#eddie is a disaster and we love him for it and so does steve it's fine

[solarmorrigan]

Hi! Could you possibly do 'You don't have to stay.' With Steddie from the angst writing prompt, please? Thank you in advance 😊

Hi! My apologies again for taking two weeks to get to this, but thank you for sending it! This one was fun to write :D

[No warnings; happier ending this time, I promise]

Angsty-ish Prompt List

-

Eddie feels like an idiot.

He just – he got so wrapped up in everything. In the way Steve has been keeping him company every evening, in the way they have dinner together and play cards together and watch movies together and fucking fall asleep together (Eddie and Wayne’s new place is bigger than their old one, but it’s not like the government sprung for a house with a goddamn guest room or anything). He just forgot that Steve isn’t really meant to be part of his life.

No, Eddie just has Steve on loan.

He is abruptly reminded of this fact one afternoon when he hits Family Video with the intent to pester Steve (and maybe even rent a movie) and instead stumbles right into the tail end of a conversation.

Maryellen Someone-or-Other from the year below Eddie (he’s never really seen the point in remembering names unless they’re a friend or a foe; he figures his brainspace has better uses than the names of people who don’t give a shit about him one way or the other) is leaning over the counter, making eyes at Steve. She’s practically batting her eyelashes and resting her weight in a way that puts the low-scooped neckline of her shirt prominently on display.

“Are you sure?” Maryellen is asking, bottom lip pouting out in a way that is, in Eddie’s opinion, far too obvious.

“Afraid so,” Steve replies with one of his softer smiles, like he might actually be sorry. “I already have plans tonight.”

And – plans? What plans? Eddie thought Steve would be coming over to his house tonight, like pretty much every night.

But then Steve’s eyes flick up from Maryellen and catch Eddie standing stupidly in front of the doors, and his smile widens a little, becomes something happier, sillier, and – oh. Eddie’s house is the plan. Right.

“Well,” Maryellen sighs, high and put-upon, pulling Steve’s attention back to her, “maybe next time.”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve nods. “Yeah, maybe.”

Maryellen glances Steve up and down one more time—and, seriously, obvious much?—before she straightens up and sashays past Eddie and out of the store. She doesn’t even seem to have a video with her. Had she come in just to ask Steve out?

And Steve had turned her down?

It’s not like Eddie is interested in what she’s selling, but he has eyes – Maryellen Whatserface isn’t the sort of date you just turn down. Not when she’s flirting and flashing her cleavage at you over the counter of your workplace. And she especially isn’t the type of date Steve Harrington turns down, certainly not to spend an evening sitting around in Eddie’s room doing a whole lot of nothing.

Of course, that’s not how Eddie sees it – not really. They’re not doing nothing if they’re talking, if they’re sharing stories or thoughts or even just dumb jokes. Not if they’re sitting quietly together because sometimes you can only be that type of quiet with someone who gets you. Not if Eddie is strumming random notes on his guitar and Steve is humming along, almost absently, like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.

It isn’t nothing to Eddie, but to Steve – well, now that Eddie thinks about it, Steve is probably just putting his life on hold so he can be a good friend to Eddie in the aftermath of all the Upside Down fuckery.

Which is very kind of him, obviously (which is apparently just the sort of person Steve actually is; sure, he complains a whole hell of a lot, but Eddie doubts if there’s a single damn thing Steve won’t do if he thinks he can help someone really in trouble), but Eddie doesn’t need him to do that. He doesn’t need any kind of pity friendship. He doesn’t need Steve to put all his shit on hold just to take care of him, only to end up resenting him because he can’t go anywhere or do anything because he’s too busy being the goddamn babysitter.

Eddie doesn’t need that.

“Hey.” Steve is the one leaning the counter now (and he doesn’t exactly have Maryellen’s assets, but damn if the position doesn’t make his shirt stretch appealingly over his chest, anyway) and making eyes at Eddie, except they’re sort of confused-and-concerned eyes, which makes sense, since Eddie still hasn’t moved out of the damn doorway. “You okay?”

“Just fine,” Eddie says, snapping back into motion. “I’m here to pick a movie for tonight.”

“Y’know, I work at the video store,” Steve says, arching one heavy brow. “I’m here right now, even. You could just let me pick something to bring home.”

Eddie almost twitches at the casual slip of the tongue – home. Like Steve doesn’t have other places to be, a better house to actually go home to.

“I could,” Eddie drawls, “but I have it on good authority—my own, in fact—that your taste in films is not to be trusted.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Just because you can’t appreciate Sly or a good underdog story–”

“Two hours of dudes punching each other, Steve.”

“That’s not all the movie was, and you know it!”

“Two hours!”

And just like that, they fall into their usual banter, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie can’t quite let go of what he’s been reminded of.

It follows him back home (to his home) with the movie in his hand (a decidedly non-sports-related movie) and dogs his thoughts and winds him up, and by the time Steve has gotten off work and is leaving his shoes politely by the door, Eddie is – well, he’s a little on edge.

A bit twitchy.

Maybe more than a bit.

Maybe he might be watching Steve, looking for signs that he doesn’t want to be there, that he has better places to be, that Steve regrets turning down Maryellen (if that even was her name? Now that Eddie thinks about it, it might have been Marie. Hard to say).

Maybe he watches Steve carefully as they make dinner, and as they eat, and as Steve heckles his movie choice just for the hell of it, and maybe he jumps on it a little too hard when, as the evening gets later, Steve glances at the clock and sighs.

“You know, you don’t have to stay,” Eddie says, shooting for perfectly casual.

Steve, who had been partway through rubbing tiredly at his eyes (probably about time to get those contacts out; he always forgets, and Eddie is always reminding him), pauses and pulls his hand away from his face to look blearily at Eddie. “What?”

“Just, if you have other places to be, y’know?” Eddie shrugs. “You don’t have to stay.”

Steve blinks. “What other places would I be right now?”

Eddie shrugs. He’s very casual about this and not worked up at all, as evidenced by all the easy shrugging he’s doing. “Oh, I don’t know. With Maryellen, maybe? She seemed pretty interested in taking you out tonight.”

A confused sort of look is working its way onto Steve’s face, like he has no idea what the hell Eddie is talking about, like he hadn’t just turned down a date earlier today. “Do you mean Madeline?” Shit, right, that was it. “Why would I want to be with her? Dude, what the hell are you even talking about?”

“I don’t know, Steve!” Eddie snaps, tossing his arms up in hopes that it’ll get some of his nervous energy out. “I just know that you’ve been here babysitting me almost every night for weeks–”

“I’m not babysitting, what are you–”

“And I figure that maybe there’s other shit you’d rather be doing! Places to be, things to do, people to fuck, whatever.”

And– Oops.

Eddie hadn’t quite meant to let all that out. And now Steve looks offended.

“What the hell is your problem tonight?” Steve asks, sitting up from where he’d been slouching on Eddie’s bed. “Did I do something to make you think I don’t wanna be here, or what?”

“I – well – do you want to be here?” Eddie splutters. “You’re a popular guy, and you’re turning down dates to sit around in my room all night? Doesn’t check out, man!”

Unnervingly, Steve doesn’t immediately snap back. He just stares at Eddie for a long moment.

“So, what? You think I’d rather be at some high school party? Drunk off my ass? Making out with some girl who doesn’t know me or give a shit about me?” Steve finally asks, voice low and heavy. “What the hell have I done since you’ve actually gotten to know me that made you think I still want all that shit?”

Eddie opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t exactly have a specific defense.

Steve scoffs. “Did you ever think that I just want to spend time with you? That I like being here, that I like you? But fine, whatever.” He slides off the bed and stands up. “You want me to fuck off so badly, I’ll go.”

And with that, he stalks out of Eddie’s room.

Eddie is so busy reeling with the “I like you” of it all that it isn’t until he hears Steve shuffling with his shoes by the door that he manages to snap into action.

“Steve!” he calls down the hall, running full tilt for the entryway, because he doesn’t know much, but he knows he needs to stop Steve before he leaves, before some kind of irreparable damage is done.

Steve doesn’t pause, reaching for the door and pulling it open, and what Eddie means to do is step past him, put a hand on the door, keep Steve there just a little longer so they can talk.

What actually happens is that Eddie’s momentum carries him flying right past Steve, into the door, yanking the knob from Steve’s hand and slamming the whole thing shut.

“Eddie, what the fuck!” Steve exclaims, (rightfully) startled.

“I don’t actually want you to fuck off, okay?” Eddie insists, because he is a god of eloquence when under unexpected pressure. “I want… I really want the opposite of that, actually.”

Steve shoots him a disbelieving look. “So you were being a dick because you want me to stay,” he says flatly.

“Nooot exactly,” Eddie draws the words out, reaching up and twisting his fingers in his hair while he tries to think. “I was being a dick because I want you to stay but I was afraid you wouldn’t want to.”

Steve continues to stare at him. “Eddie, that makes no goddamn sense.”

“I didn’t say it did! I think we know each other well enough for you to know by now that I am barely in charge of my brain, Steve!” Eddie huffs. “I just – I don’t get why you would want to hang around here when you probably have better options.”

“No, see, that’s the part that doesn’t make sense,” Steve says, his voice going a little softer. “You thinking I wouldn’t want to stay, or that there’s anywhere better for me to be. I don’t want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else. I just… want to be here with you.”

“You…” Eddie looks over at Steve, really looks, and catches the anxiety sitting in his expression, and the hopeful spark in his wide eyes, and realizes that he’s absolutely had the wrong end of the stick. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a shrug that’s just about as casual as Eddie has been all night.

“Well then.” Eddie reaches up and slides the deadbolt back into place before giving the door a little pat; its services will no longer be required. Then, before he can think better of it, he reaches out and takes Steve’s hand, threading their fingers together and giving him a little tug back towards the hall. “Come on.”

“And where are you taking me, exactly?” Steve asks, amused and something a bit like relieved.

Eddie continues pulling him down the hall, heading for his room, and tosses a grin over his shoulder. “I am taking you exactly to where we both want to be.”

And if the way Steve crowds him over the threshold and into his bedroom is to be trusted, they are perfectly on the same page.

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 1

In a very special engagement (as in a don't normally post 5 days a week), I introduce "A Love Connection"!

If the premise looks familiar the original idea is from here, where a couple of people in the notes or tags said they'd love to try it. And after a year, I figured I'd try my own hand at the idea.

This will update on Tuesdays at 10am and 10pm EST. With hopefully eight chapters.

Summary: Steve has tried everything under the sun to find someone to truly connect with, so he gives up after a particularly horrible date. Then Chrissy introduces him to her favorite game show "Love Connection". When Chrissy and Robin apply for him, they don't think they'll except him, but he does. His suitors are Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, and Eddie Munson. Will Steve crash and burn again or will his connection be there waiting for him?

~

Look, to say Steve’s love life was a disaster would be unfair. That would be underselling it. It was a fucking catastrophe. He had gone to bars, joined hobby groups, used all the apps, even Grindr; though that was mostly for hookups, which sucked. But that was the nature of the beast if he was honest.

And the beast had completely devoured him. All his dates were either only interested the casual, cheated on him, or wanted one-night stands. Which Steve absolutely did not want. He wanted connection. Intimacy.

“I absolutely give up,” he whined to Robin, after the last date tried to slip out in the middle of the night, knocked over their lamp into their goldfish bowl, killing the goldfish, then he tried to hide the evidence by dumping it down the garbage disposal and turning it on! Lied about it, then stole their last beer as “compensation for his trauma’ and told Steve to never call him again.

“Look, Ryan wasn’t the best guy,” Robin replied with a grimace. “He liked Oasis and Tool unironically. Always a red flag.”

Steve snorted. Robin was a music snob most days, but she wasn’t wrong about that. Ryan and he had been dancing around and with each other for weeks before they finally got so hot and heavy that they went back to Steve’s for sex.

“It’s not fair,” he huffed. “You went to that bar and you a hottie girlfriend and I went to that bar and fucked a fish killer! I loved Garfield! He lived for five years before that bastard mercilessly murdered him. That’s long than my last ten relationships combined!”

Robin winced. “Ooh... I’m going to have to call Chrissy and let her know we can’t go back to that gay bar again.”

“Oh he’s so dead now!” Steve ranted. “Not only is he fish killer, he has driven us from our favorite bar!”

“Let me order us some take out,” Robin said standing up, “then I’ll call Chrissy over and we’ll all cry over Ciarán Hinds and Amanda Root falling in love.”

Steve sniffed away a couple of tears and nodded. “Then can we have a funeral for Garfield?”

Robin tilted her head and smiled sadly. “Of course we can. It’s a Sunday so none of us have work. We can watch as many weepy romance movies as you want, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve croaked. She gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek. He watched her wander into the kitchen to see what leftovers they had in the fridge so they could order from somewhere else. He loved her so much.

~

Sometime in the afternoon when they were more than a little tipsy, Chrissy commandeered the remote and turned on her favorite game show.

“Love Connection”

“Noooo...” Steve whined, burying his head into a throw pillow. It was Garfield shaped. It was what inspired the naming of the valiant fish. “This is the last thing I want to see. It’s so fake. No one gets together on these things. It’s so cheesy.”

“Exactly!” Chrissy crowed. “That’s why it’s perfect, we get to make fun of them!”

Steve thought that the only good part of the show was the second half. The first half was split into three different rounds. The first round was each suitor answer the one question, for a total of fifteen and then the catch would rank them, best got three points, second two, and third only one.

Then in the second round there were a set of rapid fire either or questions that the catch would yell out and the suitors would write down their answers. If their answer matched the catch’s they would get a tally. Whoever had the most tallies would win five points. Then three points to second place and one to the last place.

Then in the final round, each suitor would be asked separate questions and the catch would rate their answer one through three and that’s how many points they would get. Then at the end of the round all the points would be tallied up and the two highest would move on to the next round.

To the part that Steve actually liked. The first question always asked was “what would you do for a first date?” And the suitors got to take the catch out for the date and then afterward for drinks, the two dates would ask the catch some of the questions he asked them. Then the catch would pick the one they connected to the best.

It was all the stupid questions that bothered Steve. That was the fun part of dating, having these conversations and learning about them as you go. But then maybe that’s what Steve’s problem was, is that the people he dated didn’t care about these types of conversations.

“Why would you say you hate sports,” Steve huffed, waving his hand at the screen, “when the guy is a major soccer fan? Like did she think that she was going to put a stop to him enjoying it after starting dating?”

“Ooh yeah,” Chrissy agreed. “Just pick a different catch.”

Robin turned to her and tilted her head. “Do they get to chose their catch? I thought it was all random.”

Chrissy paused the show and pulled out her phone and the Wikipedia article. “Okay, it says here that people can apply to be suitors,” she waved at the row of women in the three booths. “Or catches.” She indicated the guy with her hand. “If they’re chosen to be a suitor then they are given a list of catches, headshot included. Then they rank vote them, so if four people pick Henry, then one will be on their second rank vote. And that part is randomized. According to them, anyway.”

Steve snorted. He highly doubted anything was randomized or voted on. They went for the biggest drama and everyone knew it.

“How long has this show been going on?” he huffed. “Like please tell it’s new and shiny and that’s why people like it.”

Robin snorted and shook her head. “Sorry, babe. But this is season twelve.”

“Oohh...” Chrissy said. “We need to show him the season six finale. That was hella juicy!”

So despite Steve’s protests, Chrissy pulled it up on her streaming services even though they hadn’t even finished the episode they were on.

When the credits rolled, Steve stared at the screen in utter shock. “What the honest fuck was that?”

Two of the three guys got into an all out brawl when the one guy had scored the lowest and felt that the second place suitor cheated. Not first place, second. Both guys were arrested and hauled off the set.

“It came out later Sven was right,” Robin said. “Elliot cheated. His cousin was an ex of the catch so he went in knowing a lot about Stella. The things he got wrong were things that had changed since she was dating his cousin.”

Chrissy nodded. “That’s why the have partitions up between the suitors now and why they have vigorous screening now. The show was almost canceled.”

“So why wasn’t it?” Steve asked honestly. “That was a shit show, if I was Stella I would have sued them into oblivion.”

Robin squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “She did, but they settled out of court.”

“Basically,” Chrissy said, pouring them more wine and handing the first glass to Steve, “she wanted them to completely overhaul the system. She didn’t want it off the air, she wanted it safer for future participants.”

“The more the fool them,” Steve huffed. He took a long sip of his wine. “All right, fine. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Robin and Chrissy cheered and they all huddled up together on the sofa to watch this absolute train wreck of a show.

They were about half way through the third season and twice as drunk when Steve slurred, “Why are there no gay peemles in this? It’s a trav–trad–tramajesty.”

“Travesty!” Robin slurred back, her language skills always being the last to go when she’s three sheets to the wind. “And you are absolutely right! This is homophobic!”

Chrissy nodded solemnly and pulled out her phone. “I’mma show them...” she muttered with her tongue sticking out. “At loveconnectionUSA Need more gays, hashtag loveconnection hashtag need more gays.”

It wasn’t long after that that the three of them passed out on the sofa, empty bottles all around them and a message on the screen asking if they’re still watching.

~

There was a loud beeping noise and it absolutely was hurting his head. He reached over to where his phone was usually plugged in on his nightstand, but his hand went straight through it. He waved his arm all over the place but still his nightstand eluded him.

He peaked open one eye but his vision was obscured by a mass of blonde hair. He tried to push it out of the way but it kept falling back into his face. Finally he pushed Robin off him and onto the floor with a thud.

“Hey!” she yelped.

Steve peered over the edge of the sofa with a look of confusion. “Why are you on the floor?” he muttered over the still beeping of his alarm.

“Stop!” he mumbled and somehow, blissfully it did.

“I’m on the floor because you pushed me there,” Robin huffed, getting to her feet. She did a sniff test and grimaced when she completely failed. “God... how much did we drink yesterday?”

Chrissy struggled to sit up and blinked at her girlfriend groggily. “Not enough if I feel like this.”

Steve rolled over and looked at them both in confusion, then the events of Saturday and all day Sunday came flooding back in.

“Oh fuck...” he muttered, sitting up himself and rubbing his face. One eye was blurry from where his contact had shifted in the night. He wasn’t even sure why he had them on. Probably from sheer force of habit.

He got up and stumbled toward the bathroom where he emptied his stomach of all its boozy contents. He really didn’t remember them eating after breakfast, only a steady stream of harder and harder liquor.

While his was puking his guts out, Chrissy and Robin stole the shower. Thankfully only taking the time they needed to get the gross feeling of being hungover off their skin.

Then Steve closed his eyes as they exited the shower and snuck into Robin’s room to get ready for work. They all worked at Hawkins Middle School, where Steve was a history teacher who coached swimming and basketball. Chrissy was a health teacher and advisor for cheerleading. And Robin was the language teacher. The principal snatched her up because she could teach French, Spanish, and Italian, with her only needing to hire a German teacher.

Steve got his shower and then opted for glasses instead of his contacts, not trusting his shaky hands not poke out his eye or some shit.

They all were mostly human once they got coffee, painkillers, and cereal in them, the three of them, no doubt looking like escaped extras from a zombie flick. They moved as one, gathering up their stuff and shuffling out to Steve’s car. Chrissy sat in the back, Robin riding shotgun.

Chrissy opened her phone to check to see if she had any messages. “Holy shit!”

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Look I'd be sorry about the cliffhanger, but you're only waiting 12 hours for it, soooo...

Have fun!

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3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

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8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's hanging out with Steve at Family Video when Robin stomps in like a whirlwind.

"Oh, god, I did something so dumb. You have to help meee."

They straighten from where they lean over the counter towards each other, and Eddie takes a big step back, sure that all his big gay feelings for Steve are on display.

"What did you do this time?" Steve smiles with exasperated fondness.

"It's so bad." Robin faceplants with a dramatic wail.

"What happened?" Eddie asks

"I--I'm so sorry!" She looks at both of them, and a tingle of panic works it's way up Eddie's spine.

"My parents started going on and on about me and Steve and why we won't just admit we're dating, and I started to freak out because they won't accept that we're just friends, and I'm not ready to tell them that I'm a lesbian, even though I think it would be okay, so, I told them you were dating someone, Steve."

"Well, that's not so bad, Rob. So, what, they think I have a girlfriend? Who cares."

Her shoulders slump and she frowns. "I wish that's what they thought. They kept asking who, and I panicked!"

"Robin." Steve looks alarmed now, his pretty mouth pulled into a grimace. "What did you tell them?"

"Okay, please don't hate me," she begs. She's looking at Steve, but then she's looking over at Eddie. And oh, god, oh fuck, this can't be happening.

"You've got to be kidding me, Buckley," he says. He keeps his voice light but the touch of panic has become a punch.

"Wait. How do you know--how does he--? Who am I dating?"

"Me, Harrington. She told them you were dating me."

"Oh," Steve shrugs. "Sure."

Eddie chokes on air, plays it off. "For you maybe, Stevie. We in the Munson household have standards."

Steve doesn't meet a beat. "I'll have you know, Edward, that I am a catch."

"Yeah, for the lovely ladies of Hawkins," Eddie winks, even though every word, every gesture aches.

"Oh, c'mon! I'm a great boyfriend. Defend me here, Robin"

Normally, Eddie finds these antics to be charming, but confronting his crush on Steve so forcefully has ruined his mood.

"Need a cigarette," he says to escape.

He's only alone for a few minutes before Steve is sidling up next to him.

"What's she need us to do?"

"Dinner."

He grimaces, exhaling a plume of smoke. "I'm so bad at meeting the parents."

"Shut-up." Steve pokes him in the chest. "Everyone loves you. It's kind of obnoxious, actually. Plus, I think this'll help her feel more comfortable about coming out."

He snorts if only so he doesn't have to think about Steve talking about him and love in the same sentence.

"Fine. For Buck, I'll do it." But he doesn't know how he'll get through pretending to date his biggest crush with out spontaneously combusting.

"Love the enthusiasm," Steve laughs. "You know I'd treat you right, Munson."

The blush that rolls over his face is crimson. "Alright, big boy, calm down. We're not actually dating."

The bark of laughter Steve lets out is a burst of pure adrenaline to Eddie's heart. This is going to be a disaster.

---

The night of the dinner arrives and Eddie almost blows the whole game when they walk in the Buckley front door and Steve's arm wraps around his waist. The night is all casually intimate touches and Steve leaning into his personal space; calling him "baby" in a soft, warm voice; eyes drifting to Eddie's lips as they flirt and banter.

It's almost like they're a couple; almost like Steve could love him.All of his senses are overwhelmed with Steve Harrington and it fucking hurts. But Eddie lets himself indulge, finally running his fingers through Steve's gorgeous hair, tracing the moles on his face and neck, outlining the sharpness of his perfect jaw, calling him "sweetheart" with heartbreaking fondness.

It's intoxicating.

They're helping Mrs. Buckley with the dishes when it happens. When Steve leans over and casually presses his lips to Eddie's, tasting like vanilla ice cream and spiced apples and something indefinably warm. Eddie is helpless not to crumple, leans into Steve, wraps fists into the perfectly fitted polo, drawing them closer.

The night ends and Eddie thinks he's finally free, except the Buckleys love them. Keep inviting them back.

He goes for Robin, he tells himself, but he knows that it's for the hope of it. Knows that he's a ship breaking himself against the rock that is Steve Harrington, and god help him, he can't stop.

---

Of course, of course, the wires get crossed. The kids have a pool party, leave Steve and Eddie to ice cream clean-up duty. Of course, he can't stop himself from smearing some melted mint chip down Steve's face, and Steve retaliates with chocolate sauce.

They giggle and flight and make mess until Steve's eyes are bright, cheeks red, and Eddie can't look away. He clocks Steve's eyes drifting to his mouth, is helpless as the distance between them closes, as Steve captures his lips.

It's not the brief, chaste things from the Buckley's; it's hot, all tongues and teeth and desire, and it's not fucking real.

Eddie lurches back, making Steve stumble. "Stop," he snarls.

"Eddie--" Steve's eyes are wide.

He's panting, can't catch his breath. "You can't just fucking kiss me like that when it doesn't mean anything to you."

"Please," Steve begs. "Let me explain."

"Save it. We're done with this. Robin is good now. And I'm out."

He turns away, heads towards the front door, but Steve pulls him back.

"Let me explain. Please. Please, Eddie. I didn't mean--"

And it's too much. Steve's plaintive voice, his big eyes wet with tears.

"Of course you didn't mean it," he spits. "It's nothing to you, pretending to date me. Touching me. Kissing me. Acting like you love me. It doesn't matter to the Heartthrob of Hawkins. But have you or Buckley ever taken the time to think that it's everything to me?" Hot tears spill down his cheeks and he can't even be embarrassed because all of this has been so humiliating.

Steve gapes at him, face slack and stunned. "Eddie, I--I'm so--"

"Don't. See you around, Harrington," he says. Then he runs.

---

He doesn't leave the trailer for a week. Refuses to pick up the phone.

It's Saturday, early evening. Wayne just left for his shift when there's a knock on the door.

Eddie is content to ignore it, to wrap himself in a quilt on the couch, but the knocking doesn't stop.

"Eddie, I know you're in there. Your van is here. The lights are on. I can hear you," Steve calls.

Longing clenches at his heart, but he's not in the mood for the gentle let down.

"Go away, Harrington." He starts towards his bedroom, thinking maybe he can lock Steve out.

"Please, Eddie."

"I don't need anything from you, Harrington."

It's silent for long enough that Eddie thinks it works. And then, " I have so many things I should tell you, Eds. If you still hate me at the end, I'll go. I'll never bother you again. But please, please listen."

Resigned to having a conversation he never wanted, Eddie opens the door. "Okay, Harrington."

Steve steps inside, twisting his hands for a few seconds before blurting out, "I've had a crush on you for months."

The confession briefly steals Eddie's breath from his lungs before he scoffs, "and you never said anything? C'mon, Harrington, when have you ever hesitated to ask someone out?"

Steve blinks a few times, before he answers. "I've been terrified to say anything because I didn't want to lose my best friend."

"And what, Robin asks us to pretend to date and you think that's the perfect time to make your move?" Eddie grips at his hair, pulling it in front of his face.

"Yeah, a little bit!" Steve raises his voice. "I tried but I was terrified you only wanted me as a friend."

"You know I'm gay, Harrington!"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Of course I wanted you!" Eddie's yelling now, has closed the distance between them so they're almost nose-to-nose.

"I didn't know! How could I? You could've said something!"

"I thought you were straight! Fucking look at you! You've slept with 75% of the available girls at Hawkins High!"

"Who cares about them, Eddie? I want you!"

"Funny way of showing it, Harrington."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Cause I am."

"Is that why you kissed me at your house? Making your move?"

"It wasn't supposed to be. I got--" Steve's throat bobs as he swallows. "Caught up in the moment. I know I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I know."

"Then why did you?" Eddie's voice breaks. "Why then? Why not any of the other nights we spent together?"

"Because that's when I realized that I'm fucking in love with you!" Steve shouts.

They're both breathing hard by the end, Steve's eyes too bright, face too flushed. They stare at each other, unmoving, Steve's confession ringing in his ears.

"You done?" Eddie's voice waivers, his heart pounding, stuttering, flipping in his chest.

Steve nods, but Eddie doesn't give him a chance to move. He brings their mouths crashing together, Steve not even hesitating to slip his tongue between Eddie's lips. They kiss hard enough that they draw blood, but that just makes it more frenzied. Eddie grips Steve's hip, presses him against the trailer door, grinding against him with abandon.

Eddie breaks the kiss to finally pay some attention to the delightful moles on Steve's neck, working his way up to his jaw. "I'm going to have so much fun taking you apart, sweetheart," he whispers, mouth pressed to Steve's ear, delighting in the way he shivers at the words.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Punch me out

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 4

Prompt: Meet-cute at work

Rated: E

CW: Blowjobs, dirty talk, slight degradation kink

Tags: No UD AU; company Christmas party; bathroom sex; blowjobs; dirty talk; Eddie is a disaster and Steve is a slut and they both love it; inappropriate use of vending machine drinks

Eddie shouldn't have gone to the company Christmas party. The few weeks he's worked here taught him a bunch of stuff. 

The CEO? Asshole. 

The management? Spineless lickspittles.

The corporate culture? A conglomerate of bullshit. Eddie’s position is called Facility Manager - the most ridiculous euphemism for Janitor ever.

Anyhow!

He shouldn't have come, but Gareth insisted that was exactly what those tie-wearing douchebags wanted, so they went. 

Only that Gareth has disappeared with the receptionist, leaving Eddie to aimlessly meander while the tie wearers got progressively more drunk. He should probably have gone home.

Only he didn't. 

So he kind of brought this upon himself, he thinks, while a puddle of punch soaks into his crotch and laughter wafts all around him. 

The only one looking equally horrified is the guy the punch belonged to. He’s still holding the empty cup and blushing from his chestnut hair all the way down to his business shirt. 

“Shit, sorry!” he babbles. “Didn’t see you there-” 

“Don’t sweat it, Stevie,” Tommy Hagan guffaws. “I’m sure he brought his mop.” 

Stevie’s face grows stony. “Shut it, Tommy.”

Hagan does. 

Before Eddie can feel confused, one large hand takes him by the shoulder and steers him away. 

“Sorry again.” 

“‘s alright,” Eddie shrugs. “Was just heading home-” 

“Oh, no.” A pair of big, sad eyes fixes him from behind wire-frame glasses. “At least let me make it up to you? Please?” 

How could Eddie say no to that? 

*

"Fuck, princess," Eddie groans, head thudding against the bathroom wall. "If that's you apologizing, you can spill stuff on me more o-ooooh …" 

Stevie doesn't answer, which … okay. That would be quite the feat with Eddie’s cock down his throat as it is. 

He looks up at Eddie from where he's kneeling, and fuck, the sight of him! Hairdo ruined, lips stretched obscenely wide, eyes glassy with arousal. The picture is almost enough to do Eddie in, so he tangles his fingers in that hair and yanks that warm, wet mouth closer. Stevie's eyes roll back and he moans, and that's all it takes before Eddie is coming down his throat. 

Stevie doesn't so much as whine, just swallows. God, he's perfect. Eddie wants to take him home. Tie him up in bed. Never let him leave. 

"Wow," he murmurs as Stevie pulls off, slack-jawed and starry-eyed. "Are you always such a cockslut, or was that only for me?" 

Stevie smiles up at him. The glint in his eyes is smug. 

"Only if it's such a nice cock," he hums. "What's attached to it isn't bad, either."

Pretty, slutty, and a little bratty to boot? Eddie will just have to keep him. 

"Give me your number?" he mumbles as Stevie staggers to his feet, and leans in for a sloppy kiss. 

Stevie dances out of his reach. 

"No need to," he winks, unlocking the door and skipping his way out. "We work in the same office. I'll find you." 

*

Stevie does not find him, of fucking course. Eddie tries to put it out of his mind, goes to work as usual and does definitely not scan the crowds for that voluminous shock of hair. 

He's actually relieved when the holidays come. The floors are empty and nobody calls because they need their door oiled or their light bulbs changed. Eddie holes up in his basement and starts working on that new campaign. 

Until the phone rings and a bored receptionist informs him Mr Harrington's height-adjustable desk is broken. 

"The CEO?" Eddie asks dumbly. 

"No," drawls the receptionist, "The son." 

*

The office is spacious and bright and tastefully decorated. Eddie hates everything about it. The fancy adjustable desk is not plugged in. 

He's just under it on all fours, ass in the air, fingers desperately stretching for the socket, when the door opens. He quickly shuts down his monologue about overpaid dumbasses. 

"Hey, man. I'll be out of your hair in a second." 

"No need to hurry," says someone. "I'll just enjoy the view." 

"What the- ow, motherfucker!" Eddie whirls around so fast he cracks his head on the desk. "Stevie?" 

Stevie kicks the door shut, sips idly on his vending machine drink, and observes how Eddie clambers to his feet. 

"Said I’d find you," he smiles. Before Eddie can form a reply, he's being pushed against the desk and there's a tongue down his throat. 

"I- wha- wait!" He tries to pull away. Stevie keeps nipping at his throat. "Are you crazy? Harrington Junior could be here any second." 

"He already is." 

Eddie yelps and looks around frantically, half expecting to see someone lurking behind a potted plant. There's nobody there. 

"But it's just me and-" 

And then it clicks. 

"Oh my God," he groans. The mouth against his pulse grins. 

"Steve is fine." 

"You're the CEO's son," Eddie babbles. "I called you a cockslut, I-" 

Stevie - no Steve, Steve fucking Harrington, Eddie is so fucked - just shrugs. 

“I am,” he says easily. 

Eddie gapes at him. 

“The CEO’s son or …” 

Steve laughs in his face. It’s bright and cheerful and adorable and so fucking cheeky, Eddie wants to teach him some manners. Long, graceful hands are fiddling with the zipper of his overalls. 

“Listen,” he sighs when Eddie doesn’t react, just keeps gaping at him like a fish out of water. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had an unexpected business trip to go on, but … I’ve been thinking about you the entire time. Let me make it up to you?” 

“I …” Eddie nods dazedly. Their lips brush with the movement. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Brilliant,” Steve says. Then, in one swift movement, he takes his drink and upends it in Eddie’s lap. 

Eddie gawks, heat pooling where the stain is spreading, tight and urgent. 

“Oops,” Steve Harrington deadpans, and gets on his knees. 

Maybe going to the Christmas party wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

All my holiday drabbles

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Seven

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

PJO show is living rent free in my head everyone. I love that funky little fantasy show

Anyway, welcome to part 7, where we learn more about some of the kids' powers, get a peek into Steve's growing troubles with his powers, and Steddie get a fun little development too

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

Oh! And a meme, another meme for you at the end lol

---------

While the kids have no problem adjusting to Camp Half-Blood and making friends (several of the other campers have asked El to freeze them if only because they think it's funny), Steve runs into a few bumps. He's not used to relaxing. He's not used to letting his guard down and having the children out of sight for so long. And he's definitely not used to his powers feeling beyond his control whenever Eddie is around, which is...well, always.

Don't get Steve wrong. He likes being around Eddie. In fact, he looks forward to it. Steve hasn't smiled or laughed this much or been around someone his own age in a while. It's new and kind of weird and just a little scary.

But it doesn't at all help with his growing nervous energy. He keeps waiting for a shoe to drop, quickly followed by another. It never does, and Steve fully realizes what a problem this is when Eddie is in his room one day and casually says, "Your clouds are different."

Steve blinks, looking over at Eddie in one of the chairs. He has a guitar in his lap, idly strumming as Steve's phone plays music for them. Steve had just been nodding off, feeling relaxed and sleepy when Eddie spoke. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"They changed again." Eddie says, frowning slightly as he points at the clouds drifting along the ceiling. They're a slate color now, not exactly brewing up a storm but looking ready to start pouring down on them. They aren't gloomy, though. It's more like...like the tension you feel when a natural disaster is about to strike and the clouds are the only warning you'll get of its arrival. "They were starting to turn white, but they're grey again."

"Oh," Steve says, flopping back on the bed with a sigh. "They're supposed to reflect my mood."

He hears the chair shift and steps coming closer to the bed before Eddie sprawls across the mattress next to him. "What's got you so grey, sweetheart?" he asks. Their hands aren't touching, but Steve can feel that now-familiar buzz at his fingertips, the little arches of lightning begging to reach out if he'd only let them.

Steve curls his fingers into a fist, refusing to succumb to the urge. He considers lying, just brushing off the question, but then he makes the mistake of looking at Eddie. He looks right into Eddie's brown eyes, and his resolve crumbles. His fist uncurls, their fingertips brush, and he allows a harmless spark to pass between them. "I'm just on edge," he says, looking back at the ceiling and watching the clouds. "Restless, I guess."

"You're used to fighting monsters and moving across the country, Stevie," Eddie says, sliding his hand closer to Steve's so their fingers are tangled together and a current begins to pass between them. "Being all...still is getting to you."

"Yeah, no shit," Steve says with a quiet snort. "Can't do anything about it."

"Well...there is Capture the Flag next week," Eddie points out, shifting closer, like their hands aren't enough. Now their arms and shoulders are pressed together, and Steve inexplicably feels some of that nervous energy disappear, like Eddie is taking it from him. "It can be an all-out bloodbath, you know."

Steve huffs softly, getting a wry smile. "I'm not sure anyone's gonna want to be on my team," he says. The other campers avoid him. Despite his best efforts, his attack on the patrol campers spread fast and mean, and everyone is a little wary. "So, unless I can be on a team by myself, it probably isn't gonna happen."

A few beats of silence pass, and Steve is about to assume he's somehow fucked up the conversation when Eddie says, "You wouldn't be alone. There's me. And the kids. And I could get the Hermes Cabin to partner with you. Plus, you know, you're a Zeus kid, Stevie. You ask to be in charge and nobody's gonna argue."

He...hadn't thought of that. Steve frowns slightly, letting the idea turn in his mind. It would be a challenge, of course, especially if all the other cabins decide to team up. But...a challenge means pushing himself, reaching limits he's never come close to, letting go completely and losing himself in the battle, whether he wins or not.

The clouds above them start to roll, broiling with the energy of a storm that's all thunder and lightning, and excitement surges through Steve. He doesn't even realize he's letting it get the better of him until Eddie yelps and jerks his hand away.

Steve blinks, jerking up and reaching out to Eddie but stopping halfway. "I'm sorry," he says, frowning slightly as he watches Eddie look at his hand. "I'm really sorry. Are you hurt?"

"No, no, it was more...," Eddie trails off, and then he gets an obnoxious grin and looks up at Steve. "It was more the shock of it."

A beat passes before Steve groans, grabs his pillow, and whacks Eddie in the face with it. Eddie dramatically falls back on the bed, lamenting Steve's cruelty and superior fighting skills as Steve laughs. When Eddie finally stops hamming it up, he pushes the pillow away and says, "So, I'd guess you're excited?"

Steve rolls his eyes, his cheeks hurting from smiling. "I...have an idea already, yeah," he says, looking at Eddie and leaning closer. "Wanna hear it?"

"Hell yeah," Eddie says, his eyes lighting up as Steve lays it all out.

And so begins a week of planning.

It's a week (most of which was spent convincing the Hermes Cabin to join his team and agree to just sit back and guard the flag) that leaves Steve buzzing with energy on the day of Capture the Flag. Eagerness makes his limbs tingle and his body beg to pace as he looks over the demigods in front of him. It's just the Hermes Cabin, Eddie, and the kids, meaning they're facing off against the rest of the camp.

He can't blame the Hermes kids for looking like they've already been defeated. The only reason they're still hanging around, Steve is sure, is because he and the kids promised to do all of their chores for two months if they lose.

Steve takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back, and consciously lets go of the Mist around him. He's used to holding it close, using it to cover himself and make him look, well, weaker, that he has to purposefully send it off. He knows the moment it's completely abandoned him; the demigods all stand straighter, only the kids and Eddie dare to meet his eyes, and the snakes poking through the hole in El's beanie start tasting the air with interest.

"You've put your faith in me," Steve says, his volume normal but his voice still booming in the otherwise silent clearing. "You probably think we're fucked, but you'd be wrong. So, listen up. I will be offense. Eddie, Will, and El will be extraction. And you, with the strength of numbers, will be defense. Guard this flag with your life, and we will win. If any of the enemy manages to slip past me, hold steady. You are the final line of defense. Your job is the most important, and I expect you to give it your all."

The hesitant expressions have become impassioned, if not a bit confused by the fact. Steve grins at them, feeling the air crackle between his teeth as his excitement grows. He exhales sparks, his fingers buzzing and his skin close to bursting.

Steve doesn't often pray to Zeus. He's never felt a need to, and several goddesses have made themselves better known to him. But now, as excited for the fight as he is, Steve thinks to Zeus, If you've never watched me before, then watch me now.

He puts on his Blue-Team helmet, the distant horn ringing in his ears as the lightning floods through him, and heads into battle.

-------------

Eddie's role is simple: keep El and Will from getting hurt. He'd be offended at the simplicity if he weren't already plenty aware of his inability to fight well. He's built for defense and retreat, which is why he's got his shield at the ready and is preparing himself to jerk the kids back at the slightest hint of danger.

They're crouching behind some dense bushes, Will and El peeking through the gaps at some Red-Team campers, the first line of defense for the red flag. "So, what's the plan?" Eddie whispers, shifting slightly as he looks between the two kids. Thunder rumbles, and it takes every shred of Eddie's self-control to not look at the gathering storm clouds above them.

"Will makes them daydream," El whispers back, her beanie squirming as though the snakes can feel their imminent freedom. "If that does not work, I will turn them to stone."

Eddie slowly nods, glancing at Will as he cups his hands to his mouth and whispers unintelligible words into them. "And, uh, how is making them daydream supposed to help with distractions?" he asks.

"They are very strong daydreams," El replies.

Will finishes whispering, and a purple dust-like swirling mist is nestled in his palms. He nods to El, waiting for her to carefully make a larger opening in the leaves before gently blowing the mist from his hands. Eddie watches as it twists and curls around the Red-Team campers, slipping under their sleeves and floating to their ears and eyes. The mist settles there, a thin and nearly imperceptible film that Eddie wouldn't know to see if he hadn't watched Will make it.

A few seconds pass as the campers slowly relax, their grips on their weapons loosening until a few swords fall to the ground. El waits a few more seconds before picking up a sizeable pebble and throwing it at a tree across from them. Despite making a loud thud when it hits and falls to the ground, none of the campers blink or move an inch. The only movement Eddie can see is a slight sway and the occasional twitch of fingers, like their body is trying to follow through on movements they make in their daydreams.

"Metal," Eddie whispers, keeping pace with El and Will as they move out from behind the bush. If everything is this easy, they'll get back in time to see Steve fighting. Eddie would love if he could see Steve fighting again. "How did you do that?"

Will flushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not a lot, really," he says, his voice quiet and a little embarrassed. "I mean, I just use dream-speak to give the daydreams specific emotions and then send it over."

"Dream-speak?"

"You know how you can't read in dreams? And if you try to remember exact conversations, you can only get snippets or a word or two? That's dream-speak," Will explains. He thinks for a few seconds before adding, "It's, um, supposed to feel intangible."

"How long does it last?"

"Usually," El says, her voice soft as she pauses and gestures for Eddie and Will to follow, "around twenty minutes. But it depends on the person." She leads them to large boulder, all of them ducking behind it in time for some Red-Team campers to walk by.

"Holy shit," one of them says, looking in the distance at the gathering storm clouds as she slows down. "Man, I am fucking glad we're not fighting that Zeus kid."

"No kidding," the other mumbles. "He's a monster."

Eddie has heard plenty of people call Steve a monster in the past week. Most of them say it with awe in their voices, unable to find any other word to describe the sheer power they saw from Steve. But others, like the one here, say it like Steve is a monster for them to defeat for the glory of it.

He clenches his jaw, grip on his shield straps tightening some. Before he can do anything, El reaches up to her beanie, and Will slaps a hand over Eddie's eyes. He hears the hiss of a writhing mass of snakes, aborted shouts, and then nothing. When Will takes his hand away, the two campers are statues, shock and terror contorting their expressions. El, with her beanie back in place, considers them for a moment before turning. "We should keep moving."

Eddie doesn't argue, but he does hold up a fist to El, grinning when she slowly bumps it with her own. She then turns to Will, her expression expectant, and she flashes her own tiny smile that matches Will's when their fists gently bump together.

Of every game Eddie has participated in, this game of Capture the Flag is by far his most relaxed. Will and El seem to have plenty of experience sneaking around and launching sneak-attacks. The closest Eddie gets to seeing any kind of action is when a Red-Team camper happens to stumble across them on their way back from the bathroom. Even then, before Eddie can raise his shield to block their sword, El slides in front of him and rips off her beanie.

"Thanks," he says, keeping his gaze away until the beanie is back on.

"You are welcome," El replies, staying quiet for a few seconds before adding, "Steve would be sad if you got hurt."

With that statement dropped on him, she continues leading the way to the Red-Team base. By the time they reach it, several Red-Team campers have been deployed to support the other campers fighting Steve. Between those, the ones stationed on the other side of the forest, and the campers they've disposed of, only twenty remain to guard the flag.

"I'm surprised the Athena kids aren't more prepared for you," Eddie whispers, glancing at El. She's the kind of secret weapon everyone knows about and prepares for, but he hasn't seen any of that so far.

El glances at Eddie, considering her response for a few moments before looking at Will. When he nods, she says, "I have not told Steve, but the Head Camper for Athena approached me two days ago. She offered me a personally-designed weapon if I did not use my powers during the game."

"El agreed," Will says, picking up the explanation with ease, "and promised not to use her powers to steal the flag."

"I am not stealing the flag," El finishes, a proud smile tugging at her lips, "I am capturing it."

"You're a little devil, you know that?" Eddie asks, grinning brightly.

"No. I am a little gorgon."

-----

They leave a garden of statues in their wake, and El takes a few moments to sigh and say it's not as good as her mother's before they leave with the Red-Team flag carefully hidden under Will's shirt. As they approach the border between the team territories, the sounds of battle grow. Swords clash, fighters shout, and lightning cracks between them all.

"We can take the long way," Eddie offers, his tone reluctant as he glances in the direction of the fight. They're close enough that a few trees are singed on the edges from lightning strikes, and Eddie holds his shield tighter. Letting the kids get anywhere near that fight isn't protecting them, and he should direct them in a wide circle around it.

But something is calling him, urging him closer to the fight in a way he's never felt before. He's not an Ares kid---Eddie has no desire to enter a blood bath---but he gets the feeling that Steve is going to need him soon.

"El and I can make it by ourselves," Will offers. "It's only a few feet away, and the game ends once we cross, right?"

Eddie nods, frowning before taking a deep breath. "No, it's okay," he says, waving for the kids to keep moving. "We'll try to head straight through and end the game sooner."

It's a choice he was expecting to regret, but doesn't get the chance. Nobody notices them, even when they get close enough to see a swarm of Red-Team campers surrounding Steve. None of them glance in their direction, too distracted by the fight to spare any attention to three insignificant campers sneaking by. Thunder rumbles endlessly above them, a deafening soundtrack that's only broken by cracks of lightning striking the ground and knocking campers back a few feet.

"Steve is having fun," El observes, sounding happy for him as they approach the Blue-Team border.

"He's never really let go, huh?" Eddie asks, getting a quick peek at Steve through the swarm. He lost his helmet at some point, leaving his feral expression and static-raised hair in full view, and arches of lightning jump across his body, occasionally reaching out to strike any Red-Team campers that get too close.

"No," Will says, his voice soft as they approach the border. The moment Will steps over, the horn sounds in the distance, and Eddie waits for the fighting to stop.

But it doesn't. Nobody in the swarm seems to realize the game is over. They continue to attack Steve, and Steve continues to fight against them, the air churning and sparking and ready to burst. A few seconds pass before Eddie realizes they won't stop until only one side is left standing. He gets it. Kind of. Steve carries the air of royalty; a challenge. If you can beat the son of Zeus, a literal Prince of Olympus, the glory of that achievement is untold. And it seems his fellow campers have fallen prey to that glory, utterly lost to it

Eddie feels that urge to join Steve surge through him again. He swallows around a sudden lump of nerves in his throat, searching for any other peek at Steve he can get as he says, "You guys go ahead. I'll help Steve. We'll catch up."

He doesn't bother waiting for El or Will to answer. He just rushes into the battle, something he never expected himself to do. Somehow, he doesn't meet any resistance. Lightning strikes the ground around him, pushing Red-Team campers back and urging him on, and Eddie wonders if Steve knows he's coming.

When he finally reaches the center of the battle, he sees Steve swing his bat against someone's side, the nails dragging painfully before he kicks the person back. Steve has lost his chest plate as well, and the only armor he has left are the wrist guards. There are slashes in his clothes and the edges are burnt. Eddie is almost distracted by the sight until he sees a daughter of Ares rush Steve from behind, her sword raised to bring down on his back.

In a move of unprecedented grace (seriously, Eddie will look back on that moment and never understand how he managed to not trip over himself), Eddie springs into the battle. He rushes at Steve, sliding behind him, twisting, and raising his shield in one smooth movement. The sword comes down on his shield, sending vibrations down his arm but otherwise causing no harm to him or Steve. Eddie pushes back as hard as he can, sending the daughter of Ares sprawling before pressing his back to Steve's.

"Thanks," Steve says, his words crackling and sparking against Eddie's ear. He thinks it's just a phantom sensation at first, but Eddie soon realizes lightning is literally arching between them, jumping across their shoulders and through their hair and buzzing down Eddie's chest.

He licks his lips, electric ozone lingering on his tongue, and Eddie is fascinated by the taste. "No problem," he says, his body following Steve without thinking. It's easy when he can feel the bolts of lightning between them start to shift, telling him which way Steve is going so he can keep up. "You know the game is over, right?"

"This is the most fun I've had in years," Steve replies, his tone implying that should explain everything.

And, yeah, it kind of does. He sounds genuinely happy and thrilled, his voice teeming with eagerness that's punctuated by the sound of his bat hitting a Red-Team camper in the head hard enough to make their helmet ring.

Eddie knows Steve would stop if he asked. Eddie knows he could talk Steve down from this lightning-fueled battle high. Eddie decides that wouldn't be nearly as fun.

"Okay," he says, pressing closer to Steve's back and blocking an arrow headed straight for Steve's shoulder. "Have fun, sweetheart."

Eddie didn't know it was possible, but Steve's power surges again, like it was just simmering under his skin, waiting for permission. And Eddie gave it. Bolts strike from the clouds above while arches jump across Steve and Eddie, running down their arms and leaping at Red-Team campers who get too close. They don't stop; the lightning continues to jump from camper to camper, electrocuting whoever it touches, and Eddie realizes he should have been electrocuted, too.

He blocks another sword, lightning crackling along the edges of his shield and shooting off sparks when its hit, and looks at the white-blue arches running along his arm. Without thinking, Eddie touches one, a gentle buzzing spreading through his hand as the arch transfers and jumps around his palm. It tickles more than anything else, and Eddie would think it's harmless if a Red-Team spear didn't get close enough for the lightning to jump and shock the camper unconscious.

It's not that the lightning jumping between him and Steve is harmless, Eddie realizes, it's just that it won't hurt him. He feels like some of the lightning has settled in his chest, crackling and warm and soothing. Eddie glances over his shoulder, taking in Steve's breathless smile and the way light splashes across his face with each bolt that hits the ground and the sparks that jump from his bat.

That feeling he got when he first saw Steve, the breathlessness and awestruck realization that the whole prophecy was just him, hits Eddie all over again. He lingers in it for a few seconds, letting it wash over him and settle in his limbs, before getting yanked out by a particularly close lightning bolt that makes his ears ring.

Right. A fight. That he's part of.

Eddie forces himself to focus on defending Steve's back. He blocks arrows and swords and shields and, once, a battle axe that makes his shield groan. That one pisses him off some. This shield was a gift from Hermes, a gift that showed surprising knowledge of Eddie's interests, and he'll be damned if it breaks. As though fueled by his anger, the lightning on his shield crackles and shoots down the battle axe, converging on the camper until she drops the axe with a yelp.

He doesn't get to linger on that too long; another arrow comes straight at Steve again, and Eddie is far more occupied by blocking it. And so it continues. Steve fights, lightning strikes, and Eddie defends him the entire time, giving Steve the space and security to just let go and release all the energy that had been building since he arrived at camp.

It's over sooner than he expects. One moment, Eddie's arm is buzzing from a particularly strong hit to his shield, and the next, the field is silent. Thunder still rumbles above them, lightning still crackles around them, and Eddie's heartbeat is pounding in his ears. Campers are scattered around them, all breathing but most knocked out for a while. Eddie takes a deep breath, feeling the air spark harmlessly in his lungs, and slowly lets it out.

He rolls his shoulder and retracts his shield, placing it around his neck again before turning around. "You good?" he asks, looking Steve over for any obvious injuries. His clothes are even more singed, the hem of his shirt blackened, and his hair is sticking up wildly but still somehow perfect. Steve's tense, his muscles strained as he pants, looking around them before his gaze finally lands on Eddie. He's still gripping his bat tightly, his knuckles white, and Eddie is about to gently pull it away when Steve just drops it.

Eddie blinks, frowning slightly as he starts to ask Steve if he's okay. And then he can't speak at all, because Steve's hands are cupping his cheeks and Steve's chest is pressed against his own, and Steve's lips are thoroughly occupying his. Lightning shoots through Eddie, jumping down his throat as Steve's tongue licks past his lips.

It doesn't hurt, though. Nothing from Steve could actually hurt him; instead, it makes his fingers tingle and his lips buzz and his heart jackrabbit against his ribs. Eddie is filled with an inescapable energy, and there's only one way to expel it.

So, he kisses Steve back. Eddie wraps an arm around Steve's waist to tug him closer and pushes a hand into Steve's hair, finally feeling the soft strands tangling between his fingers. He tilts his head and lets Steve have the quiet groan that slips from him when tiny bolts jump from Steve's molars to Eddie's tongue.

Eddie is breathless and floating and completely under Steve's spell and...and...and he's confused. Because Steve yanks himself away, a panicked noise in the back of his throat as he takes a step back. His chest is still heaving, but Eddie knows it's for a different reason now. Steve starts to say something, his lips swollen and red and begging Eddie to kiss him again, but no words come out.

And then he does something Eddie never expected Steve to do. He runs. He panics so badly that he runs back toward the Blue-Team base, leaving Eddie in the middle of the Red-Team carnage with a floaty brain and a stupid smile.

Maybe, if it had been anyone else, Eddie would be panicking, too. He'd be worried about the person actually liking him, worried about what the kiss meant, worried about any number of things, really. But it's Steve. Eddie knows Steve. He knows Steve's laugh and his walk and his lightning and now his kiss.

There are only two possible reasons for Steve running away: either he panicked because the kiss was too sudden, too heat-of-the-moment, or he panicked because of the literal lightning he sent through Eddie. Both are easily addressed, easy to soothe Steve down from freaking out about so they can get to kissing again.

Eddie's smile widens some, and he takes one last look at the campers around him before carefully making his way past them, figuring he should tell Chiron they'll be needing ambrosia and nectar.

-------

Tag List

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie, @itsall-taken, @queenie-ofthe-void, @tinyplanet95, @littlebluejane, @hangoversandhandgrenades, @rabbitwhoeatsstars, @bisexualdisastersworld, @steddieinthesun,

@paintgonewrong, @sadcanadianwinter, @deehellcat, @blanketlicker, @angrydonutdestiny, @booksareportal, @fallingchemicaldiscos, @am-i-obssed-probably, @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@estrellami-1, @fandomcartographer, @steddie-as-they-go, @cris-wants-a-word, @potato-of-the-lord, @plasticcrotches, @enigmahaze, @melodymeddler, @lololol-1234, @sageclipse, @steddiehyperfixation, @livelaughlexa, @genderless-spoon

For those who made it this far, a meme:

[rageagainsttheapathy]

Okay. So. I’ve seen a few fics and posts about Eddie being in a production the Rocky Horror Picture Show and Steve stumbling across it and having a sexual awakening, which, fantastic showstopping incredible BUT

What if we had the opposite.

Picture: baby gay ally Steve with his new lesbian BFF Robin who he wants to be supportive for, so he decides that the best thing for him to do is obviously to drive her up to Indianapolis to find a her gay club and potentially a girlfriend so that she can enjoy all the same things that he does! It’s only logical. It doesn’t quite work out that way of course because although she’s excited, Robin is also nervous and kind of overwhelmed, BUT they do meet a lovely group of Elder Gays™️ who take one look at this Disaster Pair of Obvious Babies and decide that These Are Their Children now.

Steve and Robin both learn a lot from these new adoptive gay parents of theirs, from Safe Sex With Any Gender to How to Find Other Gays Without Attracting Attention to No, There’s More Than Just Gay Or Straight, Yes Really, We Promise. One of the aforementioned things is gay media, including the cult classic RHPS, and what do you know, There’s a Showing On Tonight, Let’s All Go It’ll Be Fun.

They go. And Steve LOVES it. It’s weird as fuck and he doesn’t follow half of the plot, but neither does anyone else it seems like because of just how weird it is, and the songs are all super catchy and screaming the words ‘asshole!’ And ‘slut!’ At the stage is weirdly cathartic for him.

Now. This wouldn’t lead to much of anything, except that Steve watches the movie so much on nights when he can’t sleep without waking up screaming from nightmares that he accidentally memorises all of the songs, and THEN, one night when he and Robin are having a Gay Night On The Town, he gets kind of hammered and ends up doing Karaoke on stage with a drag queen to Touch-a touch-a touch me. And he’s good. Very good, in fact, enough that he’s approached by a local theatre worker who just so happened to be in the club that night, who mentions that auditions for a new production of RHPS are being held soon, you’ve got real talent kid, why don’t you go for it?

And Steve isn’t going to, but he’s in desperate need of a hobby, and Robin is stood next to him chanting DO IT DO IT DO IT FOR MEEEEEEE, and you know what? Their lives are already So Goddamn Weird. So off he goes, and whaddaya know, ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the brand spanking new Dr Frank-n-furter!

Enter Eddie, stage left.

Now with part two!

Additional stobin interlude scene!

Part Three/Four!

[findafight]

i don't get why robin and eddie clocking each other is so popular. firstly i find it kind of cheap esp since it's usually a set-up for robin and/or eddie being all-knowing arbiters of lgbt knowledge while steve is clueless and dumb and not lgbt enough (despite usually being bi) to partake in this exchange as well. then it's otherwise used to establish an immediate connection between robin and eddie since they are both gay which automatically makes them besties. secondly it doesn't make much sense w what we see of either robin or eddie. like we know robin struggles w social cues and we see that that extends to sexual orientation through her interactions w vickie. also i think she is just not paying that much attention to eddie i must be honest. then w eddie he spends his time campaigning for the stancy revival while steve blatantly stares at his mouth so. i don't think he'd be good at that either. like the irony in this being so common is that steve is the person that does clock someone else on top of being consistently socially and emotionally intelligent and perceptive. idk sometimes i feel like ppl take him not clocking robin as proof he's incapable of it despite him then clocking someone later and being right, and that s3 scene fitting into the broader context of steve being lonely, insecure, and off his game for most of s3 as well as between s2 and s3. tbh missed comedy potential w steve being the one person in that trio that actually knows what's happening.

oooohg yeah i feel you anon. Not to say that all the fics that have these tropes in them are bad! it just. sometimes gets annoying? I don't want people to feel too bad about it but yes agree.

I think it really is used as a way to fast track their friendship. Truly unfortunate that it's often used to make them all knowing queer guides instead of the disaster teenage gays they are.

Robin is a small town lesbian who is only out to one singular person, she does not know anything, let alone vague little queer codes that might be happening. She wouldn't know Eddie was queer for a variety of reasons. She says herself she's not good at reading people! She's also busy worrying about if she's doing something that might out her or make people suspicious of her, so she's not analyzing other people's actions. She does not care about men that aren't Steve enough to pay enough attention to figure out if Eddie is queer or not lol. She can't even figure out if the girl she likes who likes her back is queer when her best friend is telling her. Oblivious icon! open your eyes, queen!!

Eddie had a man he deliberately broke a moment of romantic tension between his love interest by throwing a vest at his face staring at his lips and still pushed him towards said love interest. Sir. what are you doing. and once it's clear stncy isn't happening you know eddie would be like okay. why aren't you dating Robin? hmm? she's cool! and causes Steve to Suffer. (Steve was flirting with Eddie .5 seconds before he started on this please get with the program Eddie!!)

Also think it's silly that people would stereotype Eddie as Queer from how he dresses as though that's not just how a lot of people dressed? long hair was In in the 80s. Metal fashion was there. It also likely had some/a lot of ingrained homophobia in the subculture (as many things did). Sorry Eddie, but I'm pretty sure our boy Brucie did more for the gays than metallica. (Kissing Clarence Clemens Right On The Mouth Many Times On Stage thank you mr. springsteen and mr. clemens sirs.)

Steve's the only one of these three that 1) knows how to flirt 2) knows when someone is flirting with him 3) has consistently demonstrated being emotionally and socially intelligent to observe people (more than arguably anyone else in the series) and 4) has any kind of functioning gaydar. Totally agree that Steve not clocking Robin despite his gaydar is that he was way off his game, insecure, in a funk, pathetic sad meow meow era, and in a weird state of squish-or-crush on Robin, that was pushed towards crush by Dustin but slam dunked into squish by Robin coming out (does that make any sense?)

I truly, truly believe Vickie returned Fast Times paused on 53 minutes and five seconds specifically when she knew Robin and/or Steve would be the ones to rewind it. Why else would she not rewind it? when clearly they knew who had rented it and could potentially out her if they read into it? She was getting vibes from robin and knew that Steve would at least report Back to Robin (I refuse to believe the championship game was the only time stobin gossiped like they did. Vickie knows their shenanigans.) so she decided to be indirect but kinda obvious about it!! And while Robin is denying this Steve has seen the truth, he knows exactly what Vickie is doing. (would be very funny if Steve and Vickie clock each other, and then make eye contact like I know what you are. They deserve to become funky little friends while Steve is trying to get her and Robin together.)

[steddieunderdogfics]

Idk what the rules are for nominating a work You were part of for the themed Mondays, but for the last two summers, I (SSLeif) have been working with Rambling_Company and Elle-dubs on a Steddie piece called Lake Kane, which has been completed.

Lake Kane is an AU of the summer of '85 where Steve, Robin, and Eddie all work as fire lookouts in a national forest, while strange (Russian) things start to happen.

I am only tempted to nominate it for the tech theme because it was made for Podtogether, so has a podfic, and radios are DEEPLY important to the piece- radio is the primary way the three communicate with each other all summer (plus it incorporates a bunch of the Actual Canon season 3 emphasis on radio as well with Dustin and his cerebro, and in geneneral we just had to think through tech availability at that time and in that environment super hard as we were working on it- from the ability for Eddie to record music he was working on, to whether his guitars were going to work, to how they were playing music when they were by themselves, to how the actual like tools and tech that a fire watch uses are different contemporarily than they were in the '80s, and of course the whole thing is based on a video game, sort of), to the point where the text of the fic is actually mostly in script format, with all the action and narration etc being things like ambient sound, sound effects, and conversation being had between the towers through their radios. It's kind of almost epistolary in that way.

No worries if it's not chill to rec a fic you were part of, but it seemed to super fit the theme and because of the format, it's unlikely to ever get a huge reception, which is fine. However, I'm very proud of the work we did, so here it is, if you would like it/this is acceptable.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/4303225

Lake Kane by Elle_dubs (avril_o), Rambling_Company, ssleif

@do-what-the-knight-tells-you @omg-elledubs-things

Rating: Teens and Up

25,160 words, 2/2 chapters

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: Dustin also makes a cameo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, alternate season 3, Podfic & Podficced Works, Screenplay/Script Format, Alternate Universe - Fusion, no graphic violence yet, not that we see, but there is implied violence and evidence of animal death in part 2, multivoice podfic, Embedded Images, Embedded Audio, Radio Play Format, Underage Drinking, Marijuana, Podfic Length: 2.5-3 Hours, references to animal death, Getting Together, Coming Out, The Party makes a cameo, Murray makes a cameo, Podfic, Natural Disasters, But just a little one, References to Canon-Typical Violence

Summary:

It’s the summer of 1985, and construction of the New Mall expected in Hawkins has been delayed. Steve Harrington, newly graduated, newly cut-off, needs a summer job. Hargrove is still in town, so Steve’s absolutely not going to lifeguard this year. Eddie Munson gets caught that one-too-many’th-a-time, and Hopper makes it clear he needs to find some gainful employment, ideally elsewhere, and Hop does not want to see Too Much of him this summer, Or Else. Robin Buckley needs a summer job, ideally something that lets her do college prep work at the same time… And the forest service is having trouble retaining fire lookouts in this one… mysterious… stretch of woods. . A Stranger Things/Firewatch AU

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Challenge Monday. The challenge this week was Fics that focus on technology.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[medusapelagia]

Second Chances Mixtape Part 1/5: 1986

Since the first moment I saw @maikaartwork beautiful art I got the idea for this story: it devoured all my thoughts and I'm so glad I had the opportunity to write a fic for their art.

Working on this was so fun!

Not only I had an amazing team but I had the opportunity to write something I have never written before!

It was fun getting out of my comfort zone, even if a bit scary 😂!

I want to thank my wonderful betas @soaringornithopter and @house-of-chant who not only helped with my fic but gave me enthusiastic and funny comments that I adored!

Last but not least a big thank you to the entire @strangerthingsreversebigbang Discord Server for their constant support and their friendship.

It's 1986 and the plan to kill Vecna was a disaster: Vecna escaped, Hawkins was devasted by an earthquake and Eddie Munson is dead.

Or so they presume.

READ ON AO3

Under the cut a little snippet!

The entire trailer park has been evacuated, the ground is covered in debris, crumpled papers, and forgotten objects. Steve stares at a solitary shoe wondering if its owner is walking half barefoot somewhere or worse, but he turns his head when he sees a well-loved teddy bear covered in mud; they are not there to take notes of what happened, they already know it, they just have to get back and find Eddie. There is still the police tape on the door to Eddie’s trailer as if it could have really prevented the access to anyone. For a moment Steve wonders where Mr. Munson might be, he was surely working when the earthquake happened, but after that where did he go? Does he know that he has no home anymore and that his nephew is missing? “Steve? Come on!” Dustin calls him and he steps toward the rift; it’s still as big and ominous as he remembered, and if he didn’t know that at the end of all that bright redness, there is a membrane that keeps the Upside Down and the Right Side Up separated, he would think that the shiny red was lava. “Are you ready?” Robin asks, staring at the rift and reaching out for Steve. “No.” He replies, putting his bag on his shoulder and taking Dustin’s hand. “If we die, I’m gonna kill you… You know that, right?”

[xenon-demon]

🔀 for steddie 💕

Thank you so much for the ask Janai!!!!!! Just so we all know I'm shuffling my big "Liked Songs" playlist for this ask game, so any song I've saved on Spotify since 2017 could come up lmao. For this ask I got Love Might Be Found (Volcano) by Montaigne! Oooooh man okay this is such a good song, it's about being in the earlier stages of a relationship and then having to leave them for some reason, so you're wishing for a reason to stay and see if things would've worked out (like a natural disaster closing the airports or smth).

The obvious Steddie AU for this (at least imo) is therefore a modern AU where Corroded Coffin has the opportunity to make it big and achieve their dreams of becoming a famous metal band, but doing so requires moving away from Indiana. Moving away from Steve (who at this point is friends-with-benefits with Eddie and they're both hopelessly pining). Steve, who doesn't want to be the reason Eddie gives up on his dreams, just lets him go and pretends he's not madly in love with Eddie, since he thinks (correctly) that Eddie loves him back and would refuse to leave Steve behind if they were boyfriends. Eddie is heartbroken that Steve's not trying harder to keep him, because he really thought they had the start of something good together. Cue a prolonged period of extreme angst and long-distance pining from both of them, Eddie writes at least four heartbroken ballads about how much he misses Steve, Steve follows CC's progress in the music industry religiously but refuses to admit that to anyone. (Robin knows, though. She always does).

EVENTUALLY they get their shit together when CC throw a launch party for their sophomore album, at which point they've blown up enough that they can afford to invite their friends from back home as well. It's actually Jeff who invites Steve, because you've got him fucked up if you think he's going to listen to Eddie moan about The One Who Got Away™ for another fucking second. Steve is very skeptical of the invite, because he hasn't heard from Eddie since a few months after they moved away, but eventually caves on the condition he can bring Robin. They spend almost the entire launch party staunchly not speaking to one another, which gets very awkward when some of Eddie's new friends from the music industry start asking questions about how they know each other (because they very obviously do). It only stops when Steve and Robin are having an emotional debrief in the men's bathroom (because Robin is not going to let a gendered bathroom sign keep her away from her platonic soulmate in his time of need - and also CC hired out a function room for a private event, so the only people even using the bathroom are from their event). Mid-breakdown, just as Steve's about to admit he still has feelings for Eddie all this time, they get interrupted by someone entering the bathroom. It's Eddie, because of course it is.

Eddie tries to play it off as needing a piss, but he's obviously come in here for a mental breakdown of his own. Robin takes one look at the absolutely stricken way he looks at Steve, like he's been stabbed right through the chest at the sight of him, and takes a risk. She says she's going to guard the bathroom door until they sort their shit out and leaves them alone in there together.

To her credit, she lasts almost half an hour at the bathroom door of death-glaring every drunk man who so much as looks her way. But then she hears a crashing noise, followed by the distinct sound of someone moaning coming from the bathroom behind her, and decides those bastards are on their own now.

Send me a 🔀 and a pairing, and I'll shuffle my playlist and give you an AU about that pairing based on the first song that comes up!

[riality-check]

when you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass it on to at least five other writers. let’s spread the self-love! 💕💕

This is so old, I'm so sorry (and I have another one of these asks that I'm saving for when I get some other things finally drafted) but here we go, in no particular order:

Skylines, Cigarettes, and Second Chances (29k, 4/4 chapters, Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply)

"Immediately after that first, perfect kiss in the hospital, Steve had said, I don’t want anyone to know. That stung a bit, but Eddie gets it. Steve went on to explain that he wasn’t sure how he felt, that he was trying to figure himself out, that all he did know is that he liked Eddie. And Steve really does like him. Eddie can tell. So, he can live with it." OR Steve and Eddie get together after Vecna. It doesn't last. But when Eddie calls for a favor a few years later, they think that maybe, just maybe, they're worth trying for again.

I'm sure absolutely no one is surprised that I included this on the list because I have not been able to shut up about it, but I really like this fic! I'm really proud of it! Go read it if angst with a happy ending is your jam!

like a sack of bricks (18k, 1/1 chapters, Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply)

"Eddie isn’t lucky. He’s obnoxious and smart and talented and a little too quick to snap back if threatened, but he isn’t lucky. At least, not until last week. Last week, he went with Chrissy to that stupid cowboy bar she loves so much. Last week, he ran into the hottest guy he’s ever seen in his life. Last week, he had the best sex of his life with said hottest guy, and he hasn’t even been ghosted yet." OR Steve and Eddie, continuing from that cowboy bar meet-cute. Featuring second and third dates, a good amount of jokes, some tragic backstory lore, drag queens, sheer ridiculousness, kinkier sex this time around, and Eddie going Through It (TM) before Steve makes it better. Or maybe the charm has everything to do with the bartender. OR The dom drop fic I've had in my head for months.

This is also another fic that deals with heavy topics, and I'm also very proud of it! Go read it for a bunch of jokes, ridiculous shenanigans, what is hopefully (in)decent smut, and emotional hurt/comfort!

Bragging Rights, Fancy Drinks, and the Bartender Conundrum (6860 words, 1/1 chapters, Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply)

"But, for some reason, this place doesn’t feel standard. Maybe it’s the fact that all the pictures on the walls look modern and aren’t filled with old white dudes holding cans of Bud Light. Maybe it’s the fact that the music, thank god, isn’t beer, truck, dog country or rock music that Republicans like. Or maybe the charm has everything to do with the bartender. Good god. Eddie thinks he might die right then and there." OR Eddie and the guys go to a new place in search of a trivia spot safe from frat bros. What Eddie doesn't expect is to become smitten with not one, but two of the bartenders who work there. Or so he thinks.

This is ridiculous, gender shenanigan fluff, and I was absolutely blown away by the response to it! Go read it if you like faceblind bisexual disaster Eddie, Corroded Coffin friendships and interactions, and badass, genderfluid Stev(i)e Harrington!

save a horse, ride an ex-jock (9835 words, 1/1 chapters, Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply)

"Steve's eyes land on the mechanical bull across the place. It’s a stupid looking thing. There’s no way it’s safe. It’s white with brown spots, and Steve can see the metal frame where the paneling splits. Its dead black eyes are nightmare fuel. Eddie says, 'Bet I could ride it better than you.' 'Bet I could ride you better than you ride it,' Steve says. Filter? Gone. But he doesn’t mind. Because Eddie takes Steve’s hat. 'I’m sure you could, but me first.' Steve might not like this cowboy stuff, but he knows what Eddie taking the hat means." OR A metalhead and an ex-jock walk into a cowboy themed bar to support their favorite lesbians. Featuring mechanical bull riding, the more fun kind of riding, Steve's horndog inner monologue, and way too many jokes for what was supposed to be just smut.

This is also ridiculous, and it started as a complete and utter joke with some light bribery involved to get me to write it. Go read it if you like cowboy jokes, silly sex, Appalachian Eddie Munson, and Steve being a bit of a slut (affectionate).

what's in a name, anyway? (4823 words, 1/1 chapters, Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply)

“On good days, Steve sees his name as a gift from a well meaning but distant relative, like an ugly sweater that doesn’t quite fit. On bad days, he hates it.” OR Five people who call Steve by his full name, and one person who never does.

This is pretty far into headcanon territory, but I really enjoyed writing the POVs of various characters. Read if you want Steve-centric angst, Hopper, Joyce, Nancy, Robin, and Dustin POV, and some Steddie fluff to balance the whole thing out!

[stervrucht]

Proximity - Part 2

● Previous ● Next ● AO3

Eddie has no idea why it bothers him that Steve is out with some girl, nor why he’s painting his nails with Robin.

He doesn’t paint them often. It’s more effort than it’s worth and Eddie can’t keep his hands still for long enough to allow the varnish to dry. 

Still, he accepts when Robin asks him to hang out. 

Her room is simple and small, yet it radiates personality.

It radiates Robin. 

Surfaces are littered with trinkets — a cliché souvenir from Indianapolis, a picture of little Robin with a cat, some colorful pebbles she probably collected. She has a French horn sitting neatly in a case, and a stand with sheet music.  Her walls are covered in posters — female artists like Blondie and The Runaways. 

He doesn’t question the way her eyes linger on him when she tells him about Steve’s untrackable love life. 

When he asks Robin about her love life, she promptly blushes and looks away. 

“I’m working on it,” she says, uncharacteristically shy. 

Eddie eyes the posters and feels something click in his mind.

When he gets home he looks at his nails. The varnish is dented where he bumped it into things before fully drying and his thumb is already chipped from where he bites it sometimes.

A few days later, when he sees Steve at Family Video, the black on his nails resembles a collection of small black islands in a sea of pink.

Call it a nervous tick.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?” Eddie asks Robin.

For a moment, a mild shock paints her face, but then it’s gone. Like the first snow in November, when the ground is still warm from summer.

Robin is a stellar actress. 

“Have you?” she asks, and Eddie should have seen that coming. 

He opens his mouth to answer but before he can make a sound Robin cuts him off.

“Middle school doesn’t count when you’re over twenty.”

“Well, shit, you’re onto me, Buckley.” Eddie chuckles.

Eddie knows. Or at least he thinks he does.

Girls who like Joan Jett like girls. 

Eddie has seen it before. At the parties, he attends when he’s selling.

The more niche — the more underground — the better the buyers. 

Inexperienced high schoolers hardly fill his wallet. 

So he goes to the parties filled with leather and smoke and music that thumps in tandem with his heart, and there he sells. There are no rules at those kinds of parties, only intoxication, flesh, sweat, and lust.

He doesn’t partake himself. The women who try to wind him up — to get his shit for free — he turns them down.

He has to. 

He’s got a supplier to pay and this is his job.

Men don’t require free shit. They will flirt for a quick fuck.

He turns them down too, but a part of him feels flattered

“Have you ever kissed a guy?” Robin pulls him back from his thoughts.

They look at each other and Eddie realizes Robin knows too. Of course, she does. She knew before he realized it himself.

Because he has never kissed a guy.

But he wants to.

It's Friday and movie night is cancelled because Steve is on a date with Jennifer.

She’s all wrong for Steve. Too bland. Eddie knows it won’t last but he still feels bitter. 

Eddie takes Robin to one of his dark clubs. The kinds where anything goes and the people don’t care. They go, not to deal this night, but to get Robin out there.

The girl is a disaster and Eddie knows she just needs a little experience, a little boost, and she will do fine with Vickie.

Vickie, a redhead. 

Robin told him, and Eddie can vaguely recall her from the party at Robin’s house. Eddie supposes she’s a nice girl and he hopes — really hopes for Robin — that Vickie likes her as much as she likes her.

They go to a thrift store and buy something black just to tear it to shreds — to make it better — and Robin looks fantastic. Messy hair, dark make-up. A real Joan Jett. If Eddie was a girl, we would go wild for her. 

They paint their nails too and this time Eddie’s look better because Robin did them for him.

When Eddie looks in the mirror he thinks he looks pretty fucking good with his low-buttoned black shirt that shows off his tats. 

The club is dark and the atmosphere heavy. Eddie hasn’t really been there to party himself, only to sell, and it’s strange to be on the other side of it.

Bodies move like snakes, coiling around each other. He guides Robin to the bar and sticks up two fingers to the barman while mouthing for gin. He hands one of the tiny glasses to Robin and she frowns at it.

“For courage,” Eddie says in her ear, his voice hardly sounding above the insistent bass. He lifts up the glass and Robin reciprocates his toast. Then, after Eddie tips his own shot back, she follows suit.

She scrunches her nose and Eddie wonders if this was her first. Probably. He won’t ask her. 

Clubs aren’t made for talking.

Eddie grabs her hands and leads her through the crowd. They settle, surrounded by bodies, and Eddie moves his hands to her hips — to guide her. He can see she’s out of her element but soon the gin will loosen her up and Eddie will make her flirt with some girls. Or maybe leave her to swim in the sea of bodies for a while, to see if she floats.

When the gin hits, Robin’s movements become looser. They aren’t particularly enticing, but they’re quirky and cute. Sweat is forming on her brow in the heat of the crowd when a girl with a black pixie cut steals Robin away.

Eddie leans against the wall and watches them dance from a distance — to keep an eye on her. The girl seems nice enough, doesn’t force herself, and Robin seems more confident as she leans forward to say something in her ear. 

“You dealin’ tonight?” 

Eddie looks next to him and sees a man in his late twenties with dark brown hair and green eyes. Eddie recognizes him vaguely and he supposes he may have sold to him before — if the question wasn’t a giveaway yet.

“Not tonight.”

“Too bad,” the man says. He takes his time to look Eddie over before continuing, “You’re looking for a bit of fun?”

They share a joint — Eddie’s personal stash — and then they’re making out, sloppy and wet, and Eddie has never kissed a guy before. He feels stubble on his cheek and smells the geranium of his perfume and sweat.

The guy’s brown hair tickles his cheeks and it’s the same shade as Steve’s.

The man’s hands are strong where they trace above Eddie’s jeans, his fingertips calloused — maybe from playing guitar or something like that.

And that’s not like Steve at all.

Steve is always on his mind.

He is everywhere.

Eddie feels like he’s going crazy in his absence. 

It’s even worse in his presence.

But that is hardly a problem because Steve is busy with Jennifer

Robin and Eddie have a movie night without him that Friday, curled up on the couch of Wayne’s trailer.

They watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Robin sings along with the songs like the band kid she is. 

After their night out, something seems to have shifted in her, even though all she did was talk and dance. She seems more comfortable in her skin and when she speaks of Vickie, there is less of an anxious undertone to it. Eddie is happy for her.

He doesn’t tell her about what happened that night. 

Nor that he realized he may be in love with Steve Harrington.

Jennifer lasted a whole two weeks.

Steve drags Eddie to some dumb party in a last-ditch effort to get her back. 

It’s pathetic really, and it grates on Eddie’s nerves. Eddie doesn’t want to be there, but Robin couldn’t go and Eddie is just that fucking nice.

It’s not like the little get-together they had at Robin’s, which was mostly people from band — an effort to get with Vicky, Eddie realises in hindsight. This party is far out of the realms of Eddie’s comfort zone, especially when he’s not dealing. It’s filled with the type of guys who would make fists at Eddie, call him a freak, the types he loved to provoke in the cafeteria — a mating ground for meatheads and bimbos. 

Steve has had too much to drink. Eddie can see it in the way he staggers while he watches Jennifer get cozy with some lanky loser.

Eddie comes up behind Steve, rests his chin on his shoulders, and slides his arms under Steve’s, taking hold of the beer in his hand.

“I think you’ve had enough, Stevie.”

It’s for his own good.

Eddie knows he is pushing the boundaries of what is socially acceptable and he sees some people shooting them glances. A mix between curiosity and disgust. It’s not like jocks don’t do this all the time. They will slap each other's ass and say ‘nice dick’ and somehow that is acceptable. But when it’s someone like Eddie, it suddenly is too much

Suddenly it’s too real.

Steve turns around in Eddie’s arms and they are standing close.

“Hey, I was drinking that.” Steve frowns and his eyes are unfocused as they shift between Eddie’s before drifting down to his mouth. 

Fuck.

Eddie isn’t sure what Steve is about to do as he leans forward. Maybe he has just lost his balance, but it sure as hell looks a lot like Steve is about to kiss him.

And this party filled with loose-fisted jocks isn’t the time nor place for a sexual awakening of any kind. Kissing a guy is far outside of the realm of plausible deniability.

Eddie pushes Steve back by his shoulders and slings an arm around him, laughing nervously.

“How about we go for a smoke, you and I.” 

Steve furrows his brows.

They sit outside on the lawn. It’s a gathering spot for those that are too far gone. People are vomiting or getting it on, mostly one or the other, but occasionally simultaneously. 

The air is still warm and the sky is just barely settling into a dark blue. The time of dusk that somehow feels darker than night.

Eddie pulls his zippo from his pocket and lights the cigarette between his lips. He inhales deeply, letting the smoke rest in his lungs before slowly letting it escape through his lips.

Next to him, Steve holds his head in his hands and sighs miserably.

“Shit man,” he mutters. 

“Here.” Eddie nudges Steve in his side and the latter raises his head miserably. 

Eddie holds the cigarette out for him and Steve reaches for it with unsteady hands.

“Wait, lemme,” Eddie says as he brings the cigarette up to Steve’s mouth. 

Steve’s lips are warm against his fingers as he takes a shaky drag and Steve coughs a little when he exhales.

“Social smoker?”

“Hm...yeah,” Steve replies. He takes hold of Eddie’s hand and brings it to his lips for another drag. The press of dry lips against his fingers is more insistent than before. 

Eddie stares into the distance as he writes this Steve into his memory. Drunk, the smell of beer and smoke, and water hitting dry grass from sprinklers of the house across the street. Warm air and distant music, and people talking and yelling, yet it’s just the two of them — a world within a world.

Once they finish the cigarette, Eddie stands up and dusts his jeans. He offers a hand to Steve, who takes it gratefully. He is unsteady on his legs and Eddie holds him up by his shoulder.

“Lemme take you home.”

“I can’t stand being in that house,” Steve slurs.

“It will be okay, Stevie.” Eddie guides Steve to his van and counts his lucky stars he had quit drinking after one beer. He sets Steve in the passenger seat and leans over to buckle his seatbelt. 

When Eddie pulls away, Steve grabs his arm and when Eddie looks up, Steve lays his hand on the curve of Eddie’s neck, on top of his hair and it pulls when Steve tugs him closer.

“Thank you,” Steve says. His gaze is unsteady but piercing and Eddie feels himself freeze for a moment.

His mouth suddenly feels too dry and Eddie nervously wets his lips. “Anytime, Stevie.”

He sees Steve’s eyes drift down again, just for a second, and then Eddie pulls away.

When he climbs behind the steering wheel he turns his music off, allowing Steve to sober up in relative peace.

The white noise of tires hitting the road, the engine running, and warm wind gushing through an open window — just a crack — fills the car. 

“I didn’t even like her,” Steve says after a while.

The road is unlit and dark and Eddie has to keep his eyes trained ahead. He isn’t sure if Steve is talking to him anyway, or if it’s just drunken rambling. 

“Is that so.” Eddie tries to keep his voice cool.

“She was boring. We had nothing in common.”

Eddie hums.

“I don’t want to be alone…” Steve trails, almost a whisper, barely louder than the wind — like Eddie wasn’t supposed to hear.

“Believe me, Steve, you will not end up alone. You’re like, a lady’s magnet if I ever saw one.”

Steve scoffs in response and he turns his head towards the window.

When they arrive at Steve’s house, Eddie gets him out of the car and digs through Steve’s pockets in front of the door to get his keys.

By now, the house feels familiar — like a showroom or an image from an IKEA catalog.

Eddie understands Steve hates being here alone. 

Steve’s weight is heavy on his shoulder and he isn’t sure if it’s really because Steve is drunk, or because he has given up on walking altogether in favor of having Eddie do the heavy lifting. 

He guides Steve up the stairs and lays him on his bed. His legs dangle off the edge and Steve lays his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“Hold on one sec,” Eddie says and Steve just groans in response.

Eddie returns with Advil for the morning and a glass of water, and sets it on the bedside table before he sits down on the bed next to Steve.

“Up you go.” Eddie lifts Steve up in a sitting position and by now he’s sure that Steve is just being a drama queen because he doesn’t seem half as drunk as he pretends to be.

He brings the glass to Steve’s mouth and makes him drink even when Steve initially refuses.

Steve will thank him in the morning.

“Lift your arms,” Eddie instructs.

Steve is looking at him with those big brown Bambi eyes. 

And fuck, if that doesn’t make Eddie’s heart do a little summersault.

Steve blinks slowly but obliges and Eddie strips him down to his boxers and lays him down.

When Eddie is about to pull away, Steve grabs his wrist and it’s more steady, more forceful than someone drunk has any right to be.

"C'mere." Steve pulls on his arm and Eddie thinks this is probably a terrible idea. 

And look, Eddie might not stick that close to social conventions — or the law, for that matter — but he is a fucking gentleman and Steve is drunk.

So Eddie resists.

Steve pulls more insistently. 

“Stay.” It’s almost a whisper and it’s so desperate it sends a jolt down Eddie’s spine. 

Steve looks at him, eyes more steady. Perhaps the water had helped.

“Fine, I’ll stay,” he relents. “I’ll be down the hall—”

Steve pulls again. “No, here.” 

And Eddie feels himself lose his balance, or maybe it is just his urge to resist. He falls on Steve’s chest and who wraps his arms around him.

Steve holds him and even with Eddie halfway off the bed, it is nice. 

But it’s not sensible.

“At least let me change, Steve. Have you ever slept in jeans before? It’s not fun.” Sensible, Eddie reiterates to himself.

Steve whines when Eddie pries himself away. 

Steve is a needy drunk. 

And a little whiny. 

And a lot affectionate.

Eddie undresses quickly and moves Steve so he’s actually using the bed in its intended orientation. 

He slips in at Steve’s side, muscles tense as he tries to keep his breathing steady.

Is it possible to die of your heart beating too fast? Eddie is sure he read something about it somewhere and if so, this should be the moment he becomes a religious man.

Steve puts an arm over Eddie’s chest and burrows his face in Eddie’s neck, letting out a content sigh.

As Steve’s breathing slowly evens out, Eddie stares up at the black void of the ceiling.

He realizes Steve has won. There is no way Eddie can beat him at this game of proximity.

Steve, the new king of Personal Space Invasion.

Eddie realizes he may have stopped playing somewhere along the way.

There are no more girls. 

It makes Eddie happier than it should. Happier than he should allow himself to feel because it can only result in heartbreak.

Yet he can’t help himself. 

He takes all Steve will give him. Opens his heart to a world of hurt, just for a sip of the lake that is Steve. 

Eddie stays over at Steve’s place often.

Routine carves itself into their life like a glacier, slow and heavy, working its way through layers of stone.

There are no more girls and Eddie can almost pretend that what they share is something more — as long as it remains unnamed.

Steve doesn’t ask Eddie to join him in his bed anymore — he doesn’t have to.  It has become a silent agreement among them and surely there are places where platonic bed-sharing is the norm. Probably somewhere in Europe. 

Harrington is an Irish name, right?

Eddie always wakes up before Steve does. It’s not hard to do, because Steve likes to sleep in. He sleeps through alarm clocks like the sound is ambient and Eddie wonders how he ever gets to work on time. 

Some of those mornings, they wake up pressed together — Eddie’s back against Steve like they’re lovers.

Those flitting moments between sleep and wakefulness are the best because Eddie can pretend.

“My parents will be home this week,” Steve says that morning. He leans against the counter next to where Eddie is pouring them coffee. 

It is early and Steve will head to work soon. Shy sunlight peeks through the trees behind Steve’s house, into the kitchen where it draws lines on Steve’s thighs. Outside the birds sing like their lives depend on it, but in Eddie’s heart, it's quiet. The mornings smell like coffee and deodorant and freshly brushed teeth. 

His shoulders stiffen and his grip on the coffee pot tightens. He knew it would come to this eventually. He prepared himself for it, but it still stings.

“You must be happy,” Eddie says instead, eyes trained on the cups in front of him. They are full, but Steve can’t see that. Eddie can pretend a moment longer, to gather himself before he faces Steve.

“Not really…I mean, it makes no difference to me. They work late, or they have dinners with friends. It hardly changed anything except now I have to take them into consideration.”

“And that means they probably don’t dig me hanging around, right?” 

Sleeping over, several nights a week, in bed with their perfect son.

“Probably not.” 

Steve lets the words hang there and Eddie feels like he should take them, chew them up and spit them out into something better.

“Wayne works night shifts.”

The words are out before Eddie can stop himself. He hands Steve his coffee, just to have something to do as he sees Steve think. Anxiety wraps itself around him like a snake, squeezing his heart until Steve breaks him free.

Eddie imagines the snake from the woods, coiled up with a footprint.

Steve smiles, so carefree, so utterly unaware of the things it does to Eddie's heart and reaches over to smooth a curl behind Eddie’s ear. 

And this is new — this intimacy in the undeniable clarity of daylight. 

Eddie feels his pulse race and all he can do is gape at the back of Steve’s head, who is already walking over to the table with his coffee in hand. 

“I’ll grab our toothbrushes before I head out,” Steve says while he pulls out a chair.

---

'Proximity' Part 2 ● Previous ● Next ● AO3

If you liked this, please consider dropping by on AO3 as well! ♡

[starry-eyed-steve]

I love this story so much <33

First of all, how dare you leave us with this cliffhanger. I'm so stressed rn. Steve has to be okay, like she can't lose another person, especially on the first time being out again. With that being said, it's gonna be such great hurt/comfort in the next chapter. I can't wait. 😭💗

Steve being a softie, is canon to me. I just love how doting he is because under all the hard exterior, he cares so deeply. 💗

The scene in Steve's bedroom was so amazing. Maybe I'm weird, but I was so glad they didn't kiss. It didn't feel right this time. Like it's the first time she was genuinely vulnerable with him and caught him up with everything that happened. I need them to be friends first, and then they can kiss. But the tension between them <333

I'm so sad we didn't go more into Vickie and her files. Like I need to know everything. Why did she hide being flayed? Why did she only tell Steve? Does Robin also know? 😭

The psych evaluation was so painful because we made such good progress, and then Linda comes and ruins it. Like Eddie said, she needs an evaluation herself because after that disaster, why did she give the green light lol. But I understand Steve and Reader, like both, are valid in what they are feeling. The guilt Steve must feel of failing Vickie must be so intense. I just love how realistic everything is. <333

The scene with Robin in the beginning broke my heart. I'm glad she's doing fine, but the reader's guilt over everything is just so hard. Robin has to reach out to her they need to talk desperately. 😭💔

Again, this is such an amazing story. I can't wait for the next part. The world building is sooo good. Honestly, if s5 isn't like this, I don't want it lmao. 😭💗

Anyway, I love the reader's and Steve's relationship. I hope they get closer in the next chapter after that cliffhanger. 💗💗

Wildfire • Ignite

New evidence has been discovered among the Flayed, and it brings up terrifying memories. The tension simmers between you and your new partner as your time to return to the Ether draws near.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 9,800

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Two: Spark • Next Chapter Coming Soon

---

NOW

September 1988

Your dormitory was muggy. The thunderstorms of August faded into early fall heat waves. You’d gone on an early morning run, and managed an ice-cold shower, but heat rose, and your dorms filled with hot air, sticking your clothes to your body. You wrapped a strained wrist with athletic tape, quelling the ache with pressure, and avoided the reflection of bags under your eyes and slumped shoulders.

Knuckles wrapped against your door, and you pulled your watch from the tabletop to look at the time. 08:25. With a resigned sigh, you buckled it over your wrapped wrist and answered the door. You startled to find Nancy Wheeler on the other side, brow crinkled and hair curled around her slender features. 

“Owens wants us.” She informed you, managing the softest of smiles. 

You swallowed, nodded, and went for your room key on the countertop. Wheeler moved on down the hall, the crowd of Scorchers growing around her. 

You followed, hanging back, still feeling a bit left out. You and Steve had passed your trials, but you’d yet to be sent on an official Scorch mission as partners. You hadn’t seen either of your names on the call sheet. You and Harrington had both found yourselves in Hopper’s office again, arms crossed over your chests in perfect mirror images, while Hopper waved you off to take a phone call, questions left unanswered. 

Maybe this was it.

You reached the far side of the dorm floor, adrenaline pumping with each addition to the group. Wheeler’s knuckles hit a rhythm, and the door opened to reveal your partner, and just over his shoulder, a messy, blonde bob. 

Your heart sunk, panic laced through your veins as you stepped behind Argyle to avoid being seen. Curiosity got the best of you, and you peered around him to watch the exchange of goodbyes. Harrington’s arm slung over Robin’s shoulders, a chaste kiss pressed to her temple that she swatted away with a laugh, and a “be careful”. Her voice was as raspy as you’d remembered it, her eyes just as blue, and all things considered, she looked incredible. She looked like she’d been sleeping, like she hadn’t been wasting away, like she was living.

You saw her wandering gaze, eyes searching the small group, and in a panic, you broke off from the group and scurried down the staircase, down past the War Room, down to the labs.

The long hallway was well-lit this time of day, bustling with men and women in white lab coats. Not a soul acknowledged you, hunched over clipboards or monitoring machines with print-outs that escaped your purview. You heard the shuffle of feet behind you, a sign that the Scorch team had caught up, so you pressed yourself against a double-paned window and waited, arms crossed like you’d been there the whole time. 

Wheeler and Byers blew past you, unseen, the group following.

“Hey,” Harrington sidled up beside you, soft touch to your elbow. You nodded, ignoring his gaze, watching the group meander into a nearby office, Owens voice greeting just beyond the swinging doors. “What’s going on?” 

You shrugged, pushed yourself off the wall, and the two of you filed in. 

Owens spoke your name as you entered, and the entire room fell silent. You felt too many eyes on you, and Harrington’s broad shoulders came into your periphery as he took a stance to shield you. “Mr. Harrington, good. I’m glad you’re both here. Could I have you make your way to the front, please?” 

You didn’t look at your partner, kept your eyes instead on the wall of glass Owens was referring to, and what was just beyond. 

Inside a sterile, white room, between two figures in full-body HazMat suits, was a glass box on a table. The box had holes for access, made of metal, and through the holes, you could make out the charred and puckered flesh of a man. He was restrained, although maybe it wasn’t necessary, because the paler of the man ensured you he was dead. 

Your stomach dropped, the metallic taste of blood and ash filling your mouth. 

“This man went out in our last round of scouts.” Owens explained, voice soft, but loud enough to the group to hear. “He’d been back for about forty-eight hours before we noticed tell-tale signs that he’d been Flayed.” 

You grit your teeth and stared down at the man’s body, lifeless, pale, cold. 

“His partner said he’d encountered a large flower. Said it looked similar to a nest.” Owens then placed a hand to your shoulder to captivate your attention. When you looked his direction, you shuddered under the pity in his gaze. “Does that sound familiar to you, at all?” 

You swallowed the dryness on your tongue, tried to think. Your memories all blurred together, smoke and ash and maroon lightning, vines and demo dogs and moulded groceries. You shook your head. 

“Well, when he was brought in for testing, we noticed these distinct marks on his body,” Owens wrapped his knuckles against the glass, and the two men in suits reached into the box to tip the body. 

Across the man’s back, now exposed to you, were a handful of bumps. They were like mosquito bites, but larger, blackened, a trail of something under the skin. Someone in the back of the room puked into a trash can. 

“We’ve seen these marks before, on other flayed victims.” By the extra squeeze on your shoulder, you knew he meant Vickie. You knew they’d pulled her body, covered in ash and burns, from the pockmarked pavement and examined her, found blackened bumps edging across her narrow shoulder blades. 

Owens continued, releasing your arm to address the group. “Hopper and I felt it was important to share this information with those of you on the front lines.”

You tore your eyes from the black marks on the man’s back, and glanced up at Harrington. He was watching you, jaw-clenched, arms crossed tight over his broad chest. You shirked under his gaze. Did he know? Had Eddie told him? 

“As many of you know, your team leaders, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers will be following a team of scouts to retrieve this flower for further examination. They will be equipped with precautionary measures, but I thought it was good for all of you to know what you’ll be up against in the coming weeks.” 

Harrington’s eyes widened, darting from you to the Scorch team. “Whoa, what? No. Let us go.” 

You nodded, turning your back to the body beyond the glass, a chill settling over your spine. “Yeah, Harrington and I will go. No need to risk the leads on this.” 

“I appreciate your concern,” Owens nodded with a half-smile. “Everyone, if you could please join me down the hall, I have a few other things to show you.” 

The team filed out behind him, but you remained in the sting of rejection, told off like a couple of children who weren’t allowed to use the Big Kid Toys. 

Wheeler finally stepped forward, pushing her way from the back wall. She was staring over your shoulder at the body, a grimace etched across her stern brow. Then, she made eye contact with Harrington, plastered on a smile. “We’ll be alright. Just a quick in-and-out, make sure no one else gets flayed. We’re just the flamethrowers.” 

You felt something kick in your stomach again, this pervasive feeling like you were intruding on a private moment between the two of them. An unease that settled like the eyes on the back of your neck. You stepped away from them, back to the hallway, trying to shake off the itch between your shoulder blades. 

“Nance,” Harrington mumbled under his breath. 

“Steve,” she teased. “I promise. Besides, you know she needs you.” 

You swallowed, closed your eyes, thought of the beautiful girl in her dorm room. Nancy was right. You couldn’t take him from Robin, too. 

A hand at your shoulder startled you, dainty, but firm. And you spun to find Wheeler grasping you, eyes sparkling with something mischievous. “It’s really good to have you back.”

You managed a nod, mouth dry, and you stepped out of her way as she followed the group closely up ahead. You lingered in the doorway, watching the sway of her hips, the bounce of her hair, the curve of her biceps, the strength in her shoulders. If anything got to her, she didn’t let it show.

—-

The migraine came on in the Scorch course. The dull thud radiated in a cluster at your temple and spread to the scab healing on the back of your skull. The brightness of flames were blurred with aura, bright orange rimmed in blues and purples. The smell of jet fuel and burning plastic churned in your stomach.

You didn’t realize you’d missed three targets until Harrington peeled his mask from his face, crease forming around his pointed nose, and gripped your shoulder with a sweaty palm. “Alright, what the Hell?” 

You winced, eyebrows unable to lift, and swallowed. “Sorry, um… headache.” You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes and pressed, the pressure relieving your sinuses ever-so-slightly. 

You expected him to yell, to tell you headaches happen, and it’s time to suck it up. So you were surprised to feel nimble fingers unbuckling your pack and lifting it off aching shoulders. You blinked your eyes open, as far as they’d go, and watched Harrington’s brow crinkle in concern.

“You seeing floaters?”

You shook your head. “More of an aura.” 

His jaw clenched, and he nodded toward the doorway. “C’mon. Think we’ve torched enough decoys for today.” Then he started down the staircase, your pack swinging by its straps from his arm. 

You followed him across the tarmac. The mid-afternoon sun stung, too warm and too bright, a rainbow cast over Harrington’s broad shoulders. You followed him back into the supply room. As he put your packs away, you peeled your mask from your face and slumped onto a nearby bench. 

You heard the shake of a pill bottle and felt a tap against your forearm, and when you peered between your knuckles, Harrington had extended a water bottle and two white pills. 

“Take these. Do you have a cold compress?” 

You nodded, accepting his offer and throwing the pills back. The water was fresh, but lukewarm, and it churned in your stomach a bit more than you wanted. You weren’t sure you could keep them down. 

Harrington nodded. “Put it on your neck and go to bed. If you want, I’ll wake you up before Nance and Jonathan head out.” 

You blinked back at him, wondering if you were hearing the softness in his voice, or if your mind was creating that, a fuzz, glossy, rainbow-filled world. “Okay.” You managed.

Harrington grabbed his gym bag and yours, holding the door open for you to pass into the corridor. The florescents buzzed a steady beat just above your ear, somewhere behind your eye. Harrington fell into step beside you.

“Do you get migraines often?” 

You shook your head, tried to take another drink. “I haven’t had one in years.”

“It was probably the concussion. I get them constantly.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, they suck.” The corner of his lip turned up at you, soft, a familiar smile that had your stomach swooping. 

You’d come to the elevator doors. The button was pressed, and you waited in silence, your heart beat rhythmic in your head. When it reached your floor, you stepped in one after the other, and you closed your eyes to the buzz of lights and the whir of the machine. Harrington settled in beside you, presence warm and quiet, a wall just outside of your periphery. 

—

The War Room was silent save a steady blip of the radar and the occasional fuzzy transmission from the Ops Team as they descended into the Ether and traveled Northward. 

You tiptoed in, happy for the dim lighting quelling the steady pulse in your skull that hadn’t subsided. The aura had slipped from your vision, and you felt a bit groggy from your nap, but Harrington’s advice for the cold compress had seemed to help.

The only seat available was beside him, too close, biceps and thighs touching.

Eddie’s chair spun to face you, massive headphones over one ear, and he offered a two fingered wave, smile sad, tense. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

You nodded back to your friend, and startled when you felt a pair of lips at the shell of your ear, warm breath, the spice of deodorant and shampoo. 

“How’s your head?”

You swallowed and shrugged, offering Harrington a half-hearted smile, shivers erupted down your spine.

“Scorch to Base. We’re approaching our destination now.” Byers’s voice came in, crackled.

The room sat upright. You glanced from Eddie to Hopper, Joyce wrapped in a cable knit sweater, Murray, Owens, a dozen others in front of screens and buttons, making sure the AV system stayed up-and-running. 

One such familiar man flicked on a series of switches until you heard the buzz of static. The room illuminated in pale grey light, and you peered between shoulders at a television screen, now huddled around. 

The Scout Team, with Wheeler and Byers on backup, were slowly approaching a covered bridge. The camerawork was shoddy, a bit all over the place, like one of the horror films Eddie delighted in forcing you to watch, but the setting was unmistakable. Thick, black vines looped themselves along the sides of the road, sprouting up from the empty river bank below and climbing into the cavern, or maybe out of it. The steps slowed, camera panning the site to give a full view of the area.

 A handful of crew members stood in full hazmats. Wheeler and Byers were the smallest of them all, weighed down by massive packs. You couldn’t hear the crunch of gravel, the heavy breathing through masks, but you felt it. You could taste the ash in the air, could feel the frigid damp. 

You recognized the bridge, having biked over it too many times to count. It resided over Sinner’s Creek, an off-shoot of the Roane River. Thanks to its name, there was a rumor that the Devil himself lived inside that bridge, asking residents if they’d like to make a deal. The memory sent chills down your spine.

The crew took measured steps forward, scaling the wooden ramp that would bring them up and over the creek. Torchlight was shined through the opening, and you realized it was so overgrown, blackness enveloped through to the other side. Vines tightened their grip on the siding, paint crackling and fading away. 

“We have visual. Are you guys seeing this?” Byers sounded disgusted, like he was barely containing the bile that crept up alongside your own.

The camera shifted slightly to the left, and you all saw it. Gaping maw, riddled with teeth, red and blue stripes, dangling from the wall at the height of a demogorgon. Everyone jumped. You stretched impossibly closer, nearly in Harrington’s lap to get a better view. 

From the looks of it, it was a demogorgon, stuck to the wall with vines, the same way your fallen comrades would be taken over by the terrain, only more was growing from this one. The hole in which you’d seen dozens of things be consumed, there grew a sack. Large, black, shimmering with puss, and at the shine of the flashlight, it dispersed a puff of spores in the air. The camera shook as the camera man fumbled backwards, out of the spray.

Your entire body went cold. You had seen this before, on the bank of the Roane River, probably two miles north of the covered bridge at Sinner’s Creek. You’d been walking alongside Vickie, packs running low, stumbling back from a particularly long Scorch, back to the meet-up coordinates. 

You’d been reminiscing, laughing about something silly Robin had done, or maybe Eddie. Vickie hadn’t been watching, hadn’t been careful, nearly twisted her ankle. You caught her mid-fall, scolded her to watch where she was going.

There, in the river bed, was a dead demogorgon. It’s skin had been blackened with char, body taken over with demonic foliage. And it had something in its mouth, a pulsating black sack. 

You’d scorched it again for safety and scurried home. 

You leapt from your seat and rushed into the hallway, pulse matching the thing beat for beat. Your head throbbed, your stomach flipped, and you felt feverish, too warm, too claustrophobic under the buzzing static of the television, the sound of Jonathan’s voice over the walkies.

You thought of Vickie, of the look of panic on her face, of her tightening her mask, rolling her ankle back into place. You thought of her clawed grip on your arm, of the look of terror at your discovery. 

Something wet and warm hit your upper lip, and you reached to wipe a nostril. Your fingertips were stained red. You wiped frantically, ignoring the near debilitating ache at the base of your skull. 

“Are you okay?” Harrington’s voice was too close, towering above you while you painted the leg of your black cargo pants with the blood on your hands. 

You licked iron from your upper lip, wondered what to do, what action to take. Eddie stared you down from inside the War Room, jaw clenched in worry. You blinked from him to Harrington’s pitying gaze. 

“I’m fine. Thought I was going to throw up. I think I might go back to bed.” You croaked. You could taste the iron at the back of your throat, hoped it didn’t show. 

Harrington nodded, clenched his fists at his side. “Okay. Do you…” He sighed. “Do you need anything?” 

You shook your head, managed to grimace, and hid your nose behind your hand. 

He gave one more curt nod in understanding before letting himself back into the little room.

You caught Eddie’s gaze again on the other side of the window, but his eyes weren’t the only ones you felt on you. There was someone else too, someone far away, over your left shoulder, a stare too deep, too menacing, too real.

—

You stumbled through the woods, that shock of orange just out of reach, on the horizon. You scampered after it, legs aching, calling for her to slow down, to wait up, telling her it wasn’t funny. A game of hide-and-seek, after all these years. You knew all of her hiding spots, in treehouses and behind cars in the junkyard, tucked into abandoned beaver dams. You couldn’t catch up. 

You slipped, plummeting downward, too far a fall, couldn’t catch yourself on twigs or branches, can’t touch the vines, Hive mind. Your back scratched and scraped. You hit the basin. 

A swimming pool lay before you, lit in soft blues, plastered, empty. You helped yourself upright, depth taller than you. You spun in circles, not recognizing your surroundings, missing the flash of orange. You cupped your hands to your mouth and called out for her, told her to come out. This wasn’t funny.

Your name was called over your left shoulder, muffled, deep. You spun.

They were caught up in vines, pinned to the walls of the pool, their charred remains. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, the shock of red hair. You screamed, tried to release them, hacked at vines with the hatchet in your hands, scrambled, begged them to come back, this wasn’t funny. 

Vickie opened her eyes, jet black, and then she opened her mouth, and you inhaled the spores. Black particles that flew from her and infected you, and there was no stopping it as they entered every orifice, as you succumbed to them, as they dug into your spine, laying eggs beneath shoulder blades.

—

You sat upright, panting, tangled in sheets. Your body convulsed in shivers, clothes and hair slick to you with sweat. Your room was dim, not dark, the lamplight pooling yellow in your periphery, dousing everything in the blur of reality. It was a dream, just a dream.

You pawed at your eyes, scrubbed your face with your hands, tried to shrug off the pervasive itch at the small of your neck. You reached under your sleep shirt to scratch and paused when you felt a bump, a ridge beneath your skin that hadn’t been there before. 

You leapt from your bed and threw your shirt up, trying to look in the mirror, but the glass was a too stained, and the light was too dim, and you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe and your hands were shaking. 

You threw open the door, linoleum freezing beneath bare feet. The hallway was too cold, too dark, the glow of moonlight cascading in from the common area, while the Exit sign cast a red glow on the far end. You had no choice. You needed help.

You raced down the hall as stealthily as you could, balls of your feet slapping against the floor. You tried to shut out the horrors that crawled behind you, the vines that erupted from closed doors just beyond your line of sight. You tried to stop them from crawling up your esophagus, tried to rid your mouth of the taste of ash. 

Your knuckles wrapped before your brain could process it, frantic, clinging to some humanity, to memories of your past you hoped he’d cling to, to promises he’d made. “Steve,” you called, voice hoarse, hands shaking.

The heavy door opened in a split second, Harrington looking bewildered behind wire-rimmed glasses. “What’s wrong?” 

You shoved him inside, two palms to the flat of his broad chest, and it wasn’t until the door closed behind you that the words spilled out. “She knew in April. She was infected in April, and she knew, and she didn’t tell me. A whole month.

“I’m getting migraines and nosebleeds, and I’m having nightmares. So many nightmares, and I can feel him, Steve. I can feel him. He’s always there, always behind me. And I see her too, sometimes, and I’m so scared. I don’t want to die, please don’t let me die.” You couldn’t focus, head gone fuzzy from hyperventilation. 

You felt a strong pair of arms around you before you even realized you were pacing. Large hands at your ribcage, broad shoulders in the path your bare feet were burning into the tile. 

“Stop, slow down,” he ordered.

You smacked his hands away, threw yours into your hair, turned heel to pace the opposite direction. “You don’t get it. I saw him at the pool, when I hit my head. Eddie found security footage. Someone came into the pool room. The camera didn’t catch who it was.”

“Wh - ” You could tell he was struggling to grasp what you were saying, lost in his own world.

His bedding was crumpled in the shape of him, a book lay upside down on the nightstand, lamp illuminating the room in a honeyed glow.

Steve reached beneath his glasses to rub at tired eyes. “You think he was here? Like, here here? Rightside up?”

You shrugged and scrubbed at your own face with your hands. Your body ached, and that chill that resided between your shoulder blades hadn’t left for weeks. You swallowed, peered between your knuckles at the man frowning across the room from you.

His spectacles fell back into place, hands dropped to his hips like a confused soccer dad. 

“I,” your voice quaked against your will, “I think I have marks on my back.”

The way his eyes trailed your frame had you painfully aware of your state of undress, sleep shirt falling at the tops of your thighs. You shifted bare feet against the linoleum, air conditioning pebbling exposed skin. You swallowed when his eyes met yours, dark, jaw clenched. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he took a measured step closer. “Can I - ” He cleared his throat. “Want me to…?”

“Sure um…” You swallowed. “Y-yeah. Would you?”

He took another belabored step forward, nodding slowly, mouth falling open as his eyes trailed your middle. 

You closed your eyes and turned your back to him. With a deep breath, you pulled the thin fabric over your head, gathering it at your chest with crossed arms for modesty. 

Too long a moment, breaths held, static building like the clouds of an incoming storm. You failed to steady your heart rate, flames that licked at your skin, pooled at your core, a heat that coursed through you.

 His hands found you, fingertips spread the expanse of your mid-back, making purchase with every bump, every groove. His touch trailed your ribcage, lithe, and you itched under it, too hot. He inched up your spine, brushing hair from the base of your neck. His thumbs massaged circles into a knot between your shoulder blades. 

You released a sigh, easing into his safe hands, letting your head lull to one side.

His nimble touch trailed either side of your spine and outwards again, pushing at the plump skin under your arms, and you lifted them without thinking. He muttered a quick apology, breath warm against your neck, minty. 

You hummed, allowing him to mold and model you as he needed to get a better look.

He spread his hands once more down your back, massaging circles into the dimples at the base of your spine, and before you could arch into them, they were gone, the heat of him replaced with cold air. He cleared his throat. 

Your eyes blinked open, adjusting to the soft lamplight, the view of yourself in the mirror above his countertop. You looked at flustered as you felt, shoulders and clavicle exposed, eyes dark.

You could just make him out over your shoulder, eyes on you, heavy as your belabored breaths. 

“Well…?” Your heart pittered behind your sternum again.

“Heat rash, I think.”

You startled forward a few paces, quick to place your t-shirt back over your head. You tugged at the hem in a vain attempt to lower it, and chewed on the inside of your cheek. You spun to look at him, your own hands diving up your back to feel the gentle bumps of your skin. They were all in a line where your sports bra would have glued itself to your skin. 

You groaned and buried your face in your hands, the tension washed away with the tide.

He inched around you and busied himself at the sink, pouring a large glass of water, the red plastic cup stolen from the Mess Hall. “Did you get any sleep?”

You sighed, shrugged, accepted the cup in trembling hands. “A little. Had a nightmare.”

Steve nodded, tight-lipped, stared at the cup in your hand until you rolled your eyes, brought it to your lips. 

The water was tepid, but not unwelcome, soothing your nerves.

Satisfied, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. “Jonathan and Nance made it back okay.”

The news served more relief, a loosening of your shoulders, slowing of your heart rate. 

“You’ve seen that thing before?” His brows were furrowed in concern, and the way he looked at you, you knew there was no point in lying, not anymore.

You swallowed more water, nodded, mopped at the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Steve reached to take the cup from you, refilling it while you explained what happened with Vickie, with the demogorgon flower, the spores, the infection. He didn’t say anything until you took a deep breath, took another drink.

He sighed, ran thick, warm fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow, we’ll go down to the office and pull all of Vickie’s logs from April, and I’ll help you go through them. We can go downstairs and see what they’ve learned that thing. And I want you to show me that video. I’ll talk to Eddie.”

You frowned and wrapped your fingernails against the textured plastic cup, a new nervous energy settling behind your sternum. 

“What?” He scoffed, pushing off the counter to pull the cup from your hands once more. “You want to fight about this too?”

You laughed at that, a wet sound that ached somewhere unfamiliar, and you watched his lips dip shyly in return as he ducked his head in a snort. “Okay.” 

“Okay, you want to fight? Or okay to the rest of it?”

“Both.” You delighted in the roll of his eyes, the sound of irritation that rumbled low in his chest. 

He turned to fill the cup again, and you watched the curve of his spine as he hunched over the sink. In his reflection, you caught that faint, lingering smile, barely visible beneath the etched concern, the worry that had been laced across his beautiful features since the moment you met him. You wondered if his shoulders ached carrying the burdens of the world. You knew yours did.

“Steve,” you rasped.

He looked up at you first, in the reflection, before spinning to look at you properly, hands outstretched as if he was ready to catch you, always waiting. 

You blinked back the emotion that blurred your vision, tightened your throat. Guilt clawed at your ribcage, echoed the spaces between your joints where his fingers had been, sunk into the marrow of your bones, filled your mouth with ash. You wanted to apologize, for abandoning him, for ruining his life, Robin’s. 

With slow movements, timid, he crossed the room to meet you. His hand found your hip first, fist clinging to the gossamer fabric of your shirt to tug you centimeters closer. His other hand was hesitant, and you watched his chest rise and fall before he reached out to cup your face. 

You folded, all cards shown, eyes closed, breathing in his warmth. You clung to his forearms, trying to stay glued together, to not fall apart in your need for this, for him, for safety and warmth and home again.

Your mind echoed with memories of his lips pressed to yours, bodies tangled under sheets, heavy breathing. From celebrations after serious wins, tongues painted whisky sweet, to comfort after serious losses, tear-stained cheeks and tight grips. To his arms around your waist, hauling you away from the charred remains of your best friend, laughter fading from a flash of orange, a spark in a wasteland.

Your eyes flew open, fearing you’d find a mangled mess, too many teeth, an outstretched claw cupping your face. 

Seeing the anguish in your eyes, Steve released you, his features laced with worry, mouth agape. 

The guilt returned, settled into every part of you save the section between your shoulder blades where He resigned, ever-present, ever-watching. You swallowed, managed a few steps back, stumbled over the leg of a chair, caught yourself on the table. 

Steve reached out to catch you, a white knight. 

“I should,” words felt odd in your mouth. “I should go to bed.”

He nodded, scratched at the back of his neck. “Okay, sure.”

“Yeah, thanks for the…” You gestured to his room, to the sink, to the reflection staring back at you. “Thanks.” 

“Sure, yeah.”

You flung open the door, and he met you there. Your hands met on the handle. You recoiled, and squeaked a whispered goodnight. He reciprocated. You couldn’t look at him again as you made your return to your dorm room. 

The red sign at the end of the hall glowed like firelight. A shadow stood beneath it, grinning back at you.

—

The steam from your post-gym shower was refreshing, rejuvenating, muscles finally looser than they’d been in months.

Vickie used to yell at you for walling things up, for winding your opinions so tight within yourself until you snapped. She used to coax emotions out of you with French toast sticks and movie nights, well-timed games of truth or dare.

There had only been two screaming matches: one when she hadn’t told you her family was moving to Hawkins until a week before they moved, and another when she thought you wouldn’t accept her sexuality. Both ended in tears and snacks and sticky maple syrup splattered against kitchen walls. 

You squeegeed the moisture from your hair with a towel, and glanced at your reflection in the pockmarked mirror above your countertop.

You wondered what Vickie would say now, what screaming match would ensue about your persistent arguments with Steve, about her hiding the truth for a full month before she died, of her making Steve promise to take care of you. 

Tears prickled in your eyes, and you blinked back at your blurry reflection, muscles taut, more fit than you had ever been. You were working yourself to the bone, teeth grit, fighting to avenge her death, when you could have been fighting to save her. 

“Fuck, Vickie,” you coughed, the letters of her name foreign against your tongue after all this time.

You hung your towel on the back of a chair and let yourself out of your room. You halted in the doorway, a piece of paper fluttering in your periphery, folded and cell-o taped to your door. 

You’d received two similar notices: one when you’d been given your final mission, and another the day after, informing you you needed to report to Quarantine. 

You wiped clammy hands on the thighs of your cargos before checking either side of the hall and ripping the flyer down, unfolding it to scan, reading and rereading in case you’d missed important information in your haste. 

Please report to PSYCHIATRIC for a mandatory evaluation at 10:00.

It was signed by all of the important people. 

Betrayal tasted of ash, felt like a swift punch to the gut, blurred your vision like heat waves. The same heat that licked at exposed shoulders stung in your chest. You slammed the door behind you, paper crumpled in one hand, and stomped down the hall.

You hadn’t gotten far, slipping just past an open stairwell, when you saw a dark head of hair scurrying downwards and out of sight. You followed two floors down, calling his name just as he was a about to slip out near the Mess Hall.

Harrington stopped, looked up at you with knit brows as you finished your descent and shoved two fists directly into his chest. He stumbled backward, back pinned to a concrete wall. 

“What the fuck?” You seethed, slapping your notice into his chest. 

He didn’t even look at it, jaw clenched, eyes stoic. He knew. He knew because he’s the one who ratted you out, who spilled all of your secrets to the wrong people. He’d been waiting for you to slip up, and you’d been dumb enough to fall into his trap. 

“What is your problem with me, huh?” You shoved at his shoulders again.

No response. 

You shook your head, laughed dryly. “You can’t even use her as an excuse because you hated me for months before she died.” 

His nostrils flared, but he just stared down at you, crossed his arms over his chest as a shield.

“Tell me what I did to deserve this,” you shook the creased notice in one hand. “I trusted you. You know that? I felt safe with you. For the first time in months, I felt safe, and you went and called Hopper on me?”

The scurry of sneakers and chatter down the hallway startled you, and you pulled back, breath heavy, face warmed in embarrassment and anger, betrayal. A few kids snuck past, muttering apologies before they giggled up the staircase. When you were sure they were out of earshot, you rounded on Harrington again. 

“I thought you were supposed to ‘protect me’.” You put the words in air quotes, digging deep, throwing his words back in his face.

“Are you done?” His voice sent chills down your spine, measured, snapped, venomous.

Your jaw clenched, fists too, at your side.

He snatched the paper out of your hand and trailed his fingertips across the page as he read. Then, he pulled a slip of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it, passing it to you. 

You scoffed, but felt the nausea settle the moment your eyes found the words.

Please report to PSYCHIATRIC for a mandatory evaluation at 10:00.

“Hopper told us we’d have one more psych eval before they put us back on the field. He wants a medical professional to reassure him we aren’t going to kill each other.” Harrington’s voice was nothing short of catty, the bite of a mean girl you knew he’d harbored in his past. He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged before emitting a growl that startled you a few steps backwards.

“God, you’re so fucking frustrating, you know that?” He tossed his arms in the air, voice finally cracking the soft, stoic barrier you were used to.

You read the words on the page again and again, pushing through the embarrassment to undying panic, the root of your problems, the girl with red hair that lingered at the end of the hallway, just out of sight, taking great delight in your pain. You took a deep breath, folded the paper carefully back up to hand it to Harrington, who snatched it quickly from your grasp.

You swallowed. “I haven’t told Linda about any of it.” 

“What?” His jaw was clenched now, fists too, and you were burning under his gaze.

You shrugged. “I lied to her about all of it. She knows about the nightmares, but she thinks they went away. She thinks I’m going through the normal stages of grief. That’s why she told Hopper I was fit to go back on the field.” 

You expected him to yell, to throw something, to abandon you here in this hallway. 

Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed, shrugged. “Fucking, whatever.” Then, he gestured for you to turn and head back up the stairwell. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

—

Linda’s office was musty, poor ventilation and heat wave combing with the misters she used for her plants. You were suffocated, heart racing, warm under buzzing fluorescents. Harrington’s seat was too close to yours, his bouncing knee shaking your thigh, making you seasick. Linda paced and hummed that stupid tune. 

“How are you two doing?”

You glanced sideways at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and slumped further into his chair. “Fine.” You both managed in various tones of annoyance. 

Linda peered at you from over her glasses, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Excellent. Then you’re definitely both up for some team building exercises.”

An alarming, but gruff sound escaped your partner, and he played it off as a cough into his fist. 

“Yes, Steve, you’ve always done well with these,” Linda smiled, tone every bit patronizing as she wheeled her finger in a circle your direction. “Go ahead, face each other.” 

“What?” You glanced sideways at Harrington and watched in horror as he turned his chair to face yours, feet scraping along linoleum. You’d nearly fallen off your own seat when a large hand met your thigh, encouraging you to do the same. “Is this really - “ 

You weren’t sure how to finish the question, stumbling under Harrington’s grasp as he manhandled you into an about-face.

“I can do it,” you snapped, standing with a huff to turn your chair around, and slumping back into it, knees knocking with his own. You crossed your arms over your chest and sat up straight, as to avoid any further physical contact. Your toes curled back around the chair legs while his leg continued to bounce incessantly millimeters from your own. 

“Perfect,” Linda chimed, just out of periphery. “I’m sensing a bit of tension this morning, so why don’t we start with frustrations?” 

You blinked at her from over your shoulder, feeling suddenly warm under Harrington’s gaze. Your entire body tensed in the proximity, confusion radiating into anger that clenched your fists tighter under your arms. “What does that even mean?” 

“Steven, why don’t you start? You’ve done this before. Let’s get it out. What about this partnership is frustrating you the most in this moment?” 

Harrington barked a laugh, and when you snapped your head to face him, he was grinding a wry smile back between his molars. He avoided eye contact, choosing instead to stare at your knees while his head shook, hand scrubbed against the stubble on his jaw. 

You dipped your head to catch his eye, and you were torn between whether to silently plea for him to keep your secret or dare him to speak his truth.

He took one more sideways glance at your proctor before releasing an exasperated sigh, hands in the air as if throwing all caution to the wind. “I’m frustrated,” he emphasized, as though he was a good little boy who had spent hours learning I-statements in this very room, “in this moment,” he punctuated with a fingertip to his knee, “with how competitive she is.” 

You fought the urge to argue, to allow the words of protest to slip from your open mouth. 

Linda was thrilled. “Speak on that. In what ways does her competitiveness hinder your partnership?” 

“What is this?” You stepped in, waving your arms to stop the flow of their teamed attack.

Harrington held his hand out as if you stay you were providing fine examples. 

“It’s important that we foster an environment where we can all get our grievances out. Let’s listen to what he has to say, and then I promise it’ll be your turn.” Linda scolded like an elementary school teacher, scribbling unmentionables on her Godforsaken legal pad. 

You recrossed your arms and glared at Harrington’s returning scowl. 

“Go ahead, Steve,” she offered for him to continue. “How does her competitiveness hinder your partnership?” 

He scooted upright in his chair again, halting the bob of his knee in favor of picking at a loose thread on his inseam. “I feel like we can’t get anything done. There’s always push-back, always an argument.”

“I feel the same way,” you interjected, slumped further in your own chair in defiance. “I feel like I can’t do anything without you scrutinizing it, and if I do ask for your feedback, I’m met with the silent treatment.”

“I don’t feel like I can get a word in edge-wise.” He leaned forward still, a challenge. “You won’t let me say anything without beating me to the punch.” 

“Because I know what you’re going to say!” You sat upright again, tossing your hands in the air. 

“Okay, alright,” Linda cut you both off with the click of her pen against her notepad. 

You both shuffled back to relaxed seating positions, and she walked back to her spritzer to continue over-watering her plants. Maybe it was a nervous habit. You suddenly found yourself wishing you had a watering can handle to wring. 

“Answer me this. When did you both start viewing your relationship as a competition?”

You swallowed, glanced back across the span of your knees to where they met his. His began to bob again, and you withheld that ever-present need to halt his movement. You closed your eyes, tried to shut out the gentle waver of the floor beneath your feet. There, in the darkness, humidity clinging your clothes to your chest, you felt her, just between your shoulder blades, that smiling face, mischievous. 

“Last year,” your voice came before you opened your eyes. 

Harrington stared back at you, crease folded between his brows. 

“We were competing for Scorch Leads: him and Robin, Vickie and me.”

“That makes sense,” Linda spoke from somewhere behind you, too far away. “You were in separate teams, going after a set objective.” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, swallowed back the lump forming in your throat as you dared to look him in the eye. “If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have tried so hard.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Linda asked. 

Harrington eyed you, head tilted downward, a shadow cast down the bridge of his nose. 

You shrugged, your response heavy on your tongue, but part of you figured this session had to facilitate a conversation that wouldn’t be allowed outside those doors, wouldn’t be tolerated. You felt a spectral hand on your shoulder, warmth guiding you to speak. You chewed on the words before they fell from your throat a little wrong. “I mean, he’s better at this than I am. He’s strong. He’s capable. He knows what he’s doing. If he and Robin had become leads, we probably wouldn’t be in this… predicament.” You let out a shaky breath, swirling your hand around your own head to indicate what you meant. “Vickie would still be alive.” 

“Or Robin or myself would be dead,” he snapped back. “This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he tossed his hand your direction again. “There’s always a competition. One of us always has to come out on top. One of us has to be better.” 

“I’m conceding to you!” You scoffed. “What more do you want from me?” 

“I don’t know, for you to listen to me, for once?”

Your molars slammed together at the tightness of your jaw, and the room fell to silence. Not even Linda’s spritzing continued. 

Steve grit his teeth, cracked the knuckles on his right hand, still a bit scabbed over. Then, he pieced his fingers through his hair. “I feel… so much guilt… every single day.” His eyes were dark, shoulders slumped. 

That feeling restrained you, asked you to hear him out. 

“Because I couldn’t save her, for Robin.” He licked his lips, met your gaze. “For you. Because I couldn’t protect you.”

The loom of something darker lingered in your periphery, an ice-cold chill down your spine. 

“And I feel so guilty because of how,” he shuffled in his seat, broke eye-contact, “relieved I feel that it wasn’t me and Robin.”

It struck like he’d doused a full glass of water in your face, a gasped breath, the wash away of any comforting warmth that had been replaced with a cold chill. You shifted in your seat, knocked your knees across his as you turned away from him. 

“You get everything you need, doc?” You snapped.

Linda reached for her notes, scribbling a few more things down with a pinched expression, but you had already stood to leave, taking the handful of strides to the doorway to release yourself back into a less-stuffy hallway.

“No, shit, that’s not -” Harrington’s words were cut-off as the door slammed behind you. 

He was relieved. He said he was relieved that you had been the one to murder Vickie. He was relieved that it hadn’t been him, hadn’t been Robin, a sentiment you’re sure you would have understood from his position, but from where you sat, in an endless swirl of chaos and panic and agony, it felt like a stab to the back, to the gut, like char and ash and smoke. 

You made it halfway up the next flight of stairs before he caught up with you, a sturdy hand catching your wrist and wheeling you to face him. 

You yanked yourself out of his grasp and shoved at his chest hard enough to have him tumbling downward. “Go fuck yourself, Harrington.” 

—

Eddie’s room smelled of stale weed and peanut butter. His government issue bed was far squishier than yours, but it didn’t matter because you weren’t going to sleep anyway. 

“After that shitshow, she still told Hopper you were good to go out on the field? As a team?” He guffawed, lips stuck together with peanut butter from the spoon in his hand. 

You shrugged, squeezing two Saltine crackers around a chocolate bar, the spread squishing out on either side, and you licked around it before crunching into the sandwich.

“She needs a fucking psych evaluation.” Eddie’s joke had the corners of your lips turning up, and he elbowed at your side until you swatted him away. 

He laughed, mouth full and hearty, before you sank back into the comfort of each other’s shoulders again, a closeness you’d missed with everyone else, thankful for his surrogacy. 

“Really though, how are you feeling?” He asked after a moment, breath evening, sticky midnight snacks swallowed. 

You shrugged, licked melted chocolate from your hand. “Well, I’m in your room at quarter to one in the morning. How’re you feeling, Eds?” 

“Terrified,” he answered, and you expected more humor in his tone. 

You felt his eyes boring holes into your skull as you respun the lid to the jar and tightened it, wiping any residue on your pant leg. “Don’t be. Everything’ll be fine.” 

“She says with Evil Incarnate looming over her.”

Eddie’s words sent an increasingly familiar chill down your spine, the reason you’d been evading sleep, a presence you hardly wanted to stir mere hours from setting foot in the Ether. 

“Could we change the subject?” You pushed off from the bed, crumbs rolling off your chest and onto the floor beneath your socks. 

“Have you seen him again?”

Your temple began to twitch, the first sign of a headache, and you squeezed your eyes to dull the throb. “Eddie,” you warned. 

“I’m not kidding. If this is serious, I’ll call Hopper right now.” Despite his words, you didn’t sense truth in his tone, and when you met his gaze, there was a softness to his dark eyes, a fear that radiated through you both. 

“I haven’t seen him,” you shook your head, began rinsing his spoon in the sink. As the particulars of food and suds circled the drain, your vision blurred from exhaustion, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

In two hours, you’d be wrestling gravity downward. You’d be strapped to Harrington, oxygen mask on, carrying a heavy pack of jet fuel. You’d be back in that cold, dark, damp place that held nothing but agony. And somehow, this is what you wanted? What you’d been working toward? 

“What’s it like?” You asked, blinking your eyes open to stare at your own reflection in the smoke-stained mirror. Your features looked gaunt, unrecognizable. The muscles of your right eye began to twitch. 

Eddie spoke your name, soft, uncertain. 

You turned to face him. “What’s it like to be Flayed? For real. Don’t give me any of the ‘I didn’t feel a thing’ bullshit. I know you lied to me when she died. I don’t need to feel better, I need to know.” Your hands were trembling, and you clenched your fists at your side to steady them. 

Your friend, your only real friend, emitted a sound of distress, pulling spindling fingers through his curls. Seeing your stance hadn’t changed from between his knuckles, he sighed and patted the spot next to him for you to return to your place. 

With careful steps, you crawled back onto his mattress, choosing a spot near the foot to face him. When you were finally seated, and he’d torn the rest of his thumb cuticle off with his teeth, he spoke, that Midwestern drawl so specific to Eddie Munson. 

“It’s not like anything I’ve ever experience before. It’s cold. Like teeth-chattering cold, and your muscles want to react, but it’s like something else is calming them. It’s a bit like dreaming, like that weird in-between when you’re laying in bed but your leg’s asleep so you can’t get up and go to the bathroom.

“You know that pit in your stomach when something horrible is about to happen?”

You swallowed, nodded, shifted in your spot to quell the chill growing at the base of your spine. 

“I felt it the day my Mom died. The whole day. I just knew it was going to happen. With Chrissy, too, when I found her standing there, I got it.” 

He grimaced, ran his hands down his face again. “Well, when he’s got you, it’s like that all of the time. Like you’re aware of how wrong it is, how unnatural. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

You closed your eyes, pushing back the ache that had spread into your jaw, settled behind your eye socket. “How do you know?” 

“I don’t really know. For me, I was attacked. Bats got me. I lost most of my blood, my leg was dangling by a fucking thread. When I woke up, he’d already had ahold of me. I hate that I feel like I owe him my life.”

You reached across the sheets to tangle your knuckles in his. His were bonier, long, spindly. He’d been through so much, and although you didn’t know him before all of this, you were sure he’d been a healthy young man, prime of his life. You all were. Now, alongside the world, the Ether was sucking you dry. 

“Just promise me something, okay?” Eddie squeezed your hand until your knuckles whitened with his, and you looked up into those big, sad brown eyes. “The minute you feel him, the very microsecond, I need you to tell Steve, and I need you two to get the Hell out of there.” 

“Eddie,” you muttered. You’d thought about this since before Vickie, since before the screams burned at your lungs, since before Harrington had hoisted you away from her burning corpse. All of you made peace with it, knew what had to happen if any of you were Flayed, for the betterment of the group. 

“I came out on the other side,” he growled. “And so will you. You come back, and you Quarantine, and we figure out how to burn him out of you.”

—

The Gate’s pull made you sick. The topsy-turvy gravitational change that had your stomach churning but never righted. You were hyper-aware of Eddie’s warning, feeling wholly not-right, like everything in your body knew you weren’t meant to be here, that this was unnatural. Although it’d been so long, you couldn’t remember if this was how you always felt. 

Everything was cast in greyscale, a lack of sunlight providing a lack of color, but nothing had changed from when you’d seen it last. Vines blanketed the world in intricate weaves, keeping from areas already charred black. The tear hung skyward, pressed into the roof of a cart port somewhere near downtown, though downtown down here somehow felt more alive. 

Melvald’s denoted an autumn sale. The Hawk was showing All the Right Moves. Times were simpler, and somehow that made everything more sinister.

You walked in step with Harrington, your pack heavy against your shoulders, sweat beading there turned ice-cold. Your breath fanned from your face in a cloud that went nowhere, atmosphere stagnant, wet. 

“Alright, you two,” Wheeler rounded on you at a fork in the road. “Just a routine burn, we’re torching houses surrounding the area. You know the drill. Burn what you can, and meet us back at the Gate at 700.” 

You glanced at the numbers of your watch, the red softened. 4:00. “Copy that.” 

“And guys?” She tucked her fingers into Harrington’s oversized hand. “Be careful?” 

“We will, Nance,” he offered a weak smile, tight-lipped. “You guys, too. Jonathan.” He nodded to the other boy. 

Byers nodded, solemn, and the eyes he made at you were nothing short of worrisome, judgmental. 

“Ready?” You hoisted your pack higher and broke off from them, heading down Indiana toward Elm, Maple, Hemlock. You heard the scuttle of boots as Harrington trudged to keep up.

You didn’t grow up in this town. You had no attachment to the Tigers. Hell, you had no real attachment to your own mascot, the Roane County Ravens. Your only real memories of Hawkins were tied to the Fair, smoking in parked cars, hooking up with boys along the banks of Lovers Lake. 

But you could remember the first few times you’d stepped foot in the Ether, the chill up your spine at the memories consumed by black ichor and vines. That was before the Spread, before it had seeped so deeply into the roots of the real world that bits and pieces of your home had been swallowed, sink holes and pits dured to gaping mouths, full of brambles and teeth and aching, throbbing pain. 

Harrington pulled you by the elbow to the first house. A massive oak sat out front, charred to devastation. Red pockmarked it, a wide crack down the center that had split the wood and caused half to crash to the ground, blocking street access. Vines had grown over it, decaying the underbrush, painting everything slimy and black. 

“Are you good?” He adjusted his pack, pulling the hose and trigger from its holster.

“Fine,” you grit your teeth. Your headache had thrived in the handful of hours since you’d seen Eddie, that piercing ache in your eye socket that blurred everything in an aura of technicolor. You’d taken more pills, closed your eyes on the drive over, thankful for cloudy skies and the darkness of night. 

Harrington muttered something unintelligible over your shoulder, and with a deep breath, you took simultaneous steps inside a half-eaten garage.

Everything was charred beyond recognition. The roof was caved in. A skittering sound had you walking faster, nimble feet to an unlocked doorway, and not until you were inside did you stop to settle your racing heartbeat.

“Kitchen,” Harrington spoke, voice muffled under a plastic mask.

You nodded, took a few steps forward to let him through. You wanted to follow, to crunch your way onto charred linoleum tiles, but something compelled you the opposite direction, around a large brick fireplace. You left Harrington his devices, sidestepping onto polyester shagged carpet, the color and smell of burned plastic long since faded. 

A wide window, smashed and cracked, exposed the ruins of the oak tree. A field of despair lay westward, a place where cattle once grazed, now scorched Earth, scorched Ether. This little sitting room, with replicated antique furniture and copies of classics on broad bookshelves, seemed mostly untouched, unmarred save a few pockmarked walls, peeled paint and wallpaper, a broken window. Just a bit moth-eaten, but otherwise, a safe-haven. 

You closed your eyes and breathed in the damp air inside your mask, felt the relief of an ache dispelled. 

Then you heard her voice, soft, a whisper on the wind. Your neck snapped with the force of your head turn, glancing toward a rickety staircase. Harrington climbed, pack strapped, and your eyes honed in on the heel of his heavy boot, where it met blackened staircase. 

“Steve!” You called out, leaping his direction, but it was too late, the stairs were collapsing, upper floor with them, scorched and broken, a mess of ash and wood, and Steve Harrington was lost in the rubble before your eyes. 

---

A/N: This chapter contains the inception moment of the idea for this entire fic! I love the little moments between them, the push and pull, no matter how exhausting and competitive they are. Please come yell at me about it. Thanks. Love you! Thanks, as always, for reading xo xo xo

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Chapter Two: Spark • Next Chapter Coming Soon

[erin-bo-berin]

Steve and singleteenmom!reader getting married pleasse!!

Should I do another, separate one for when he proposes? Because I have the cutest idea for that. But since you asked for getting married, that’s what this will be!

(This is a cute gif he’s just has a cute face ok bye)

“Today’s the day kiddo!” Steve lifted his daughter—his official adopted Harrington daughter—into his arms.

“You ready for your mommy and daddy to get married?”

“Yesh!”

She was growing up so fast. At three years old now, she still had the cute toddler talk, but was losing her baby looks every day. It made Steve sad in a way, he wished he could keep her as a baby forever. Kids really didn’t keep, that’s for sure.

“Shouldn’t she be with Y/N and the bridesmaids?” Dustin asked.

“Yes, but you know her. This kid doesn’t do anything by the book. She wanted me to help get her ready,” Steve said.

She looked absolutely adorable in her flower girl dress. Her hair was still a bird’s nest from last night’s sleep, though. Robin was going to come down to get her later, so she could have her hair done before the ceremony.

You and Steve had been living together for over a year now, dating for two, but he’d insisted on being traditional and not seeing you until the wedding ceremony.

“What mawwied mean?” she asked Steve.

“Well, it’s when two people who love one another have this ceremony. Sometimes it’s big, sometimes it’s small, it depends on what they want. Anyways, it to celebrate them as a couple and they make these promises called vows. Basically saying they’ll love another for the rest of their lives, be with each other in sickness and in health, things like that. Then they kiss and they’re married.”

“If I kish my teddy does dat mean we mawwied?”

Steve, along with the other boys in the room, laughed. Oh, the childhood innocence.

“Not exactly, sweetheart.”

“Careful, Harrington,” Eddie said from across the room, where he sat, his only groomsman to be in a leather jacket, “Next you’ll be explaining the birds and the bees to her.”

“Ugh, I had to do that for Henderson when he was younger.”

“Yeah and I’m still scarred!” he yelled from the kitchen.

“We were all scarred by that, Steve,” Mike said.

“You told them?!” Steve asked, exasperated as Dustin came in, fixing his bow tie.

“It was too funny not to share,” Dustin shrugged.

“You nervous?” Lucas asked, looking at his older friend.

Steve shook his head with a smile.

“Nope. I can’t wait to make her my bride.”

•

The bridal room was a disaster.

Well, bridal room was a bit of an exaggeration. You were in the Wheeler’s master bedroom.

While the groom and his groomsmen were down in the basement, you and your bridesmaids were occupying every inch of the room, plus running up and down between the main levels and upstairs.

Clothes, makeup, hair tools and hair products littered the bed, the floor, the vanity, pretty much any surface available.

“Please tell your parents I’m sorry for the mess,” you told Nancy sheepishly.

If it was strange for your soon to be husband’s ex girlfriend to be one of your bridesmaids, you didn’t care. You’d grown close to the party of friends he came with when you began dating him and Nancy happened to be a part of that.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” El said, sounding worried.

The girls looked amazing in their corresponding dresses. You’d picked the color, but you’d allowed each bridesmaid to pick the style of dress they wore and they were rocking them, each style picked looking just like something they’d wear.

“Are you nervous?” Max asked.

“A little. Not about marrying Steve. I mean, I know I want to do that. It’s just everything is catching up to me. It’s a big day. I want everything to be perfect.”

“It will be,” Robin assured you.

“Yeah. Besides you’re surrounded by family and friends. It’s already perfect, right?” El said.

“You’re absolutely right,” you smiled, hugging the teen.

“I better go get the velociraptor from downstairs,” Robin said, heading for the door.

“Did you just allude that my daughter is a dinosaur?” you asked, laughing.

“Yes, but only because she’s wild. She’s still cute though!” she called as left the room.

You took a deep breath, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair and makeup was done, you were in your dress, your veil accenting it just perfectly without overdoing it.

You were ready to marry Steve.

•

The Wheeler’s backyard was big and spacious. It had been decorated beautifully for the wedding. Chairs lined on both sides, creating the aisle for you to walk down, where Steve would be waiting.

The wedding party walking down the aisle went way too slow and yet way too quickly at the same time.

First down the aisle was little girl Harrington, accompanied by Dustin, which surprisingly was Dustin’s idea. She held firmly into uncle Dustin’s hand and tossed flowers out of the basket that he held in his other hand for her. The crowd loved it, smiling and waving at her when she stopped to wave at all the loved ones she saw. They all laughed whole heartedly when they made it down the aisle and she greeted Steve quite loudly and excitedly from her place on the bride’s side of the altar.

“Hi daddy!” she waved, like she hadn’t just seen him an hour ago.

“Hi baby,” he laughed, waving to her, then putting his finger to his lips, letting her know she needed to be quiet right now.

Next was Nancy and Will, followed by Max, escorted by Lucas.

It was already halfway through the wedding party and you were trembling. Nerves, anticipation, joy, everything was tumbling into one.

“You okay?”

You looked over at Hopper, who’d you’d asked to walk you down the aisle. When you had, he’d hugged you so tightly and said he’d be honored to.

“Yeah, just want to get this part done,” you laughed.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, giving you a fatherly kiss on the head, “I’ve never seen a couple more in love. You’ll do great up there.”

Robin, accompanied by Eddie was only one couple between you and walking down the aisle and your nerves turned to pure excitement. You couldn’t wait to see Steve at the end of the aisle and for Steve to finally see you in your dress. He’d refused to see it until the moment he saw you coming down the aisle.

Your soon to be husband was quite the romantic, that way.

Lastly, El, escorted by Mike had their turn. That left you and Hopper.

“We ready to get you married?” Hopper whispered with a smile as your wedding march arrangement began playing.

You nodded.

“Ready as ever.”

The entire crowd melted away when you caught the first glimpse of Steve, waiting patiently at the altar. He looked so handsome in his dark suit, hair neatly combed back and every strand in place, not that you were surprised. He must’ve gasped because his entire face was lit up with surprise and awe as he stared at you.

You smiled at him, even though you were still halfway down the aisle.

“You look beautiful,” he mouthed to you and you grinned wider, nodding your head towards him as to say he looked great too.

When you and Hopper reached the end of your bridal walk, your little girl ran over to him, ready to do her next part in the ceremony. He lifted her in his arms.

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the officiater asked.

“I do!” she shouted, causing laughter and aww’s to chorus from the crowd.

“Good job,” you whispered to her as Hopper took her and sat her between him and Joyce—you knew your active three year old wouldn’t be able to stand still long enough, even for the short ceremony, so you’d opted for her to sit with them.

You stood in front of Steve as he took his hands in yours. You’re sure the pure love radiated from him was evident on your face too.

You didn’t remember much of the ceremony as you were absolutely captivated by him, but according to everyone else, it went off without a hitch.

[realtalkswithfinn]

being eddie’s sister and liking steve…

turns out the big bad eddie munson has a younger sister… and she’s far less intimidating.

part 1 ?

tw: mentions of chrissy’s death, brief mentions of maxs past, mentions of parental trauma

technically, you’re younger than Eddie.

however, with his super senior status, you’re in the same graduating class

EIGHTY FOUR BABY

you love your brother

how could you not?

he was the first to defend you against anyone, whether it was mean kids at school or your own parents

but, just like any siblings, you needed your space

so even though you were the bass to your brothers guitar, when you got to high school, you went a separate route rather than be in the band

you joined the cheer team, where you became best friends with Chrissy

not so much her boyfriend, who you and eddie both felt needed to be put in his place

“he literally told chrissy she needed to put more effort into her appearance around his mom, as if she isn’t already insecure.”

“that’s fucked up, isn’t it common knowledge chrissy’s ‘the prettiest babe’ in school?”

“aw, does eddie have a little crush on chris?”

he side eyed you, but didn’t say anything other than, “we should egg his car.”

you did.

nobody tell chrissy

dispite his hate for jason

and organized sports

and crowds

eddie showed for every. single. game.

just to watch his baby sister cheer

even if he was hanging out the gym door the whole time

you showed up to some of eddie’s dungeons and dragons meetings as well, just to hear the stories he made up

they reminded you of the stories he would make up for you as kids

you liked his new freshman this year too, they were hilarious

they were dorky and had no shame

like dustin, who would out of pocket talk about his best friend steve harrington

king steve, who ran the basketball team

and was always picked first in gym

and was famous for being the life of the party

steve the hair harrington

who… you get the idea.

so maybeee you had a tiny thing for the freshly graduated guy, who loved everything you and your brother hated

who cares? last you heard, he was dating mikes older sister

nancy wheeler, who was all gentle smiles and soft sweaters and perfect academics and a perfect laugh and brought the best out in him

that is, until one day dustin asked mike, “so is it still safe for you guys to have the sleepover at wills over break, or will nancy and jonathan be swapping spit the whole time?”

jonathan.

not steve.

your ears perked up

not like it mattered, though. steve was graduated.

he probably wouldn’t want to take a senior out, especially not the only cheerleader who actively avoided him for fear of embarrassment his whole basketball career.

you forgot about the conversation pretty quickly, though. only nights later, disaster struck.

you were digging your keys to your uncles trailer out of your bag, when your brother burst through the door and took you to the ground

you screamed, and he slapped his hand over your mouth and begged you to be quite and that you both had to go

through the door, you saw a head of blonde hair on the floor…

he dragged you from the trailer and into the woods

after about a half an hour of running through the dark, you dug your feet in the ground and demanded to know what was going on

the look on your brothers face broke you

“y/n… you have to believe me.” he said, looking deep in your eyes.

“i always believe you ed.”

for the next day, the two of you hide out in his drug dealers garage.

you mourn your best friend

and you are so, so glad your brother dragged you away before you could see her fully

even when something terrible happens to him, he’ll never let it touch you.

you felt terrible for him

you knew how he felt about chrissy

when dustin and his friends came looking for you guys, your feelings about steve were thrown out the window

you grabbed the oar out from under the tarp and came after steve with it, screeching

“WOAH WOAH WOAH,” steve used his dad voice as you bashed the oar into his ribs “TAKE IT EASY- y/n?”

you pointed the oar at him like a spear

you didn’t know he knew your name

still,

“he didn’t do it.”

eddie lept out from the tarp and pushed his way in front of you and grabbed steve by the throat

listen

it was fine to beat him away with an oar

but choke him to death ?

too far, especially since he didn’t seem to be fighting back

dustin pulled eddie off steve

he recoiled back to you, and for a second, you could see the fear in his eyes

steve stared at you while he caught his breath

“what… what the hell is y/n munson doing hitting me with an oar?”

you all stared at him.

“steve,” dustin sighed. “you’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

very pretty you thought

the hair didn’t even move when you were hitting the shit out of him

his eyebrows raised in surprise

“what’re you like… cousins?”

you rolled your eyes

“right… cause the pretty showgirl cheerleader babe couldn’t possibly be my sister, huh king steve?”

there was a heavy tension in the room

steve blushed

dustin, ever the comic relief, pat steve on the back

“hey dude, i didn’t realize till like, two months into hell fire.”

eddie stared at him

“what!” he threw his hands up in exasperation, “she is SO much cooler than you dude.”

“are you shittin’ me?”

“she can do a backflip bro.”

“i can do a back flip.”

“you can do a back flop.” you interject

robin put her hands up “can we please get back to the part about how eddie is wanted by the whole town for a murder he didn’t commit?”

from there on, you and eddie were officially in the group

there was a very brief, very confusing explanation of the upside down

but it wasn’t hard to believe after what eddie told you

you mostly stuck around eddie, and surprisingly, lucas

you recognized him from all the games you cheered

eddie dogged on him for skipping out on his program for the big game the other day

but you told him how glad you were he went

and how “all the freshman cheerleaders were swooning”

he have a tight lipped smile but didn’t say anything, which you thought was weird

until a little later

“hey, i know you meant it with good intentions, but just so you know, lucas has only ever really cared about one girl.”

it was steve

“oh?” you said

steve pushed back some hair from his face and raised his eyebrows in maxs direction

a gentle smile washed over your face, and if steve had fallen for you before, now he was stumbling face first

“so, that’s why she’s being short with him but then stealing glances when she thinks no one can see her?”

steve chuckled. “she’s doing that?”

“oh yeah. that girl can save face though. anytime anyone even makes a move in her direction she makes it look like she’s just ‘browsing the perimeter’ or some shit.”

steve smiled and looked toward his friend, and it was your turn to melt

“yeah, she’s good at that,” he said. his face fell a bit. “she’s been through some shit.”

you felt your own smile drop. “yeah. i guess all of us have.”

and suddenly felt like the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth

your best friend just died

you and eddie lived with your uncle in a trailer because your parents couldn’t take care of you

and now your older brother was on hawkins most wanted list

plus whatever else he doesn’t know about your past

“hey, i know you probably don’t want to talk while we’re trying to save your brother from metaphorically getting burnt at the stake, but… if you ever wanted to like, talk about any of this- or anything else-“

your smile returned to your face

“what, king steve wants to play therapist?”

he cringed at the old nickname, but smiled right along with you

“god no, i can’t even solve my own problems. but… i’ve seen some pretty strange things.”

“oh yeah? like what?”

“those demogorgon things dustin was telling you about?”

“yeah?”

“i beat one with a spiked bat in the beyers living room.”

you stared at him for a moment. “yeah… i don’t think i’m the one that needs to talk.”

he chuckled. “oh just wait till you hear about the russian spies.”

the two of you went back and forth for a while, moving on from horror stories to funny ones

you talked about everything and nothing, and your heart felt lighter than it had in years

eddie watched in the background, shaking his head

as much as he hated sports and preppy guys like steve, nothing would ever make him smile more than seeing you happy

[thatonecurlygirl]

after watching steve talking about six little nuggets it reminded me of your dad steve fics. can you write more about it please? i love your writing <333

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: dad!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Fresh out of High school Robin, and Steve went from working at Family video with you to volunteering most of your time at the high school that was turned into the Hawkin’s Disaster Relief Shelter. The three of you seem to have a habit of losing your jobs. When the end of the world is at your doorstep, people don’t tend to worry much about renting movies.

Robin is mucking it up with Vickie — who definitely likes boobies — while you and Steve are trying desperately to hold back a secret you’ve been keeping for a handful of months now, but as the days drag on it gets harder and harder to do so.

“You okay, babe?” Steve leans into your ear, “You’re really red.”

“Yeah,” You nod, pushing the sleeves of your sweater up your sweaty arms. “Yeah, just a bit warm in this thing.”

“It is August and you’re in a sweater. When are we—” Steve trails off.

“Soon. Now I’m going to go cool off in the back.” You kiss Steve’s cheek and make your way to the walk in freezer in the kitchen.

This walk in freezer has been your sanctuary and hiding place since your baby bump had actually started to show. You make your way to the very back, where all the frozen vegetables are being stored. The chill of the refrigerator isn’t much relief so you take ahold of the bottom hem of your sweater, fanning the cool air up underneath the baggy garment.

You are wholly unprepared and not nearly quick enough to cover up before door opens and Robin waltzes in. She’s saying something over her shoulder as she walks in, but stops mid sentence and allows the door to slam shut behind her as she takes in the site of you.

“About this.” You say awkwardly, hand clenching the bottom of your shirt and frozen mid air, showing the obvious baby bump you’ve been hiding.

“Y/n, you’re pregnant, like, super pregnant!” Robin exclaims.

“Shhh, Robin, hush.” You wave your hands in attempt to quiet her.

“How far along are you?” Robin asks with eyes wide, staring at your now covered stomach.

“Twenty-one weeks.” You mumble.

“Five months! You’re five months pregnant and didn’t even think to tell your best friend?”

“Robin, we were waiting for the right time.”

“Right time, my ass.” You turns quickly and peeks her head out of the freezer. “Harrington, here, now!’ She shouts.

Robin does have a point, she is yours and Steve’s best friend and should have been the very first person to know, but with Eddie dying and Hawkins being the very publicized “portal to hell” you’ve been adamant about finding a proper way and time to tell all your friends.

“What did you do to her?” Robin tugs Steve into the walk-in by his wrist, pointing straight at your stomach.

“About that.” Steve nervously scratches the back of his head, refusing to look up at Robin.

“Five months means you got her pregnant while in high school?” She gasps, suddenly putting together how the timing adds up.

“Technically, I wasn’t in high school. Steve got held back, remember?”

“Thanks for pointing that out, Y/n.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Look, we are sorry Robin. We should have told you sooner.”

“Damn right you should have!” She huffs before slowly breaking out in a smile. “When are you going to tell everyone else?”

“Tell everyone else what?”

You all jump and turn to look at Dustin who now stands inside the walk-in with the three of you, confusion written across his face. With a small sigh of defeat, you slowly lift up your shirt to show your baby bump and watch as Dustin’s jaw drops.

“I’ve always wanted to be a big brother!” Dustin exclaims once he’s recovered from the shock. “We can tell everyone at dinner tonight!”

“Just keep your mouth shut until then, Henderson.” Steve warns, pointing a long finger at him.

“My lips are sealed.” Dustin mimicked zipping his lips closed and tossing the key over his shoulder.

“Well, Aunt Robin, since we are on the topic—” You smile and glance up at Steve to continue.

“You want to be in the room when Y/n, pops the little sucker out?” Steve asks.

“Are you kidding me? Of course!”

“Good, I’m going to need someone to hold my hand when Steve passes out.” You giggle and gently bump into Steve teasingly.

“We should probably get back to work.” Dustin points to the door over his shoulder.

———————

You and Steve pull up to the Wheeler house with a hesitant sigh. This is the moment you’ve been pushing back since you found out you were pregnant, not because you don’t want your friends to know, but because you are scared of your friends’ reactions. There is one friend you are most nervous about telling, Nancy. Nancy and you had been friends for a while and is also Steve’s ex. Nancy and Jonathan are head over heels in love with each other, but sometimes you see a flicker of longing in Nancy’s eyes. Sure, there hasn’t been anything between Nancy and Steve for a while now, but they once shared a love for each other and you are afraid that Nancy will be angry that her friend swooped in and got with her ex and is now having his baby.

“You ready?” Steve pulls you from your thoughts.

“Now or never, right?”

“They’re definitely going to find out eventually when we are toting baby Harrington around, or until Dustin or Robin blab.” Steve shrugs.

“You’re right.” You rub your hands across your belly.

“I know,” He smirks and points a finger at you. “Stay here so I can open your door.”

Steve quickly jumps out of the driver’s seat and runs around to your side of the car, pulling open the door and extending his hand to help you out. Steve can be sweet like that, a total gentleman. He can also be a total ditz, but this is not one of those moment. It’s moments like this that show you exactly why you fell head over heels in love with this big haired sweetheart.

“Come on babe and little babe, let’s go.”

Robin and Dustin are at the door waiting for you, swinging it open and excitedly pulling you and Steve into the house. “We have everyone downstairs!” Dustin exclaims.

“No sweater?” Robin asks.

“Why hide it, the point is to tell everyone right?” You smile.

“That’s my girl.” Robin pats your back.

Dustin and Robin guide the two of you down to the basement of the Wheeler home, announcing your arrival as they do so.

“Does this mean we can finally eat?” Mike groans, nearly drooling over the boxes of pizza sitting in the middle of the coffee table.

“Sure as hell hope so, I’m starving.” You chuckle, patting your stomach as you finish descending the stairs.

“Y/n, gets first dibs on the pizza!” Robin shoots Mike and Lucas a warning look.

“What! Why?” Mike whines.

“Because she has a little Harrington on board.” Steve casually announces.

All eyes immediately turn to you and fall on your growing baby bump, eyes wide and all jaw dropped to the floor, it was so quiet you could hear a rat licking eyes in the humid heat of this late summer day. You watch Nancy’s eyes leave yours and she turns to Jonathan.

“What the fuck?” Mike breaks the silence.

“Mike!” Nancy scolds.

“How pregnant are you?” He ignores his sister.

“Five months!” Robin shouts, hands on hips, just like Steve stands. The two of them have taken up eachother’s habits.

“You’ve kept this secret for five months?” Will asks astonished.

“Surprise.” You say cautiously.

“Congratulations.” Nancy smiles and embraces you in a hug.

“Thanks.” You smile, hugging her back.

“The real question here is, what’s the name going to be?” Lucas asks.

Steve motions for you to take a seat as he grabs a couple pieces of pizza , setting them on the coffee table in front of you. A small smile plays on his lips as he nods for you to tell what the two of you had decided.

“Steve and I decided that if we have a girl, her name will be Edie Maxine Harrington.” You look between the group, all with joy filled yet somber looks. “If it’s a boy Eddie Maxwell Harrington.”

“Those are great names.” Nancy smiles softly.

“Yeah,” Jonathon agrees.

“Max would be happy for you two.” Lucas says with a sad smile.

“Eddie too.” Dustin nods.

“Wait until Hopper and Joyce find out!” El shouts in excitement. “They’ll be so happy too.”

“Can we eat now?” Argyle asks, staring at the pizza..

“Yes!” Everyone says in unison.

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Steve Harrington taglist:

@xicarcalii @asheseiler @loulouloueh @lacunaanonymoused