#dizzy dustin

[da-ill-spot]

Dizzy Dustin & Pandamonium - Where Do I Go From Here? LP

Shout out to the fam Dizzy Dustin of Los Angeles based Hiphop trio, Ugly Duckling. Check for his 2021 LP, Where Do I Go From Here? with UK producer Pandamonium. They have released several projects together in recent years.

Ugly Duckling was one of my favorite acts to see when I was coming up going to madd shows. It’s dope to see Dustin still putting out quality music. The album includes features from Masta Ace, Rakaa Iriscience, Imani, Akil The MC, Jabba The Cut, and many more.

Stream above and support with a purchase for the price of your liking!

[jofms]

@drvgonbvnny at the creamery ice cream and coffee bar (again)

it had been no fault of the purchase or the staff members when sudden nausea set into the woman, causing josette to quickly abandon her belongings and lock herself in to the available toilet facilities to empty the little that was in her stomach. knees pressing into to cold floor, she'd spend several minutes there, minutes that would feel like hours as she waited for the feeling to subside and for her body to stop shaking. slowly pushing herself up, she flushed, washed her hands and the outside of her mouth before she emerged back into the main café. walking slowly back to her table to get some money for water, she thought her eyes were deceiving her when she's seen dustin. the hairs on her arms stood up once more, making her feel the chill through her sweater despite the sweat on her forehead. the woman was aware she was staring but for the first time in a long time, she couldn't find the words to address him - she was just staring at him with clearly desperate eyes, the root of that desperation unknown. "i need to, um-" breath shaky, she felt dizzy. "get some water. do you want anything?" breaking her stare, she turned to her bag, overly rummaging in the small thing to pick out her wallet before accidentally dropping it. "fuck." josette was sober yet an onlooker would have assumed she was drunk from how she was behaving.

[bookshelf-dust]

kiss it better

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3,176

warnings: swearing, sick fic (sorta), steve not taking care of himself, anxiety, stress, mental breakdown?, best friends to lovers deal (let me know if i missed something)

a/n: hi! it’s been awhile. i’m sorry about that. this has been a very slow process for me. my mental health is shit, and that’s probably obvious. i hope it hasn’t seeped into this too much, but it probably will with the next few things i write. i apologize for taking so long to post, for disappearing, for not really making this the blog it once was. but i’m not the same person i was then. so we’ll see where this goes. i hope you enjoy this one a little. i love you.

————

The shrill sound of a phone ringing scares you awake, eyes flying open, heart pounding so aggressively you fear for a split second that it might burst. 

You sit up quickly, enough so that you make yourself dizzy trying to get your bearings. You roll onto your side, and reach blindly across the edge of your nightstand, grabbing for the green plastic that’s shaking with the force of which it’s ringing. 

You almost fall out of bed, just managing to catch yourself as you bring the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?”

Your voice comes out weak, thick with sleep and the longing for more rest. It startles you and makes you clear your throat. 

“Hey, it’s me.”

The voice on the other line is even weaker than your own. It’s quiet.

“Steve?”

Your eyes find the alarm clock on your dresser, bright red letters telling you it’s just after one in the morning. You might be half-asleep, but you’re conscious enough that your heart rate picks up, registering that this isn’t when your best friend normally calls. 

You hear him breathe, along with some shuffling. He’s nodding his head, but realizes you can’t see. 

“Yeah. Listen,” he drags a shaking hand down his face. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

He goes quiet for a moment, but you wait patiently for him to continue. He must be trying to get something out, and you don’t want to pressure him, or cause him stress in any way. 

Steve huffs, frustrated with himself. 

“I-I’ve got an insane headache, and we’re out of goddamn medicine. My parents were here, and my mom was hungover and I guess she must’ve emptied us out, but it hurts too bad to drive, and…” He trails off, breathing heavily. 

His pause lends you a moment to process, and you decide to speak up. If his head is killing him, you know finding the energy to speak to you, let alone call, has to be draining. You wouldn’t want him to suffer anymore than he already is. 

“Stevie?” you start, happy to hear a small hum that encourages you to go on. He registers what you’ve called him, something you don’t call him often, and his chest aches. “I’ve got some I can bring you. I think all the drugstores nearby are closed.” 

You swing your legs out from under the covers, pushing yourself off the mattress. Pressing the phone between your cheek and shoulder, you pull on the pair of sweats slung over the end of your bed, trying not to bust your ass as you hop into them. 

“Is anything else hurting you?” you ask, gently as can be. 

“Honestly?” he responds. “I think I’m sick. I can’t be sick, can I?”

You stand upright once again, taking the phone firmly in your hand. 

“I think even King Steve can get sick from time to time. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

————

Steve’s not sure you understand him. He can’t be sick. He’s got shit to do. He has a shift tomorrow, and he’s pretty sure Dustin needs a ride one day this week because Claudia is on a “girls trip.” He has to keep working on his college essay, because he’d told you he was almost done, but really he isn’t. 

Steve doesn’t have the time to be sick. And he can’t have you ruining your own schedule to come and babysit him. He’s supposed to be the babysitter. Not the charge. 

He should be able to take care of himself, but of course, the one time his parents come home they clean out his mediocre supply of medicine. Something he’s always stocked up on, given his tendency to get the shit beat out of him, or the nasty string of tension headaches that just won’t quit. 

And his head is killing him. He has his palms pressed to his temples, trying (and failing) to dull the ache. There aren’t any lights on in the kitchen, where he’s sitting on the floor, back pressed to the cabinets. 

He’s trying not to move too much either, because he’s dizzy. This probably has to do with the fact that he skipped dinner, feeling too nauseous to eat. Now that Steve is hungry, he fears he won’t be able to get up and fix anything. 

Maybe you’ll be able to help, he thinks. But that voice is quick with a counter argument. No. I need to do it. 

He perks up at the sound of the front door opening. “Steve?” you call out, careful not to slam the door or yell too loud. It’s also why you hadn’t rung the doorbell. 

Steve raps his knuckles softly against the countertop, hoping it’ll be enough to clue you in. He can’t bring himself to shout right now. You follow the sound, taking the few steps toward the kitchen. 

When your eyes lock on his figure, see the way the heels of his hands press into his eyes, you realize how young he looks. He almost looks small, legs pulled up to his chest, big, lanky body compacted as much as possible. He looks vulnerable. You’re sure he hates that. 

“Hi, Steve,” you say, keeping your voice low. 

He looks up at you, and his face splits into a sweet grin. He’s happy that you’re here, even if that voice is screaming at him, wanting to punish him for asking for help. 

“Hey, honey.” You smile back at him, and his heart rate picks up. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful you are, and then you’re standing in front of him, snatching every last breath from his lungs. 

You set your bag down beside him and reach out, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He feels a little warm, but not feverishly so. 

You move away from him, grabbing a cup from the drying rack. You fill it up with water and crouch at his side. Steve takes the glass from you, head resting against the cabinet to watch as you grab him some medicine. You hand him a few pills, and he takes them quickly. If he doesn’t get this headache calmed down soon, he thinks he might just die. 

Steve keeps drinking the water you gave him, and you push his hair back again, watching the way it curls around his ears. 

He drinks about half of the water before he pauses, taking a deep breath. He looks at you then. It’s mostly dark in the kitchen, but the lamp on the table by the front door is on, so you’re a little backlit from it. Not to mention the moonlight seeping in from the window above the sink.

You look gorgeous. And you came over to take care of him. You got up, at one in the morning, and drove to his house, just because he asked you to. Hell, he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t gotten the words out. But you’d known. You’d known exactly what he was trying to ask, and you’d offered your help with no qualms. 

Steve’s nose starts to sting, and that pressure from behind his eyes—it starts to release. Before he knows it, his vision is getting cloudy, and he’s crying. He can’t be crying, can he? 

You carefully remove the glass from his hand and move in between his spread knees. 

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m gonna take top notch care of you.” 

“I know you are,” he says, voice breaking. “But I should be able to do it myself. I always do it myself.” He presses his hands against his face, but you catch his wrists and gently pull them away. 

You hold your arms out, and Steve practically falls into you. He buries his face in your neck. He can feel the warmth of your skin, the cotton of your sleep shirt. You smell like soap, that fancy conditioner you use. 

One of your hands finds the base of his neck, nails scratching gently over his scalp, thumb dragging over the top of his spine. Your other rubs soothingly up and down his back. 

“But the thing is, Stevie, you don’t have to.” 

He’s not a loud crier. But he is sort of panicky, breaths coming quick and short, chest heaving against your own. “I know you’ve always had to do a lot by yourself, but you can ask for help, and you don’t have to punish yourself for it, either.”

You feel him nod against your collarbone. His hands are fisting the back of your shirt. Eventually, he pulls away, but keeps his eyes closed. He tries to keep his head turned from your gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

He does, albeit reluctantly. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, lashes clumped together and lips parted where he tries to suck in a good deep breath. 

You reach up, fingers gently sweeping away the remainder of the tears on his face. He leans into your touch, and you let him. You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his forehead. You’ve never done that before.

Steve recognizes that you’ve never done it before, even if it’s sort of fuzzy. Sure, he’s kissed the back of your hand and you’ve reciprocated, but he’s usually the one to initiate physical affection. You’re too shy most often, even if you ache to do it. 

Fuck, he wishes he were a little more coherent right now. 

“Can you stand for me? It’s late, and I think you need to rest.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure.” Now that he’s thinking about it, getting in bed sounds so nice. 

You stand first, and watch as Steve pushes off the floor, gripping the countertop on the way up to steady himself. 

“Come on. The stairs are gonna be a pain.”

He reaches out for you, and you let him take your arm. He pads out to the staircase, and you watch each precarious step he takes, hoping he won’t get too woozy and trip. 

By the time he finally makes it up there, he’s wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his face between your shoulder blades. You soften beneath his hold. 

You walk slowly towards his bedroom, and he waddles behind you. You push the door open. “M’kay, Steve. Wanna change clothes and hop into bed?” 

He pulls off of you and grabs hold of his dresser. “I’m not givin’ you a free show.”

You snort. “I’ll go get some more water and be right back.”

His grin fades. “Please be fast.” He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to leave him. 

“Steve, I’m practically The Flash.”

He laughs, pulling a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out of the drawer. Usually he’d sleep in less, but with you here he feels he should keep his modesty.

When you return, he takes the water from you, drinking it faster than he probably should. Steve feels like he’s had the shit beat out of him, and for once—he hasn’t. 

You’d sat down on the edge of the bed, not noticing the way he’s staring at you. You look up when he sets the glass down. He drags both hands down his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He exhales. “I want you to stay here with me, but I don’t want you to get sick. The idea of you being on the couch, which is like, miles away, is driving me insane.”

“Steve?”

“Huh?”

“Can’t I just sleep on the futon?”

His eyes move towards the other side of his room where said piece of furniture is pressed against the wall. He’d bought it when group sleepovers became a thing after all they’d dealt with. Jesus, his brain really isn’t working. 

“Oh. Yeah, honey. Just don’t want you to go far.” 

You lean forward and push his hair back from his forehead. You’ll need to remember to take his temperature come morning.

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I promise. Not until you’re all better.”

————

When Steve wakes up, you’re not there. He starts to panic, thinking maybe he’d been too much, maybe he’d shown you a side of himself he shouldn’t have, that maybe you left. 

But you return to his room just as he’s about to start looking for you. There’s a thermometer in your hand. 

“Morning, sleepy boy. Are you coherent enough for me to check your temperature? Or no?”

He yanks the covers off of himself, and his shirt has ridden up. You catch a sliver of tummy before he sits up fully, and you miss it the second it’s gone. 

“Hit me, I can take it.”

You roll your eyes but stick the thermometer under his tongue when he opens his mouth. When you pull it away, you’re happy to see he hasn’t got a fever. He was warm last night when you kissed his forehead, but you’re thinking it was from stress or just overheating. 

“No fever. What’s buggin’ you today, Stevie?”

He flops onto his back, and his shirt rides up again. You mentally slap yourself for being so enamored by it. All your brain can compute is tummy. Steve’s tummy. “My head still, and my stomach. I feel like I haven’t slept in four years.”

His words snap you out of your reverie. “Four years? That’s incredible. When’s the last time you ate something?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, though it looks as if there isn’t a single thought behind his eyes. “Yesterday…morning. I think. Yeah, I had a banana.”

You stare back, rather appalled at his statement. “Steve.”

“Hm?”

“All you’ve had to eat in the past twenty four hours is a banana?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus christ. Get your ass up and come with me.”

Steve doesn’t move. Rather he watches you move, right out the door and towards the top of the stairs. You pause and turn around, crossing your arms. 

He huffs. And then he slides down the side of the bed like a child before crawling up and following you to the kitchen. 

Over the course of the next few hours, you manage to get Steve to eat, shower, and go for a short walk, weather permitting and all. He’s looking astronomically better than he did last night. 

Steve sits opposite you on the couch, his socked feet in your lap. “What do you think my deal is?”

You rub your hand over his calf. “I think you just had a little bug. Or maybe you let yourself get too stressed out and your body couldn’t take it.”

He blinks. “Is that…that's not a thing? Is it?”

“When’s the last time you gave yourself a fuckin’ break, Steve? When you just took a day for yourself rather than worrying about who needs to go where, or if you’ll have to cover a shift? You have to take care of yourself, or this is the kind of shit that happens.”

“Being overwhelmed about your parents, not eating, worrying about that application, all of that is fucking with you. That headache was probably a stress headache. They’re killer. I want you to be healthy and comfortable, Steve.”

You exhale, and close your eyes. When you open them, Steve has sat up, scooting towards you on your end of the couch. 

He might still be tired, but he can’t believe this. He can’t believe you. No one has ever worried for him in this way. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. 

He barely even registers your words, too busy memorizing every line on your face. You look so fucking beautiful. It almost makes him angry. 

“I’m thinkin’ about how bad I want to kiss you.”

Your face starts to burn. You shove his shoulder. He looks at the place where you’d pushed, quirking a brow, but grinning nonetheless.

“What?”

“Steve, you can’t say shit like that.”

“How come?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Best friends.”

“Well yeah, but best friends don’t say that to one another.”

His grin widens. He looks more awake than he has this entire time. 

“Oh, but you haven’t said it.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Steve gets his voice up that little bit higher, doing a cheap imitation of you. “‘Best friends don’t say that to one another.’ Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but that implies you want a kiss too, doesn’t it?”

You drag your hands down your face and flop back against the arm of the couch. 

“So you gonna say it, or what?” He’s shifted, and you can feel him hovering over you, but you refuse to move your hands. 

“Of course I’m thinking about kissing you, Steve.” You suck in a breath and open your eyes, locking with his own. “But you’ve got cooties.”

Steve rolls his eyes before he backs up and yanks on your ankle so that you’re flat against the couch. 

“You did not just lecture me about self-care just to tell me I have cooties. I didn’t even have a fever.” 

“I didn’t even have a fever,” you mock, lowering your voice in what is quite possibly the worst impression of him you could do.

He’s quick about it. Almost stealthy, not that you’d ever boost his ego by telling him so. But his fingers are reaching for your sides, the tips dancing over your shirt, that tiny sliver of hip showing where it’s ridden up. 

Steve is practically drunk off of your laugh. It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, and when he goes for your neck, when you tilt your head and trap his fingers between your cheek and shoulder, he thinks he could die. 

You and your laugh. The fact that you drove over at one in the fucking morning, without even thinking about it, just because you care. That you stayed the night, listened to his pitiful thoughts, took care of him…it’s too much. 

Never in his life did he think he’d find someone like you. Someone who makes him feel like he matters. You’d made him realize how smart he is, how capable. That he could do things for himself and not just to please his dickhead father. 

You have made him whole. 

He lets up when you start breathing extra heavily, only to tickle the underside of your foot before he quits, just to piss you off. You kick him in the side. 

“I think a kiss from my very favorite person might be the best form of self-care there is, honey.”

You sit up. “Wow. King Steve really never died.” He raises his hands like he might tickle you again, but you catch them before he can do any damage. “Okay, sorry!” 

Before he can register it, you’ve leaned in and pressed your lips to his. When he does realize, he lets out a surprised hum, and you can feel that smartass smirk forming on his face. 

When you pull away, he whines. 

“All better?”

Steve falls back against the couch, pulling you with him just to get that laugh out of you again. 

“I’m healed.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Hi it's me again 😔 kinktober req perchance?

Steve Harrington with sex pollen prompt? I don't know suthn freaky with the demodog lair keeps popping up in mind. Sorry to keep bombarding you with requests HAHAH hope you're well :>

- 🌝

it's not a problem, I love all the requests you send me 🥰 this reminded me that I've never actually written somthing for him before, which is kind of crazy?? that being said I love this idea and hope it turned out okay, I wrote this with a transmasc reader too since you asked for one with your other kinktober request. thanks for sending something in <3

(also just a disclaimer creative liberties were taken when writing this so the story would flow better and the plot would make more sense)

Kinktober 2024 Day 12: sex pollen with Steve Harrington x transmasc reader

Warnings: smut/nsfw content, sex pollen, slight bondage via tentacles, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (please use condoms irl), brief implied Nancy x Robin

The Upside Down was like something out of horrific nightmare. It gave a glimpse into what life would be like if Vecna was able to take things over, which why it was crucial for your plan to destroy his physical form to work.

After wandering through the disturbing woods for what seemed like forever, you finally managed to come across the place you were looking for. Dustin and Eddie warded off the hellish bats, which gave you, Steve, Nancy, and Robin the opportunity of doing your part by searching for Vecna.

Creel House was even more eerie and disturbing in the alternate dimension, which certainly didn't help to ease your already spiked nerves in the slightest. The vines (or tentacles, rather) that were covering the floor made things even worse, because you knew if you made one wrong move they'd be on you in an instant.

While the tentacles in the lair were gross looking, they were also strangely erotic, from their length and girth to the squelching noises they made as they moved around. You tried to keep your thoughts as clean and sex-free as possible as you carefully manuevered yourself over and around them, hopping from one place to another as you did your best not to fall.

Our goal is destroying Vecna and saving Hawkins, you reminded yourself every time your mind started slipping into the gutter. Not fraternizing with what looks like a bunch of over-sized sex toys.

Everything seemed to be going as planned until something started to shake the house, causing what could only be described as some kind of mini earthquake. Naturally, this disturbed the tentacles, which led them to attack.

Some of them grabbed Robin and began dragging her in one direction while others grabbed Steve and dragged him the opposite way. You and Nancy split, her chasing after Robin at the same time you were trying to grab Steve.

"Steve!" You cried out in a panic, using your makeshift spear to stab at the tentacles in hopes it would injure them enough to let him go. They writhed around in agony at the feeling, though you noticed when you stabbed them they started to give off this sickeningly sweet type of odor.

Thinking nothing of it, you kept stabbing, hoping it would be enough to get them to let him go. Eventually they were hacked up to the point where they were far too weak to keep him restrained, forcing them to loosen their grip.

"Are you okay?" You asked while helping him up, noting that he seemed to be a little dizzy, which was odd given that he hadn't really done anything to warrant feeling lightheaded.

"Y- Yeah, I think so," he breathlessly responded, his eyes looking a little cloudy for some reason when you looked at them.

Before you could question him further, you began to feel dizzy yourself, your own vision blurring as a rush of heat spread through your body and buried itself deep within you. The only thing you could seem to focus on at that moment was Steve. His body, his eyes, his voice-

It was then that you realized what was going on. Whatever it was the tentacles sprayed you with must've included some kind of aphrodisiac that was absorbed through the skin, which meant-

Oh, God. Now was really not the time for this of all things to be happening.

"Steve," you began in a slightly shaky voice. He picked up on your nervous tone in an instant, though it was hard for him to think properly when he was going through the same physical reactions you were.

"I- I think we should do something about this," he suggested, his voice low and sultry without even meaning to be. Or maybe that was just you hearing things due to your sudden burst of horniness.

"We can't, we have to go do something about Vecna," you lightly protested, although you knew it was no use. Your legs had grown shaky and weak, causing you to cling onto him for support.

In the meantime, the tentacles had come back while you were both distracted, though they didn't seem nearly as hostile as before. If anything, they were docile, almost affectionate, as if the scent they'd left behind on you make them much more peaceful. Despite this, their intentions weren't entirely innocent, as they'd started to travel up your body, searching for the warmth of your arousal.

"I really don't think we have much of a choice," Steve remarked, his cock already painfully hard in his pants. You weren't faring much better, as your underwear was practically soaked by now.

"As- As long as we're quick about it," was all you could manage to get out before your mouth met his in desperation, your hands moving to grab at his clothes as you pressed your body as close to his as possible.

He was just as eager, his hands finding their way to your hips in a need for contact. Even if you wanted to pull away, you couldn't, as the tentacles had now fully wrapped themselves around you. It wasn't enough to stop your blood flow or anything like that, but you were definitely unable to go anywhere as they'd successfully restricted your movements.

"Oh, Steve," you moaned out his name as his lips traveled down your neck, your fingers lacing through his hair. Every touch the two of you shared seemed to leave behind sparks, his mouth feeling like a red hot iron that was branding your skin.

Somehow during this, you'd moved down onto the floor, the tentacles seeming to swaddle you as you did. Your clothes were quickly pulled off and discarded as the both of you became more and more needy, your actions bordering on primal. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving visible scratches going down his back at the same time that his teeth sunk into the tender flesh of your shoulder.

By the time his cock had finally found its way to your aching hole, you were already dripping wet, like a faucet that hadn't been turned off properly. The mixed sounds of your combined pleasure filled the air as he sunk deep within you, your back arching up off the ground as you threw your head back.

It was hard to tell how long you were there for. It could've been seconds, it could've been hours. You were much too focused on the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you at an animalistic pace to be sure.

Orgasm after orgasm tore through your body, and if you weren't so caught up in the moment you would've recognized this for what it really was: a distraction to keep you away from finding Vecna and destroying him. Eventually, however, both you and Steve began to run out of steam, the combination of exhaustion and overstimulation getting to you.

Beads of sweat covered your body, your eyes hooded as you felt him empty yet another load of his sticky seed inside you. Neither of you were thinking clearly enough to remember that it'd be better if he didn't cum inside you, which left you feeling abnormally full.

It took everything in him not to collapse on top of you once he was finally finished, his limbs looking as weak and shaky as yours were. A quiet whimper exited you when he pulled out, his cock softening again after what seemed like ages.

He slowly helped you get redressed, and you helped him do the same, trying to be careful so you wouldn't disturb the pile of tentacles that laid nearby. They'd become bored after the second or third round and had taken to leaving you alone, but you still didn't want to risk waking them back up again.

You stumbled out of the room you'd been in as you went to reconvene with Robin and Nancy, who looked as though they'd been through the exact same thing you had. Their clothes were wrinkled, their hair was messed up, and you could see a few hickeys peeking out of the collar of their shirts. You had no doubt you and Steve looked about the same.

Nancy awkwardly cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact as she shifted back and forth on her feet. "So, uh- should we...?" She gestured towards the staircase, to which Steve nodded his head in response.

"Yeah, let's."

The four of you began to make your way through the house yet again, a certain kind of tension in the air full of unasked questions with equally unspoken answers. None of you decided to say what had taken you so long to meet up again, and you didn't need to. It was fairly obvious.

Who knew the Upside Down could bring you as much pleasure as it could fear?

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[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 62

part 1 | part 61 | ao3

cw: violence, off-hand mentions of drug use

Light bleeds through the cracks in the boathouse walls. Max is the one who found it, spotted the glowing bulb over the door and called them down the slope behind the house to check it out, and now Steve leads the group inside and clings to his nail bat in a way he hopes is reassuring but is probably just putting everyone else on edge. 

Can’t really be helped, though. 

Place gives him the creeps. 

It's dark and dank, overwhelmingly humid, with a smell like mildew and old food over a layer of fear sweat, and the wood groans beneath their feet while the walls sway with the breeze. Makes it feel like the room is breathing, like they're standing inside of a haunted lung. 

Steve braces himself in the middle of the room, head on a swivel while the group fans out around the edges, dipping in and out of shadow. Dustin calls for Eddie. Max checks the latch on a window. Robin points her flashlight at a pile of food wrappers and says, "This looks new." 

Steve flexes his fingers on the bat; picks up an oar, too, just to be safe.

"What?" Dustin snorts. "You gonna dual-wield against your boyfriend?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "He's not my—"

"—Ex-boyfriend, then, whatever. Still can't believe you never told me about that." 

“Okay,” Steve huffs. Dustin’s grumpy muttering sounds more hurt than he’s letting on, but he’s letting on plenty, and Steve’s too keyed up to do this right now. “Can we just—” He gestures around the room with the oar to illustrate how completely not the time for this it is. “Can we not?" 

"No,” Dustin protests, voice rising, “no, we can't not, Steve, because you—" He steps into Steve’s space, jabbing a finger against his sternum and backing him up to the edge of a tarp-covered boat. "—are a liar. You have been lying to me for months! And now it looks like you're gearing up to try and bludgeon my good friend with two blunt objects!" 

"Shut up!” Steve snaps. He takes a deep breath; lifts the blunt objects in question, giving them a little shake. “First of all, it's not the boyfriend I'm worried about using these on, and secondly—"

He doesn't get to finish that sentence. 

He doesn’t get to plant his feet.

With a noise like a war cry, something blue blurs at the edge of Steve’s periphery and launches him across the room, shoving him backward over tarps and tackle boxes until his back slams against the wall and knocks the wind out of him, and his skull smacks the wood and sets off a snow storm in his vision — muffled ringing in his ears, tornado warning wailing through a thick layer of cotton. Steve’s friends are all shouting, and there’s something sharp against his throat, and someone is barking questions at him; hot, stale breath over his chin; a fist balled up in the front of his shirt. 

“Are you real?” the voice demands, hand twisting in Steve’s collar and tugging him against the sharp thing. “ARE YOU REAL?”

Steve blinks. Blinks and sways into the sharp sting beneath his jaw until the dizzy spell ends.

The scene before him comes into focus slowly.

Steve thinks, for the millionth time that day, that he must be losing his mind. That he must have lost it already.

The blurry, shouting thing is Eddie. Eddie, who is glassy-eyed and drooling like a wild animal, who is pinning Steve to a splintered wall with a shattered bottle to his throat; whose face floods Steve with such intensely euphoric relief that he thinks he finally gets why people do hard drugs.

Even now, even like this, the only thought in Steve’s head is how lovely Eddie's face is.

How grateful he is to see it again, even if it might be the last thing he ever sees.

Beside them, Dustin speaks in low, placating tones, holding out his hands and encouraging Eddie to back off. Promising that Steve’s not gonna hurt him, that they’re all just here to help as Eddie’s eyes slip over and past Steve and his body tenses for the kill.

“Not real, not real, not real,” Eddie mumbles, spit shining on his shaking lip.

The bottle knicks Steve’s skin. 

“Eddie!” Dustin begs. Max and Robin's eyes are huge. And Steve—

Steve laughs. A soft, hysterical thing, barely voiced, because of course Eddie’s going to kill him. Of course he is.

He’s already been doing it for weeks. 

"What happened to your knife?" he jokes wetly, tipping his head back to bare his throat.

The question snaps Eddie back to himself. Steve watches from under his damp lashes as Eddie's eyes sharpen on him, darting all over his face with sudden, painful awareness, with something dangerously close to hope.

The hand holding the bottle trembles. "...Baby?" Eddie whispers, wet eyes searching still.

Steve holds his gaze. Nods against the jagged edge.

Glass shatters on the floor as Eddie collapses into him.

—

part 63

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[plistommy]

Prompt- Steve sending Eddie a bouquet of black and red roses every Valentine's Day since corroded coffin performed in the talent show.

Secondary prompt- Possibly leaving one at his bedside during Eddie's recovery from the bat bites, or maybe leaving them by his grave...

The first thing Eddie noticed when he woke up was the soft beeping noise. No more the loud screeching sounds of the bats or Dustin’s cries next to him as he was dying on the cold ground of the upside down.

When his senses started to come back, he knew he was laying on something soft. A bed, probably.

Definitely.

He slowly opened his eyes and the brightness of the room shocked him which made him vince. He tried to move his hand to rub his eyes, but a shocking pain shot through his body and he groaned.

Suddenly there was rustling next to him and soon someone was next to him, touching him and Eddie tried to look up to who it was, but his vision was still a bit unfocused as he felt dizzy.

”Eddie? Eddie?! Oh my god, you’re awake, jesus, I-I need to-”

Eddie couldn’t understand the most of what was said, but he could recognize that voice from anywhere.

It was Steve. Steve, who was sounding like he was on the edge of crying with how his voice got so high and shaky.

As Eddie’s eyes finally started coming to focus, he looked around the room, a hospital room and his eyes landed onto a bouquet on the small table beside the door.

”…a bouquet?” Eddie questioned, voice raspy and deep and he felt really fucking thirsty.

As he looked at it closer, he was hit by a realization and… familiarity. They were roses, both red and black, neatly put into a vase where they looked fresh as ever.

He had been getting those same exact bouquet’s of roses ever since he played at the talent show on Valentine’s Day during middle school.

He still remembers when he had gotten it after the show, a teacher of all people giving it to him, saying ’This was left for you, Munson’ as he handed the roses with an awkward grunt.

Eddie had thought it had been a joke, but when he read the small note on the roses that called him really talented and cute, he felt like tearing up with happiness.

He put that note into a safe place at home and read it whenever he needed it the most.

But it never stopped there. Every year, every Valentine’s Day, he always got it. The same bouquet of roses.

Sometimes it was hanging on his locker, on his seat where he sat during DnD, on his van… But he never found out who left them for him, even when he tried his best to find out.

Steve looked like he was seconds away from crying, eyes big and glossy, but he gave Eddie a soft laugh and glanced towards the bouquet.

”Yeah… It’s um.. It’s from me.”

Eddie’s eyes snapped wide.

His heart monitor must’ve picked up, because soon Steve was next to him, like right next to him and touching his forehead and fuck did it feel good.

”Shit, Eddie. You need to stay calm! You went through hell and if your heartbeat picks up too much you can—”

”You…” Eddie rasped out, moving his hand to wrap it around Steve’s wrist even though it hurt like hell. Steve froze, staring down at him with big eyes as he let Eddie guide his hand down from his forehead to his bandaged chest.

”It was… you?” He got out finally.

Steve’s pretty face had this soft blush on it and if Eddie wasn’t in so much pain and bunch of painkillers, he would’ve stood up and picked the man up into his arms.

”Steve—”

”Yeah…” Steve answered, voice sweet like honey as he interrupted Eddie, ”it was me. Always has been.”

If Eddie had never gotten hurt or had never gotten those roses on his hospital room’s table and Steve being there when he woke up, he doesn’t think he would’ve found himself four months later laying in bed next to Steve, who was giving his scars soft kisses while Eddie held him close to his chest.

At least getting almost eaten by the demobats had one positive thing coming out of it.

[loveinhawkins]

Thinking about what might’ve happened if Dustin and Eddie both made it through the trailer Gate; if the door held and none of the bats followed them.

-

They get a momentary reprieve, dizzy with relief.

And Hawkins splits open.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie screams, and he throws himself over Dustin as the living room is rent apart, shields him from chunks of the ceiling and trailer roof raining down; after one final shudder, everything goes eerily still.

They breathe.

“Max,” Dustin gasps. Scrabbling out from underneath Eddie, he reaches for his walkie, desperate, “Lucas, do you copy? Lucas! Do you goddamn—”

There’s a click and then the horrible sound of Lucas sobbing—trying and failing to get words out.

Eddie’s stomach plummets.

Through the fear and horror, it dawns on him that he needs to step up to the plate—that he’s in charge—and he has to act now.

“We’ve gotta go,” he says, thinking fast. He pulls Dustin up with him, adds, “Leave the walkie here,” jerking his head up to the grotesquely expanded Gate, “so they’ll have it when they get back.”

He’s thankful beyond words that Steve left the keys in the RV.

It’s a tense, silent ride broken only by Dustin sharply saying, “Watch out,” whenever they get too close to a chasm in the road.

Eddie can hardly comprehend what he’s looking at. He remembers saying the shire is burning. Now it sounds like a prophecy fulfilled.

When they reach the Creel House, he drives up onto the grass until the RV is hidden as best he can manage amongst the bushes and thorns.

Erica’s running out of the house by the time they reach the front steps, a walkie in her hand; Eddie’s eyes land on her skinned knees, and his stomach drops all over again.

“Hey, are you hurt, are you hurt?” he babbles, already knowing the answer—but he means is there more than this? I’m here, I’ll help you, I’ll help you.

His hands land on her shoulders, squeezing tight, and Erica—this sharp-tongued, funny, kind kid—breaks down in tears.

“I called a-an ambulance,” she stutters out.

“Hey, you did great. Shh, you did great.” Eddie hugs her far too briefly, but there’s no time. He presses the keys to the RV into her hand. “It’s hidden, hey, see that bush down there? Lock yourself in, keep radioing for the others. Hey, look at me. It’s gonna be okay.”

She nods, eyes shining.

No-one should have to be this fucking brave, Eddie thinks.

Dustin follows him through the house, up the stairs, jumping over the cracks until—

Max in Lucas’s arms, her eyes closed, blood running down her cheeks.

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, but he can’t falter now; he pushes back vivid images of Chrissy, of Patrick, and falls to his knees next to Lucas.

“Her—her bones,” Lucas gasps, “I shouldn’t have m-moved her but the ground—Jason, he…”

Eddie follows where Lucas’s eyes darts to, across the cavernous gap in the floor, sees the mangled remains of—

“Jesus.” Eddie swallows through a wave of nausea.

“I hurt—I hurt her,” Lucas whispers.

Eddie puts a hand on his back. “No, you—you did what you had to, man. You saved her, Sinclair, you hear me?” He places two fingers to Max’s throat. Waits. Exhales deeply. “Pulse is still… okay, okay.”

“What?” Lucas tries to check, too. His hand is shaking. “But I—I felt—”

“Trust me, she’s—”

A wail. Sirens, rapidly approaching.

Eddie’s gaze flickers over Lucas and Dustin: their eyes are glassy with horror. It’s not hit them yet, what’s about to happen, and that’s fine. That’s how it should be.

It’s Eddie’s job to know.

The paramedics arrive first.

Eddie moves back. Gives them space.

He doesn’t miss the way their faces pale as they spot him.

“She has a pulse,” he says calmly. “Broken limbs. And her eyes, um, I don’t know what exactly…”

More sirens.

“Eddie,” Dustin says suddenly. Sharp, urgent. “Eddie, what are you doing? You need to go.”

Eddie smiles sadly. Shakes his head.

Footsteps pounding up the stairs. At first it seems to take forever, and then it speeds up all at once; Eddie’s being pulled roughly until he’s standing, handcuffs cutting into his skin, and Dustin is screaming.

“They didn’t know anything,” Eddie finds himself saying. Lucas’s expression shatters; Dustin just looks furious. “I swear, they didn’t—”

“Eddie, stop.” Dustin sounds close to tears. “Stop, stop—” He grabs at Eddie’s arm, only to be pushed aside by an officer. “He didn’t do anything!”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He tries to catch Dustin’s eye, but he’s already being dragged out. “It’s okay.”

And it’s funny, just an hour ago and this would’ve been one of his worst fears realised. But now he barely feels it.

A hand clamps over his skull, pushes him into the police car.

The view out the window blurs as they speed away—black cut through with a burning red.

Eddie closes his eyes.

He wishes he could’ve…

He thinks of Steve, Robin, Nancy. Wants them to know he tried to protect their kids for as long as possible. Tried to buy them time. He did his best.

No, Eddie The Banished isn’t a hero, he thinks.

He simply did the only thing he could have done.

[trashmouth-richie]

master list

Eddie x fem! reader

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNINGS ⚠️

Absolutely no minors, gtfo. Hopefully everyone has read the warning post from earlier this week regarding this chapter. it is extremely dark themed.

Heavy violence

References to past rape/ assault

Blood, gore

Domestic violence

Somnaphilia

Character death etc

A/N: please know your limits. I love you and let’s get into this chapter so we can move on.

The brown popcorn bag spun lazily in the microwave like an oily inflating balloon. The steady hum of the appliance kept you company as the countdown to the sad supper ticked to an end. The cheerful ding springing you from the staring contest you were having with the counter top. 

  The small radio you had purchased was sitting on the counter, the soft belt of Linger by The Cranberries was playing for what seemed like the tenth time today and you couldn’t help but feel the lyrics in your blood. 

  Unaware of anything out of the ordinary. A typical night after working at the bar. Showering and throwing on a pair of pajama shorts, tucked next to the pair of Eddie’s boxer briefs you had found last week. 

  After investigating why the washer banged all to hell when even the smallest of loads were in it, wedged tight under the plastic agitator were his underwear. 

  And you’d be a fool to say you hadn’t broken down and sobbed in the basement on the discovery. 

  You dried them and folded them neatly next to your delicates. The same drawer that held the worn and tarnished pig ring he gave you as a Christmas gift, and the envelope full of cash. 

  The water works started again. 

  Hot tears flooding your eyes, the simple act made you feel like he was home with you. But the nightmare always continued.

  You missed him so much. 

  “But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

  If you were a tiny bit more awake you might have caught that the door to the garage was locked even though you had no memory of locking it yourself. 

  ..And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

  Rustling the steaming bag from the microwave with burnt finger tips, you toss it on the counter hastily. Sucking your fingers into your mouth to dull the stinging redness away.

  Do you have to let it linger?

  And maybe it was then that if you weren’t busy nursing the premature burns, you would have noticed the odd set of keys on the counter next to the mail, pushed to the side by the buttery bag of popcorn. 

  Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

  Bending at the waist to the lower cabinet you reach around for the smooth plastic of the yellow popcorn bowl. Upon standing you feel dizzy. You hear it before you feel it, the loud thwap of something heavy against the back of your head. The pain is searing and turns your vision to black. You’re passed out before your head even hits the floor. 

  (1987)

  The November air whipped into reddened skin, striking out any heat you had left in the confinements of the peach sweater you borrowed from Nancy on your frozen walk to Forest Hills Trailer Park. 

  It happened again. 

  And this time it wasn’t an accident, no matter how much he begged, no matter how many times he said he was sorry. 

  He hit you with a closed fist. 

  You weren’t flirting with Dustin. He was your friend. Way before Chad had taken any interest in you. Most of your friends were guys, besides El and Max, and even though Nancy Wheeler was older and more popular— you considered her a friend too. 

  When she left for college this past fall, she insisted on making her room more stylish to your liking. And she never once minded the twin beds you both slept in, a night stand between them. 

  But when Mike sat next to you at lunch and was going over notes from Kensington’s class, Chad’s mind twisted it into Mike hitting on you. Which led to Chad hitting on you, but instead of compliments and doting behavior— he drug you out to his car, a bony grip on the back of your neck.

  He screamed at you with every vein protruding from his tan skin. Voice hoarse and throat stretched tight. 

  Apparently you were fucking people behind his back. Even though you were a virgin. The town whore! He had yelled loud for even some of the teachers to hear, all turning a blind eye to the obvious domestic abuse happening on school grounds. 

  Explaining yourself only made it worse. 

  He slapped your face hard when you opened your mouth to interrupt him. And when you stood your ground and raised your chin to him, calm and steadily telling him to go fuck himself, he swung a fist into your eye. 

  And that’s when you left. 

  His apologies trailing behind you and caught in the gut of wind to travel far away from your ears. He wouldn’t follow you, he had appearances at school to keep up. 

  Much easier to tell Aaron and Sean that you got your period and were being crazy then explain why he had left school.

  The gravel crunched beneath your feet, frozen from the last winter storm and holding pockets of ice amongst the rocks. 

  Pale blue and still holding the old television lawn ornament, you sighed audible when Eddie’s van was parked outside of the aluminum sided trailer. 

  You hadn’t seen him since graduation last May. The night Chrissy’s extra curricular activities with Rick finally came out when they were caught fucking in the shower upstairs, at Steve’s house. Both sporting pricked arms with needle marks. 

  A broken hearted Eddie drank all night long and puked into the hot tub.

  Your quickened steps up to the concrete stairs and a shaky broken knock on the screen door have you stepping back waiting for the door to open, awaiting Eddie’s stupid grin waiting on the other side. 

-

  Living with Eddie you had no reason to be afraid. Many nights the front door was left unlocked. And maybe it was out of habit. Maybe you had left it unlatched tonight too. 

  It would explain how he was there now. 

  Hovering over you, his blond hair coined perfectly slicked to the side, slightly feathered back with thick styling gel. A Ralph Lauren polo with the logo on the left chest. His cologne reeked of some designer brand, making your stomach queasy.

  The only difference between those years ago and now was that he had a small dusting of a flesh colored mustache wiggled on his sweaty lip. Same maniacal inky blacks to his blown pupils, laced with the piercing blue. 

  The realization ices your veins and stings your eyes with angry tears. 

  Chad Cunningham was in your home, his body over yours as you're pinned beneath him, the smell of iron invading your nose. Looking around with wild eyes you see the crimson streaks from the linoleum in the kitchen to the carpet where you are laying. Your head thumping with the rhythm of bloody drops against the fibers of the worm carpet.

  “Been a long time hasn’t it, honey bun?” 

  An eternity wouldn’t have been enough. 

  Pressing his body into yours, you can feel the stiffness of his starched shirt as you try to will your arms to fight him away. He chuckles at your feeble attempts to push him off.

  His weight presses deeper into you as he lowers his mouth to your lips, squeezing your face he almost sings,  “Told you I’d see you soon.” 

  His lips are harshly planted into yours, feeling like jagged rocks against your soft waters.

  “Fuck,” he groans, hard against your thigh. “just like I remember. I’ve missed you.” 

  The clink of his belt unthreading from the loops of his khakis finally renders your senses. But you wait with calculated timing. 

  Leaning back, he stares into your face with a quizzical expression burrowed deep on his brow. “What’s the frown for? Don’t you miss me? Aren’t you happy to see me?” 

  Evident that his delusions still ran deep, it’s showtime. You would survive this. One good hit, that's all it would take. 

  Pushing yourself up gently, your head is swimming with nausea and the steady dripping tick of blood down the back of your neck. 

  Placing a shaky hand to his cheek he moves into your hand, the same way Eddie had that night, your stomach somersaults at the memory. 

  When his eyes shut, you turn your fingers into a clawed position, and scrape the flesh from the corner of his eye down to his lip. 

  It happens quickly and with your blurred vision and pounding head it feels like it’s all in slow motion. He wasn’t expecting it. 

  A kick to his ribs hurt your bare feet probably more than it injured him but you needed the extra time to escape into your room. 

  The phone feels cool against your cheek, and weighs heavy on your shoulder when you realize it’s dead. The plan of you running in here, dialing 9-1-1 and holding him off until they came was foiled. 

  “BITCH! You can’t hide from me!” 

  Knowing you only have seconds before he finds you, you 

frantically look around for something to defend yourself with. Searching eyes land on the window. 

  Just need to get out and run to Mr. Griffin’s house. 

  Fingers on the frame you yank upwards, palms digging into the wired screen, pushing it out.

  Throwing your leg out into the darkness of the night, you’re one step closer to being safe. One step closer to ending this night of horrors before it could begin. 

  The noise of splintering wood and the crack of a door being snapped from its hinges join your erratic breath and piercing screams— a monstrous reel of symphonic sound. 

  Chad twists a thick fist into your scalp, freeing the hair from its follicles in a sickening pop as you scratch your nails into the window sill, trying to hold on.

  He’s stronger than you, no different than years before. And when your body crumbles onto the floor with a squelching thud, splinters of lacquered wood and nails that once held the door in place, pierce into your exposed skin. 

  But that is minor league compared to the shattering pain delivered from his fist into your face as he straddles you.

  “Think you can hide away with that freak from me?!” He rocks his closed hand into your other cheek, this time clipping your eye with a gold wedding band.  

  Your cries fall on deaf ears. Tears stinging and trying to drip from your swelling eyelids. 

  “Honey bun,” he purrs into your ear, “don’t tell me you’re that fucking stupid to think I wouldn’t find you.”

  His fingers move to brush your hair from your face, and he holds your head in place when you try to bite at his fingers. 

  His wicked smile could make the devil’s scaly skin crawl. 

  “Such a dumb whore, forgetting I have eyes and ears all over this town.” Placing his grabby fingers on his breasts, he continues, “Aaron and Sean may not be the brightest candles on the cake but they are loyal.” 

  Aaron…Sean. 

  You rack your brain for any recollection of those names.  and it finally clicks. Chad’s friends in high school, following him around like he was the King. A snap of his fingers and they’d move like henchmen. Fighting anyone who got in his way, putting themselves at risk just to say they had a friend from a rich family. 

  The realization swims in your eyes and scares your tears dry. 

  “No.”

  “Pieced it together huh?” Chad laughs wildly. “They work..” he grunts, hips rutting against you, pinching your perked nipples in his tight grasp, his fingernails digging through your shirt around the delicate skin, making you squeal, “..with the freak!” 

  His deranged cackle doubles when you yell out in pain. 

  “Small town bosses don’t lock their offices, and it was too easy for Aaron to find your address, even easier to find out that Eddie had left your ass here, unguarded, alone, waiting for someone to save you, and honey bun here I am!” 

  His sick twisted smile oozes fear further into your gut, brooding and feeding on any small amount of joy you had left. 

  “You need a fucking psychiatrist.”

  “Such harsh words for that sweet mouth, but don’t worry!” he reassures, eyes wide with delight and a psychotic expression on his face as he brings his voice low and secret-like, “I won’t kill you yet, the boys are looking for Munson and when they find him…” he lowers himself to kiss your lips, sliding his tongue against the split flesh. 

  “Fuck!” He bellows, licking his lips savoring your taste on his tongue, “when they find him they’re gonna bring him here, and it’ll be arranged to look like the freak killed you and then himself.. a lover’s quarrel gone bad.” 

  He rubs his face and grunts again at the warbled wails you let out, squeezing your breasts and bucking into your clothed crotch. “Goddamn,” he groans, his eyes rolling into his head at the sound of your cries, getting off on your distorted face, “I just couldn’t help myself, had to come here and do this first. One last goodbye.”

  You’d rather be dead at this point. You wish he’d kill you now and get it over with. But the thought of Eddie seeing your lifeless body haunted you. And you stop crying when his hands close around the hollow of your throat. 

  “Gonna be mine, one last time honeybun?”

  “Fuck you,” you croak beneath his hands on your throat.

  You’re weak and running out of time. Rolling your tongue against your teeth and cheeks, harboring a mixture of saliva and blood you wait until Chad is leaning over you, and when he’s close enough you spit the concoction into his face.

  Chad bellers out, letting go of your throat and standing abruptly to wipe his face. The split second he’s distracted you try to crawl away, but he kicks you down. 

  Delivering several soccer styled strikes into your stomach, his voice spewing insults with every jab of his white Nikes into your body.

  A raging shock of fury paints his face.

  “What did I tell you hmm? If I can’t have you— no one can!” You scream loud when his shoe propels into your crotch, shocking your pelvis with burning heat. 

  All noise is void when he rolls you over and crashes down on your beaten body, clobbering your tear and blood streaked face, blow after blow.  Your eyes are swelling shut and you’re surprised when you see Eddie’s face, before your eyes shut. 

  It feels like home. 

  -1987-

  The warm smile you missed so much was not there to greet you. A cold calloused “what?” finds you instead. 

  “Eddie?” you ask with a scratchy throat, clearing it once, twice, to answer him against the wind. 

  Grumbling and stomping in the trailer is heard. Along with two separate giggles. 

  The door is yanked hard inward revealing a version of Eddie Munson you’d never seen before. His skin was sunken in on his cheeks, dark circles rimmed his eyes. His once soft features were sharp and lackluster, brooding with ashy shadows and skin that looked like it hadn’t seen sunlight in months. 

  He looked gaunt and hallowed out, his ribs poking against the cindery color of his skin. The warm whiskey eyes that once danced when he laughed were now gaping blacked marbled, polar and dull. 

  He speaks but you are too busy holding your breath from the stench of rotting clothes and unwashed bodies. 

  Stumbling over an apology for not hearing him, you are startled when he barks back,  “I said, what the fuck are you doing here, Tooty?” 

  You look to the floor and notice he’s wearing a heavily stained sock with a hole in the toe, the other foot bare, next to a pair of work boots are three pairs of women’s shoes:, heels, keds, and pink reeboks. Your toes wiggle in your worn converse. 

  “I’m.. I uh..” 

  Eddie rolls his eyes, “oh for fucks sake spit it out! You selling raffle tickets or something for school? Pep team need new Pom-poms? Or maybe the chess club is looking for a new board?” 

  Shock stealing your speech you stand on frigid feet digging your fingers into the yarn on the Nancy’s sweater. Tears bite your lashes and fall on cold cheeks. 

  Eddie! Where’s your lighter? A sultry voice coos, padding feet getting closer to the threshold. 

  “Listen kid, I’m fucking busy, I don’t have time to haul you around because twiddle dick and dum forgot you at the gas station again.” 

  He has barely looked at you since you got there. The guy who held more merit to you than your own brother was gone. 

  When you wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your sweater  he lets out an exaggerated groan. 

  He thrusts dirty fingers into his sweatpants pockets. Pulling out a perfectly rolled twenty dollar bill, he flattens it smooth. He smears his finger along the length of the bill, collecting remnants of a fine white powder, which is quickly shoved into his greedy mouth and rubbed on his gums like he’s brushing his teeth. 

  “Here,” he grunts, shoving the drugged money into your pocket, avoiding your eyes at all cost, “now get lost.” 

  The blinds on the door are still swinging as you stand there dumbstruck and watery eyed. Low voices are murmured through the thin walls as a lighter flicks and sizzles.

  Who was that baby? 

  Nobody. 

  And that’s exactly who you were to everyone you knew, nobody. 

  And ironically enough— that’s exactly who you could rely on. 

  One thing was for certain: Eddie Munson was a stranger to you. 

  The tears fell harder on the shameful walk back to Chad. But you weren’t sure if you were crying harder because of the sudden loss you felt from an old friend or because of the pain in your eye.  

-

  Heart hammering in his chest, Eddie jiggles the door handle, it’s locked and he panics and realizes he still has his key. Fumbling with the key ring, Eddie finds the short brass one and unlocks the door. 

  The sight of the mostly empty house is jarring, causing his stomach to drop , a small recliner rests in the living room where his couch once sat. Wine is spilled from the kitchen to the living room, smeared like it was swept poorly with a mop. 

  You never drank wine.

  Maybe you started drinking heavily after he left. He did. It only made sense. 

But a second glance at the claret colored stain embedded into the carpet and his worst fear was realized. 

  Blood.

  The sound of something wet and thwacking settles into his bones and shakes his spine. Someone was hurting you.

  Heavy docs lead him to the corner of the house, your room and his old room. Where his door was intact, yours was shattered. Like Jack Torrance took his ax to it in The Shining. Stepping on cracked wood, Eddie sees the most horrific thing he’s ever been a witness too. 

  And suddenly he’s six years old again, helpless. Watching a woman he loved lose a battle she didn’t even know she was in. But instead of his mother’s lifeless body crumbled by his father’s feet, instead of her dark curly hair matted with pooling blood and a gaping bullet hole— It’s you underneath a guy he doesn’t recognize.

  Your face is battered and covered in blood, the once plush lips he held so warmly between his own were split and slack. Your eyes were swollen, lacking any shine to them they normally held. 

  His eyes connect with yours for a brief second, and when they close he doesn’t know if they will open again. 

  Fury radiates through his entire body, masking the pain of heartache at the sight of you slipping from him. 

  Before he can acknowledge the thought of you being gone, he lunges at the catalog Dad dressed asshole. Knocking him off your body and landing on top of him, colliding into your dresser. The tangle of body parts wrestling for purchase tumble into the hall. Ringed fists land home on every surface of this guy's face, and when he stops to take a breath— he realizes the face he is hitting is Chad Cunningham’s.

  How did he find you? Had he been stalking you both since that day at the grocery store?

  Didn’t matter all that he cared about was throwing this mother fucker the biggest ass kicking of his life, and he wouldn’t stop until either Chad or himself was dead.

  “I’ve waited years for this day,” Chad spit, after getting a punch in when Eddie was in his own head, knocking Eddie’s jaw to bite down on his tongue, filling his mouth with blood immediately. “Trailer trash Munson finally came to play.”

  Taken by surprise, Chad shoves Eddie from him and stands up, looking through the doorway at your limp body. 

  Eddie stands slow, using the bathroom doorknob to help, he reaches for the knife kept in his back pocket. 

  Chad spins to face Eddie, his hair sweaty and face ballooning out from Eddie’s rings. “You should have left my girl alone Munson, would have saved your uncle the heartache.”

  Eddie flicks the blade open on the knife, grip tight around it, he breathes through his nose his throat tight and stretching around his words, his leather jacket creaking when he moves his neck around in a stretch, confident in his delivery, “she’s not yours.” 

  The hysterical laugh that leaves Chad’s lungs could resemble bats screeching in the night, he’d make a great clown in a haunted house. 

  “Dead or alive whether I’m married or not— she’ll always be mine.”

  Like alley cats, they stare each other down, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

  Chad licks his lips and looks your way again, “listen, I get it, she’s hot. And that tight little pussy..” he licks his lips and grabs himself over his denim jeans, stained with your blood.

  Eddie’s blood is boiling, he’s seconds away from snapping but trying to hold it together long enough to make a perfect attack.

  Chad leans forward, gesturing a mockery secret with his hand held around his mouth, “It’s even better when she’s fighting you,” he inhales deep, like he’s wishing he was in a past memory, “screaming really tightens her right up.”

  Knife out, Eddie charges forward. And is struck dumb when the knife is kicked from his hand. Another kick this time to the chest that he wasn’t expecting sends him stumbling into the living room, air gone from his lungs. Chad follows and swings into his diaphragm making Eddie choke out on nothing, gasping for air. 

  “Oh come on, Munson,” Chad taunted, leaning down to kiss Eddie’s cheek, “Thought you would have some trailer park moves to throw at me.”

  Raising a heavy boot, Eddie stomps on Chad’s toes, and mule kicks his kneecaps. A ringed fist meets his cheek, adding another forming bruise to his winter tan skin. Shoving him backwards into the counter in the kitchen, the cabinet doors bust on the impact. 

  The punches Eddie is landing have his knuckles bloody and swelling but he doesn’t care. Each punch is a testament for the years you held yourself together, acted like nothing bad was going on, when in reality you were experiencing hell on Earth and he never knew. 

  This was his payback. His way of righting a wrong. A wrong that should have never even began.

  He doesn’t know what he was hit with just that he was stumbling backwards again. Temple throbbing and without reaching up he knows he’s bleeding. His back hitting the corner of the fridge he slides down onto the linoleum.

  His head is heavy and his vision blinded with hazy clouds of black and white. He hears Chad but doesn’t see him, just feels his head being slammed in the fridge and a grip in his hair. 

  “Could have saved your uncle funeral costs you stupid bastard… clearly you don’t care about him, or Tooty for that matter, leaving her all alone like that,” Chad sucks through his teeth, splitting blood onto Eddie’s shirt, “thought the raccoons usually stuck together.”

  He chuckles low and slams Eddie’s head one more time with such force it leaves a dent in the fridge. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he says, straightening his shirt, walking towards your room , “my girl is waiting.”

  “Don’t touch her!” Eddie roars, pushing himself up to stand with all his might. Pounding head and nausea thick in his mouth. Raising his head he looks at Chad with blurry sight, trying to see clearly. His voice is low, catching his breath and taking all of his strength to utter out the words. Balancing around the mark of deranged, “I’ll fucking kill you.”  

  Chad swivels on his heels, head cocked at Eddie, he grabs under his chin holding it firmly in place. His breath fanning over Eddie’s cheeks and he smiles maniacally, blood painting his teeth. 

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” A heavy fist to the gut has Eddie doubled over. Gripping the counter with white knuckles and wet blood smeared fingertips. 

  He had failed again. He wasn’t able to stop his own father from killing his mother. And now Chad was on his way to desecrate your lifeless body. He’s a fuck up and a failure. 

  Always. 

  A low guttural choking sound breeches Eddie’s ears. And he turns to see you covered in your own blood, barely standing and wielding a bat with nails protruding from every which way. 

  The nails are claret colored and dripping thick drops onto the carpet, fibers of Chad’s jeans hang in shreds from the sharp edges. A scant look towards Eddie and your eyes swim with relief and mourning. 

  He’s here. Blood is smeared down his lips and his hands look tight and swollen. 

  But he’s alive. And so are you.

  Eddie’s vision is doubled and he blinks rapidly unaware if he is seeing you or not. He swallows hard and almost chokes on tears.

  But that is short lived.

  And it happens fast. 

  The yelling rage from Chad’s lungs over power your screams. His hands are tight around your throat before you can blink, your spine snapping into the nearest wall, feet dangling off the ground. 

  Haziness bleeds into your eyes and your breath is expelled from screaming— now gone when your windpipe is crushing like a pixie stick under Chad’s grip. 

  Desperate to fight back you jam your thumbs into his eyes. Victor Creel style like the Urban Legends passed down that you were told as kids. 

  If you were going to die, at least he would be blind, a forever reminder of this day etched, literally, into his face. 

  You prayed Eddie would know how much you loved him.  

  Should have’s taking over the last puffs of oxygen in your brain, popping like bubbles. 

  Should have told him sooner. 

  Should have said it every day. 

  Should have kissed him more. 

  Should have let him love you. 

  The guilt wraps around your mind as the cold hands of death welcome you. But you’re not afraid. Knowing Chad always kept good on his word, Eddie would join you in the afterlife.

  Hand in hand. 

  Strolling along the pinked cotton candy clouds and the pearly gates. 

  You are his and he is yours. 

  Lovers together finally at last. 

  The last breath on your lips is a silent devotion to him. 

  I love you, Eddie.

-

a/n: my asks are always open ♥️

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Back for More

Written for @steddieangstyaugust - days 9 (Upside Down) and 11 (Temporary Character Death). They just happened to merge and I didn't stop them.

It was eerily quiet in the Upside Down. The rustling of demobat wings had died down, black tendrils lied still as their master fled to God knows where to lick his wounds. Only the constant storm that would never bring rain loomed over them.

Steve's vision was still blurry after the near strangulation at the Creel house, and Eddie? Well. Eddie was dying.

"Wait here until we can find help," they'd said. "Keep him safe. Keep him alive and talking." Robin and Nancy dragged Dustin away, screaming, crying, and Steve made a reckless promise to make sure that his favorite twerp of the twerp troupe (also known as the Party, the most annoying kids known to mankind) was out of danger. Or at least as much as one could be when the world was ending.

So, the promise? Keep Eddie from dying.

That was easier said than done. Demobats made Eddie their free buffet - Steve hated himself for thinking that, but maybe he could blame it on the dizziness - and now Eddie was even more full of holes than a golf course. Minus the flags.

Yeah, maybe Steve was panicking a little. But hey, who wasn't?

"Come on, man," he muttered as Eddie's hand dropped, letting go of the blood soaked cloth. "Keep it on the wound. I'm not an octopus, I can't plug in all of these, uh…"

Eddie laughed, but it made such a horrendous gurgling sound that Steve hoped he hadn't done that. "New entrances to the temple that is my body, Harrington?"

Steve's brow furrowed in disgust. Which was funny because, you know, they were covered in blood and grime, so this shouldn't have even fazed him. It still did. "Ew. Don't…just don't."

He still reached out and repositioned Eddie's hand to cover the less severe wounds. Which really weren't less severe, all were gnarly and jagged, but at least Eddie could reach them. Steve's hand didn't leave the most dangerous looking one on his neck, pressing down and slowing down the bleeding.

"Aww. Harrington is shy," whispered Eddie, but obediently used the last of his strength to cover the wound on his side.

"Am not. Your innuendos just suck. Where did you get those, in a history class?"

Eddie's mouth twitched into another smile. "Nah. In front of the mirror, like all proper men. Which might be…why they don't work. On other men."

Other men. Huh. Steve had never suspected anything.

His eyes were starting to close, his breathing more shallow, and yep, this was the moment that Steve would normally get up, get punched, get in the harm's way so the others could escape. But this time it wouldn't work. It was just him and Eddie and so much blood that just wouldn't stay on the inside where it belonged.

Keep him talking. That's what he promised to do.

He nudged Eddie with his knee. "Hey. Hey, Munson! Now I'm curious. How do you know they don't work? Have you tested them?"

Eddie groaned, but one of his eyes opened again. "Jesus H Christ, Harrington. Can I just die from blood loss and not embarrassment?"

"Nope. No dying either way. Tell me."

Another groan, another gurgle. "Didn't test anything, man. This is Hawkins. I never even told anyone. Shit, I didn't even want to tell you, but I'm feeling kinda lightheaded…"

Not good. Not fucking good at all. "It's fine, we're bonding, right?" But Eddie didn't respond, and Steve didn't have a third hand to slap him awake, so he just went for the conversational jugular. "I mean. I kinda get it. I saw a lot of stuff in the locker rooms and I've always thought Tommy has some nice shoulders and back. And…below."

That got Eddie's attention. His eyes opened again, and the bloodied grin he showed Steve was worth the mortifying admission. "Well well well. Who would have thought we have the same taste in men, King Steve? Type, I mean. Hagan's an asshole. But jocks…hmmm. Good for you to…have such a nice view."

Now he was talking too much, and his breath was getting even more shallow. Shit. "You'll get it too, man. Not all places are Hawkins. So stay awake, keep pressure on your…ugh, fine…new entrances to the temple of Munson, and I swear that when you're all healed up, I'll drive you to wherever you feel more comfortable, and we'll get you a jock to smooch or admire. Or both."

"Sounds nice," whispered Eddie. Then, after a pause: "being smooched, I mean. It's so lame, dying without being kissed. Ever."

Look, Steve was running out of options. There was no sound, no indication of help coming, and he had to keep his promise. The world was ending anyway. "Would you like not to?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"I mean," said Steve and even attempted his signature hair flip, which earned him a weak chuckle from Eddie. "I know I look like shit now, but I was a jock. And I'm pretty sure I'm a better kisser than Tommy."

"…have better ass too…"

Steve burst out laughing, and perhaps he managed to hide the slowly rising wave of hysteria. "Yes, thank you! I knew someone would eventually have good taste and say it out loud. But seriously, uh…I'm offering. I mean, as far as first kisses go, this whole scenario will be pretty memorable."

Eddie smiled at him from the ground, and it was so sad that Steve wanted to punch Hawkins, his younger self and everyone who made Munson look this self-deprecating. "You don't have to, Steve. Pity isn't a good look on you."

"It's not," he said quickly, with more force than he'd intended. "Seriously, Eddie. It's not. It's…curiosity for me too. And maybe I also need to take my mind off things, because this whole week has been so incredibly shitty, more for you than me, but still, and it's not like we have anything better to do anyways. So I'm asking again, a bit more tactfully this time - may I kiss you before you change your mind and stop liking jocks?"

"Not gonna happen," whispered Eddie, but his smile was wider now. There was a strange sheen to his eyes, but Steve was only focused on buying just a bit more time, a few more minutes, even seconds. "Come on, big boy. Deflower my lips. Or something."

"You just had to make it weird."

Steve leaned down and inspected Eddie's face. It was covered in drying blood, so were his lips, but it didn't matter. He moved even further, still maintaining the pressure on Eddie's neck wound, and pressed their lips together.

It wasn't much, he was careful not to obstruct Eddie's breathing, but it felt nice. He imagined what it might have been like under different circumstances - Eddie's stubble against his chin, maybe taste of his cigarettes instead of blood, hand in his wild hair and around his slender waist. He winced as Eddie's tongue darted out and licked the cut in Steve's lip, but he met him halfway without hesitation.

As he started pulling away to give Eddie more space to breathe, Steve had a sudden realization. Despite his loudness and abrasive behavior, Eddie deserved the gentleness, the caution. Steve wondered if he could have given it to him in another time, another life.

"So," he asked, still hovering over Eddie, "was that everything you dreamed of?"

Eddie's voice was barely more than a sigh now. "Bit…less blood in my dreams. But…yeah. I really wish…"

The hand on his wound was slipping again. Steve moved it back. "Yeah?"

"I really wish I could have come back for more."

His hand dropped again, and this time, no matter how much Steve threatened, argued or pleaded, it wouldn't rise again.

"Eddie." Steve nudged him again, but his body was still. "Hey, Eddie. Wake up. You can come back for more anytime you want. Just…just hold on, get better and then you can have as many kisses as you want. Come on. Don't…"

When Nancy and Robin finally made it back with supplies, they found Steve still covering Eddie's wounds, not leaving his side. When they tried to move him, to make him let go of Eddie's body, Steve could only say one thing - "I made a promise."

..

Two weeks passed. The world was still ending, Max was in a coma, and Eddie was gone. It felt wrong, being able to summarize so much pain in such few words. Steve couldn't look Dustin in the eye, grateful for the return of the California crew so that Dustin had someone to support him apart from Lucas. He broke two promises in the same day, probably the most important ones he'd ever made.

His body functioned on autopilot. Donations, disaster relief, he did it all to keep busy. He slept very little, but when he did, he no longer had the intense, terrifying nightmares. Instead, he dreamt of Eddie, alive and well, meeting him in a bar, at Skull Rock, kissing him again and again.

Every day he woke up, had a blissful moment when reality was hazy, and then it hit. Eddie would never kiss him again.

It was yet another night full of tossing and turning in his bed. When Steve finally fell asleep, he was in a familiar dream. Sweet and soft kisses, Eddie's hair tickling his face. But this time, his lips felt more rough, and there was sharp pressure on his lower lip.

When he woke up, he thought he was still dreaming. His head was gently cradled by slender hands, long hair was tickling his face…and Eddie was in his bed.

He was dirty, covered in crusts of dried blood. His clothes were torn and the unnatural sheen in his eyes that Steve had noticed back in the Upside Down made it seem like the whites of his eyes were glowing. His nails were sharp, his canines were peeking out from under his upper lip, but it was him, in flesh. In scarred but miraculously healed flesh. 

"Eddie?"

"You said," he whispered, and it sounded raspy, rough. "You said I could come back for more."

It might have been a dream - or maybe not, Steve would find traces of mud and a familiar looking bandana in his bed the next day. But Steve didn't know that yet. What he knew was this - even if it was a dream, even if he was about to have yet another painful realization the next day, he'd take it. Because Eddie was worth every single second of that pain.

He wrapped his arms around the dream visitor's neck and pulled him back into his bed. "I did say that. And I'm a man of my word."

[bruisedboys]

aaaand for candy cane, how about the cold prompt from the first list with loml steve 🫶🫶 congrats again on 6k mal! u deserve every but and more ily

anna my angel thank u sm!! i love you lots mwah xx

prompt: sender places their jacket over receiver's shoulders.

steve harrington x fem!reader

“You look cold.”

You pull your gaze from the horizon, where the sun’s just dipped below the long stretch of ocean ahead of you. Steve’s standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and one hand cupping the opposite elbow. He’s frowning at you.

“Oh, hi, Steve,” you say, smiling up at him. He’s super tall. And super handsome. “I’m not cold.”

You kind of are. But you don’t want him to worry about you. He’d probably make the kids pack up just so he can take you somewhere warm, and they’re having the time of their lives playing volleyball on the beach right now. You’ve never heard Max laugh so much, and Dustin hasn’t complained about sand in his shoes once. You don’t want to ruin the fun just because you forgot to bring a sweater.

Steve hums in a disbelieving sort of way. You’ve got no escape as he sits down next to you on the log your perched on, stretches his legs out next to yours, and holds out his hands.

“Give me your hands?” He says, palms facing up.

Reluctantly, you put your hands on top of his. His skin is shockingly warm against your cold hands.

“Woah,” Steve says, eyebrows shooting up into his hair. He frowns at you as his thumbs push into the backs of your hands. “What are you, a snowman? You’re cold as ice, honey.”

Honey? You sit there dumbfounded for a moment. Meanwhile, Steve is sandwiching your hands between both of his in an attempt to warm you up, you suppose. It’s working, though you’re pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with his body heat, and everything to do with that fact that you have a schoolgirl crush on him and he’s really, really close right now.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage, a bit strained. It’s hard to think when he’s holding your hands in his, let alone talk.

Steve just frowns at you, disbelieving. “You should’ve said something sooner, babe,” he says. “Here, do you want my jacket?”

“No, Steve, that’s—“

But he’s already releasing you to shed his jacket, sliding it off his arms with ease to reveal a tight polo underneath. The material hugs his biceps, stretches across his lean chest. You’re so busy staring at his arms you forget to protest as he carefully places his jacket over your shoulders.

You’re instantly engulfed in a bubble of warmth. His jacket is a light material but it’s soft on the inside and much, much warmer than your thin t-shirt. Not to mention it smells so much like him it’s almost dizzying.

“There you go,” he’s saying, smoothing the material over your shoulders with his palms. His touching sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold. “Is that any better?”

“I— yeah. Yeah, Steve, thank you,” you stammer. Your heart pitter-patters in your chest. The jacket is nice but his kindness alone is enough to warm you through. “Thanks.”

Steve smiles at you. He doesn’t seem to notice your flustered state, or if he does, he doesn’t mention it.

“No problem,” Steve says, grinning boyishly. He rubs your shoulder one last time before drawing away. “Couldn’t let a pretty girl like you freeze to death.”

You spend the rest of your time at the beach hot as a flame.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Arguments ✨

Summary; It's Friday and you have the worst headache in the world, To make your day even worse you and Eddie get into an argument, and Eddie snaps telling you to leave Hellfire.

When the headache overwhelms you and Eddie finds out he is anxious to see you.

Warnings; Angst, fluff. Kinda mean Eddie? Jealous Eddie, minors dni

I don't give anyone permission to copy my work.

❤️✨

❤️✨🌸

You were having the worst day, on top of a bad headache, you had had an argument with Eddie.

When you were sick, you could get irritated or emotional quite easily, Eddie had made some remark about one of Jason's friends Matt who kept staring at you.

"Why does that asshole keep staring at you? It's fucking weird" Your head snaps up and you frown. There was already tension between the two of you because you tried out for the cheer squad and made it.

"Didn't realize it was so weird that someone finds me attractive" you reply wounded.

He pauses and shakes his head.

"I didn't mean it like that sweetheart?" he assures you and you raise an eyebrow.

"Well, how did you mean it? It's weird that someone may find me cute?" he shakes his head.

"You're putting words in my mouth. I just mean that it's those assholes, they are doing it to piss off Hellfire, jocks, cheerleaders, they join up to the dark side and they are all the same"

This wounds you, does he think you're like that?

"No not all of us. Some of the jocks are nice, and Chrissy is a sweetheart. Do you think I'm like that?" he looks frustrated now.

"Is there much point in me saying anything else sweetheart because you'll literally just take everything I say the wrong way"

Gareth jumps into the conversation and you massage your head which is so sore that it nearly brings tears to your eyes.

"Calm down you two, things are getting heated here and they don't need to be" Eddie angrily folds his arms across his chest and glares at Gareth.

"I'm not the one who started it" you huff and get up having enough of Eddie.

"Fine blame me, when you're the one who made stupid remarks" you fume at him and Dustin looks worried.

"Where are you going? We're discussing tonights campaign" your mood softens as you look at Dustin, he was a sweet kid.

"Sorry Dustybun, think I'll skip tonight" It's not like you'd feel welcome anyway. Eddie scowls.

"You miss tonight and you're out" There are angry protests to Eddie's ultimatum and your stomach drops at his cold gaze.

"Fine" you snap and storm away. You don't cry until you're well away from the cafeteria.

💕

Gym. Just to make things worse for your head you now need to compete in dodgeball.

Usually you enjoyed the game but after your argument with Eddie you just wanted to curl up at home in bed and ignore the world for a little while.

But you couldn't, you had cheer practice, no Hellfire though so you could go home straight after but it wouldn't stop you from missing everyone.

Eddie must have skipped gym because you don't see him anywhere, you try to focus on the game and not the argument the two of you had.

It's made even harder by how dizzy you feel as you're running around and it's almost a relief when two balls hit you so you're out of the game.

Except one hits you on you're already sore head and the pain is so intense, you cry out and the dizziness overwhelms you and you faint.

💕💕

"Back off everyone, give her some air" you wake up to a few classmates staring down on you.

Chrissy is beside you looking as worried as your gym teacher Mr Bennett.

Nurse Watts comes in and checks you over when you tell her about your raging headache and dizziness.

"Sounds a lot like a headcold honey, you need to go straight home and rest"

"I have cheer practice I can't go home" you say anxiously to the nurse and Chrissy squeezes your hand.

"As your cheer captain, I order you to go home and rest up" This relaxes you a little bit and a few of your classmates help you up including a worried Jeff.

"I'll be fine, can you drive me home, please Jeff? Eddie usually does after Hellfire but...

Well, with the two of you not talking that wouldn't be happening, nods and motions you to follow him to his car as he takes you home.

He hangs around for a little bit and it's a relief to have someone with you. However, Hellfire is soon close to starting so you tell him to go.

Once Jeff leaves after making sure you are okay you get a big glass of water, some pain meds then change into your comfiest clothes and cuddle up in bed.

💕💕

Jeff races into the drama room ten minutes after Hellfire starts and Eddie is already grumpy after his argument with you.

"Now after that interruption let us finally begin the campaign kay?" he announces and the others nod excited but occasionally glancing at your empty seat.

It feels strange without you here, Eddie feels it too and the ache in his chest since the fight the two of you had.

Jeff is trying to think of a way to mention what happened at gym but decides to say it after the session ends.

It's Mike who ends up saying about it as they are finishing up.

"Did you hear that yn fainted in gym class today?" Eddie's head snaps up and his stomach drops, he was doing a deal during class then setting up Hellfire with some of the guys.

Why didn't he hear about this sooner? Jeff speaks up.

"I was trying to tell you that dude, the ball hit her on the head and she fainted. Said she's been feeling shitty all day" Jeff trials off at Eddie's livid.

All that Eddie can think about now is getting to you, making sure you're alright.

Fuck, the argument. You meant more to Eddie than some disagreement. More than anyone else knew.

He let you see sides of him no one else had, sides he kept hidden away.

"Shit, I have to see her. Sheeples do me a favour and clean up yeah?" he races out as quickly as he can and into his van, anxious to see you.

💕💕

A light tapping on your window wakes you up around nine-ish, you've slept for hours but still feel sore.

Eddie is at your window and you get up gingerly, wincing at your achy muscles.

"What are you doing here?" you ask not wanting a repeat of earlier.

"I heard what happened. Wanted to see if you were okay, to apologise"your eyes widen.

"You did?" he nods and helps you back into bed.

"Look, I'm not apologising for hating the jocks, maybe some of the cheerleaders as they can be just as bad. I'll never apologise for despising Jason and his goons but not all of the dark side is bad. You aren't"

"You mean a lot to me you know that princess, I've opened up to you in ways I haven't opened up to anyone. You mean so fucking much to me and it's not weird Matt was staring at you because you're amazing and beautiful. I was jealous"

Knowing how difficult this is for him, letting his emotions out like this softens you.

"So you don't want me out of Hellfire then?" he shakes his head.

"No, I don't. You're the one person in this shitty town who I never want to lose" your hands entwine with his.

"I'm not going anywhere, Eddie" he smiles, all dimples.

"I think the cheerleading thing is pretty cool you know? Might have to attend a game to see you in action" This makes you giggle as he mimics the cheerleading.

"Unless you would prefer that Matt douche cheering for you" he fake smiles and you sigh, god he really doesn't see it does he.

"Edward Munson, I don't want Matt at all" he tentaively strokes your cheek.

"You're my girl sweetheart, I can't stand the thought of you with that dickhead or anyone"

"Ditto", it's pretty much how you feel for Eddie. He moves closer to you, his eyes yearning, a vulnerability there as he lets his walls down.

"Kiss me" you urge gently and he doesn't need to be told twice as his lips meet yours.

You were his girl, his heart. You had been for a while and you always would be.

💕

[miahxrrington-blog]

“hey, henderson why haven’t I heard from your sister?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

summary: steve is worried about reader he hasn’t heard from her in a while so he decides to call dustin who then tells him she’s sick because of her period

warnings: swearing, fluff, period talk

Steve was starting to worry he hadn’t heard from his girlfriend all day she’d usually call him. To atleast tell him she’s okay. So it was odd of her her.

Steve decided to call the Henderson residents to make sure she was alright.

“Henderson Residentes this is Dustin speaking.”

“Hey Henderson, why haven’t I heard from your sister all day?” Asked Steve

“Girl problems. You know how it is” said Dustin

“No I don’t is she alright?” Asked a concerned Steve

“Yea she’s fine she just got her period and she started feeling dizzy so mom let her stay home from school. She hasn’t gotten out of bed since. ”

“Why didnt she tell me anything? Is there anything I could, do can i talk to her?” Asked Steve worried

“Mom said it’s better to let her rest.” Mumbled Dustin

“Shit okay uh- thanks for telling me” Steve then hung up the phone, now staring and Robin from across the room.

“We’ll?” Asked robin

“She’s on her uh her start of the month.”

“You mean her period?” Asked a teasing Robin

“Yea that I uh, I didn’t know girls could get dizzy and sick from it.” Said a confused Steve not really understanding what was happening

“Yea doofus, most girls do. I feel bad for Y/N honestly some girls get it worse than others.”

“Shut, uh how do I help like is there anything I could do? I feel useless while she’s over there in so much pain meanwhile I’m here fine.”

“We’ll you Can start by buying her ice cream it always helps me feel better and maybe some meds ibuprofen, Tylenol and also something to eat like a meal I know I always forget to eat while I’m on my period. Maybe that’s why she felt dizzy or it may just be because she’s loosing large amounts of blood.” Said Robin trying to give Steve a better understanding.

“Shit i didn’t know if was that bad for you guys Rob, And this would help her feel better?” Asked Steve

“I mean maybe but i feel like she needs comfort right now.” Explained Robin

———

Steve then headed to the store he made sure he wrote down what robin said to get and got it for Y/N he wanted to make sure she felt better atleast for a little bit.

Steve walked to your front porch bags in hand and knocked. Dustin open the door and led him in giving him a quick Pat on the shoulder.

“Here to see y/n?” Asked Dustin

“Yea.” Answered Steve quickly

“Good luck dude” Steve rolled his eyes at Dustin’s remark.

“Baby?” Asked Steve before entering the dark room looking for the light switch and putting the bags on your dresser

“I heard you were sick my love.” You stood up not even being able to keep your eyes opened and gave him a quick smile because even though you were in a lot of pain seeing him made everything better.

“Yea I’m sorry for not talking to you i haven’t even been able to get out of bed all day. And my head has been killing me.” You said

“Hey it’s okay I’m here to help. Why don’t we get you something to eat. I brought Chinese your favorite ” Said steve

“God i really love you, you dont understand. You said happily reaching for the bad

Once you were done eating you asked Steve if he wanted to stay over. You really needed your boyfriend more than ever.

“Can you just hug me.” You asked

“Yea yea anything you need.”

Steve rapped his arms around you

“I love you so much.” He kissed your temple

“ I wish you would’ve told me wouldve been here sooner and helped you my love”

“You were working and i didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me baby.”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddie-week Day 6 - Dizzy / Drunken Concussion confessions

i'm challenging myself to keep each of these at 660 words; see day one for more of an explanation!

“C’mon guys, one of you’s gotta wanna ride this with me?” The others blink up at him, around at each other, “Seriously? No one?” 

“I’ll ride with you, Ed–”

“Oh no you don’t,” Robin interrupts, shutting down Steve’s very good idea about riding the Zipper with him.

“C’mon Birdie, let a man live! The fair only comes around once a year.”

“And someone only has one brain, one that’s been bruised one too many times already.”

“Pfft, you’re no fun.” he says, waving her off, “So who’s goin’?”

It’s actually Will that steps up to go with him, after Dustin’s enthusiasm for going is shot down by Steve’s “Hell no, Henderson, you’re breakable enough as it is already.”

He and Will climb into their already swinging little pod and sit down, strapping the well-worn buckles around them, “Y’ready for this, Baby Byers?”

“Uh.. Sure, Eddie, Ready!”

“Don’t be nervous little man, carnival rides are always safe.”

And fun. The Zipper’s always been his favorite at the carnival, can’t get the swoopy guts like this on just any ride.

Even Will’s having fun, no matter the apprehensive look he had when they got on.

“Okay, Baby Byers, this’s us,” he says when he feels their buggy do it’s final swoop into the loading area. He unbuckles his seatbelt, goes to stand, and gets a faceful of metal for his efforts.

The next thing he’s aware of is a concerned voice calling his name. 

“Eddie? Eddie! You okay?”

“Steve?” his eyes find the both of him rushing forward, “Stevie! Darling!”

“He was fine until the very end,” Eddie hears Will explaining from underwater, “He unbuckled just a second too soon and got thrown into the bars.”

Steve does his disappointed tsk at someone, “Ooh, you’re in trouble now.” he says to whatever unfortunate soul is on the receiving end. He can’t quite parse out who it is, probably whichever one of them got hurt on the Zipper.

“You’re the one who got hurt, Doofus.”

“He’s not Doofus, Birdie, he’s Dingus. Always getting himself dinged up.” She must be talking about Steve.. Wait.. “Stevie got hurt? Who hurt him?!” Eddie wheels around to look for the bastard who hurt his Stevie, only getting a swirl of color and a supporting arm to the chest for his troubles.

“Okay, big guy, let’s get you looked at before you do or say something stupid.” Steve says, pulling him up. “I’ll take him to the medical tent, he probably has a concussion.”

“You’re a concussion,” Eddie says automatically

“I’ve had a good couple, yeah.”

Eddie lets Steve lead him wherever it is he wants to go (“The medical tent, Eds, I’ve told you that already.”) and is soon laid back on a creaky examination bench.

“He’s gott’n a percussion, doc.” Eddie patiently explains to the volunteer nurse, “You gotta check ‘im out, he’s got an ass that never quits.”

“Never quits what, Mr. Munson?”

He’s not quite sure, actually. “Uh.. bein’ an ass.”

Someone’s doing a bad job at hiding their laughter. “Gotcha, I’ll make sure to take a look.”

“No, wait! You can’t! That ass is mine, sister.”

The nurse giggles again, “I’m sure it is, Mr. Munson.”

“Yeah you better leave, hussy–”

“Eddie!”

Oh no, Steve’s mad at him, “What?”

“You can’t call people that, especially not the ones trying to fix your head.”

“Hey, my head is great! Get compy– coplay– compli— I’m great at head.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Eddie can hear the smile in Steve’s voice, and makes a point to find it. 

It’s there beside him, surrounded by the most beautiful blush. “I love you, Stevie.”

The smile disappears, and that’s not what he wants to happen at all. He can feel his eyes start to burn with tears. “Eddie? Eddie, what’s wrong?”

“I made your smile go away.”

“No– Hey, it’s okay, I was just surprised; You’ll see it again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” The smile is back in his voice.

and, say it with me folks, they aren't even dating!!

if anyone doesn't know, this one on the left is the zipper

on AO3 here!

[lovebugism]

summer themed request you say?

hmmm what about going out camping with steve for the first time!

I imagine he tries his best to be as prepared as possible, maybe even a little stressed out if things don't go exactly according to plan meanwhile reader is so excited about it all

thanks for ur request lovely! hope you like it!! — the one where boyfriend!steve patches up ditzy!reader after a fall (1.2k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

“We’ve only been out here an hour, and you’re already bleeding,” Steve grouses as he wraps gauze around the weeping scrape on your thigh.

He’s not upset at you, really — more so at the stick that all but stabbed you when you fell on it. He’s just happy he remembered to pack the first aid kit.

You shift on the uncomfortable boulder he’s got you sitting on even though he keeps telling you to sit still. You can’t help it. You can’t stop looking over your shoulder and squinting up the steep hill you fell from. “I almost made it all the way up,” you mumble, halfway to yourself.

Steve scoffs from where he’s crouched beside you. “Yeah. Almost.”

“It’s not my fault!” you defend with a halfhearted pout. “It was that stupid tree branch… Sorry.”

He wants to grumble about how much you’re moving, but a laugh spills from his mouth instead. He tucks the edge of the gauze into your bandage and smooths a wide palm over your thigh. His amber eyes glimmer with honey when he looks at you. “Who are you apologizing to, babe?”

“The tree root,” you murmur, embarrassed but trying real hard not to be. Your sheepish eyes flit back and forth between the hand that rests on your thigh and the gaze that sparkles at you. “I called it stupid. And I didn’t mean it…”

“Ah,” Steve hums in response, nodding as he smiles. “Right.”

He isn’t grinning so wide because he thinks it’s funny. Well, he does, but that’s only because he thinks you’re so damn cute. You’re always so gentle in your way. Sometimes, he thinks you feel everything everyone else feels. You’re never unkind because it would mean being unkind to yourself. You’re tender with everyone — every thing.

His smile grows when he watches you look over your shoulder again. You squint up the dizzying edge of the bumpy hill that knocked you off your feet. You’re not scared of it like a normal person might be. It made you bleed, but you would argue that the ground only kissed you.

“Do you think they got too far away?” you ask without looking at him.

“Definitely,” Steve nods with a scrunched nose, even though he can’t know that for sure. He just doesn’t want you running up it again. He’s scared he won’t be able to catch you like he did the first time, and that you’ll come out with a lot worse than a scrape. He isn’t sure if he could take more than that. Patching you up as your eyes glazed over with unshed tears was enough to break his heart.

“They’re probably long gone by now, honey.”

You turn back to him, beaming despite the throbbing in your thigh. There’s a twinkle that dances in your eye, brighter than the brightest damn star in the galaxy — Serious or whatever the hell Dustin called it. You’re your own sun, vivid enough to light up a thousand universes.

“They were cute, though, huh?”

Steve nods with pinched brows like the answer’s obvious. “Oh, totally.”

“I’ve never seen a family of deer before,” you confess, a bit like a child telling a barely hidden secret. You’re rambling before either of you realize it. “Like, I’ve seen big deer before, and I’ve seen baby deer, but I’ve never seen a momma deer and all her baby deer together, you know?”

“Well, how do you know it was the mom?” Steve challenges halfheartedly. “Maybe it was the dad.”

“‘Cause it didn’t have antlers. And female deer don’t have antlers, Stevie. Duh.”

“Right,” Steve concedes with a nod. 

His knees ache when he rises to full height again. His muscles are tender from crouching so long. His sneakers dig into the tall grass of the trailside as he stands above you.

A smile tugs at his pink mouth when you get distracted again, glancing over your shoulder at the same hill that got you into this mess. Your brows are scrunched, and your eyes are squinted in a vague sort of determination to hike it again.

He shakes his head and brings his palm to your chin. His gentle fingers are warm as they guide your attention back to his. You blink owlishly up at him, not realizing you’d drifted off. “What?” you hum innocently.

“You know what,” he insists, lip quirked in a knowing smile. “Don’t even think about it, sweetheart.”

“But I was so close,” you grieve in a whine. “And I still have that whole bag of trail mix you gave me when we set up the tent! I could’ve gotten to pet them if I just got a little bit closer!”

“Maybe, but I don’t want you climbing up there again, alright?” Steve tells you, a bit more firm in his kindness so you’ll really listen to him. He stays soft with you, though, grinning down at you while his thumb rubs a dirt mark off your chin. “You’re lucky I half-assed caught you the first time. You really coulda gotten heart, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him, leaning more intently into his palm. “Yeah. I’m real lucky you caught me when I fell for you, Stevie. Both times, actually.”

Despite the boy’s fluttering heart, he squints down at you. “Alright. Don’t get cute. I’m still mad at you.”

“Wait… Really?” you murmur, brows pinched in a childlike sense of horror. You can’t stand thinking that Steve would ever be unhappy with you — even if you do stupid stuff sometimes.

“No,” the boy assures with a swift shake of his head. “Not really. I just… I wish you’d be more careful, you know?”

You nod up at him, firm and smiling. “I’ll be careful.”

“Promise?” the boy presses. His brows raise as he tilts his chin to his chest. He puts his hands on his sides and cocks his hip. “I don’t wanna spend this entire weekend having to bandage any more scrapes, honey. I don’t think my poor heart could take it.”

“Pinky promise,” you tell him, holding your fist out towards him with the smaller digit pointing up.

Steve wraps his own around yours. And, upon your insistence that it must be sealed with a kiss, he bends at the waist to press his lips to your mouth. He feels your smile contort against him, bashful as you confess, “That was super sweet, Stevie, but I meant we had to kiss our thumbs.”

The boy scoffs in response. He mumbles vaguely about not knowing the pinky promise etiquette before abiding you anyway. 

He feels lucky when he manages to convince you to organize the tent. You get distracted with sleeping bags and lanterns and other miscellaneous supplies. Steve gathers sticks for a fire, knowing he’s got you occupied for at least half an hour.

But the sun is slowly starting to set. He knows you’ll be on the hunt for cool bugs come sundown. 

He also knows he’s happy to patch up your scrapes for the rest of his life. Well, maybe not happy, exactly — just so full of love for you that taking care of you is second nature to him. He can’t imagine spending his life doing anything else.

[steviewashere]

hehehe coming on here to be evil really quick >:)

CW: Major Character Death

Wayne Being Involved in Season 4 AU

Instead of Dustin going with Eddie, Wayne goes with Eddie. He's there at that final glance between Eddie and Steve—all knowing because Eddie won't stop bemoaning how "Harrington is ruining my life!" but having the wherewithal to understand that it's not just potent jealousy, but something stronger and more meaningful than that—dating all the way back to high school. Wayne is there to watch Eddie perform that "damn song" he's been practicing for days now, on and off and with all the focus in the world. There to cheer and headbang, albeit terribly because he never learned to do it the way Eddie always did—even gives himself minor whiplash because "I ain't doing it right like you, boy."

But...

But.

He's there when Eddie shoves him through the portal. When he cuts that damn laundry rope with his spear. When he moves the mattress to make it so that Wayne can't get back through. They share a final glance, somewhere within all the yelling at Eddie to come back and to come home. It's partially what was shared between Steve and Eddie, understanding that glance deeper now and somberly.

Wayne chases after, of course he does. He runs with his legs bad and his hips stiff and his chest pounding, the air not reaching his lungs well enough, making him cough and stir and dizzy, but he pushes on. Pushes forth towards Eddie like all the adventures in that Lord of The Rings novel his kid is always reading—flashes of weird voices and giggle fits and nights in front of the television, spaghetti dinners at the dining table before he had to go to work, consoling Eddie through two failed senior years, The Hideout and sharing a pint with his friends who don't understand Eddie but still care enough to show up for him, flashes of roughly two decades loving his son. Not Al's. His son.

He kneels beside Eddie, despite the pain and the ache. Nervous hands trembling and clammy as they grasp for the parts of Eddie that aren't bleeding, aren't stained, aren't exposed red raw and gaping. Cradles Eddie in his arms as if he's a newborn baby all over again.

Tears that bandana off Eddie's mangled hair, wiping it tenderly over his face as if he's cleaning spit-up and midnight tears—when he was new and feverish and stirring in his bassinet. He keeps Eddie's neck supported in a way so that he doesn't choke on his own blood, again, like he's supporting a newborn Eddie.

Can't even take Eddie's hand, fearful that there won't be a grasp to his own. So he holds on.

Eddie looks to him, far away and spacey and glistening. "'M sorry, Wayne," he croaks.

Wayne is furious. So fucking angry. "Don't be a hero," Steve had said. So why didn't his kid listen?! Why can't he just listen when he's being told to be smart, to be right, to just follow the rules?

"Don't be sorry, Ed," he gets out anyway, "don't be sorry, boy."

Eddie keeps staring at him. Wide-eyed and wet. His breaths rattling and wet. There's snot dripping from his nostrils and tears cascading down his ruddy cheeks. Eyelashes stuck together. Blood on his jaw. Everywhere, there's blood. He tracks Eddie's right hand as it reaches across his body, unsure and tired, as it lands deftly on the back of his own. Eddie's palm is wet there, too, not sticky—not yet, at least.

"Am I...'m I a good kid?"

He blinks down at his kid. What kind of a question is that? But he licks his lips, chapped as they always are, tongue dry. His throat is brittle, aching in that acidic way it does right before he bursts into tears. Keeps looking down, flipping his hand over so he can finally grasp to Eddie's—going cold, colder.

"Good?" he murmurs, "Ed, you're the best."

"'M your"—a heaving, short, burbling breath—"your only kid."

"Yeah," Wayne whispers, "that's why you're the best. And you're gonna keep bein' the best. You're gonna show the whole world."

Eddie's blinks are getting heavier, slower. And his breath isn't coming any easier. The blood keeps seeping through his clothes.

He should put pressure on them, he knows this.

But the amount of them...the measure of severity?

Wayne was a medic during Vietnam. He knows these kinds of wounds. Severe kind of wounds.

It would just be exhausting Eddie. Trying to keep him going when there's no steam left.

He's aware of this.

He can only hold on tighter.

"Way...Wayne?" Eddie croaks again, nearly a whisper.

"Hm?"

"'M sorry," he says again. "'M sorry, Dad. 'M so sorry."

"It's s'okay, kiddo. You did your best, Ed. S'okay."

Eddie blinks a couple more times at Wayne. Sticky slow. Trying to hold on, but failing. "I l've you. I l've you, Dad. I...I l've you."

Wayne's arm flex as they bring Eddie closer, tight as he'll go against his abdomen, his chest. Holding onto him like a baby he might drop if he isn't careful. Doesn't want this be over, this precious thing they have.

Doesn't want to let go.

Doesn't want to let the son he wanted just slip away.

But he holds on. He holds.

"I love you, too, Eddie. I love you so much. Don't forget that. I love you, you never change. Not for nobody. Not for God."

Eddie's still looking at him. Brown doe eyes far, far, farther away. He's not crying anymore. Not really bleeding much anymore, but it's not like there's much more to bleed. The blood's starting to go sticky, despite Wayne trying his best to avoid it. He touches it anyway.

His kid was born crying and bloody. And here he is.

Here he is.

"See you...in...in the m'rnin'. P...P'nc'kes."

"Pancakes, Ed. We'll have our pancakes and coffee in the morning, promise, kiddo. You get some rest now, you hear me? Just go on and rest. I'll be right here. Keep watch for the monsters."

There's a twinge on Eddie's face. Like he's trying to smile. It's something, barely anything, but it's there. "S've you," he says. And in that, his final breath, Eddie's gone.

Far away. Going cold. Nearly completely limp.

"I gotcha, Ed," Wayne murmurs, choking now on his own tears, "I gotcha, beautiful boy. No more monsters gonna get you. Just...just you and me, boy." He heaves a sob, a sigh. "Just you and me."

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 25: Christmas Day Traditions & Activities

Tags: Pre-Relationship Steddie, Christmas Morning, Christmas Fluff, Supportive Wayne Munson, Eddie Munson Is A Sweetheart,

wc: 1488 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

It’s not that Steve likes to be alone on Christmas.

He doesn’t think anyone likes to be alone on Christmas — let alone someone who aspires to be a father to six little nuggets one day.

But he has a hard time taking his friends up on their offers to host him for Christmas. Doesn’t want to feel like a burden or impose on anyone’s traditions.

He’s tried in the past — joining the Hendersons in ’84 and Robin basically held him hostage in ’85, refusing to let him wallow alone in his house like some Grinch (her words not his).

No matter how accommodating the Hendersons and Buckleys were or how many times Dustin and Robin assured him that he wasn’t imposing, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong. The cold weight in his gut and the nagging voice in his head telling him if his parents didn’t want him why would anyone else?

(He should probably go to therapy to get that checked out.)

It’s fine though, because Steve’s curated his own Christmas traditions now.

He wakes up whenever he wants to — usually still early because his body has never adjusted to the fact that it no longer needs to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to train — and makes himself an omelet or two. Then he moves into the living room and opens the gift Robin always leaves behind for him because she refuses to let him open something on Christmas.

After making his “Merry Christmas” calls and assuring Robin and Dustin that he’s fine and no, he doesn’t want to come over, he heats up the homemade casserole Ms. Henderson makes Dustin deliver by bike on the 23rd and settles down on the couch to watch this year’s Christmas Day basketball games.

It’s not much, but it works for Steve.

At least, it did until this year when Eddie threw a literal wrench in his plans by coaxing him into coming over because his car wouldn’t start and he had to pick Wayne up from a last-minute shift at the factory.

Honestly, Steve should have known it was a trap the minute he mentioned Wayne working a Christmas morning shift. Wayne and him aren’t close by any means, but he knows there’s no way Eddie’s Uncle would work on Christmas day and leave him home alone. He actually has good parenting habits, unlike some people in his life.

Still, the phone call came at six in the morning and Steve was too dizzy with sleep to question his motives until he pulled up at the Munsons to find both cars parked in their usual spots.

He doesn’t even have time to make a quick escape because Eddie’s perched on the worn sofa outside watching him.

“Took you long enough,” Eddie teases, sauntering over to Steve.

“From the looks of it you didn’t even need my help,” Steve sasses back as he gets out of the car. “Isn’t that Wayne’s car?”

Eddie glances in the direction Steve points as if he isn’t aware of the pickup truck. “Huh, guess it is. Must have been a dream I was having or something.”

“Or, something. Right,” Steve snorts, shaking his head.

“Well,” Eddie claps his hands together startling Steve. “Since we don’t actually need your help and you’re already here, you should stay for breakfast.”

“That’s okay, Eddie. I don’t—“

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddie tuts. “You’re not bailing on me now, Stevie. Wayne’s in there whipping up his famous Christmas morning breakfast. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried his French toast casserole.”

Arguing with Eddie is worse than arguing with Dustin, so Steve saves his energy and agrees to stay for breakfast. He apologizes profusely to Wayne for the intrusion, earning a gruff “nonsense boy, you’re always welcome here,” several times before Wayne finally swats him with the spatula and insists he shut up or else.

The casserole is as delicious as Eddie made it out to be. Not that Steve was skeptical of Wayne’s ability to cook. He’s been over for chili nights and eaten Wayne’s perfectly cooked and fresh fish after the fishing trip Eddie also tricked Steve into attending.

With a full belly and Eddie’s demand met, he’s planning on heading out when he spots the mountain of dishes in the small sink. His parents may not have raised him to be kind and thoughtful, but it's the man he’s become so he hikes up the sleeves on his maroon sweater and gets to work cleaning the dishes even though both Wayne and Eddie shout at him that there’s “no chores on Christmas.” When they both offer to help, Steve throws “no chores on Christmas” back in their faces and shoos them out of the kitchen with a smile and lots of gruff laughter. 

He’s almost finished with the washing when the snow starts to fall. Not cute little snowflakes like in the movies. Oh no. Big ass sheets of snow dropping faster and faster as the seconds tick by.

Christ.

“Snowin’ mighty bad out there,” Wayne whistles, coming inside from the smoke break he insisted on taking outside. Kicking off his boots, he walks over to Steve and claps a hand on his shoulder. “‘Fraid you ain’t going anywhere.”

“I mean, it’s not that bad,” Steve says, throwing the dish towel over his other shoulder as he peers out the window. Who is he kidding? There’s no way the beemer is going to make it three feet in this weather let alone the two and a half miles to his house.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Steve!” Eddie shouts, from his spot on the couch. “If I let you leave in this weather and something happens, Henderson and Buckley will literally have my head on a stake. You’re staying and that’s final.”

He turns, expecting to find Wayne ready to object to Eddie’s theatrics but what he finds instead is the gruff man nodding his head in agreement.

“Guess m’staying then.”

Steve’s no stranger to surprises, but he’s downright perplexed when Wayne announces that it’s time to watch the Knicks game and Eddie doesn’t balk or go on some long-winded rant about how sports and Christmas don’t go together. Instead, he watches as Eddie nods and curls up on the sofa while Wayne settles in on the recliner.

“Hold on,” Steve says, waving his hands in the air to get their attention. “You, Eddie Munson, are going to watch basketball without complaining?”

“S’our Christmas tradition,” Wayne says.

“Unfortunately,” Eddie mumbles which earns him a pillow to the face curtesy of Wayne. “Hey!”

Wayne chuckles, shaking his head before shifting his attention back to Steve. “First Christmas I had Eddie, the boy was so upset after openin’ his gifts ‘cause he didn’t have nothin’ for me. Told him not to worry, just wanted him to watch the game with me. S’been a tradition ever since.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something when Eddie chimes in cutting him off.

“If you’re going to call me a hypocrite, save it.” “I wasn’t going to,” Steve says, holding his hands up in surrender. Crossing the room, he takes a seat on the sofa with Eddie, leaving the middle cushion open. “Actually, I was going to say watching the game is my Christmas tradition too.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Maybe it could be our tradition now. Wayne, me, you. I mean, I might not know what the hell is going on, but Wayne knows lots of fun stats he loves to share.” “Watch yourself, boy,” Wayne scolds with no bite. “S’you who never shuts up during the game. Always narrating made-up things while they play.”

“You know you love it!” Eddie defends, flipping Wayne off. After he turns his attention back to Steve, “M’sure watching with us will be better than watching alone, right?”

It’s presumptuous is what it is.

The thought of Steve coming over to the Munsons year after year to watch the basketball game. Cheer on teams and criticize plays with Wayne, listen to Eddie’s improv commentary. As if they want him crashing their traditions forever.

But something about the offer warms the usual Christmas day ache in his gut.

The truth is Steve doesn’t feel like a burden when he’s here with Wayne and Steve. He doesn’t feel like an awkward third wheel or like he’s a fly on the wall, listening to inside jokes and not understanding them.

He feels like an equal.

Like he belongs.

And what a wonderful feeling that is.

Maybe he won’t always spend Christmas with Wayne and Eddie and whatever NBA teams are playing, but today he will.

And he’s not going to deny himself this tradition next year or the year after that or any year Eddie and Wayne are eager to host him.

“Yeah, Eds,” Steve says pulling himself from his reprieve. “This is much better than watching the game alone.”