeats, hands on her hips.

“Yes,” Gareth says, then looks surprised he agreed. Erica has that effect on people.

Erica gives one nod and heads out the door. Slowly the rest pick up their things and follow. Steve goes to follow, too, but the rolling in his stomach returns. He’s not done here.

He waits until everyone has left before turning to Munson. “I'm sorry. I’m sorry for coming in here and like, immediately attacking you. That wasn’t cool of me.”

Munson looks him over before scoffing. “It’s whatever, man.”

“It’s really not,” Steve says. “I know that, like, a lot of work goes into this game and I’m sorry. So, like, if you want anything extra, or need something for the game next week, I’ll get it. I’ll help however I can.”

Munson pauses in the middle of his clean up, to look up at Steve and study him for a while. Steve’s just starting to get antsy when Munson speaks again, “I don’t know if I hate you or not.”

There's absolutely no reason Steve should be hurt by that statement, but he is. He can't show that to Munson though, so he says, “That’s fair.”

“I’ve got to know, Harrington. How’d this group of kids get to be so important to you?” Munson goes back to gathering up the stuff on the table. "Why is their continued friendship important to you?"

Steve moves to help, and Munson doesn’t shoo him away. “I used to babysit them. Try and keep them out of trouble, which is impossible because they’re too fucking curious and smart. That’s a godawful combination, you know?”

Munson doesn’t laugh but he does quirk one corner of his mouth upwards. “My uncle would agree with you.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t need a babysitter anymore but-“ Steve cuts himself off because he’s not sure what to say. But they’re bonded by shared trauma and grief? That they have to stick together because the Byers left, and Hopper’s dead, and they can’t lose anyone else because it might be too much loss, and he’ll just fall apart? “But they’re family now. They can be a bunch of shitheads, but I love them. And they hate it when I say this, but they should get to be kids as long as they can.”

A long silence follows that as Steve follows Munson's lead of picking stuff up and stacking it all at the end of the table by the throne.

“Help me load what I’ll need for the session next week into my van and I’ll think about forgiving you for ruining this one,” Munson says once everything is gathered.

Steve agrees (probably too eagerly and quickly if the look Munson shoots him is anything to go by) and between the two of them they make quick work of it. Before they take the last armfuls out, Steve steals a pencil and a piece of paper, scribbling his number and a question on it before shoving the paper in his pocket and the pencil back in the case. Then he scoops up what he can and follows Munson to his van.

They don’t talk on the walk from the van to the gym, which is fine by Steve because he doesn’t know what he’d say anyway. He's just glad Munson didn't climb in the van and leave, and is, actually going to come to the game. They get to the gym and find Dustin sitting on the sidewalk waiting for them with their tickets. As soon as they’re in the gym Steve’s eyes go for the marching band, looking for Robin. He finds her quickly and they have a completely silent conversation.

‘Why are you entering the gym with the Hellfire club?’

‘Long story, I’ll explain it later.’

‘You better, dingus.’

Then Dustin is pushing him down onto a bench next to Mike and taking the seat beside him, patting the open seat next to him for Munson to sit. Munson sits rather than climbing the bleachers to join the rest of Hellfire and Erica in the top row, and Steve finds he’s not surprised Munson obeyed. Dustin is very likable for being an annoying know-it-all.

Steve scans the gym, looking for anyone else he might know and- “Oh, shit.” He ducks backwards and down, trying to hide behind Dustin.

“What, what is it?” Dustin asks, scanning the crowd for what Steve saw.

“Brenda.”

“What?”

“Brenda!” Steve hisses, “I, uh, I stood her up. To come to your game instead.”

Sudden movement beside Dustin startles Steve but it takes only a second to realize it’s just Munson, swiveling to look at Steve, eyes big and eyebrows hidden in his hairline. “You ditched a date to play DnD?”

Steve and Munson just look at each other for a moment before Steve feels his face get hot with embarrassment. “Like I said. Dustin asked.”

Munson shakes his head like he can’t believe him and turns back to the court.

When Steve drags his attention back to the court, Tammy Thompson is making her way to the center to sing the anthem and Steve has to find Robin’s eyes again, just to make an ‘I Told You So’ face when Tammy starts singing. She sticks her tongue out at him and the girl next to her must say something because it pulls her attention from Steve.

Now that the teams have gathered and are standing for this wonderful rendition of the anthem, Steve looks for Lucas and finds him quickly.

Lucas finds them a few moments later, and his face lights up when he sees the whole club sitting there. The last bit of nausea that Steve hadn't even been aware of fades away.

Everyone stays for the whole game, which surprises Steve. He expected the older members to dip after the cheer routine. It means they all get to see Lucas make the winning shot. The whole club stands with Steve to scream and cheer, and once Lucas is done being swarmed by his teammates, he gets swarmed by the club members.

Then they’re splitting up; Lucas is going to celebrate with his teammates, so Steve tells him to make smart choices. Before everyone vanishes into the night, though, Steve chases Munson down, halfway to his van in the back of the parking lot.

“Hey, Munson, wait!”

Munson does wait, turning as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Harrington. Not done turning my night upside down?”

Steve almost flinches at the word choice. “Nah, man. Just wanted to give you my number.”

“Your number?” Munson says with just a hint of laughter in his voice and Steve's heart skips over itself. What the hell was that?

“Yeah. So that when it’s closer to the Dungeons game you can call, let me know the time that works for you all. Maybe even drop off some of that stuff I helped you load before the game? Whatever makes it easier for you.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. I don’t have a pen on me-“

“No issue. Already wrote it down,” Steve says, pulling the paper from his pocket, offering it to Munson.

He reaches out slowly and takes it, balling his fist around it without looking at it, eyes locked onto Steve's face. The nearest light source is behind Steve, so he's not sure what Eddie's looking for, but it leaves Munson's face illuminated enough for him to look back.

Steve's never had a problem thinking Munson was objectively attractive. He's always gotten hot under the collar for people who push back against him and challenge him, which Munson did a lot of when they were in school together. Steve deserved all the pushback he got, he's honest enough to admit to himself. That being said, Steve's never seen Munson with his guard down. Even at Hellfire tonight his hackles were raised the whole time. But now, under the barely-there glow from the lamp post behind Steve, he looks... amused? The angry furrow that usually resides on his brow every second he's in Steve's company is gone, smoothed out. There's the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Then, as abruptly as the stare-down started, it ends, Munson turning on his heel and heading off into the night without another word.

“Okay then. Have a good night! See you next week!” Steve shouts at his retreating form and heads back to the gym, where Dustin is probably waiting for a ride even though he’s supposed to be hitching one with Nancy and Mike, and Robin will no doubt be expecting that explanation he wordlessly promised her. Steve wishes Munson had opened the note. He wants to know what kind of face he’ll make when he sees that, below Steve’s number, he wrote Truce?

[usedtobecooler]

thinking on this fine saturday about virgin!eddie getting his first ever handjob at one of king steve's parties <;3

tw: handjobs, tipsy fumbling.

"what're you... we can't go in here, steve will kill me," eddie's wide eyed, frazzled as he clenches onto his half empty beer bottle with one hand, the other gripping onto your waist, grounding you as you pepper little kisses up the side of his neck.

"shh, gotta be quiet or somebody'll hear, eddie," you're giggly, way beyond tipsy as you wind your fingers tight in eddie's shirt, backing him up into king steve's room blindly.

he lets you do it without anymore argument. stupid and too wound up on the alcohol and weed to care that he barely knows you. you pluck the bottle from his hand, placing it on steve's dresser with a small grin on your face.

you lean forward to kiss him and he melts into it, relishes in the tacky glide of your glossed lips against his own chapped and bitten ones, grabbing for a handful of your ass and you laugh again.

"i wanna, eddie," you pout as you pull away, playful and trying to hide your smile, hand slithering down the front of his pants to grasp at his painfully hard cock through his jeans, "don't you want me to make you feel good?"

"i do, i do!" eddie speaks all too fast, because of course he fucking does, he's wanted the touch of something more than his own right hand for too long — but he's trying to be a gentleman, even as a virgin he knows not to take advantage of a drunk girl, "we're both really, really drunk, sweetheart."

"don't care," you giggle, backing him up slowly towards the bed until the backs of his knees are knocking the edge and he's falling backwards rather ungracefully, perching himself up on his elbows, "i need to see you cum."

eddie swallows thickly, looking your curvy body up and down in your ruched satin dress, unable to hide his want anymore, his cock pressing up against his zipper, only a slight relief.

you climb onto the bed on top of him, trying for sexy but probably looking more like a baby cow trying to find it's footing, sitting low on his thighs as you bunch his shirt up, "let me make you feel good, please?"

your wandering hands have eddie folding pretty quickly, and he makes no move to stop you from unbuckling his belt and ripping his jeans open — hell, he even helps you pull them down by lifting his hips up, any worry turning to eagerness as need takes over him.

when his cock springs out from his tight boxers and slaps against his belly you gasp, rocking down into his thigh, "god, you're so big," your voice is awestruck, taking in every last bit of it — he's thick, bigger than average, uncut, curved ever so slightly to the right, and he's already smearing precum all over his belly, pooling into his bellybutton.

"it is?" he asks, stupid. he doesn't know any better, hadn't seen another cock before, not up close anyway. the guys locker room didn't count, everyone averted their eyes in there. "oh, you don't have to — holy fuck,"

eddie watches dumbly as you grab hold of the base of his cock, leaning forward and letting a glob of spit coat the pink head, getting him all nice and wet for your hand.

you slink off of him, opting to lay out at his side so that you can get a better grip on him and take the opportunity to push up against him tightly. you lean down, kissing wetly at his neck, "i'm gonna make you feel so good, promise." you whisper, glossy lips smearing against his flushed skin.

you start slowly, getting a feel for his cock and what he likes — listening for the changes in his breathing pattern, the slight hitch, the quiet moans as you twist your fist over his head.

"mmph," eddie grunts, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back, losing himself in the feeling, "your hands are so soft."

you giggle quietly, squeezing his shaft slightly on the upstroke, "thanks for the compliment," you lean over to kiss his stubbled cheek gently, and he keens into it, "can i go faster?"

"fuck, please," he begs, turning to look at you with his pleading eyes, all wide and dark in the dull lighting of steve's room.

you do speed up, maybe a bit too much, as your spit slick hand starts to fly up and down his cock, squeezing beads of precum from the slit to add to the wetness. this is the first time you've ever touched an uncut cock, and you're pleasantly surprised by just how sensitive he seems.

you watch as eddie's tummy muscles begin to quiver, and you find a slight pride and need blooming in your tummy. the pride of knowing you're making him react like this — the need to watch him come undone for you.

“oh — shit slow down, m'so close,” he rasps, unable to tear his eyes away from where your slick, tight fist runs up and down the length of his cock, foreskin rippling as you move up towards the head, swiping away the small blurts of precum that pool there, bringing attention to his sheer need.

"really? does it feel that good?" you ask, voice sultry and smooth as you nip at the shell of his ear, rubbing yourself up against his side. your pussy throbs as you listen to his desperate whimpering, relishing in the way his hips kick up slightly.

eddie nods, gnawing on his bottom lip, losing it when you run your thumb on the underside of his tip, grazing that one little sensitive spot until he's moaning your name, grabbing your thigh tightly, "m'gonna cum — you're gonna make me cum, oh fuck, fuuuck—!"

you gasp and giggle into his ear, turning your head just in time to watch as he cums in thick ropes all over your fist, shooting up his tummy and painting his dark expanse of hair on his happy trail.

there's just so much of it, and he just keeps cumming, groans rumbling up his throat as you jerk him through it, until he's physically recoiling from you from the overstimulation, burying his face into your tits to hide his burning hot cheeks.

you do eventually let go of his spent cock, your hand so slick with his cum that you shiver, the intrusive thought of using it on your aching cunt flashing through your brain.

[solarmorrigan]

For the dialogue prompt, how about “What happened doesn’t change anything” for either Steddie or Newmann?

Thank you!

Hello hello hello I finally have something for you! I chose Steddie for this one, since I was on a roll. I hope this suits!

[post-S2 Steddie AU; CW: Outing, transphobia, some internalized transphobia; soft ending guaranteed, though]

-

When he sees Hagan meandering over towards them in the parking lot after school, his queen bee tagalong, Perkins, in tow, Eddie knows nothing good is going to follow. The way he feels Steve shift beside him says that he suspects much the same. The rest of the Hellfire guys, all gathered around Eddie’s van, talking and joking before heading home, have fallen silent.

It’s a small consolation that Hagan isn’t trailing Hargrove; since putting Steve in the hospital (briefly, Steve always interjects) last November, Hargrove has mostly given him—and the members of the Hellfire Club, once Steve had been taken into their fold—a fairly wide berth. Hagan, however, has had no compunctions about hassling Steve whenever he gets a bug up his ass about something, and he’s only become nastier since he started toadying for Hargrove.

So Eddie expects trouble, but he hadn’t expected–

Hagan starts small, crowing about how Steve has finally found his rightful place: among the freaks. Steve doesn’t give anything away, no displeasure, no anger, just bored indifference – the same mask he’s always hidden behind (the one Eddie had learned pretty quickly to see past, once he knew what to look for). But Hagan pushes.

“I guess the freaks already have a king,” Hagan snipes, cutting a glance at Eddie, “but I’m sure he needs a lady to rule by his side, right, Stevie?”

It seems like an unoriginal sort of dig—calling Steve a girl, how creative—except Steve goes pale. The mask slips, showing wide and frightened eyes for just a moment, but for Hagan, who’s known Steve for years, it’s long enough. He knows he’s hit something good.

“Do all your new little friends know, Stevie-boy? What makes you fit right in with them?” Hagan glances around the group, apparently enjoying the fact that if looks could kill, he’d be dead four times over. Then he leans in and practically spits at Steve, “Do they know that they got into your pants, you’d be less of a King Steve and more of a Queen Stacy?”

And that does it – shatters Steve’s mask so thoroughly that he actually takes a step back, staring at Hagan with a kind of disbelieving betrayal frozen on his face.

The full meaning of the words hits Eddie about three seconds before Hagan hits the side of the van, one of Eddie’s hands fisted in the front of his t-shirt and the other held firm at the base of his throat – not hurting, exactly, but heavily implying that he could.

Eddie doesn’t even have to reach for one of the many theatrical voices he uses to rile people up or cow them into submission; he’s so thoroughly taken by a type of rage he hasn’t let himself give into in a long time that his tone comes out perfectly threatening all on its own.

“If you ever repeat what you just said to another person, I will find out, and I will make your life a living hell,” he hisses.

Somewhere behind him, someone—it might be Jeff, though Eddie isn’t sure—clears their throat, and when Eddie tosses a glance over his shoulder, he finds the rest of Hellfire standing firm at his back (even tiny underclassman Gareth, with his arms crossed and the meanest look on his face the poor kid can muster).

“Ah, my apologies,” Eddie says as he faces front again, flashing a manic little grin, “we will find out. And we’ll ruin your life, Hagan. Same goes for your girlfriend.”

Perkins, who had been standing off to the side as the snickering peanut gallery right up until Eddie had pinned Hagan to the side of the van, makes a choked noise of offense that goes entirely ignored.

“Tell me you understand, Tommy-boy.” Eddie punctuates the command with a flex of his fingers near Hagan’s throat, until Hagan reluctantly nods, and Eddie releases him. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

Hagan and Perkins hightail it the other side of the parking lot, leaving them be with nothing more than a nasty look from Perkins, but no one is much in the mood to chat after that. No one really knows what to say – except Steve, who offers a quiet thanks to the rest of the guys and, having caught a ride in with Eddie that morning, then asks to be taken home.

Even with the radio playing quietly as Eddie drives, the atmosphere in the van feels silent and stifling.

Asking Steve if he’s alright feels like kind of a ridiculous move. Eddie wouldn’t be alright if he was in Steve’s position – hell, Eddie’s not alright. He’s pissed. But from the way Steve is sitting rigidly in the passenger seat, staring out the window like Eddie is driving him to his execution, Eddie’s anger—even on his behalf—isn’t what he needs right now.

Slowly, Eddie forces himself to let it go (for now, at least for now) and follow the familiar roads home.

It feels perfectly natural to simply head back to his place, where they’d been planning to go before that shitshow of a confrontation, though the surprise on Steve’s face when they pull up to the trailer says that he’d thought otherwise.

“You could’ve just taken me back to my house. I wouldn’t– I’d get it,” he says, and Eddie frowns at him.

“Did you want to go back to your house? We can hang out there if you want, I just figured…” Eddie tilts his head regarding him carefully. “You seem more comfortable here.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment, blank and uncertain, before he breaks back into motion with a shrug. “Okay,” he says, moving to get out of the van.

They head inside and nod a quick hello to Wayne, who looks like he’s just woken up in preparation for his shift, and then they go straight back to Eddie’s room. Eddie’s bag goes on the desk, but Steve’s goes by the door. Eddie sits down on the bed (admittedly one of the few places to sit, but also an invitation for Steve to come sit next to him) but Steve – Steve hesitates before leaning up against the wall, by the door with his bag, arms crossed and gaze cast towards the floor.

He looks ready to run at any moment, and Eddie sighs. This thing between them is new – so new that they’ve been afraid to put a label to it, dancing around each other uncertainly for months before sharing their first kiss barely a month ago. They’ve spent almost every available moment since with their hands on each other in some way or another, though Steve has been a bit skittish about moving past making out (Eddie had thought that maybe it was the unfamiliarity of being with another guy, but he thinks he might have a better understanding of the picture now).

Eddie doesn’t want to break things by pushing too hard, but somehow, he thinks leaving it unaddressed would be worse.

“Look, we don’t have to talk about it,” he says, watching Steve, though Steve still isn’t looking back, “but if you want to…”

Steve shrugs. “I wasn’t hiding it from you,” he says, finally glancing up at Eddie. “I mean, I was, but not– I was going to tell you.”

“You don’t owe me any kind of explanation,” Eddie says.

“You would’ve found out eventually, either way.” Steve lets out a sound that suggests he may have been trying to laugh. “But it was – I should’ve been the one to tell you. That was – that was mine to tell.”

A little bit of Eddie breaks as Steve’s voice does. He’s almost vibrating with the desire to hold and to reassure, to go over to where Steve is standing, still propped against the wall, practically curling in on himself (trying to make himself smaller), but he’s not sure how well it would be received. He tries words, instead.

“Steve, I’m so sorry–”

“That was the one thing,” Steve snaps, anger tearing across his tone, “the one thing Tommy would never touch, the one thing that was off limits, even he knew– and he just–” As quickly as it had come, the anger goes, taking Steve’s energy with it. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and lets his hands slide down to cover his face; when he speaks again, he sounds small. “I wasn’t ready.”

Eddie couldn’t keep himself from crossing the room if he’d tried – though isn’t trying, after that. He’s up off the bed and into Steve’s space before he’s even realized, and it’s probably only his proximity that allows him to hear what Steve says next.

“I’m not ready for things to change between us.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, low and careful, “what happened doesn’t change anything.”

Steve pulls his hands away from his face with a derisive little huff of a laugh. His cheeks are red and his eyes are bright; he’s not crying, but it looks like a near thing.

“It’s – like, I get it. You’re fully into guys, and I’m…” He waves his hands down at himself, sharp and frustrated. “Most people wouldn’t call me a real guy, if they knew.”

“Since when am I most people?” Eddie asks. “You say you’re a guy, you’re a real guy, fucking end of. Anyone who thinks otherwise can fuck off.”

Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes, clearly trying to hold back a much more emotional reaction, and Eddie chances resting his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Steve doesn’t move away, even eases a little into the touch when Eddie starts circling his thumbs at the skin right where his shirt collar ends.

“You don’t have to believe me right now,” Eddie says softly. “But I like you, Steve. I like you, andI’m gonna stick around and prove it to you.”

Something about the declaration makes Steve’s eyes snap right to Eddie’s, searching, anxious and cautiously hopeful, and Eddie lets him look. Whatever he’s after, maybe he finds it, because he uncurls from himself a little after that, just enough to lean in for a hesitant kiss that becomes much more certain when Eddie himself doesn’t hold back.

Eddie pulls Steve back over to the bed after that, poking and prodding him around until they’re both settled, Eddie’s back to the pillows and Steve’s back to Eddie’s chest (Steve’s never said as much, but Eddie’s gathered that this is one of his favorite positions to cuddle in; he doubts if Steve’s spent much time being the little spoon).

“Tell me something else,” Eddie says, once he’s got his arms wrapped securely around Steve’s waist.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Tell me something that you want me to know.” Eddie leans forward to press a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Anything.”

For a moment, Steve is quiet, thinking as he traces absent patterns over Eddie’s forearms. “I could tell you why I picked Steve,” he says finally.

“If you want to, I’d love to hear it,” Eddie says.

“It wasn’t because it was sort of close to my… old name. That was actually kind of a coincidence.” Steve lets his head fall back against Eddie’s shoulder, the tension that’s been wound through him for the last hour finally starting to ease. “Steven was my grandad’s name.”

“Yeah?” Eddie prompts softly.

“Yeah. My mom’s dad. I used to spend a lot of time over at his house when I was a kid. Before he died. I kind of got the feeling he liked me more than my parents did.” Eddie gives Steve a squeeze around the middle. “But he used to tell me all these stories about fighting in World War II. Probably not very age-appropriate, now that I think about it, but at the time I really ate it up.

“He didn’t really, like… glorify it, I don’t think? He just kind of told me what happened, good or bad, and whatever the story was, I always thought he sounded, y’know – strong and brave. And when I wanted to pick a new name…” Steve shrugs against Eddie. “I kind of hoped he wouldn’t mind sharing his with me.”

“Bet he’d be honored,” Eddie says, giving Steve another little squeeze.

“Some days I’m not so sure,” Steve says quietly.

“Well I am. I’ll just have to stick around and prove that to you, too,” Eddie says decisively.

Briefly, Steve’s hands tighten where they rest on Eddie’s arms. “I like the sound of that,” he says, and Eddie turns so he can press another kiss to the side of Steve’s head.

“Good,” he says. “Me too.”

[shieldofiron]

Billy's Partners and How They Would Confront Neil

a HC roundup

Harringrove/Steve: Steve is definitely throwing his weight around. His mom is really respected in the community after all. Neil wouldn't expect him to hold up in a physical fight though, but I think he could do it if he was really feeling himself.

Mungrove/Eddie: Totally theatrical. Eddie makes plans and has the whole speech planned and again, I don't think he'd be totally out of it in a physical fight. But he would want to fight with words.

Byergrove/Jonathan: Most prepared, A for Effort. His speech might be a little nervous but if Neil attacks him he's READY. He has a whole bag packed in his car for Billy he's doing this thing.

Calicheer/Chrissy: She does not want it to get physical, she's doing everything she can to not have that happen. I do think Neil might be able to cow her into tears but she would take Billy and run and between her cheer friends she can find a place to hide him.

Wheelgrove/Nancy: Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice, she would totally charm Neil into a conversation and then turn the tables on him. Also she would bring a little backup weapon, though I don't think she would want to use it unless as a last resort.

Cargrove/Jason: Most unhinged. It is absolutely getting physical, and I don't know if he would win but by God he would stand up for his man. Also he would scream bible verses as retorts.

Hollogrove/Heather: Similar to Eddie where she plans a speech, but I think it would be the meanest speech. 100% Neil cries for this one. She also has a bag packed for Billy at her house, but I think if it got physical she would run.

LMK if there's a Billy Rarepair you'd like to see because Billy should get his defenders and his moment!

Tagging @intothedysphoria @applewillowstone @dragonflylady77 and @adelacreations have these hc from my beautiful brain.

[steddieas-shegoes]

chapter 1 - port de bras

The scent of hay and wet grass filled Eddie’s nose as he walked from his rental car to the front door of the home. He’s surrounded by acres and acres of open land, which is surrounded by acres of woods on one side and a lake on another. He passed the lake on the way down the two mile long driveway. A rope swing hung from a tree, but there’s nothing to give any sign that it’s been used. He thinks about how happy he’ll be to get his ass back on a plane home tomorrow afternoon, how nice it’s gonna be to smell the city instead of cow manure and diesel from trucks and tractors riding the dirt roads. Eddie grew up on a farm, but you won’t catch him enjoying one now. The front yard and porch area are spotless, a porch swing on the corner looking out towards the mountains in the distance, and potted plants neatly placed equidistant from each other. It’s eery, actually, Eddie thinks. Farms aren’t meant to be perfect; they’re meant to be productive. That’s what his Uncle Wayne always said, anyway. Wayne would probably hate this place. It reeks of rich people playing house on a ranch. He can hear the faint sound of children playing inside, but they aren’t loud. A window must be open nearby. He knocks.

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summary of fic:

Eddie Munson knows this article is a big deal for him. Nancy wouldn't have sent him on the job unless it would put him in a good place in his career. Steve Hagan, a social media influencer with a billionaire husband and mate, has a story to tell and Eddie is going to find a way to tell it. But when he arrives at the Hagan Homestead, he realizes this article could do a lot more than change his life: it could give Steve the chance to find himself and his freedom again.

an omegaverse steddie au

[apomaro-mellow]

Mafia AU 1/?

Mafia shorts scenes (as a primer)

In Eddie’s defense, he was never given a chance. It wasn’t just a shitty dad that kept him from reaching whatever potential he might’ve had. Even his Uncle Wayne, as righteous as he was, had his shoes stuck in the muck. That is to say all the Munsons had a dirty record of some kind. Eddie was only twelve the first time he got caught stealing and had been chased out of the mom-and-pop store with a bag of candies. 

If you came from a good family with money, being a bull-headed alpha was a status symbol. But when you came from nothing, you were just a no good troublemaker who didn’t know his place. That was what Eddie’s dad told him anyway, when he presented.

“If you’re a Munson, life’s out to get ya. And you’re about to go through the worst of it”, Al said as his son felt the change coming upon him.

His Uncle Wayne told him there was no Munson curse. They may have had a shit lot in life but as long as a man had a code, he’d find his way. Eddie’s mother didn’t have much to say about their situation. She had been sick for as long as he could remember and never liked to dwell on negative topics much.

Sometimes it was an appreciated break from his life. Sometimes Eddie wished she’d just talk to him about going on. He didn’t even realize how sick she was until it was too late. Until she was in a hospital and saying goodbye. Until some guys in suits came to collect.

Apparently Al had taken on some loans to help with his wife’s ailments. He told his brother and son not to worry about it. That he’d figure it out. And like a fool, Eddie believed him. 

The sound of the gavel sentencing his father to prison would echo in his heart for years to come. Eddie watched his dad get escorted out of the courtroom and saw himself. The sad thing was, there was nothing he could do to stop it. His greatest skills were lockpicking, pickpocketing, and cow tipping.

So, one parent in a coffin, the other in the clink, and zero prospects. What a life he led. To his credit, Wayne tried to keep Eddie at a distance from the seedier stuff. Eddie got a job at the local bar. He stayed on the straight and narrow for about a week before he started running drugs in the back. 

The business got the attention of a family that had their hands in a lot of work in this town - the Marini family. The same family that had loaned Al that money. And the exact same one that Wayne was taking small jobs for to both repay the debt and keep the lights on.

“This is Wayne’s boy.”

“Not his boy, his nephew.”

“His pop’s in jail, that makes him his boy.”

Eddie was leaning against the wall behind the bar, having been accosted by a couple of Marini goons. He didn’t know exactly who they were, but knew enough to clock them as lower level.

But they offered him a gig and he was in need of the cash. He was always in need of the cash. Doing so without consulting his uncle got him a cuffed ear but it was way worth it to see the look on Tonio’s face when he popped the target before he could even get his gun out. They saw Eddie as just some fodder. A two-bit criminal with no future.

But as both he and Wayne took on more favors, opinions of them began to turn. They started to get more respect. They started to get bigger payouts. And eventually, they started getting invited to gatherings.

It was at one of these gatherings, that he finally set his eyes on the upper members of the family. It was at such an event, that he saw the boss’ son, smelling for all the world like a sweet, rich omega - Steve Harrington.

Part 2

[morganbritton132]

I need Eddie's jealous moments!!!!!

yk... for research

Eddie once came home from a three-week stint playing shows in middle-of-nowhere Ohio to find a man sitting on his couch. Steve was newly diagnosed and newly moved in, and Eddie was prepared for anything.

Except for a man sitting on his couch. A very distinctly Tommy H-shaped man, sitting way too comfortably and way too close to his boyfriend. On his couch.

Eddie was expecting throw pillows not – “Hagan.”

“Munson.”

Eddie wasn’t due back until tomorrow and Steve is surprised to see him, and he’s happy. He lights up like Christmas, but this is not the homecoming that Eddie was expecting. He still gets a hug, but it doesn’t linger and it doesn’t lead to where he wants them to go (the bedroom). Steve awkwardly pats him on the shoulder when he pulls away like they’re bros.

It’s kind of obvious that Steve had some of his jock friends from high school over to watch the game because the people on tv are talking about sports and there’s a letterman jacket too big for Steve or Tommy forgotten on the kitchen floor. The fact that Tommy is the only one that remains irks Eddie though.

It sets his teeth on edge, especially when Steve settles back on the couch and Tommy refills the space next to him like they were still friends. Tommy throws his arm over Steve’s shoulder, absently touching his hair the way that he always did in school. Steve might not notice it, but Eddie does.

It ain’t subtle. Not to Eddie, who knows what it looks like to be in love with Steve Harrington.

He’s not dumb. Eddie might be out of town just as much as he’s in it nowadays, but he knows what the rumors are about why Steve is living here. He also knows that if he was the one harboring a crush on a boy since grade school and there was even the slightest change that he might be gay than Eddie would be here too. Testing the waters.

Too bad for Tommy though because this is Eddie’s pool.

Despite the loud and obnoxious presence pressed up against Steve’s side and Steve awkwardly reintroducing them to each other, Eddie still asks, “You have people over?”

“Wayne said it was okay.”

“Course it is,” Eddie grinned. “You live here, sweetheart.”

Steve tells Eddie how Tommy was home from college for the long weekend and about the game of telephone that led to him hosting his friends. He even tells Eddie how he recorded the game on tape to watch with Wayne later. Eddie listens and he maybe agreed to watch the rerun with them, but he’s waiting. He’s watching Tommy squeeze the back of Steve’s neck and make some joke that’s not funny, and he’s waiting.

And it happens.

Steve asks Eddie how his shows went, and Eddie grins. He’s not an insecure man. Not about Steve and not about their relationship. Tommy can make all the moves he wants, Eddie knows where Steve’s sleeping tonight. So, he grins.

He startles them both with a running jump onto the coffee table and he takes up all the attention in the room, Tommy left an afterthought. Eddie regales his time in the far off land of Ohio. He paints a perilous picture of nights driving through cornfields and cows like an adventure. He recounts their shows like he’s slaying a dragon, and he draws Steve in like he knew he would.

He physically draws Steve closer, crouching down in front of him and putting his hands on his shoulders. One hand slides up to caress his cheek, and Steve leans into the touch. Eddie pulls him forward until he’s barely on the couch at all and Tommy is left leaning against nothing, and then Eddie pulls him to his feet.

High school Steve probably would’ve sneered at the Eddie of it all, but this Steve – his Steve – laughs and lets Eddie pull him where the story needs to go. He drags Steve through the living room as he weaves a tale in movement about Corroded Coffin’s harrowing battle against the one lone preacher protesting devil music.

Their feet get tangled together when Eddie zigs and Steve zags, and they end up toppled into Wayne’s favorite chair. Steve laughs in that way that squishes his whole face and he tells him without thought, “Missed you.”

Eddie knows that those are words that Tommy wants to hear. He knows the taste of a friendship lost and he knows that Tommy wants this, but this isn’t high school anymore. Tommy can’t just take what he wants. It’s a deep and settling smugness playing on Eddie’s lips because this his and he says, “I know.”

Tommy leaves with very little fanfare. Forest Hills may not be a castle, but it’s Eddie’s domain and Steve is a very captive audience. Tommy, at least, knows when to admit defeat.

He’s standing on the gravel outside of the trailer when he says, “I’ll drive you to that appointment Monday. What time was it?”

Before Steve could say anything, Eddie’s throwing his arm over Steve’s shoulder. He gives Tommy a grin that’s all sharp corners as he threads his fingers into Steve’s hair and tugs on it, “Don’t worry about it, Tommy-boy. I’ll handle it.”

Eddie only kinda feels like an asshole when he smudges Tommy’s name off the calendar stuck to the fridge later that night, but then he gets into his bed for the first time in three weeks. Steve curls up closer and Eddie finds it really hard to care about anything else.

[steviewashere]

The Bow on a Gift

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Internalized Fatphobia, Fatphobia, Disordered Eating, Negative Body Image, Body Dysmorphia Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chubby Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Harrington Has a Bad Mom, Sad Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Chubby Chaser Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss

I'm a fat guy and this is partially based on experience. So you will be nice, or else. (There's nothing I'll do, but I am scowling, if you must know.)

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💕—————💕 Steve Harrington was a chubby little kid. You wouldn’t know that unless you asked directly, but it’s true. He’d been a little boy with dirty blonde hair, sun kissed cheeks, and a thick body sturdy enough to climb trees in his backyard. He didn’t parade this information around, though. Not with the voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like his mom; telling him to drink another glass of water instead of getting just one more scoop of food, to check the nutrition label on his packet of cookies (and to stop eating them immediately if the first ingredient was sugar; which it was, it always was), and to stay away from certain foods. Candies, chips, carbs—anything his mom disapproved of, labeled unnecessary and innutritious.

So, his relationship with food and body went from: This is good. To: It’s no longer good enough.

He had slimmed down over the years, no praise towards his eating habits. This was pure just working out through sports and gym class. His meals were portioned out to him by his parents, served to him as seen fit in school, or packed to be the best of the best. Always without the addition of some sort of snack food. Bad food, as it had been deemed in his house. Junk food, as it had been deemed by the public.

Other kids would offer up single Oreos from their sack lunches. He’d shake his head with a wry smile, say something about ‘watching his figure’ (like his mom would say), and go back to eating whatever meager meal was in front of him. A tuna salad sandwich some days. Water and a salad—leaves wilting and dressing a little left of good sour—on others.

He mourned those little moments of indulgence in his day. The couple little chocolate candies he could have before going to bed on Halloween night. A snack cake from the Byers family next door. His very own baggie of Doritos to go with his freshly made turkey sandwich, the champion’s meal after long days spent in the pool. And so his relationship with food and body went from: It’s no longer good enough. To: There’s nothing good about it.

Steve Harrington was a chubby kid. But he won’t talk about it, not really.

Though, he sort of has to now. Now that he’s thicker again, soft belly and chunky thighs and meaty arms. Now that the world ending fights are over and he’s relaxed and a little more sedentary than he was. Now that Eddie is giving Steve sad, cow-like, brown eyes whenever he mentions ‘watching his figure’ or being ‘not hungry’, or when he looks at a freshly taken Polaroid and asks a little too loudly under his breath ‘is that what I really look like?’.

——— Eddie’s sitting on the couch next to him. He’s shirtless, fresh from outside in the pool, eating away at a bag of Ruffles he brought with him. There’s an open can of Coke on the coffee table, gently popping and foggy from the fridge. The bag is shifted between them, open side towards Steve.

He eyes the chips inside. The dark orange coating—cheddar and sour cream flavored. Knows that if he takes even one, he won’t be able to stop himself. That he’d probably eat the whole bag. Because he’s done that before. After he’d not let himself indulge in snack foods, he’ll do that. Take in whatever junk food item he can find, hide away in his room, and eat it until he’s either sick or can’t stomach anymore. Usually the former happens before he knows it.

They look tantalizing though. And his tongue salivates at the mere thought of them. Imagining the salty goodness flat on his tongue. The savory notes of cheddar. What it would be like to give in could only be described as a dream.

“You wanna few?” Eddie asks around a mouthful. He absentmindedly scratches at his belly, Steve watching. Looking between them. At his own body, where he’s begun to develop a little pouch of a belly, folding over his older, tighter Hawkins High sweatpants. Then he peers at Eddie’s, lithe, thin, fit as a fiddle—even though Steve watched him devour an entire pizza outside, even though he had a few ice cream bars, even though he’d guzzled down some beers.

Steve knows as soon as he eats one of these chips, everything his mom said will come true. That it’ll go straight to his waistline. That he won’t be able to shed the pounds. That he’ll be a disgusting mess. Even though this body is comfortable, a little warm, entirely soothing. Even though he could see himself chubby again and know that he’d recognize himself. He looks like he did just before high school, before he really started to lose weight, when he was the happiest he’d ever been.

“Nah, I’m good,” he relays through a tight, fake smile. “Had quite a big lunch not too long ago, remember? I’m trying to watch my figure.” He pats his own center for good measure. Palm meeting soft cushion, like he’s patting a pillow. But he’s all too aware that’s his own middle he’s touching. Grimaces at the realization.

Eddie eyes him for a beat. Chewing stopped, food swallowed, not going back for more. He not so subtly wipes his crummy, greasy chip fingers on his swim shorts. And just keeps looking. “Why do you do that?” He asks bluntly.

Steve chuckles nervously. “Do what?”

“You make these awful comments about your body. Why do you do that?”

He scoffs. “Like you weren’t already thinking them, Eddie. I’m fat. And I shouldn’t be eating all this shitty food.” His hand rests on his middle, scrunching his fingers lightly, feeling that extra padding through his t-shirt. Feels like he should’ve grabbed a different shirt. Something looser. Something less outlining, skin-tight. It doesn’t actually fit against his skin like plastic wrap, but it tries to.

As Eddie continues to stare in stunned silence, Steve retreats in his mind.

Thinking over how a lot of his clothes have become tighter in the last several months. Thinks over everything he ate today—a slice of pepperoni pizza (‘Too much bread, Steven,’ his mom’s voice states), four glasses of water, a banana, the chocolate bar Robin threw at him (‘Think of the sugar, Steven! That’s awful for you,’ his mom rings out again), and a single beer (‘Beer? Really? That’s alcohol, Steven. God, you really are like your father’, and that particular comment stings. His dad is a bigger guy, has a bigger gut, wears larger clothes. It stings.) He kind of wants to cry. To hide. To run away.

So that’s what he does. He stands abruptly from the couch. Eyes on him, still, burning and observing. Seeing exactly who he is and how he’s shaped. And he darts up to his bedroom—trying not to focus on how parts of him jiggle or how parts of him slap against the other or how his sweatpants shift in a way that pinch him because they’re too small. He slams his door shut, locks it, and stuffs himself at his desk. And 'stuffs' feels right because his chair creaks, it squeezes him. He can feel it. Feel himself. Knows every little movement he makes and how it makes him look.

And his eyes drift over to the few pictures he has framed on his desk. Some of Robin and some of Dustin. One with Eddie and Mike. Then, one that particularly irritates him, is a photo Eddie sneakily took. Of Steve laying on one of the loungers outside, shirtless for once, belly spilling over the waistband of some swim shorts, hairy and soft. There’s a roll forming under his chest. And he squeezes the equivalent of that now, noticing that it seems bigger than the picture is making it out to be. Looks harder and notices his chest has grown to be a bit flabby, moobs. Eyes scrutinizing the way his ankles are bigger and his watch is tighter on his wrist and that he’s laying on his chair in such a way that there’s a more pronounced double chin. He squishes that, too. The heft of his fat between his fingers. And for a moment, he kind of wants to throw up.

His cheeks are warm under his fingertips. Squishy. Pinch-able. And his fingers are thick, thicker than he remembers them being. His feet feel wider when he flexes them under his desk. Every little bit of him is softer and more humiliating and just a little more disgusting.

This was a safe body at one point. The softness in it was comfort. And the warmth it carried was a balm. But it’s just this. A terrible reminder of how selfish he is, how over-indulgent he is, how much of a mistake he’ll always be.

He shouldn’t do it, but he looks back at the photo. At everything about him. The roll and the moobs and the soft underbelly. The thick neck and thicker legs and widening wrists. And then his eyes drift back to his center. Noticing, for the first time ever, that he’s got those red stretch mark lines forming on his hips and near his belly button.

Remembers, only some short years ago, when he was stout and chubby and still a pre-teen dorky kid—how his mom would make all sorts of ugly comments about those lines. When she’d see the silvery ones left after giving birth to him, the way her fingers would trace them and she’d scoff. Or how she’d see them on his dad’s hips, making some short comment about how fat his dad was getting. Remembers the look of hurt that would flash over his dad’s face—quick and subtle, but contorted and downward and sour nonetheless. And he knew, still knows, that sometimes his dad can be a total asshole—college and work and doing good in life all stark reminders of failure—but knowing that even the biggest, toughest, and smartest of guys can be knocked down with statements like that…It always made Steve feel just a bit sick. He knew he’d never be perfect in their eyes, but something about his physical attributes being all that matters to his mom, that hurts. He may never be the smartest of their family tree or the best, but at least his dad can find respect for him in other regards—knowledge about cars or sports or hugs given after rude comments from his mom.

There was no respect for Steve’s soft body, though.

And how was he supposed to respect his own when it was nothing to everybody else? When it was gross, unflattering, the topic of every conversation? When he was peered at like a bug, poked and prodded, scarred?

He gently rolls the t-shirt he’s wearing so that it sits just below his pecs. And looks down. Lifting up a love handle to really get a good look. There they are. Red, fresh, scarred reminders of just how awful his body is.

Nobody likes the fat kid. Not his mom. Not his middle school gym teachers. Not his old friends. How is he supposed to believe that this body of his is liked now? All he’s heard is negative. And negative it must be.

A knock on his bedroom door breaks him out of it. “Steve?” Eddie’s soft voice flutters in.

Steve sniffs, unbeknownst to him that he was crying. He hastily wipes at his cheeks. Choked, he calls out, “Please go away, Eds.”

Eddie sighs gently. Rests his head on the door, his hair rustling from how he shifts. “I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he sincerely apologizes. “I just…I don’t know. It makes me upset to hear you talk like that.”

“Yeah, well—“ His voice crackles, attempting to be stubborn, but sorely failing. “—It makes me upset that you have to see me like this. I’m…Eddie, I’m fucking ugly, don’t you get that?”

For a long moment, Eddie doesn’t speak. And in that time, Steve thinks he left. Left because he realizes that Steve’s right, that he is some ugly mess, incapable of being loved correctly. But then the gentlest voice Eddie’s ever carried comes through. “Baby, you’re not ugly.”

Steve’s chin wobbles, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I am, Eddie. I am—“

“I look at you, Steve and see somebody I want to know infinitely,” Eddie admits quietly, bulldozing the claim Steve was making. “You’re someone that I seek out, a person I find comfort in. You are…” And he swallows heavily. The sound unmoored by Steve’s shaky breath. “…You are so damn beautiful to me. I—I know that’s hard to believe, probably with how you view yourself, but it’s true. I enjoy the fact that you’re relaxed enough now to indulge, to grow comfortable. I love the way peace wears itself on you, Steve. You’re beautiful, you’re everything, you’re…Steve, you’re somebody I love so deeply that I can’t fathom viewing you any other way.”

Slowly, Steve comes back to the door. He twists the doorknob, listening as Eddie shuffles back a couple half-steps. And opens it just enough to peer through. Eddie’s soft, sad eyes are on him again—not observing, just looking. There’s something warm in his gaze though, a warm blanket stretched between them that Steve wants to nestle in.

“Do you really mean that?” Steve asks a little breathless. It sounds whiny to his ears, maybe a little petulant. But Eddie doesn’t look affronted by it or mad. Just disheartened.

He nods gently. “Yeah, sweetheart. I really do mean that. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Even though I’m…Though I’m fat?”

“Yes,” Eddie answers immediately. And another part of Steve preens, loving that Eddie didn’t say something stupid like, ‘You’re not fat.’ Because so many people have said that. Too many people have said that. “Steve you could be in any kind of body and I’d still think you’re beautiful. And…uh, it’s kind of odd to admit it, but maybe I have a preference for chubby people?”

Steve snorts and opens the door a little wider. “Really?” He asks, a semblance of teasing back in his voice. “Is that really something that does it for you?”

“There are so many places on you that I can use as a pillow. Or that I could bite. You’ve got more space for kisses! Steve, think about how many kisses I could give you!” Eddie emphatically states. He grows a little meek-ish, though, when he continues. “And, honestly? I’ve been attracted to you since like…seventh grade. I’ve literally seen you in all shapes, all sizes. My attraction to you has not wavered, tell you that much. The chubby bit is like a giant bow on top of an already amazing gift. Y’know the kind of bows that are sticky on one side? The ones you sometimes stick to your forehead and then you keep afterwards because you liked how shiny it was and your mom says something like, ‘Why on earth are you keeping that?’ and then you say you like it because it’s pretty and then she rolls your eyes and lets you keep it, but then you’ve got like something really cool and awesome and memorable in your hands and you just kinda want to cradle it forever? That’s—“ Eddie takes a heaving breath, washing out Steve’s tiny fit of giggles. “—That’s…I want to hold you in my hands and keep you forever.”

Steve takes a step out in the hallway, grabs Eddie’s hand, and leads them back into his bedroom. He’s still laughing as Eddie squawks, blushing furiously, nervously chuckling back. He takes Eddie’s face between his softer hands, relishing in the way he reaches up and grabs onto Steve’s wrists. Thumbs running warmly over pulse points. “You’re such a dork!”

“And you’re such a beautiful person, Stevie.”

He leans in, resting his forehead on Eddie’s collarbone. Hands falling down to his biceps. Squeezing. “You’re such a dork,” he reiterates, voice soft and awed. “And it’s the nicest thing in the world. But I…” Steve looks back up, chin digging into Eddie’s chest, peering up reverently just as Eddie does the same downwards. A hand cups the back of his head, running over his hair. “I need you to know that sometimes I still feel bad.”

“Means I can remind you more just how much I love you.”

“And I have a bad time controlling my food habit bullshit.”

Eddie shrugs. “So I’ll be there to help you out, no biggie.”

“And I have stretch marks.”

Warm hands travel up and down Steve’s back. And…yeah, it feels nice the way Eddie’s palms glide over his softer parts. How they tenderly hold him. He doesn’t feel bad, not within these arms. “I’ve seen ‘em,” Eddie admits quietly. “You wanna know what they mean to me, though?”

“Hm?”

“It means that you’re comfortable enough to relax. To let yourself…be at peace. And the best thing about ‘em is that they’ll turn silver with time. Shows to the world your survival, sweetheart,” Eddie explains. Voice gentle, seeking. Loving. “Means that at some point in our lives, whatever stretch marks you have will fade just like the other scars we share. They’ll just become another memory of yesterday. And that I can admire them when we’re a little more wrinkled, wrapped around each other in bed, sharing kisses like secrets. Means that we won and I got to keep you as my prize.”

Steve shifts his hands from Eddie’s biceps to his face again. Holding him just as soft as Eddie is. Just enough to squish his cheeks, just enough to feel him, but not smother him. And he pulls him in. Rubs his nose against the tip of Eddie’s. With all the adoration he’s ever felt for Eddie—enough to make him want to burst with it, enough to warm him, enough to paint him golden—he kisses him. No tongue, just a press of lips. Chapped skin and tiniest bit of crumbs that Eddie, somehow, did not wipe away completely. He kisses just to transfer. A love so all encompassing, it needs nothing more than this, nothing more than softness and warmth and the two of them in a small space. His love for Eddie, kept away and flourishing like greenhouse flowers. And just like those plants, he can share this love, keep it comfortable and year-round.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs against Eddie’s lips. Pulls back slightly to gauge all of Eddie’s face. Adoration gleaming in his chocolate eyes. “I wish I had better words to give you.”

“When I have you in my arms? There’s nothing else that’s better, Steve. I could have you just like this forever, deaf and blind and mute, and I would view it as heaven.”

Steve sniffs, again, unknowingly crying. But Eddie thumbs away his tears as if it’s nothing. And maybe it is. Maybe he doesn’t have to worry so much with somebody like Eddie. “You’re a sap,” he gently teases. But then his face gets serious again, tone shifting once more. “You wouldn’t mind that I kept my body like this, though? This genuinely wouldn’t bother you?”

“Chubby chaser,” Eddie states, pointing at himself. “If it was bothersome, ever, to me, you’d have to kill me. Because that definitely wouldn’t be me, babe.”

He smiles, teeth and all. “Good because I…I do like this body a lot, even though it seems like I don’t. It’s just shit I’m working through, y’know? But I like being able to just let go. Be at peace, so you said.”

Eddie hums. Presses his hands into Steve’s back. Kisses him softly, just to kiss and nothing more. “Then just be. Do it for you,” he whispers.

“Okay, Eds. I’ll try.” At that, his stomach grumbles. He chuckles, moment ruined. “We should go get something to eat,” he suggests.

“Yeah? I heard there’s this bag of Ruffles downstairs that your…boyfriend?” Steve nods, answering wordlessly. “That your boyfriend tried to offer up earlier. Maybe we should eat that.”

Steve nods. “We should see how many we can stack on our foreheads. My record is ten.”

“And you say I’m a dork.”

“You are a dork.”

Eddie smiles, lets Steve guide them back downstairs. Murmurs, “And you’re beautiful.”

💕—————💕