#chaser steve

[half-oz-eddie]

Thursday's Broken Promise

Steve woke up to the buzzing of his alarm with a soft smile on his face. He used to hate mornings, but Billy changed all of that for him. They fell into a love-filled routine of alternating between who cooks breakfasts, and who cooks dinner. 

It was Thursday, which meant it was Billy’s day to cook breakfast. Normally, by now, Steve would smell the aroma of Billy’s “anti-breakfasts” as Steve called them. Billy would make fried chicken, burritos, breakfast pizzas, anything that didn’t feel like French toast or pancakes. 

Billy only liked those foods when Steve made them, because “Steve’s the sweet one,” and he knows how to make those sweet and delightful deserts for breakfast—“cinnamon-sugar-whatever-the-fucks” he’d teasingly call them. 

They were in love, and it was beautiful.

But this particular morning, Steve was confused. Why didn’t he smell those savory aromas in the air, or faintly hear Billy’s metal playlist playing downstairs? Not a clanking pot, sizzling pan, not a curse being mumbled, nothing—the house was purely silent.

He went downstairs to investigate, calling BIlly’s name. 

He wasn’t in the kitchen, not in the bathroom…nowhere at all. 

Steve grabbed the landline and dialed Billy’s phone, but it went straight to voicemail. 

In the 2 years, 6 months and 25 days they’d been together, this was unusual. Billy would always do his own thing, but he never made Steve worry. 

“Okay, okay, don’t panic. Sometimes Billy’s just a little overwhelmed and-and he goes off to his favorite spots to relax.”

He checked the woods behind the Hopper-Byers house first. After the Starcourt incident, Billy would wander into the woods there to be alone and reflect. Joyce would bring him dinner or dessert until he eventually warmed up to them.

Billy wasn’t there.

“Okay…maybe he’s with Max?”

Billy and Max repaired their relationship over time. Often times, they’d both sneak off to the skate park early in the morning, or go to the quarry together.

Billy wasn’t in either of those places. 

Steve checked all the places he could think of, calling all the people that came to mind, calling Billy’s phone, leaving him 5 voicemails, and then a 6th, his voice breaking. 

“Billy…baby, please come home. Whatever happened, I promise we can fix it! I'll fix it! I'll do better. I promise. Just...please call me?”

Steve returned home hours later. He was a no call, no show at work, likely to get fired, but he didn’t care. If he lost Billy, it was like losing everything already. 

He tried to keep a clear head, but he could feel himself spiraling, his stomach churning at the thought of Billy actually being gone.

He looked around for some sort of clues, anything. He quickly learned that Billy’s basketball duffel was missing. There was a small pile of hangers on the floor, and a space on the wardrobe where his clothes used to be. 

Billy left him.

“Wh—why’d he do this? We were so good, so happy!”

He went down to the police station to file a missing person’s report. Something had to be wrong. 

“Can’t file a missing person’s report over this, Steve.”

“What? Why not?” Steve questioned Hopper. “This isn’t like him, you should know that!”

“This is exactly like him, kid. He’s a loose canon, sporadic, doesn’t like to be told what to do or tied down. Just cut your losses. He left you. Probably went off to find himself.”

Hopper’s words were so cold and matter-of-fact, but maybe he was right. Even still, Steve refused to give up on him.

He spent 2 weeks driving across the country, stopping at all the places Billy ever mentioned in conversations. A bar he wanted to visit in Texas, how intrigued he was by facts he’d read about Salt Lake City, his plans to gamble in Las Vegas, and of course, his endless memories in California. 

Steve traveled to each of those places searching for Billy, finally stopping in California. 

On his way, he called Sid. 

Billy was so scatterbrained after Starcourt. He’d write numbers down and then misplace the papers all the time. Sid changed numbers a lot, so Steve would save the numbers every time Billy wrote them down. He just wanted to make things easier for Billy.

Sid told Steve that Billy called him 2 days prior and told him he’d been planning a trip back to California. A permanent one. Said he needed to get as far away from Hawkins as possible.

Steve’s heart sank. He automatically assumed it was his fault, but Sid assured him it wasn’t.

“Billy loves you, man. Loves you more than anything. I dunno what happened, but he said he needed to get out of Hawkins as soon as possible and that it was gonna hurt like hell when he never saw you again.”

Steve could not stand the possibility of never waking up to the aromas of Billy’s breakfast, or feeling his hand sliding across his chest in the middle of the night for reassurance. He couldn’t cope with the thought of never hearing Billy’s laugh again or how noisy he made the house all by himself. 

They had so many plans for the future. So many things they were going to do. So many tomorrows they'd talked about. This couldn’t be the end for them.

He drove around California for another half a day, finally spotting Billy’s Camaro parked by the beach.

He parked a few feet away and just watched him. He watched to make sure that there wasn’t somebody else, relieved when he saw Billy get out of his car all alone, but also so distressed to see Billy so lonely again. 

He sat on the hood of his car, eating a bag of sunflower seeds. Steve wondered if Billy was taking care of himself, neglecting the fact that he’d barely eaten or slept himself. 

He got out of his car and ran toward Billy, shouting his name. 

Billy stiffened up, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear Steve, even when he approached the car. “Billy. Billy? Wh—what the hell’re you doing? Why’d you just leave home like that?”

“I was hearing his voice again.”

“What? Who?”

“The fucking mind flayer, Steve!” He raised his voice to a volume Steve hadn’t heard in a long time. Ever since they got together, Billy became much quieter and softer, where’d that Billy go?

“You were hearing the mind flayer again and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna hurt you. I thought I’d just get away from Hawkins to where the mind flayer couldn’t reach me, and everyone could move on and forget about me.”

“Forget about you?!” Steve nearly pulled his hair right out of his head. “I uprooted my whole life to find you. I tried to file a police report, I searched all the places you’ve ever mentioned to me—I even called Sid!”

“You called Sid?” Billy raised a brow in surprise. 

“Of course I called Sid, you idiot! I haven’t been to work, I’ve hardly eaten, barely slept…all I wanted was for you to come home!”

“I can’t come home, Steve. Why can’t you just forget about me after everything I’ve done?”

“Because you’re part of me, Billy! And I-I’m completely done for. I can’t live a life that doesn’t have you in it. When you left, you took every part of me with you that existed.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I didn’t—“

“Look at me, Billy.”

He refused.

“Look at me!”

Billy met Steve’s sunken, bloodshot eyes. His skin was pale, his hair was messy, and he smelled pretty damn bad. What did he do to him?

“Steve, I’m sorry—“

“Sorry for what, exactly? For breaking my heart? Or sorry for “doing what you thought you needed to do?” Huh? What is it, Billy?!” 

“I’m just…sorry. Sorry for everything. I left Hawkins because when I started hearing the mind flayer’s voice, I thought he was alive again and gonna make me hurt people. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ever lost control and hurt you.”

“Billy. The mind flayer is gone. El told you that more than once.”

“Then why did I hear his voice?! Something’s not right, Steve. I can’t go back there. I can’t.”

Steve deflated. “But…what about me? What about us?”

“You’ve got a life there. You have a family, friends that love you. I don’t have anything like that. You could meet a nice girl and have that shit load of kids you wanted and forget about me—“

“No. I can’t. If…if you’re gonna stay here, away from Hawkins, I’ll stay here too.”

“You sure?”

“All I wanted to do was find you, Billy. All I could think about was being with you, and nothing else. You’re the only future I want.”

Billy leaned in and kissed Steve. “I’m sorry.” He apologized again.

“You’d better be. You still owe me breakfast. I woke up that morning expecting some of those spicy burritos.”

“When we finally get a place again, I’ll make you as many fuckin’ burritos as you want.” He kissed Steve once more.

“I’ll hold you to that promise.”

[intothedysphoria]

Embarrassingly, the first time Steve had met Billy, he’d thought he was doing drugs.

It fit the mental profile. Billy was short but with massive hair, massive, heavy boots and patches on his jacket. The only other person Steve had met who looked like that was Munson. Munson was a dealer.

He was later informed that Billy was just trans and “oh my god dingus in what world does injecting testosterone look like injecting heroin?”

The second time Steve met Billy, he realised Billy was absolutely magnetic.

Not in the rom com way or anything, but there was just something about him. Everyone loved Billy. He was funny, acidly sharp and had the natural good looks of the guys who were never interested in Steve on Grindr.

He was also a self professed slut. What this seemed to mean in practice was picking up half a bar whenever they went clubbing or roaring with laughter as he rejected them.

Some guys were weird about it. They had these creepy ass fetishes about trans guys but Billy would always either tell them to fuck off or knee them in the balls.

He’d visit the diner Steve worked at most days and they’d make small talk. Billy liked his pin, the one Steve had with a small dinosaur on. It was fun. A touch of individuality.

Once Billy pinched his cheek (??) and called him cute before slowly walking away. Steve then locked himself in the staff toilets and willed his boner to leave.

The google search “what do trans guys like” was either full of cis men being douchebags or just straight up porn. Neither of these were particularly helpful to Steve.

He fell asleep watching Noahfinnace YouTube videos and trying to find a way to ask Billy out that didn’t make him feel like he was being weird.

Billy apparently did not give a shit about any of Steve’s worrying because he dropped his bag on top of the counter at the end of Steve’s shift and declared

“Harrington pack up your stuff. We’re going out.”

He drove his car at the speed Steve imagined could have Back-To-The -Futured them to the 80s and made a stop outside a tiny Polish place. “You’re Polish right?” Steve’s dad was from Warsaw and his mom was from Algiers. So yeah, you could say Steve was Polish.

It was slightly squashed in but authentic. Billy was also very clearly nervous. His face was extremely flushed and he kept putting his hand out then retracting it. Like he thought Steve would reject him.

Like Steve would ever reject him. Could ever reject him.

Billy decided to drive Steve back to his house. It felt like one of those dates from the 1950s, if you disregarded Billy grumbling about “fucking itchy nipples”. He smacked a wet kiss onto Steve’s lips, scribbled his phone number onto Steve’s arm and started walking back to the car.

“Next time Harrington, I’ll bring the strap on!”

Then his voice faded into the dark.

Next time. There would be a next time.

For any trans harringrovers, I hope you enjoy it

@shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 @oopsiedaisiesbaby @thatgirlwithasquid @robthegoodfellow

[scoops-aboy86]

Last Party of the Summer

Prompt Used: Pool party (@thehairandthebanished) and make-up sex (@steddiesmuttyseptember) | Last Party of the Summer | Rating: E | CW: hurt comfort, weight gain, body image issues, mildly intoxicated sex | Additional Tags: chubby Steve Harrington, miscommunication, breakup to makeup, makeup sex

also on Ao3

It’s hard to keep tabs on someone at a crowded pool party without being obvious about it, especially while working at getting drunk. But Steve, pausing to shotgun another beer, thinks he’s doing pretty good all things considered. He’s not glaring literal holes through Ed— through Munson’s stupid leather jacket, at least, so he can’t be that obvious. Even Tommy hasn’t commented on it, and Tommy isn’t one to notice things and not run his mouth, so there you go. 

He’s not being obvious at all. 

Then, out of nowhere, Eddie emerges from the crowd and uses a firm grip on his upper arm to propel him from the side of the pool back inside the house. Steve hadn’t even realized he’d lost track of the guy among their peers, which only adds to the unreal feeling of being frogmarched up the stairs and into his bedroom, ringed fingers burning like a brand through the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

“Alright,” Eddie snarls after kicking the door shut behind them. “You are the one who ended things, so what’s your fucking problem, Harrington? Mad that the riff raff got in to supply this dumb shindig with party favors?”

Indignance kick-starts Steve into scowling and yanking his arm away, crossing them across his chest. (But also, hearing his last name roll off Eddie’s tongue when just a few weeks ago he’d been ‘Stevie,’ ‘baby,’ ‘sweetheart’ makes something twist painfully in his chest.) “Watch what you’re calling dumb, Munson. You’re the one who snuck in uninvited.”

“It’s called working. It’s what some of us have to do when we don’t have daddy’s money to fall back on!”

The words make Steve take a sharp step back, because Eddie knows his parents throw money at him as though it’ll make up for never being around, never paying much attention to him unless there’s something to scold him for. How he’s gotten checks in the mail after making the winning shot or run or lap in an important match or getting a good grade on a big test, but they’re never there to actually see any of it; how he feels more like an employee or an investment than a son. 

And maybe it’s because he’s toeing the line of drunk, but his eyes sting. A little. 

“That’s a low fucking blow, freak,” Steve sneers, blinking hard. His crossed arms tighten further over his chest like he’s trying to keep something from breaking out, and he doesn’t care about the way Eddie’s face twitches. He doesn’t! “But I guess that’s par for the course with you, isn’t it? Never pull a single fucking punch.”

“I’ve pulled plenty,” Eddie sneers right back. 

Which is. Oh. That’s worse. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, huh?” And Steve can hear his voice going humiliatingly tight, there’s just nothing he can do about it. Fucking beer. “I told you to go, what’s the point in dragging me up here just to rub it in more, huh?”

Almost worse, what if someone had noticed them going up the stairs together? He could’ve withstood that before, when they were still… But now Steve is all alone, painfully unwanted even by the town loser, who must have pulled his punches long enough for the sake of getting laid for a while, just like all the girls who had ever found Steve wanting after a few dates. All he wants is his own sad business to stay pathetically his own, but Eddie just had to be out selling tonight. 

“Maybe I just wanted a little fucking closure, Steve.” Eddie leans back against the closed door, like he’s trying to get as far away as possible without leaving the room, glaring. There’s nothing soft in those eyes now, not anymore, not even as he says Steve’s first name instead of his last. A concession? No, it must just be a lapse. A lingering habit of familiarity, soon to be broken. “You kicked me out without any warning, and now you’re following me around with this look like I’m the one that did something wrong. Rub in what? What the fuck did I even do?”

Steve feels his jaw drop. “What did you do? Are you stupid or something?”

They’d been in Steve’s bed, plaid comforter kicked to the floor in their hurry, too wrapped up in each other to give even half a shit about the chaos of sheets around them. And maybe Steve had been a little self conscious about taking off his shirt that night, because it was between sport seasons and he hadn’t been keeping up with his workouts lately, too wrapped up in Eddie and shared joints that set his mind free from what Eddie called the ‘shackles of conformity.’ He’d still done it, stripped as eagerly as if he’d never noticed the way a few extra pounds had gone to his ass and belly lately. Because surely Eddie wouldn’t care. It was conformity to worry about that kind of shit so much, and Steve was trying to be better. To be someone Eddie could not just like, but respect, too. 

At first it was fine. Eddie pounced on him like he usually did, with a demanding kiss before lavishing attention on the constellations of Steve’s moles that lead from check to neck and further. He latched onto a nipple, teasing at the quickly tightening bud with teeth and tongue until pulling back in satisfaction and diving for the other. Then further down, raking his blunt, black-painted nails down Steve’s sides until he reached his waist, gripping… then, unusually, pausing. And then, then he’d—

“You laughed at me,” Steve spits, and oh god his eyes are really stinging now. That’s all he’s got, that four-word complaint, but it’s anything but little. Humiliation and hurt and shame coiling in his gut and making all the beer he’s downed tonight churn unpleasantly, because he’d been stupid to think that what they’d had wasn’t as superficial as everything else in this stupid town that Eddie wants to ditch the second he graduates. Everyone knows what the Freak of Hawkins High thinks about jocks. Probably sits around snickering to himself in his free time about how Steve’s let himself go—

“When the hell did I laugh at you?” Eddie is still pissed, still scowling at him, but there’s an undercurrent of bewilderment in his voice. (Steve recognizes it from the time he’d tried to explain the rules of baseball.) “Before or after you shoved me off, bare ass fucking naked, and told me to get my shit and get lost?”

“Before!” Steve can’t believe this. What is Eddie trying to do here, pretending he doesn’t know? “Right before that! When you… felt my stomach.”

Face burning at the admission, Steve is looking anywhere but Eddie and doesn’t know what to make of the sputtering noise at first. Until the lack of response gets to him and he glances, then focuses, then frowns, the tight cross of his arms loosening infinitesimally in distraction. 

Eddie is just… standing there, pointer finger held aloft in a ‘hold on a second’ gesture, his other hand pressed hard against his mouth and his eyes downcast in deep thought. 

It’s the same thing he does when he has a light bulb moment about a new plot point in a campaign and is trying to sort out in his head how all the threads of it mesh with what’s already there. The recognition makes Steve’s heart ache, regardless of how baffled he is to see it in this context. 

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters after a second, rubbing his hands over his face and sighing heavily, a hint of frustrated growl to it. “Well… fuck, okay.” 

He presses both hands together, tapping both pointer fingers against his lips and breathing out heavily through his nose, and finally looks up to make eye contact. 

“Okay, I just heard it how you must have heard it, and that’s—” A grimace passes across Eddie’s expressive face. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Steve. Pretty insulted that you’d just assume I even would, but that’s… that’s not the point.”

Steve blinks and keeps blinking, hard, not sure how the argument has turned into… this. He’s still mad, hurt, everything he was a minute ago, but now he’s confused too. And kind of indignant, a little unsure, half ready to tell Eddie to just get out again. “What? Dude, I heard you!”

“Not a laugh!” the metalhead insists. “This is so—For fuck’s sake, Steve, I liked it. I was excited, and I… I fucking giggled, alright?”

And… what?

“Giggled?” Steve repeats. 

“Yeah,” Eddie bites back, embarrassment coloring high on his cheeks. “Like a goddamn schoolgirl. I wanted to bite you there, you asshole,” he adds, but it lacks heat. His voice has gone tired, the fight draining out of him as he realizes—and as it occurs to Steve, if he’s telling the truth—that what they’d both been hissing mad about was a complete and tragic misunderstanding. 

“But… I don’t get it,” Steve says numbly. Maybe it’s the beer catching up to him, but his conviction is wobbling now and he feels off kilter. He shuffles a few more steps backwards until he runs up against the bed and sits so fast it feels like falling. “I’ve let myself go and you… I thought you…”

He’d been so sure. That laugh has been ringing through his head ever since he’d heard it, but suddenly it sounds like a caricature, like something out of a cartoon. 

Not how Eddie sounds at all.

“It’s not ‘letting yourself go’ to not be skin and bones, man,” Eddie says, shoving both hands in his pockets and looking down at the toes of his own sneakers. “Some padding never hurt anyone. I like it, alright?” Defensive, defiant, but… a little subdued now. 

Sad, Steve thinks, and then suddenly that’s all he can feel. It hits him that he’d pushed Eddie away, ended things between them… for no reason? 

His shoulders are already hitching up before he even registers that he's crying, wetness trickling straight down to dampen the hair at his temples. It’s been weeks. Weeks of being angry—he’s so tired of it, but the only alternative was to feel horribly lonely so he held onto it anyway, a rope burn on his soul to distract from the pain of his heart cracked in two. 

And he’d known as he watched Eddie earlier tonight that his gaze bordered on more pathetic than mad. Not quite cooled off enough to realize on his own that he’d made a mistake, but enough to recognize it now that reality (and Eddie) stares him in the face. 

It’s over for no reason. Eddie hates him now and if it was just a dumb misunderstanding then, then Steve absolutely deserves it—

The bed dips at his side. Not close enough that they’re touching, but that it happens at all is a surprise. And then Eddie murmurs “Stevie?” so hesitant it makes Steve choke. 

It’s the barest hint of an olive branch, and he’s absolutely going to blame the beer for how it makes the tears drip faster. He hasn’t felt this pathetic since the car ride home after one of the few basketball games his dad had ever bothered to attend, where Steve had missed not one but two easy free throw shots. 

“I’m so s-stupid,” he gasps wetly, and immediately feels even more pathetic for saying it out loud, as if it’s not obvious. He turns away, away from Eddie, trying to hide—his face, his body, everything. This is the worst pool party ever and he’s never drinking again. 

“You're not stupid, you dumbass. Hey.” Eddie touches his shoulder, keeps his hand light but there when Steve tries to shrug it off. He sighs heavily, almost a huff. “It’s not stupid to react to me pressing a button I didn’t know was there. Look—Would actually saying something instead of jumping right to kicking me out been better? Absolutely. That really fucking hurt, man.”

“Sorry,” Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “And sorry I called you a freak. You’re not, I don’t… I don’t really think that.”

There’s a pause, and then Eddie squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks, man. I’m, uh… sorry for the crack about your dad and calling you an asshole.”

“I am an asshole.” Steve’s eyes are already shut; he squeezes them tighter until colors start to bloom across the inside of his eyelids. “Fucking ruined everything over some stupid thing that was only ever in my head, so I… I deserve this. But you didn’t and I’m sorry, I hope you—” and here his throat tightens up, because he wants to say I hope you can forgive me, but that would be even more pathetic than he’s already being. “I hope you find s-someone who treats you better.”

This pause stretches out for a lot longer, so long that Steve would think Eddie had left if not for the remaining dip in the mattress and the hand-shaped brand on his shoulder. He’s just waiting for the agreement and for Eddie to finally leave for good, holding in a wordless, futile scream for when he’s alone. Fuck the party downstairs, he’ll call the cops himself if he has to just to clear them all out, and suck up whatever punishment he gets if the Hawkins PD decides to notify his parents. 

Finally, after a thousand fucking years of that scream burning a hole in Steve’s throat, Eddie says quietly, “Or, you could just… not do that again. Think you could do that for me, Stevie?”

Absolute fucking whiplash. 

Steve is so shocked he actually turns back to look, and all it takes is the sight of the other boy’s big brown eyes and the softness there, the tender flaming hope in them. “Yeah,” he croaks, doesn’t even think he sounds like himself anymore but at least he gets the word out. “Yes, Eds, please—”

And then Eddie is on him with a bruising kiss, scrambling to kick his shoes off while Steve scrambles at the black leather jacket, pulling it off to grab desperately where Eddie’s bare sides show through the intentionally ripped shirt beneath it. Ripped denim rasping against swim trunk fabric as Eddie straddles him, grinds down hard, refusing to let either of them up for air. Steve is just as hungry for it, just as desperate. 

It’s different. They’ve still got their residual hurts, he can taste it in the way Eddie bites at his lips, bites all the way down to his neck and sucks a dark claim on the side that Steve can’t help arching into with a moan. A breach of their unspoken rule not to mark each other because they can’t be out, not in this town and definitely not while they’re still only going into their junior and senior years, respectively—but Steve is in just the right mood not to give a shit about that right now. Although…

“Door,” he gasps, trailing off with a whine when Eddie rolls his hips down into his again. “Did you lock it?” 

Eddie pulls back fluidly with a curse under his breath, which Steve takes as a no. “Get these off while I’m gone,” he says, voice rough, and tugs at the waistband of Steve’s swimsuit. A second later he’s on his feet, backing away with a smoldering stare until Steve gets the hint. 

With a jolt, Steve shoves the trunks down, bracing his heels on the bed to tug them over his ass. His cock bobs free, and his breath catches at the way Eddie keeps watching until he backs into the door. 

“Good boy,” Eddie breathes, turning the lock behind his back. “Scoot back on the bed. After tonight, I’m going to make sure you’ll never think I’d laugh at you ever again.”

Steve does as he’s told, partly because he’s still shivering from the good boy (what is it about Eddie taking charge and calling him that, gets him every time) and partly because Eddie turns away to his tape player. Downstairs, it sounds like the party has seeped into the house; the living room speakers are thundering out don't you want me baby? at a volume that will probably spur the neighbors into action—morons. But all the better that the door is locked, if the party is going to ramp up unchecked; it’s only a matter of time before couples start breaking off to find any free privacy they can get. 

Eddie puts in a mix tape, one of the ones he’d gifted months ago for what he’d called Steve’s ‘auditory re-education,’ and moves the smaller player close to drown it out.

In that cocoon of some of the metal songs that Steve actually likes, Eddie comes back to bed stripped out of his jeans and shirt. He crawls up between Steve’s legs until he’s hovering over him face to face. Then he gathers up Steve’s wrists, moving them to cross against the headboard above his head, and Steve lets it happen because it makes breathing pick up, makes his pulse throb faster between his legs. 

“Keep these here,” Eddie says, and then kisses him so gently that Steve is shaking with the need to pull him closer, to have more. But the second he reaches to do so, Eddie catches him again. “Stevie…”

“I missed you so much,” Steve groans. Pouts, too, but lets Eddie replace his wrists above his head, not sure if he’s fully forgiven yet—doesn’t m is if this is penance or a reunion, or to what degrees it’s both. “Eds, please—”

He’s interrupted with another kiss, just as gentle and slow, but so unchaste it makes him feel like he’s melting. And then Eddie murmurs against his lips, “Missed you too. Let me show you, sweetheart.”

Before Steve has a chance to answer, Eddie wraps a hand (when had one of them left his wrists?) around his cock and drags a slow thumb over the head. 

“Just keep your hands up here for me and be good.”

With a shuddering breath, Steve tries. He keeps his hands in place while Eddie nuzzles down the front of his shirt to the soft swell of his stomach, no less noticeable than their last night together. (Watching what he eats is hard, okay? He’s a teenage boy, he gets hungry. And maybe he’s still a little bloated from the beer even though he can’t really feel the alcohol slowing him down anymore.) There’s a faint red line, visible when his shirt is lifted, where it’d pushed slightly over his waistband all night; Eddie presses a gentle kiss to it and sighs.

A good sigh, like this is exactly what he’s been waiting for. Steve’s heard it before when taking the other boy in his hand, in his mouth—and even if his mind is inclined to overthink it, his body is hardwired to respond. Precome dribbles onto Eddie’s fingers, easing the glide as he slowly, slowly starts to stroke. Makes Steve shiver with dueling sensations of shame and pleasure because Eddie is still kissing the little pooch of his tummy, free hand kneading gently over the softness at his side, starting to tip the scales with how good the combined attention feels. 

“That’s it baby,” Eddie tells him breathily, almost crooning. “That’s it…”

And slowly, slowly Steve starts to relax into it. He does try to look away a few times, overwhelmed, but Eddie answers each attempt by turning his face gently back and staring him down while kissing him more, tummy and soft sides and chest. Leaving love bites here and there. The sounds Eddie makes, pleased hums and low moans and quiet praise and Steve’s name, over and over. 

It feels like coming home. 

The next morning, Steve wakes up to Eddie kicking the door shut behind him as he comes back into the room. 

“Everyone’s cleared out, but you do not want to look out there,” Eddie announces, setting a tray piled high with easy breakfast foods (scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast, jam, poptarts, fruit), two mugs of coffee, and a jug of orange juice on the bed with a flourish before crawling back into it himself. “At least not before noon.”

Steve doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care, because Eddie is here. Eddie is here. With a breakfast that perfectly suits his level of hungover—not bad, but not great. 

“Eds,” he starts, another apology ready to spill out, but Eddie pops a piece of toast into his open mouth and settles at his side. 

“We’re good,” the other boy says simply. “It was a dumb misunderstanding that made you feel hurt and sad and made me feel hurt and pissed off, but it’s untangled now. Just never try to dump me like that again and we’ll be fine, alright?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve agrees quickly through a full mouth. He’s struggling to chew the big bite that had been shoved in, reaching for Eddie’s hand. Eddie loops an arm around Steve before letting him take it and twine their fingers together. As soon as he swallows, he adds, “I don’t want to dump you.” Not ever again, he hopes, but it doesn’t feel like the right time to say so. Not right now, not something so big that it’ll sound like a grand empty promise right after making up. 

But Steve is pretty sure the fact that it hurt so much to push Eddie away means he’s capital L in love with him. 

“Good.” Eddie kisses him, a hint of sweetness on his lips that suggests he sampled some of the jam while cooking. “Now, eat up sweetheart. That makeup sex wiped me out, and we’ve got a lot more celebratory banging on the schedule for today. Gotta keep that strength up.”

And, he has a point. Steve feels the grumbling of his empty stomach, along with the easy throb of all the little marks Eddie had left on his body the night before as a form of… of worship or something. Reminders that maybe letting go isn’t such a big deal. Because if he skimps on breakfast when it’s what his body wants (needs), sooner or later he’ll get restless and cranky and risk ruining everything all over again. “Yeah, keep my strength up,” Steve agrees, feeling his face heat a little. But Eddie beams at him, starts fussing around with the pillows so they can recline comfortably while they eat—while offering Steve forkfuls of scrambled eggs and bites of this or that, really—and slowly, slowly relaxes into feeling like everything’s going to be okay.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @irishvampireboy @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

[rosewaterandivy]

wouldn’t know where to start

summary: she likes to roll here in my ashes anyway

pairing: former s.h. x f!reader

a/n: did anyone ask for this? no, but I felt it in my heart of hearts! we need some hangdog steve and Mother Nature working her magic— adrenaline, tension, & forced proximity, aka storm chaser!steve and his band of misfits.

series m.list

It was nearing sundown as he drove into the small town. Soft summer winds blew through the wheat fields, bending the golden stalks as if it were an ocean of glimmering sunlight.

Main Street didn’t have much to offer— a Sonic, Dollar General, and a lone 7-11 were the corporate standouts amongst a panoply of mom and pop store fronts offering everything from a homestyle breakfast to antiques to laundering services.

Letting his wrist hang against the wheel, he pulled into the turn lane and flipped on his signal. A lone ‘88 Ford pickup passed him by with a neighborly tip of the hat. He flashed a smile and wave as he turned into the gas station.

He parks the rig and cuts the engine. To his right, Eddie blinks slowly taking in his surroundings.

“This it?”

His voice is scratchy with remnants of sleep. He reached back to wake Dustin and Robin, the latter doing so a bit more spastically than the situation warranted.

She rubs the sleep from her eyes as Steve exits the cab and waits at the gas pump.

Soon, Dustin and Eddie start whispering about what supplies to stock up on from the gas station and stumble from the truck.

Robin stretches and rolls her neck before pressing her finger to roll down the window.

Steve is leaning against the dusty cab, marks of red and ochre cleaving to his white tee shirt as he watches the numbers tick by from behind his aviators.

“Hey,” She offers with a quick grin, “Kinda like old home week, huh?”

He nods and pushes off the truck stepping toward her window. His face is drawn behind his glasses, despite his closed lip smile. He pulls the ball cap from his head and runs a hand through his hair.

It’s a lost cause really. He’d thrown it on earlier at the motel before they’d rushed out of the room just before checkout time. Between driving all day and mediating arguments that broke out between his three stooges, there hadn’t been time to pull off and change in an attempt to make himself decent.

The hat goes back on but Robin manages to pluck the glasses from his face and place them on her own. She sticks her tongue out and rolls the window back up just as the pump stops with a click.

He can hear Eddie and Dustin bickering as they walk back to the truck— something about the drone and upgrades. Steve returns the pump and slides his phone from his back pocket, the screen brightening back to life.

He thumbs through his messages with a sigh and pauses at your name.

As expected, there’s no response to his earlier query. The message reads delivered but his heart still sinks at being rebuffed.

Still in TX?

He’d sent that weeks ago. And still, he had no clue what to expect. For all he knew, he could show up to find another family living at the property or your granddaddy greeting him at the door with his shotgun.

It could really go either way.

Settling back in his seat, he puts the truck in gear and turns back into Main Street. Robin, Eddie, and Dustin chatter about some such shit as he grips the wheel, knuckles flaring white the closer and closer they drive to the house.

Red dust kicks up under foot as he steps out of the truck. The white-washed house before him is bathed in a dull yellow light from the lone bulb on the porch.

He turns back to the truck.

He could just pack it up and head back now, it wasn’t too late. He hadn’t been spotted yet and no one would be the wiser. Robin catches his eye with her blue eyes wide, a slow shake of her head tells him to do the damn thing.

A storm door slowly creaks open, boots falling against the worn wooden planks on the porch.

“Well, well, well,” A gruff voice intones into the night air. “I’ll be damned.”

Steve slowly turns around, willing his shoulders back down from his ears, and pastes on a megawatt smile.

“Hi, Mr. Wilder,” He greets with a wave, “Long time, no see.”

The old man scoffs, “You can say that again.” The double-barrel of the gun remains trained on Steve, his eye never leaving the scope.

Steve clears his throat uncomfortably.

“D’you know where she is?”

He laughs in reply, a callous thing.

“I sure as shit know where you weren’t.” He steps down from the porch, a flood light flickering on and illuminating the front yard as he does so. “At the altar, where you swore to me you’d be as you begged for my blessing.”

Logically, Steve knew it was coming. But it was still hard to stomach— he was a coward and he well knew it too.

“Now, Imma give you the count of three to git off my property. Which I think is mighty fair of me, considerin’ you how you broke her heart and all.”

Steve slowly backs up, hands in front of his body as if to soothe a wild animal.

“Sir, I don’t mean any offense, but if I could just talk to her—“

A sudden gust of cool air blows through the trees. The gun lowers minutely as Steve peers across the horizon, searching for something.

Rolling black clouds from the west, gaining speed and moisture. The temperature drops as the evening birdsong falls to a hush.

Robin scrambles out of the truck, all gangly legs and stammering sentences.

“Steve, it’s headed toward us. The doppler—“

“I know. Rob, get the—“

“Already done.”

Eddie and Dustin fall into step at his side, equipment gathered in their arms.

The old man sighs, pinching his fingers between his eyes in frustration and defeat.

“You remember where the storm cellar is?”

“Yessir.”

“I’ll meet you down there after I lock up the barn and house.”

Thunder rolls overhead as Steve leads his team into your family’s storm cellar out back. Crashes of lightning illuminate the freshly harvested fields, hay bales bundled tightly.

Your granddaddy joins them not five minutes later, shotgun still in hand. The phone in his pocket rings shrilly.

“You know, if I never saw your ugly mug ever again, I’d die a happy man.”

“Yessir, sorry sir.” Steve responds sheepishly as Eddie struggles to contain his laughter.

He sighs again and brings the phone to his ear. “You sure as shit better be, Harrington.”

[wh0lemilk0vich]

okay so this one has been bouncing around in my head. transfemme!stevie who starts estrogen and her weight redistribution coupled with a bit of happy relationship weight leaves her with no concept of women’s clothing sizing and what actually fits her, especially because it’s so variable by brand. she gets so frustrated in the dressing room when the cute jeans she picked up in medium and large won’t pull beyond her plump thighs, or when certain dress material doesn’t have any give. eddie on the other hand loves to watch the way his favorite girl’s body is changing. eventually, she stops caring as much and most of her clothes fit tightly on her curves, and eddie often finds himself on his knees sucking stevie off when she gets home because of how exquisite she looks in her new clothes. the lingerie is even better because it doesn’t have to look presentable, so her new boobs and fluffy hips look wonderful when they’re adorned with lacey teddies or red thongs. -🫑

🫑anon!!! My heart 🥰🥰🥰🥰

This is so cute and precious to me. I'm such a transfem Stevie truther and this is just soooo good. I can see them dating from pre-transition and then Steve comes out and Eddie is so supportive (Bi/Pan Eddie 🥰), so excited to get to call his Stevie his lady, princess, babydoll, sugar. And Eddie's always been the gift giving/physical touch type, it's just that the gifts of his love language typically tend to be food. Steve's favorite snacks, extra helpings here and there, a sonic run when he's had a bad day.

And like I soooo saw exactly the scene you were describing. Steve's body starts softening, weight distributing to her chest (thanks titty Skittles) and, low in her belly, her ass, hips, thighs; growing beautifully plump and pear shaped. And she's finally ready to start feminizing her wardrobe more. She's been growing out her hair, Robin and Nancy have been helping her with make-up. But she doesn't understand any of the sizing and they couldn't be there to help, and she's too afraid to ask any of the department store staff for help. So when none of the jeans she picked out fit up her thighs, or over her ass, and the dress that does fit is tight and conforms to all of her curves, her flaring hips, and outlines her belly, and she nearly melts down in the changing room. But Eddie comes in and just holds her and tells her how beautiful she is, and looks for some stretchier stuff, grabs a couple higher numbers for now to see how they work. And Stevie has calmed down and is about to undress out of the dress when Eddie's suddenly hugging her from behind, love in his eyes looking at her in the mirror, and he drags his big hands along her sides, emphasizing her figure before rubbing and cupping that soft lower swell that the velvet dress displays prominently saying "Fuck me running, Stevie. This is the best part of dresses" so earnest and aroused, his hot breath in her ear. She can feel him, hard, behind her and looks at herself through his eyes and it's just 🥰🥰🥰.

He can't help himself when they get home, he wants a fashion show, to see her in everything... especially the new stuff they got from Victoria's secret. Like the lacey black cheeky tangas and the starter bralettes and push-ups since Stevie's been getting so busty.

Eddie can't help himself, he gets her out of the lacey bra and sucks her tits, feeling up her ass (giving it a sharp slap to hear her moan), her hips, her gorgeous belly, kissing down her body, biting into that buttery soft roll, before settling his curly maned head between her creamy warm thighs, smacking a loud kiss to her inner thigh, before sucking her off like a hoover.

Stevie has her fingers buried in Eddie's hair, grabbing, and grounding herself on his expert mouth work, his ridiculously talented tongue. She knows she's squeezing her thighs a bit hard, but he's not complaining and he just gives herself over to feeling sexy, beautiful, loved. Because Eddie loves everything about her.

Leads to transfem!chubby!Stevie diner au

[elysiumwaits]

I need beta readers for this storm chaser AU if anyone is up for it! Mostly to read and make sure I stay in one tense, that things keep the flow, and maybe to fact check if I get lucky enough to have idk a meterologist as a follower?

[curvymommy70]

Great night at Straight No Chaser

Steve Morgan is amazing, and I miss Charlie Mechling

[crewfu]

🫤

[majaloveschris]

Is it true that AB and her idiot friend Justin, are friends with Scott and his Boyfriend?

They spent time together with them in LV, but after this PR shitshow, who knows? It could've been part of this whole PR thing.

[johnnybeane]

Tonight, we welcome Steve Rosen, author of "ToneChaser," to discuss his new audiobook. "ToneChaser" chronicles his years spent hanging out with and interviewing Eddie Van Halen. Don’t miss this exclusive interview on the "Exclusively Van Halen" show on YouTube. Be sure to subscribe! 8 PM Eastern.

#SteveRosen #ToneChaser #EddieVanHalen #VanHalen #ExclusivelyVanHalen #JohnnyBeaneTV

https://www.youtube.com/live/8Wd7ybIhDgQ?si=EaLedYt8nw7nDf2p

[the-dear-skull]

I think we are using different definitions. The issue is that the sex in sexuality refers to biological sex. There’s much more to biological sex and attraction than secondary sex characteristics that can be emulated via surgery. If we go with the idea that sex and gender are different (meaning one refers to the physical body of someone, their anatomy, and the other refers to a feminine or masculine gender presentation), what you are saying is that lesbians can be attracted to any gender presentation, masculine or feminine. This I agree with. However, you’re also saying lesbians can be attracted to both male and female people, and this I disagree with because that would be bisexual, not lesbian. I respect trans women’s identity as trans women and they should get to live their lives however is dignified for them, but the reason they are trans to begin with is because they were born male, and lesbians are not attracted to male people regardless of cosmetic surgeries or degree of femininity, and lesbians can be attracted to masculine cis women because those are female, hence calling them cis which I believe is supposed to be the opposite of trans. There’s a differences in perceiving someone or something as being attractive (for example an attractive painting) and being attracted to them. Before you said that since you were stone you were down for anyone who identifies as a woman regardless of biological sex, I thought maybe I’m misunderstanding you when you say attractive and you mean simply in the sense of perceiving someone as good looking for example through a feminine gender presentation, but it seems like you’re saying lesbians, at least in your definition, can be attracted to male people so long as these male people identify as women and attempt to emulate a feminine gender performance. I would not consider attraction to just femininity to fall under the definition of lesbians. Lesbians are also attracted exclusively to the same sex, meaning the female sex, at least in the common definition. If you would have sex with a trans woman with a strap because you’re attracted to that trans woman in such a way that you desire to act on it regardless of if you do and in what way, then we are not using the same definition, because then your definition is that lesbians can be attracted to both male and female people as long as those male people have a feminine gender presentation and/or had cosmetic procedures to look more female. Still, they don’t literally become female, and as a result I would say your definition falls under a bisexual with a preference for males that have very feminine presentation and cosmetic surgeries and that’s fine. I am not trying to provoke you or anything. I am just genuinely explaining my perspective and I believe the perspective of some of those who messaged you without any hostility so you can see where we come from, and if you answer back without hostility as you did, then I can see where you come from as well, and this is why I think it is a matter of different definitions, which I believe erodes the meaning of what a lesbian is and makes it more fluid so as to include both sexes because both sexes can identify as having a woman gender identity, whereas lesbian is commonly understood as being exclusive attraction to the female sex

"HAVE YOU CONSIDERED YOU PEGGING TRANNIES HURT MY FEELINGS?"

[dragonflylady77]

Thank you for not breaking my heart with this, I literally just got out of bed on a sunny Sunday morning...

Poor Steve, understandably freaking out.

JFC Billy, you can't just leave like that!!

Ivy, I love you.

Thursday's Broken Promise

Steve woke up to the buzzing of his alarm with a soft smile on his face. He used to hate mornings, but Billy changed all of that for him. They fell into a love-filled routine of alternating between who cooks breakfasts, and who cooks dinner. 

It was Thursday, which meant it was Billy’s day to cook breakfast. Normally, by now, Steve would smell the aroma of Billy’s “anti-breakfasts” as Steve called them. Billy would make fried chicken, burritos, breakfast pizzas, anything that didn’t feel like French toast or pancakes. 

Billy only liked those foods when Steve made them, because “Steve’s the sweet one,” and he knows how to make those sweet and delightful deserts for breakfast—“cinnamon-sugar-whatever-the-fucks” he’d teasingly call them. 

They were in love, and it was beautiful.

But this particular morning, Steve was confused. Why didn’t he smell those savory aromas in the air, or faintly hear Billy’s metal playlist playing downstairs? Not a clanking pot, sizzling pan, not a curse being mumbled, nothing—the house was purely silent.

He went downstairs to investigate, calling BIlly’s name. 

He wasn’t in the kitchen, not in the bathroom…nowhere at all. 

Steve grabbed the landline and dialed Billy’s phone, but it went straight to voicemail. 

In the 2 years, 6 months and 35 days they’d been together, this was unusual. Billy would always do his own thing, but he never made Steve worry. 

“Okay, okay, don’t panic. Sometimes Billy’s just a little overwhelmed and-and he goes off to his favorite spots to relax.”

He checked the woods behind the Hopper-Byers house first. After the Starcourt incident, Billy would wander into the woods there to be alone and reflect. Joyce would bring him dinner or dessert until he eventually warmed up to them.

Billy wasn’t there.

“Okay…maybe he’s with Max?”

Billy and Max repaired their relationship over time. Often times, they’d both sneak off to the skate park early in the morning, or go to the quarry together.

Billy wasn’t in either of those places. 

Steve checked all the places he could think of, calling all the people that came to mind, calling Billy’s phone, leaving him 5 voicemails, and then a 6th, his voice breaking. 

“Billy…baby, please come home. Whatever happened, I promise we can fix it! I'll fix it! I'll do better. I promise. Just...please call me?”

Steve returned home hours later. He was a no call, no show at work, likely to get fired, but he didn’t care. If he lost Billy, it was like losing everything already. 

He tried to keep a clear head, but he could feel himself spiraling, his stomach churning at the thought of Billy actually being gone.

He looked around for some sort of clues, anything. He quickly learned that Billy’s basketball duffel was missing. There was a small pile of hangers on the floor, and a space on the wardrobe where his clothes used to be. 

Billy left him.

“Wh—why’d he do this? We were so good, so happy!”

He went down to the police station to file a missing person’s report. Something had to be wrong. 

“Can’t file a missing person’s report over this, Steve.”

“What? Why not?” Steve questioned Hopper. “This isn’t like him, you should know that!”

“This is exactly like him, kid. He’s a loose canon, sporadic, doesn’t like to be told what to do or tied down. Just cut your losses. He left you. Probably went off to find himself.”

Hopper’s words were so cold and matter-of-fact, but maybe he was right. Even still, Steve refused to give up on him.

He spent 2 weeks driving across the country, stopping at all the places Billy ever mentioned in conversations. A bar he wanted to visit in Texas, how intrigued he was by facts he’d read about Salt Lake City, his plans to gamble in Las Vegas, and of course, his endless memories in California. 

Steve traveled to each of those places searching for Billy, finally stopping in California. 

On his way, he called Sid. 

Billy was so scatterbrained after Starcourt. He’d write numbers down and then misplace the papers all the time. Sid changed numbers a lot, so Steve would save the numbers every time Billy wrote them down. He just wanted to make things easier for Billy.

Sid told Steve that Billy called him 2 days prior and told him he’d been planning a trip back to California. A permanent one. Said he needed to get as far away from Hawkins as possible.

Steve’s heart sank. He automatically assumed it was his fault, but Sid assured him it wasn’t.

“Billy loves you, man. Loves you more than anything. I dunno what happened, but he said he needed to get out of Hawkins as soon as possible and that it was gonna hurt like hell when he never saw you again.”

Steve could not stand the possibility of never waking up to the aromas of Billy’s breakfast, or feeling his hand sliding across his chest in the middle of the night for reassurance. He couldn’t cope with the thought of never hearing Billy’s laugh again or how noisy he made the house all by himself. 

They had so many plans for the future. So many things they were going to do. So many tomorrows they'd talked about. This couldn’t be the end for them.

He drove around California for another half a day, finally spotting Billy’s Camaro parked by the beach.

He parked a few feet away and just watched him. He watched to make sure that there wasn’t somebody else, relieved when he saw Billy get out of his car all alone, but also so distressed to see Billy so lonely again. 

He sat on the hood of his car, eating a bag of sunflower seeds. Steve wondered if Billy was taking care of himself, neglecting the fact that he’d barely eaten or slept himself. 

He got out of his car and ran toward Billy, shouting his name. 

Billy stiffened up, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear Steve, even when he approached the car. “Billy. Billy? Wh—what the hell’re you doing? Why’d you just leave home like that?”

“I was hearing his voice again.”

“What? Who?”

“The fucking mind flayer, Steve!” He raised his voice to a volume Steve hadn’t heard in a long time. Ever since they got together, Billy became much quieter and softer, where’d that Billy go?

“You were hearing the mind flayer again and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna hurt you. I thought I’d just get away from Hawkins to where the mind flayer couldn’t reach me, and everyone could move on and forget about me.”

“Forget about you?!” Steve nearly pulled his hair right out of his head. “I uprooted my whole life to find you. I tried to file a police report, I searched all the places you’ve ever mentioned to me—I even called Sid!”

“You called Sid?” Billy raised a brow in surprise. 

“Of course I called Sid, you idiot! I haven’t been to work, I’ve hardly eaten, barely slept…all I wanted was for you to come home!”

“I can’t come home, Steve. Why can’t you just forget about me after everything I’ve done?”

“Because you’re part of me, Billy! And I-I’m completely done for. I can’t live a life that doesn’t have you in it. When you left, you took every part of me with you that existed.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I didn’t—“

“Look at me, Billy.”

He refused.

“Look at me!”

Billy met Steve’s sunken, bloodshot eyes. His skin was pale, his hair was messy, and he smelled pretty damn bad. What did he do to him?

“Steve, I’m sorry—“

“Sorry for what, exactly? For breaking my heart? Or sorry for “doing what you thought you needed to do?” Huh? What is it, Billy?!” 

“I’m just…sorry. Sorry for everything. I left Hawkins because when I started hearing the mind flayer’s voice, I thought he was alive again and gonna make me hurt people. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ever lost control and hurt you.”

“Billy. The mind flayer is gone. El told you that more than once.”

“Then why did I hear his voice?! Something’s not right, Steve. I can’t go back there. I can’t.”

Steve deflated. “But…what about me? What about us?”

“You’ve got a life there. You have a family, friends that love you. I don’t have anything like that. You could meet a nice girl and have that shit load of kids you wanted and forget about me—“

“No. I can’t. If…if you’re gonna stay here, away from Hawkins, I’ll stay here too.”

“You sure?”

“All I wanted to do was find you, Billy. All I could think about was being with you, and nothing else. You’re the only future I want.”

Billy leaned in and kissed Steve. “I’m sorry.” He apologized again.

“You’d better be. You still owe me breakfast. I woke up that morning expecting some of those spicy burritos.”

“When we finally get a place again, I’ll make you as many fuckin’ burritos as you want.” He kissed Steve once more.

“I’ll hold you to that promise.”

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a scare on my husband?

EDIT: For those of you coming here from my brother’s post (X) to shit on me, you look like idiots. Try to have an original thought and really contemplate who’s telling the truth after hearing both sides.

I (32f) am one of three siblings. We come from a very well off family. My dad is a former Cryptid and he pioneered the Hook Man in the 70s, so he still gets residuals off of that. We grew up very comfortable and with the ability to do anything we wanted in life. My older brother went to a very prestigious school and my dad gave him the money for tuition. Because my older brother got scholarships, he was able to save some of that money. Right now he works in human tech (very lucrative), but his long-term plan is to use the money to start a Cyber Spook business once he is satisfied with his knowledge foundation.

I ended up taking a gap year before going to community college, but I never felt anything click. I worked part-time jobs spinning out scarer costumes and even did some part-time work as a slasher before deciding it wasn’t for me. I finally found my calling when I offered to help cater for my high school reunion, and now I run a fairly successful catering business.

When it came time for my younger brother, “Steve,” to get his money, he didn’t tell anyone what he was going to use it for. He was working as a Slasher at a small firm in town. We all assumed he’d either go to Scare School or invest the money to start a business like our older brother did.

So when Steve showed up to Halloween dinner one day, six feet taller with extra joints in his arms and legs, we were all shocked.

Dad was furious. He gave us all the same talk about the scare industry when we got our first part-time jobs documenting missions at his company. He told us that scare work was hard and backbreaking. We couldn’t buy our way into it or use his connections to become successful. If we were interested in it, we had to work our way up from the ground like he did. If we didn’t, we’d more than likely end up dead at the hands of a final girl.

He especially emphasized that mods had to be considered carefully and were NOT a substitute for skill.

Steve thought they were. When his company didn’t pay him back for his body modification AND didn’t promote him from Slasher to Regional Nightmare, he quit. But the surgeries drained his cash and he couldn’t afford his apartment anymore. He had to move back in with Mom and Dad. As always, Mom totally coddled him. She said that he didn’t have to pay rent and agreed with whatever he said when he’d go on these long tirades about his former company.

I could tell Dad wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he’s never been able to go against Mom. So he mostly kept his mouth shut though he did try to get Steve a job at his old company. However, last I heard, Steve was set against anything corporate and was spending a dozen hours a day driving around using the app SlashDash to find jobs.

About a year and a half ago, I was over for dinner with Steve, Mom and Dad. Steve was talking about work. He said SlashDash wasn’t working out for him and was taking too many fees out. I offered advice since I’d done Slashing in high school. I recommended sites like Scarework and Midnighterr to get more gigs.

Mom told me I interrupted Steve. She gestured for him to continue and tell me about his exciting new setup.

Steve told me he was beyond the sites I recommended. He said he’d bought a scanner so he could listen to broadcasts of active corporate missions. When those fail, he arrives on scene to kill any straggling humans before the scare company in question can send a cleanup crew. And since he’s a Slasher on their scene, they have to give him emergency pay for doing it. It’s a total ambulance-chaser, bottom-feeder move.

Dad was just staring at his plate, not saying anything, but I could tell he was ashamed of Steve. Steve was bragging about being a vulture in the profession Dad helped build.

I asked Steve if he was proud of himself for living off of leftovers. Steve blew up at me, but so did Mom. She chided me for not respecting my brother’s hard work and that his idea to get a scanner was genius, not predatory.

After that dinner, Steve and I rarely talked. Most of the news I got about him came from our older brother bitching about Steve badgering him for scare connections or Mom bragging about Steve killing and “meeting quota.” She would get very cold with me when I told her he was finishing a quota someone else started and not doing his own work. She told me if I couldn’t respect Steve, then I was welcome to not come over while he lived with her.

(Yes, Steve’s always been the golden child.)

I stopped interfering with Steve and focused on my own life. Shortly after, I met my wonderful fiancé “Reginald” while catering an event at Dad’s old company. Reginald is the head of sanitation and he’s the one who gets sent out to clean up any unexpected events during a Scare (like any magical residue or body parts that can’t be explained away through human means). He used to want to be a Cryptid, but he’s got a heart condition that prevents him from working in the field. He says that he’s happy being the “janitor” and happier being with me 😊

Reginald and I got engaged after only eight months of dating. Dad always says that when you know, you know. I invited everyone in my family to an engagement party. Steve didn’t bother answering the invitation. Even though Steve and I weren’t on good terms, I was still hurt when he didn’t show.

When I confronted him about it afterwards, he said that he’d been promoted to Regional Nightmare and he was patrolling his territory, and that’s why he couldn’t come. I asked him what company he was working for, and he said he was still using the scanner.

I pointed out that he couldn’t be a Regional Nightmare without a state license since only the state can assign territories. He started going on and on about being his own “Monster” (and let me tell you, extra joints DOESN’T make you a Monster, those guys are way more committed) and that he had passed the state exam.

When I told Reginald about my brother calling himself a Regional Nightmare, he was concerned. He works closely with the legal department, and he said that Steve is opening himself up to lawsuits by declaring public slashing grounds as his “territory.” He offered to talk to Steve.

We went over to Mom and Dad’s house together to confront him. Dad didn’t know he was calling himself a Regional Nightmare and he went pale when I told them why we were there. Reginald explained to Steve and Mom that being certified was different than being licensed. Legally, Steve is a Slasher even if he can control shadows now (which is a VERY expensive talent to acquire if you aren’t born with it. I think Mom may have paid for it).

The conversation didn’t go well. Steve said a lot of nasty things about Reginald not hacking it as Slasher and claimed he was just jealous. He picked on Reginald’s health which I had me seeing red. I asked Steve what there was to be jealous of since he still mooches off of our parents? Mom got involved and it went downhill from there.

All this to say that I didn’t expect Steve to show up at my gender reveal party less than 5 months later.

Reginald and I weren’t planning on kids this early, but we knew it was meant to be as soon as I got that pregnancy test back. We decided to put off our wedding so that our baby can be part of the ceremony that makes us a family. That being said, I did still have a lot of things ordered for the wedding so I turned the day into a baby shower/gender reveal instead.

That brings us to the party my lovely brother wrote about. First of all, he wasn’t invited by me. Mom invited him, and when I found out, I wasn’t happy with her, considering he never apologized to Reginald after our last fight.

Reginald was stuck at work (some idiot brought together a whole summer camp of final girls and the aftermath was brutal) so I had to force myself to be a good hostess. It was mostly fine. We have good friends and my older brother was very kind in helping me with some of the baby games we were planning to play when Reginald finally got there.

Steve, however, was NOT helpful.

He was annoying the whole time. He messed with the kitchen and he hounded the guests. I’m PREGNANT and the smell of raw meat triggers my gag reflex. He took the meat off the heat without me noticing and basically prevented me from eating lunch with everyone else.

Additionally, Steve claimed in his post that the party was dying??? Reginald and Dad have a lot of friends in common so the party did NOT die. They were all interested in talking to Dad. Dad’s voice is very quiet and raspy from strain over the years, so everyone was being quiet to hear him better. Steve was the one practically screaming over him to talk about his scummy job. The new Hook Man who succeeded Dad was there and Steve basically treated the poor man like a novice even though he’s a Cryptid.

Reginald finally got home and I could tell he was exhausted when I met him at the door. He still put on a smile for me though and said he didn’t need to miss out even when I told him it would be okay. He wanted to be there in our big moment to celebrate our family. He went upstairs to change.

I went back to the guests to tell them that we would start the games soon. That’s when I heard Reginald scream and fall down the stairs.

I’ll never forget the look on Reginald’s face. He was lying at the base of the stairs and looked like he was dying. He was gasping for breath and clutching at his chest. I was terrified his heart was giving up. I asked Hook Man to call an ambulance.

That’s when Steve started laughing.

I lost it. I screamed at Steve to get out. He told me to calm down, he’d just scared Reginald a little bit as a joke. I told him he knew about Reginald’s heart condition and that it was incredibly disrespectful to scare my fiancé in our own house.

He said he didn’t mean to scare him that bad, but that he was just better at it than he thought. His scares were too powerful. He seemed smug and was still laughing.

I accused him of intentionally hurting Reginald because of the licensing versus certification argument we had. I said he was a bully and an idiot.

Mom jumped in and said it was an accident.

Dad FINALLY said something. He shadow-walked (the first time in YEARS) up the stairs and hooked Steve by the neck. He dragged all twelve feet of him down the stairs and told him to get out.

Steve said, “For what? It’s not my fault that weak-hearted son of a bitch can’t take a joke.”

Dad lost it. He told Steve a REAL scarer wouldn’t use their abilities like that on their own families. He told Mom and Steve it didn’t matter if he meant it as a joke. The fact is he used his scare tactics on a layperson, and he could get blacklisted from the profession for it.

Dad kicked Steve out and told him he wasn’t welcome back into the basement until he got a REAL job. Steve kept arguing, but the paramedics arrived then and I lost track of the rest of it.

I went with Reginald to the hospital where Reginald insisted we both get checked out. The stress wasn’t good for the baby and doctor told me it might be best to go on maternity leave sooner rather than later. Reginald is also going to be taking a leave from work. He had a heart attack because of my brother.

Things could have ended worse, but they didn’t end well. I told my parents that I refuse to have Steve at my wedding or even to see my child after they’re born (and now I STILL don’t know the gender! Only our older brother knows since he got the gender reveal cake).

Mom started to protest, but Dad said he understood. He said that both he and Mom just wanted me to be happy and healthy and that they would take care of Steve.

So now I leave it up to you. Having read both of our posts, who do you think is the real asshole? My brother for being “proud” of scaring my fiancé into a heart attack at our baby’s gender reveal party? Or me for never talking to said brother again for the health of my future family?

AITA?

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See you next week!

This week's story is based on this (x) prompt from Writing-prompt-s:

You are a person who covers your counter space in clutter and inadvertently makes a shrine to a long forgotten god who shows up to thank you.

[scoops-aboy86]

♠️♥️ once again! It's Halloween time and for the past month Steve has been chauffeuring the kids around for whatever they wanted (all with attitude of course) and he can't help the annoyance he feels dealing with them, especially Mike. Sometimes he and Eddie get together and talk about what little shits they are, and Halloween night the two get the idea to get a little revenge. All in good fun of course. They all gather at Steve's house and the two make the plan to get the kids (teens now wow) to leave their candy with him while Eddie distracts them and to basically fool them by making them think he ate it all. Of course he has backup candy bags (the good stuff; full size candy bars), but now he has to figure out where to dump their actual candy. He can't hide it because that's too obvious and he technically has to pretend to have eaten it all so Steve concludes to actually just eat it (a horrible idea really, but this was a last minute prank and the joint he smoked an hour ago doesn't help either).

With Eddie and the kids gone he gets started: flicks on a scary movie and settles into the couch, all six candy bags nestled by his side. Chocolates and gummies, licorice and skittles, little bags of treats slowly popped into his mouth. One after the other, Steve methodically unwrapping, chewing, and swallowing. After awhile the taste gets a little old so he cracks open a coke. He's halfway through the third bag when his stomach cramps, gurgling loudly from all the sugar and fizz. He shimmies a bit before unbuttoning his pants and continuing with the plan, telling himself it's all for the sake of revenge.

And again, he keeps going, lost in his own gluttony as he tries to pick up the pace before they get back. He's finally down to the last bag when he hears the van pull into the drive way and he bolts up, bloated gut groaning and sloshing. With clumsy hands he grabs the bags and bolts up to his room, locking the door, hiding the evidence and determined to finish the sixth bag. He can hear them in the living room and he's barely chewing as he shoves the candy down his throat, chugging coke to wash it all down.

With one last gulp, he's done it! But with it gone, and his gut too loud to ignore, he catches sight of himself in the mirror and he's positively potbellied. Unbuttoned jeans tight where his gut lays, his polo shirt having ridden up from where it once covered his deep set belly button, lips smeared with chocolate. He couldn't suck in if he tried 🙊 happy halloween!

Oh my god this is so funny, and my first thought is MIKE what did you DO? But it would have to be all of them, for him to target all their candy bags. (Not Erica’s, though. She’d legit slash his tires, and Eddie’s too for aiding and abetting.) But nothing genuinely hurtful, six parts because I like fluff and half a dozen because that would make this a pretty lame revenge. 

Oh! Oh I know… Added some cool (read: kinda nerdy) homemade Halloween costumes, because Eddie can sew and Steve’s is pretty easy, so it’s a little different from what you laid out. 5608 words! Thank you for the prompt, pal, this was a fun one. 

🔞

Always one thing after another with these goddamn kids, Steve swears. Sure, it’s not uncovering deadly monsters and government plots anymore… but they’re teenagers now, so it’s still always something. 

Today it’s wax fruit, a fake Oreo, and a plastic pickle snuck into his sandwich (that he had made, how the fuck…?) that looks like Mike must’ve stolen from one of Holly’s old play sets. 

And now, to top it all off, Dustin pretended to hurl and got him with fake vomit. 

It’s a rough April Fool’s day. 

But like, at least they aren’t actively making fun of him for the weight he’s gained since the Upside Down ordeals had ended for good. Everyone laughs just as hard when Mike gets Will with a wax apple, and that kid is still a string bean. 

“Mike needs to branch out from pranking people he has a crush on,” Eddie mutters darkly later that night, when it’s just the big kids having some good old-fashioned off duty babysitters time around the pool. 

Steve, confused, is about to ask what he means from behind his (fake pickle free) sandwich, but Robin coughs on a mouthful of beer so instead he has to pound on her back until some of it comes out her nose. 

“Jesus Steve, did you have to thump so hard?!”

“I thought you were choking!!” 

Robin sticks out her tongue and pushes him into the pool, and in his flailing attempts to avoid his fate Steve manages to snag Eddie and drag him in with him. 

Then Nancy sputters “Steve, again?” while laughing so hard that she can barely breathe. It reminds Steve of how he’d dragged her into the pool on purpose the first night they’d—

Steve’s cheeks flame immediately. He’s only actually told Robin how he feels (thinks he feels? is starting to feel?) about Eddie, but Nancy is smart and she knows him, he’s not shocked that she’s noticed. So he has to splash both her and Robin, obviously, before they give away anything. 

Unfortunately, Eddie takes the opportunity to latch onto him like a barnacle and pull him over, so Steve misses and douses Argyle instead, and—

—Steve still remembers, come October. He wants to get them back, but to do that successfully he’s going to need backup. Tough, with both Robin and Nancy off at college and Jon and Argyle back in California, but not impossible.

He swallows down his nerves and asks Eddie. No big deal, they hang out together practically every day these days. Practically best friends. Except… Steve hasn’t exactly told him the reason he doesn’t take girls out on dates anymore. 

“A revenge prank, you say,” Eddie murmurs, hands in front of his mouth and fingertips drumming together in intrigue. He’s sprawled in one of Steve’s kitchen chairs with one leg over a wooden arm like no one ever taught him how to sit like a human. It should be ungodly uncomfortable, but the dude looks perfectly at ease. Weirdo, Steve thinks affectionately. “I like it. Do you have anything in mind, or are we brainstorming?”

“Brainstorming,” Steve confirms, and they relocate to the living room and get to smoking about it over bowls of the spaghetti bolognese he just finished making. 

Eddie’s condition for helping is that they plan matching Halloween costumes, and since they both know the boys are pulling their old props out of closets and attics to suit up as the Ghostbusters again, it’s not difficult to decide on a theme. 

“No no no, we can’t be the Gatekeeper and the Keymaster,” Steve protests with a laugh, waving his hand through the smoke in the air. Since he’s currently holding the joint, the motion paints all new swirling shapes before them. 

“Why not?” Eddie squawks, and steals the joint back before it can ash anywhere unfortunate. 

“Because you have the hair to play Sigourney Weaver, but I could never pass for Rick Moranis. It totally wouldn’t work, man.”

“Dude, work with me here! What else are we going to be, Gozer and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?”

“I…” Steve pauses. He’s seen Ghostbusters, and remembers the Gozer the Gozarian costume from the end of the movie. Can he turn down an opportunity to see Eddie in a nude body stocking and heels? “… Yeah, okay.”

Apparently not. Can he survive it? Remains to be seen, but he’ll find out eventually. 

“Wait, really?” A disbelieving grin spreads across Eddie’s face, making both dimples pop. “You’d put on the little hat, sailor’s collar, and neckerchief for me, Stevie?”

And it’s not that Steve didn’t register the other half of the deal, but he doesn’t really mind. High as he is at the moment, his hand drifts to the belly he’s put on since high school—the munchies keep hitting him in waves and he’s already finished most of the would-be leftovers from the pot in the kitchen, so he’s a little bloated right now. He giggles and gives himself a pat. “I mean, why not? I’m in shape for it, aren’t I?”

The pat knocks loose a burp that sneaks up and out of his mouth as soon as he’s finished talking, but Eddie laughs so brightly that Steve forgets to be embarrassed. 

“I’ve got it,” Eddie gasps once he’s pulled himself together again. “Steve. Steve, you could be the one hundred foot marshmallow man summoned to destroy… their Halloween candy.”

“Destroy it?”

“Yes! It’ll be your revenge for all that fake food! I can be a distraction, while you confiscate all their hard-earned, tooth-rotting treats. They come back—oh no, they’ll weep!”

“Weep?” Steve snorts. Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“They’ll weep, Who stole our candy? Who could have done such a thing? With much gnashing of teeth. And you make your appearance, maybe smear some chocolate sauce around your mouth to really sell it, and say, That’s what you get for all that wax fruit.”

“I guess I could do that,” Steve says slowly. When Eddie offers him the joint again he accepts, taking a hit absently as he mulls it over. “Kinda mean though, stealing their candy. Waking all over the place to get that stuff is a lot of work.”

Eddie shrugs. “Get ‘em candy from the store. The full-size bars and shit. Then once they’ve learned their lesson, they can have that; everything’ll be fine and you get your own trick-and-treat stash. Oh—” he flails with excitement at another idea, and Steve can’t help the way it stirs butterflies in his already full stomach to see all that enthusiasm on his behalf—“but before you do, if Dustin gives you shit, you gotta say something like, What, are you so sad you could puke, Dusty-buns? That’ll show him.”

It makes Steve laugh, a warm feeling growing in his chest to know that they’re good enough friends for Eddie to come up with zany schemes on his behalf. He already knows he’ll go through with it, if Eddie is serious. 

Several weeks later it’s Halloween, and the plan is set. Everyone (minus Erica, who’s trick-or-treating with friends her own age instead) is coming over after making their rounds through the neighborhoods, and Eddie will take them all to the haunted corn maze at one of the local farms. Steve, meanwhile, will hide their candy and pretend to have eaten it by the time they return. 

It’s a great plan. Eddie comes over around sundown to do some pre-celebrating in the form of hotboxing Steve’s bedroom before all the kids in Hawkins start ringing the doorbell at any house with a front light on. 

And Steve feels like he’s been hit between the eyes with a brick when he opens the door to Eddie’s knocking, because wow. 

That is Eddie. With his hair up. Wearing a nude bodysuit covered in plastic baubles and white feathers. When he blinks, his eyelids are dark red with eyeshadow, just like Gozer’s eyes in the damn movie. And all Steve did was fish out a few elements of his old Scoops uniform—not the one he’d been interrogated by Russians in, he and Robin had burned both of those outfits after Starcourt—and put them on over a white sweater and white pants. 

Eddie leaps across the threshold, strutting around in… oh god, he is wearing heels. Steve has to look up slightly to meet his gaze, and it makes him want to lean in even more than he usually always lowkey does. 

“Gozer the Gozerian,” Eddie howls, baring his teeth in a feral grin as he continues to announce, “Gozer the Destructor, Volguus Zildrohar, the Traveller has come!” He jabs a finger towards Steve demandingly. “Choose, and perish!”

Somehow, Steve manages to keep his composure—maybe from all the practice he’s had. He puts his hands on his hips and raises his eyebrows. “I thought I’m the one destroying stuff tonight. Isn’t that the Marshmallow Man’s whole job?”

“Aw, Stevie,” Eddie starts, looking him up and down and… getting distracted for some reason. 

Steve glances down at himself, worried that maybe he’s gotten something about his sweater, but no. And he can’t see anything on his pants either, unless it’s just under where his belly pooches out over the top of his pants and makes it hard to see—he’s made his peace with that, but it makes him nervous now. “So, uh, are we gonna smoke or what, man? Do you even have pockets in that, um… outfit?”

Whatever it was that had snagged Eddie’s attention, he shakes himself out of it to shoot Steve an exaggeratedly put-upon pout. “Sir Stay Puft, you dare question a god? Of course I have pockets.” He reaches towards where the over-layer of fluffy decoration is thickest winding up his torso—the left side, where Steve knows his scars are also the most prominent, even after a year and a half. Turns out there’s a cleverly hidden zipper pouch beneath it, and Eddie produces two roll-ups and a zippo with a cheeky grin. 

So they’re definitely both decently stoned by the time the kids come by. The four original Party members are in their Ghostbuster suits, as expected: Will as Winston, Dustin as Egon, Lucas as Ray, and Mike as Venkman. El has her short but growing out hair curled and a guitar case slung across her back (presumably because no one had seen fit to let the kids borrow a cello, which was for the best). Max, in her wheelchair, is green from head to waist and styled to look like Slimer on top of the hotel maid cart from the movie. 

“Oh shit,” she crows when she registers Steve and Eddie’s costumes. “Okay, you nerds are definitely outnumbered in terms of ghost power now. Looks like I chose the right side.” 

The three of them exchange high fives, before Steve insists on getting pictures. “You know your mom will love it,” he says pointedly to Dustin. “And since she cooks me dinner more often than any of you—”

“I cook for you sometimes,” Eddie pipes up. Which is true. But mentioning Mrs. Henderson’s cooking has already reminded Steve’s high brain that he hasn’t eaten much since Eddie arrived, not wanting to get spills or crumbs on his glaringly white outfit, so Steve just waves him off, distracted. He feels his stomach give a quiet little grumble. 

“Yeah yeah, I know you do. I’m talking to the twerps.”

“We’re not—”

“Anyway,” Steve says loudly over Mike, clapping both hands together, “come on people, pictures! Everybody! Let’s go!”

They manage to get a few shots of the entire group using the timer feature on Steve’s parents’ fancy camera (that they’ve never used). He has no idea if any of them will be any good from the way he can hear Eddie muttering encouragement for everyone to strike weird poses right before the flash goes off, but at least they’ll be funny. Poses are much more encouraged for the rest of the photos, featuring the Ghostbusters battling their different ghostly opponents. El seems a little annoyed that she doesn’t have anything in particular to do, and thankfully no one suggests that she try to act out Dana possessed by Zuul—that’d be a little too close to home. 

So the last couple shots are of El fending off all three ghosts with her ‘cello’ case, delightedly shouting “Get away from her, you bitch,” no matter how many times the boys try to explain that yes that was Sigourney Weaver, but in a different movie. 

And then—

“Okay,” Eddie says loudly, clapping his hands and winking unsubtly at Steve, “who’s up for the haunted corn maze? Gozer is granting you lame little mortals a ride too and from, otherwise my associate Mr. Stay Puft here will be free to step on you with impunity—”

Ten chaotic minutes later, Steve is alone in a house full of candy and an empty stomach. He rubs absently at it while dumping all the kids’ candy bags out on the kitchen island counter. As he goes, he makes backup bags to send them home with—plain brown paper, the same ones he always used to take his lunches to school in—and matches every  fun-sized bar he dumps out with a full-sized bar he drops in. 

If he hesitates on a few of his favorite kinds of candy, no one has to know. Mostly, though, his thoughts are a mix of Claudia Henderson’s lasagna and wishing he were at the haunted corn maze with Eddie. He’s taken dates to the haunted maze before, it’s not that hard to find a dark corner where no one would realize it’s a guy he’s trying to woo, especially with the form-fitting Gozer costume thrown into the mix… But, well, they’ve spent a decent amount of extra time together while plotting this—read: getting high and congratulating each other on being so devious and smart—and that will have to do for now.

When alternate bags are all done, he grabs a Coke from the fridge and slurps at it while sorting the remaining candy into different bowls: one for just chocolate, one for nuts, one for nuggat, one for toffee, one for sour, and one for the rest. And then… he takes them all out to the living room couch, along with a new six-pack of Cokes. Fully aware of what he’s doing, but still floaty enough from the weed that he’s not really sure when he made the decision. 

The plan was to stash the stolen candy and share it with Eddie later, but he’s hungry. Probably won’t finish it all, anyway. There will still be some—and even if there’s not, he can always buy more. Doesn’t care right now, he’s hungry. He hasn’t eaten since, like… lunch. 

And, fine, yes, his weight has really gotten away from him, especially lately. He’s spent all summer whenever he wasn’t working lounging by the pool in his backyard, working on his annual tan while completely unbothered by danger beyond forgetting to apply enough sunscreen. Relaxing. Snacking. Drinking, sometimes beer but most commonly pop. He gets to do this now, he’s earned it, and he’s really enjoying himself. 

Steve settles himself amongst the candy bowls with a VHS in the player and a hand on his belly. It’s so soft and squishy, he usually ends up touching it one way or another these days; now, he feels all over the way it spills into his lap a little, kneading at it like a stress ball. With his other hand, he reaches for a Snickers bar and melts into the couch as it hits his tongue. 

Most of the trick-or-treat candy is small for each one to fit in his mouth in one go, and anything larger is a challenge that he meets with happy enthusiasm. 

After that initial bite, he starts with his least favorites, wolfing them down to get it over with and washing each mouthful down quickly with a Coke chaser. When he gets to the stuff he likes okay he lets himself slow down, still going at a steady pace but allowing himself to really taste and only popping a new Coke can as a palate cleanser when his mouth feels thick with chocolate and other layers of sweetness.

He’s no longer hungry at this point, but he’s not full, either. Maybe a little pinched though, so he sucks his fingers clean, shifts around a bit and leans until he can get at his waistband, and unbuttons his pants with a sigh. Stroking the red lines of his tummy as he reaches for a Three Musketeers, barely aware that it juts out a little more every time he frees it from his jeans these days. 

This is where he pauses to revive the tail end of the second joint he and Eddie had started just before the kids came over, sinking into the high and further into the couch with a pumpkin-shaped bowl balanced on his soft chest. He pours the little packets of M&Ms and Skittles into his mouth at the same time, just to see how it tastes, and it’s weird but he doesn’t hate it. Does that with the rest of them to try and decide if he likes the combo, and whines a little (he’ll never admit it) when they run out before he can reach a conclusion. The pumpkin-shaped bowl is empty. 

As Steve gets to his favorite candies (these in a regular white bowl, it matches his outfit) he picks up speed again. Somehow the movie is almost over, he’s hardly even watched it, and there’s only so much time left before Eddie’s van rumbles up into his driveaway again. He’s unwrapping the next two candies while still chewing, barely taking breaths between bites, trying to hurry and relishing every second of his impromptu and very unhealthy feast. 

He’s so enraptured with the unending parade of sweetness on his tongue, the constant chewing and swallowing and chewing and swallowing, that he almost misses the telltale sounds outside. (The movie is over, nothing of interest showing on the TV screen, when did that happen?) Frantic, he sweeps as many wrappers as he can out of his lap before going to stand up. It takes him a few tries, he’s so sunken into his spot, and when he finally manages it, red-faced and puffing and buzzing with adrenaline and sugar rush and the remaining high, he has to put a hand under his full, heavy belly in order to move around comfortably. Not quite cramping, not quite stuffed, just… a really satisfying stretch. 

But guess who doesn’t have time to enjoy it! God, he fucking hates being rushed these days. 

Eddie has a key. They’ll let themselves in, so all Steve has to do is get to his bedroom with the last of his stolen haul and two remaining Cokes from the six-pack. He gets there, barely, before he hears the front door swing open, hustling so fast up the stairs that the motion keeps jostling burps from between his chocolate-smeared lips. And then he’s in, sagging back against the closed door. Candy bowl clutched up by his chest and pops set on the floor nearby to get one open and bring it to his thirsty mouth. 

Okay, so maybe his exercise regimen has gotten a little bit lax lately. Maybe all he usually does is walk between his bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, and his car. Maybe he still sweats just as much despite getting around a lot less, because it costs him more effort than it used to…

No time to think about that, Steve tells himself dazedly. He needs to finish. The last of the candy is already unwrapped; he pushes the empty wrappers aside and grabs a handful, undiscriminating as he crams it in his mouth. One mouthful, then a second with hardly time to swallow, breathing hard through his nose. The treats act as a natural gag for his whimpers, fullness finally catching up to him, squirming on his padded ass with a muffled groan as the sensation sends a bolt of lighting straight south. Another handful, that’s basically the last of it, and he washes it down by chugging desperately at his Coke. Finishes it, claps a hand over his mouth to contain an inevitable belch—luckily, it’s covered by the start of indignant shouting from the living room. 

And he knows the scene he’s left. Trick-or-treat bags scattered haphazardly around the kitchen, empty. The living room couch littered with empty bowls and empty wrappers. Destruction at the hands (and mouth) of Mr. Stay Puft.

His jaw hurts, but there’s only a little bit left. Just a little more, and he finds that he wants it. Wants to finish the challenge… No, the prank, this is… to get the kids back… He feels so hazy between the pot and his overfull state, tipping the very last of the candy into his mouth and chewing with his mouth open, head tipped back against the door, exhausted. And then dutifully reaches for the last can of Coke, opens it, and pours that down his throat too. Breaks away from the lip of the can with a weak cry and another series of burps, even starting to hiccup which makes him whimper and clutch at himself, overheated and churning gut too loud to ignore and too tight in his skin, or maybe in his clothes, or both, he just—

“Steve?” Eddie calls through the door, sounding a little uncertain. “Karen just picked up half the kids and Joyce got the other half, I gave them all the replacement candy already. Are you… You good in there?”

“Eds,” he pants, groans, hiccups. “Je—hic—Jesus, I’m so.” He carefully lays both hands on either side of his distended belly in an attempt to soothe it. “I, I did it, I ate—urrrrrrp, fuck—ate all of it. Did it, Eddie. I’m so… Feel like I’m gonna explode…”

And he does, an overheated tingly sort of feeling washing through him in waves, his heartbeat pounding in his stomach and his ears and his dick. Not the first time it’s happened, the way he eats, but he’s gone all out tonight and the sensation of being ready to pop has seeped from his stomach to also encompass his hard-on. Part of him wants to keep going, but he doesn’t have anything else, couldn’t possibly fit any more down his throat, but he wants to do something.  Needs it. Needs…

“Eddie,” he groans, “he—hic—elp me.”

He can feel Eddie trying the door, but with Steve’s weight leaning against it there’s no way it’ll open. “Uh, I’m trying, I can’t…”

Laboriously, Steve kind of… rolls himself to one side, enough to haul himself onto his knees. He has to pause there, and again when he drops down onto his hands, and again after he crawls forward the barest few inches. Eddie tries the door again and it swings right into the meat of Steve’s ass, slapping against the tight denim and making Steve cry out, making him wobble and sway with a fresh wave of arousal that he absolutely didn’t expect but can’t help reveling in. He wants to drop down right there, he’s so tired and achingly horny, but knows instinctively that he can’t land on his belly like that. So he soldiers through, digging deep just to finish crawling to one side and slump against the plaid wallpaper instead. 

He breathes shallowly and waits for Eddie to come help him. 

The first look Eddie gets of Steve makes his eyes damn near pop out of his skull. Steve looks positively pot-bellied, spilling over his unbuttoned, unzipped pants like that, his belly button half uncovered and deep. Couldn’t suck in if he tried. He has chocolate and traces of candy-coating color all over his face and smeared on his sweater from all the times he’d thought he’d sucked his fingers clean but not quite, rubbing whatever was still on them into the fluffy knit. Messy, telling smudges at the bottom hem where he’d absently tried to pull the shirt down throughout his binge. It didn’t work; there’s a chocolate-smudged lip of far more than a mere muffin top bulging out the bottom, resting on his thighs. Jesus H. Christ, it almost looks like he’s doubled in size since Eddie last saw him a few hours ago, was there really that much candy in the kids’ bags?!

Eddie’s shoe knocks against an empty can as he enters the room, sending it spinning, and he supposes that’s his answer. It must be the combined efforts of candy and carbonated syrup water that have Steve so bloated, fizzing away in there. 

When he’d first walked in a few hours ago and seen Steve in costume, his breath had caught in his throat mid sentence. Super embarrassing, but what was he supposed to do? One minute they’d been talking about costumes, so stoned and loose-tongued that Eddie had suggested they be the goddamned Gatekeeper and Keymaster—characters that had canonically fucked, just left of onscreen! Next, it was weeks later (and he hadn’t actually blacked out all the time in between, it just felt that way for a second) and his current best friend and longtime crush opened the door in a tight sweater and pants that looked painted on, wearing a jaunty little hat atop his magnificent head of hair. The words well hello there sailor had lined up on his tongue like pirates ready to walk the plank. He’d had to think very hard about how many times he’d accidentally stabbed himself with a needle while sewing the ‘ghostly’ accents onto his costume, just to avoid popping a boner right there in Steve’s foyer. 

There’s just so much of Steve these days. So round, and all of his clothes perpetually tight. And Eddie’s been jerking off to the thought of this happening ever since they came up with this plan, imagining how the siren call of all that candy might make Steve’s mouth water, get his stomach rumbling, make him think that it wouldn’t hurt to have just one then taking another and another and another, insatiable… He just hadn’t expected it to actually happen.

“Eddie,” Steve groans again, looking up at him with pleading, bloodshot eyes. “I’m so full, n-need your help.”

“What can I do?” He drops down into a crouch in front of him immediately. “I’m right here, Stevie. What do you need, sweetheart?”

Okay, he needs to cool it with the pet names. Luckily Steve is already pawing at himself, looking so blazed he might not have even heard. “M’too, m’too hot Eds. Gotta get this off, get… off…”

Jesus H. Christ. 

So Eddie helps him out of the sailor collar and no longer pristine sweater. He tries not to stare but his eyes go wide when he realizes how much it was compressing. Steve groans in relief as it comes off and his entire upper half seems to puff out a little bit more, all covered in thick chest hair. Eddie wants to dig his fingers into it, into all of it, but he has to stay focused. 

Next are the pants, which Steve whines for Eddie to do and then whines more as he’s forced to lift his heavy ass, rock back and forth as Eddie drags the unforgiving fabric down, huffing and puffing between hiccups and burps and mewls of discomfort. Eddie’s dick is about to burst off and start running laps around the room for fuck’s sake, his hands are shaking he wants to touch so badly. Soothe away the stomach ache, tell him how amazing he did, finishing all that candy. Murmur in his ear, ask if that makes the revenge so much sweeter…

To make matters worse, the jeans take Steve’s boxers with them, elastic in the waistband already stretched to the point of uselessness, and Eddie can see so much. Too much, for his composure, as Steve’s cock slaps up against the underside of his belly. 

They both moan at that and Steve turns his head to look at Eddie full on with reddened eyes, tremors running through him that only give him more tantalizing friction against his hairy gut and prompt his hips to rock faster. He’s so blissed out that he doesn’t even break eye contact, just reaches blindly to grab Eddie’s hand and guides it down between his legs, rings and all, where he’s already slippery with precome and sweat and half sliding down the wall to help with holding his own belly out of the way. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes, captivated by the desperate heat in Steve’s gaze. He strokes, reverent but quick. “Holy shit, holy shit Stevie…”

“Eddie,” Steve moans. His eyes roll back, his entire head going with them to thunk against the wall. “L-like that, fuuuck—hic—Oh god, keep, keep doing that, more, Eds, more, I—”

Eddie dives forward and shuts him up with a desperate kiss. He already knows that Steve is going to cause him to ruin this damn Gozer costume he worked so hard on—in the hopes of impressing Steve, actually. Which he must have done, from the way Steve kisses back like he wants to devour him, like even after all that candy Eddie is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and never wants to be without again. 

Someone has definitely been impressed, and maybe Eddie will have to revisit the possibility of a god or something when he can think again because kissing Steve is heaven. Just… absolutely worth all the pining, even if it never happens again. 

Then Steve goes almost completely slack, breaking the kiss with a wail as he comes in thick, pulsing ropes over Eddie’s fist. His only movements are his legs (thick, biteable, trembling so hard to either side of Eddie’s hips they fall only to jerk up in little spasms as his toes curl) and his mouth (plush lips bitten and messy, twisting into shapes of wordless ecstasy). 

And Eddie has seen Steve relax, seen him indulge… seen him eat steadily through a large spread of snacks while lounging by the pool all summer in a Speedo with a sleepy, content look on his face, but this is the first time he’s really seen him let go. Lost in pure bliss. 

He’s barely thinking when he brings his come-slick hand up, thumbing through the chocolate in the corner of Steve’s mouth before sinking the digit inside. Coming himself, the instant after Steve eagerly closes around it and sucks, licks, drools all over his hand to get it all. Shuddering harder when Steve grips weakly at his wrist and continues laving over each finger one by one, slow but thorough, eyes open and dazed but tracking Eddie’s face. 

Until they’re both still, other than Steve letting out the occasional drowsy hiccup. Eddie’s fingers smooth over his parted lips, receiving faint kitten licks now and then as though Steve just can’t help himself. His other hand cradles the side of Steve’s bulging fullness, gentle against the duality of soft and immovable, in awe that he gets to touch. A part of him is still reeling that this happened at all, that he gets to see Steve so sated and sleepy and bare—except for one sock that’s managed to stay on his foot. 

Jesus H. Christ. Steve’s naked and they’re in his bedroom and they didn’t even make it to the bed.

“Do you, um. Want to lay down?” Eddie whispers. He can feel his face growing hot from the lameness of that question… Steve is practically on his back where he is, enough that he might not be able to see his feet. 

Steve nips at his pointer finger, blinking lazily with a little groan of contentment. “Does that mean I have to move,” he mumbles, but gamely begins to sit up. Eddie, from his crouch, shifts immediately to the side to help him, supports Steve’s back as he huffs his way towards semi-upright against the wall. “Urp—mm, thanks Eds.”

“No problem.” And Eddie doesn’t know why he’s whispering like he’s in a fucking library instead of kneeling in Steve Harrington’s bedroom with jizz sticky and cooling on the inside of his fucking body suit, but he doesn’t want to break whatever spell or dream that’s allowed this to happen. Wants to hold onto Steve a little bit longer, coaxing out little groans of contentment through belly rubs. 

Steve gives Eddie the sweetest smile, sleepy and sated. “Felt so good. Still feels good. Did you…” A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face. “Was it good? Was I good?”

And Eddie just can’t let that doubt linger another second. “You were perfect, sweetheart,” he replies immediately, rubbing slow, soothing stripes along Steve’s side. “Fucking amazing. Move over, Mona Lisa, there’s a new masterpiece in town and his name is Steve Harrington.”

That earns him a laugh, cut off quickly when Steve clutches at his belly with a groan. “O-overdid it. Mm… ‘S fine, ‘s just… a lot.”

“Certainly looks like it.” He leans forward and presses a kiss just north of Steve’s belly button, can’t help cradling it with both hands and rubbing soothingly. “Let’s get you up, okay? Get you in bed.”

Soon enough Eddie has him cleaned up and tucked in. 

“Stay?” Steve sighs, already more than half asleep. 

So Eddie shucks his costume and climbs under the covers behind him, chuckling as Steve sluggishly reaches back and tugs Eddie’s arm over himself, demanding to be snuggled. 

And that’s more or less how they wake up in the morning. 

“Eddie,” Steve says through a yawn, subtly rubbing his naked ass back against Eddie’s naked front. There’s a teasing note in his voice as he continues, “I’m hungry.”

Secure now in the knowledge that this is neither a dream nor some kind of trick, it’s a morning treat that Eddie just can’t resist.

Permanent tag list (ask to be added): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @tangerinesteve @sofadofax

[transmunsons]

Steve and Eddie got into an argument after he recovered.

Steve had given him explicit instructions to not be a hero, which he thought translated to “don’t do anything fucking stupid like run straight into an army of bats who want to chew your face off”, but apparently Eddie hadn’t taken it that way.

Eddie called him a hypocrite on all counts. Said Steve was a glory-chaser at best and a narcissistic martyr at worst. He got all up in Steve’s face and told him he had a complex he needed to work through with a shrink.

Well if Steve had a complex, Eddie had the same one.

Eddie didn’t want to hear it. Told him to get the fuck out.

“No, you’re gonna listen to what I have to say, Munson.” Steve stopped the door to Eddie’s room with his foot.

“Fat chance, golden boy, you need to go cool off.” He pushed Steve’s shoulder, almost spitting in his face.

Steve fought the urge to push back, remembered how frail Eddie was not too long ago. How he almost died. Eddie should’ve listened to him before and that wouldn’t have happened.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He’d make him listen now.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” In a flash, Steve grabbed Eddie’s handcuffs from the wall.

Click. Click.

Eddie looked down at their wrists, then back at Steve, hair flying everywhere.

“You idiot.” Eddie hissed. “I don’t have the fucking keys.”

“Good.” Steve said.

-

Shenanigans ensue. Eddie has to eventually take his binder off to sleep but he can’t get it off all the way so they have to leave it dangling around their hands.

[wh0lemilk0vich]

I can't stop thinking about that GORGEOUS chubby transfem!Steve post so I bring you: transfem!Stevie who starts working as a waitress around the same time she starts hrt and blames most of the weight gain/distribution on hrt and not all the comped entrees line chef!Eddie makes for her. Pls see my vision I don't have the motivation to write the whole thing

Continued from Transfem-Chubby!Steve Post

Ok first of all I'm thinking of Stevie is a cute little Robin's egg blue uniform with an apron and I'm drooling and crying it's so cute.

I'm so weak and crying for line cook Eddie too. He'd be sprung from day one, obsessed with Stevie! (And like I don't want to dwell on it because passing is not something I focus too much on, but Eddie seeing a visibly queer early transfem Stevie he'd just get it and be so attracted to Stevie as a woman)

Maybe let's consider disowned trans girl Stevie so happy to have a job, and Eddie who is like how can I keep this poor girl fed, very good Appalachian boy I ain't got much but what I have I share. Eddie messes up orders. He tries not to be too obvious about it. Includes onions when he shouldn't, a bit too much salt, slightly overcooked... accidental double portion...all to make sure Stevie is eating.

Then on top of that, he comps her meals on company time. He knows how to make it work. And it doesn't take too long for him to realize he's given himself a front row seat to the pawg-ening of Stevie Harrington. Like filling out and redistributing weight in all the right places. That cute little skirted uniform is getting tight, she's really starting to test it's limits. Her boobies look so cute pushing out of the slightly deep cut neckline. Eddie gets blushy and tries to look away when her ass and belly start being harder to cover with the dress, like just at little moments, like accidentally showing when she bends over.

And stevie is like at least loving the softening and filling out, but can't believe hrt has really plumped her up this much. She's really not complaining. There are worse things. But for some reason she never considers that it could be the handful of mistake orders, on top of comped meals that Eddie is treating her too each week.

God Eddie would be so weak for her, absolute simp vibes. I would love more prompts for this idea, I feel like I could turn this into a fic...