#happy one year of steddie!
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#it’s my one year steddie anniv#one year ago i was languishing and unhappy and burnt out on my main fandom#needing just something else to spark my joy#so i downloaded the big 2 outofmygourd fics#because I’ve always loved Steve and tiktok wanted me to love eddie#and i think i saw a fanart of shotgunning#and i said to myself i need some of this#and since those two fics it’s been 365 days of#new and old friendship group chats new fic new writers new artists metal!!!#it’s more than just the ship it’s the community#anyway i was meant to have a little treat to post#but it’s still not done as per Rachel usual 😅#happy one year of steddie!#🦇🍦#steddie#steddie beddie
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1984 is not Steve Harrington’s year.
Not only does he find out that his girlfriend doesn’t actually love him, but somehow the creepy monster thing that united his now ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, came back in the form of some type of monster dog.
The highlight of his year might actually be befriending a nerdy middle schooler who introduced him to said monster dog - which he named Dart of all things... something to do with a candy bar.
He groans at the thought as the music from downstairs carries into his room. For some reason, Tommy Hagan decided to temporarily ignore the fact that he ditched Steve for the new keg king, Billy Hargrove, who managed to give Steve something else to worry about while literal Hell crawled its way into Hawkins, in favor of throwing a New Year's Eve party in the Harrington residence.
Typical for the year Steve's having. Why not end it horribly too?
He glances at the clock, relieved that it's already somewhat close to midnight. If it weren't for the noise, he would consider trying to sleep through this one. Instead, he lays back on his bed and hopes that no one tries to disturb him.
As if the universe can hear his thoughts, and then curse them, the door to his bedroom swings open.
Steve sits up with a huff and frowns at the person.
A guy with medium length curly hair and doe eyes stares back at him with a big smile that screams chaos.
"Sorry, dude," Steve says, "Bedroom is off limits. Go hookup, smoke, or whatever somewhere else."
Instead of leaving, the guy closes the door behind him and locks it.
Steve scoots back on the bed, hand reaching back to wrap around the nail bat he leaves behind his nightstand.
The dude raises his hands in mock surrender, silver rings glinting in the light streaming in from Steve's window - blinds open enough so he can make sure no one does anything weird in his pool. "Listen, man, I'm not here to hurt you or anything. Although you might hurt me when you hear why I'm here."
There's something about his voice that sounds familiar to Steve when it suddenly hits him - all the yelling and stomping around on tabletops. "You're Eddie Munson."
Eddie smiles and bows dramatically. "Guilty as charged."
Steve's frown deepens, and for a fleeting moment he thinks Dustin would really like the guy. "So, why would I hurt you if I hear you out?"
"Because, Steve," Eddie draws out his name as if it has a deeper meaning, "I was downstairs thinking about what a wonderful year I've had, and I decided that I might as well start the year with a little chaos."
Steve's grip tightens around the bat in case he's some sort of satanic serial killer or something, although his gut tells him that he shouldn't be scared of the man. "What do you mean by chaos?"
There's a strange glint in Eddie's eye when he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on the feet as if he wants to move closer to Steve but has decided to plant himself by his door. "I mean... I came to this party to sell my supply and after my whole lunchbox was cleaned out, I started thinking about who I should kiss at midnight. Or more precisely, who would be the worse option, or rather, the option that would bring the most-"
"Chaos. Yeah, I got that part," Steve cuts him off.
Eddie's smile changes to something genuine for a moment as he comments, "Wow, Steve Harrington is actually listening to me."
Steve rolls his eyes, grip loosening on the bat. "I'd rather you not stand on my desk to get my attention." To Steve's surprise, Eddie actually laughs in response and pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to hide his smile. And to Steve's much greater surprise, his heart starts beating a little faster and he finds it harder to not smile back at him. "So, chaos?" Steve prompts.
"Right," Eddie says, rocking on his feet again, "Chaos." He ducks his head for a moment as if hyping himself up for the next thing he's going to say, which is when Steve entirely releases his grip on the bat, realizing that Eddie is more scared of him. "So, I thought, to start the year off with the most chaos, I would choose someone to kiss that would bring the most chaos. And I thought, why not the host of this party?"
Steve frowns. "Tommy's downstairs."
Eddie mirrors his frown. "You're not hosting?"
"Why would I be in my room if I'm hosting?"
"Why would the party be in your house if you're not hosting?"
It suddenly hits Steve. "Wait, you want to kiss me?"
Eddie takes a step back, hovering even closer to the door than he was before. "Consensually, of course."
It takes a moment for Steve to fully process what is being asked. "You think I'm the worst option to kiss?"
"That's what you're asking?" Eddie asks, trailing off to mutter something like, "The fragile ego of athletes, I swear."
"I got dumped this year. Of course my ego is low."
Eddie smiles bashfully. "Sorry, my uncle always tells me I'm not as quiet as I think I am." And there's something about Eddie's cheeks that are slightly flushed, the strand of hair he starts tugging at again, and the way he can't stop bouncing as if he's buzzing with energy and nerves that makes him so...
"Yes," Steve blurts out suddenly. For a moment, he wonders if the mindf- mind fly? mind... whatever evil thing from a few weeks ago has possessed him.
"Yes what?" Eddie asks sounding genuinely confused. As Steve stands up to look out his blinds and shut them, Eddie rambles, "Yes, I'm not as quiet as I think I am? Or yes, you're about to punch me, and I'm going to finally figure out how it felt when you got your face bashed in a few weeks ago?"
Steve rolls his eyes before holding up both of his hands, mimicking Eddie's pose when he first came into the room. "Yes, I'll kiss you."
It's as if Eddie has forgotten he's asked the question the way his jaw drops, and he stares at Steve like he's said the most confusing thing he's ever heard. Which... to be fair... is highly likely.
"You want to kiss me?"
Steve takes a small step closer to Eddie. "I want to give you your chaos."' When Eddie doesn't look convinced, Steve takes a step closer to him, hand running through his hair as he continues, "Who knows, maybe it'll give me good luck or something for next year by cancelling out the chaos from this year."
Eddie nods. "Okay. You're giving me your chaos. Yeah. That makes sense."
"And you're taking my chaos away," Steve agrees, trying to tell himself that this is a rational decision. "This makes sense."
"You're not going to beat me up?" Eddie asks, risking a small step away from the door.
Steve shakes his head. "Seems like a bad way to start the year, don't you think?"
Eddie nods as Steve steps closer to him, slowly, as if not to startle him away. "You know, I thought just asking you would be chaotic enough as is and then I could run away and pretend you hallucinated or something when you tried to beat me up."
"Should've asked Hargrove then," Steve says, cocking his head to the side. "Does that mean you don't actually want to kiss me?"
Eddie swallows and shakes his head. "I didn't say that."
Just as Steve gets in front of Eddie, he hears people downstairs counting down from ten. "Good," Steve says, "Because there isn't enough time to find someone else."
Eddie scoffs, the countdown now at eight, "That's not true for you."
"Maybe, but I'm not really looking to find anyone else right now. Are you?" Five.
Eddie smiles and takes a step forward. "No." Three.
Steve reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind Eddie's ear. "Good." One.
Steve's not really sure who moves first or if they move together, but the yells of, "Happy New Year" are drowned out as Eddie's lips meet his in a kiss that feels more desperate than Steve expected. He's not sure why they're kissing as if the countdown was for the end of the world, but he really doesn't care.
It's only when Steve's gets a little carried away, Eddie's back slams against Steve's door with a thud that's loud enough to alert anyone that something's happening in Steve's room, that Steve breaks away with a gasp, seeking the air Eddie's stolen from him. He wonders if - hopes - it's the chaos he's taken.
"Happy New Year," Steve whispers, hands cupping Eddie's face while Eddie's are tangled in the mess he's made of Steve's hair. He's not sure when either of those things happened.
"Happy fucking New Year, Steve," Eddie mutters, hands slowly dropping from his hair.
Steve's hands hold onto Eddie's face a little tighter for a moment, and he sees the moment a bit of fear sparks in Eddie's eyes. Steve quickly shakes his head. "No, I'm not about to beat you up. It's just... I kind of slammed you against the door a little hard there, and if someone else is up here and they see you..."
"Chaos," Eddie fills in with a nod, "And not the good kind."
"Yeah," Steve sighs, "Not the good kind." He glances to his window where the blinds are firmly shut - thank you Jonathan for teaching him that lesson - and down at the locked doorknob before looking back at Eddie. He glances at his lips momentarily before blurting out, "Stay with me."
Eddie's jaw drops, mouth opening slightly in shock.
Steve steps back, hands reluctantly leaving Eddie's face. "Stay until everyone clears out at least. No ulterior motive."
Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets and moves back into Steve's space. "What if I want there to be an ulterior motive?" He tilts his head down and gives Steve a case of lethal puppy dog eyes. "Fully take your chaos away, remember?"
Steve is absolutely sure that this in no way will take away the chaos of his previous year and will likely only invite questions, confusion, and further chaos into 1985.
"Yeah, I remember," Steve says, pulling Eddie into another desperate kiss.
Maybe Eddie was onto something about starting the year with a little chaos. And maybe 1985 will be his year.
(i accidentally wrote a tiny epilogue later in the tags that i really like)
#a sort of epilogue later in the tags ;)#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#steddie ficlet#steddie new years#happy belated new years#oh#they both agree to never mention it again in the morning#then lo and behold#later that year dustin is telling him about meeting the one and only eddie munson#and hey maybeeee when steve picks dustin up from hellfire club around new years going into 1986#eddie is like “hey harrington. have any new years plans? ;)"#and they secretly make out about it again that new years eve#but steve still refuses to hang out with him as much as dustin heckles him#because he doesn't know what he'd do if he ended up liking the guy#turns out he ends up REALLY liking the guy#and while everyone thinks he's dead#steve hides eddie in his basement#and he gets to stay long enough that they get to celebrate the new year once again#then again every year after that#and they live happily ever after#the end :)
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Hands Where I Can See Them, Part 4
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The only thing Eddie is dreading as much as Steve’s return for his things is Wayne’s inevitable question about where Steve is at all.
After all, Steve has practically been living with them for weeks – something that Eddie may not have allowed himself to consider the significance of, but which Wayne cannot have failed to notice. Though Steve had (apparently) felt the need to do things around the trailer to stay in Wayne’s good graces, he really didn’t have to worry about it; Wayne likes him, and he’ll be asking sooner or later just where Steve has gone.
‘Sooner’ comes two nights after Eddie royally fucks things over. It’s Wayne’s night off, and there’s really no avoiding him; their new trailer is bigger than the last, but it’s still close quarters, and Eddie gets caught when he passes through the living room to get a drink from the kitchen.
“Noticed Steve isn’t here tonight,” Wayne says, blunt as hell, because he doesn’t see the point in doing things any other way.
“Nope,” Eddie says shortly, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it from the tap.
“Wasn’t here last night, either,” Wayne goes on.
“He was not,” Eddie confirms.
“Wasn’t here when I got in yesterday morning,” Wayne says.
“You are a veritable font of observation tonight,” Eddie says, only a little snarky.
Wayne shrugs. “Hard not to notice when he’s here nine days out of ten, then suddenly up and disappears,” he says. He pauses a moment before adding, “Stuff’s gone from the bathroom, too.”
Eddie occupies himself with slowly swallowing down half his glass of water before he answers. “Yeah.”
“Don’t suppose he’s going on a trip,” Wayne doesn’t quite ask, and Eddie lets out a bitter sort of laugh.
“Loving the optimism from you, but no, not… not so much.”
There are a few beats of silence, and then Wayne lets out a slow sigh. Eddie knows him well enough to understand the sound of it – he’s just decided to get involved.
“You two have a fight?”
“Something like that,” Eddie mutters.
“Well that’s vague as hell, son. You have a fight, or didn’t you?” Wayne prods.
Slowly, Eddie shakes his head. “No, I– I don’t think so. I think it was all me,” he says, finally looking up from his glass and meeting Wayne’s questioning gaze. “I fucked up, Wayne.”
There’s no immediate judgement coming from Wayne, no suspicion or scorn, not even a shake of the head and some variation of “Of course you did.” There’s only a measured sort of curiosity in his stare, the same way it’s been since Eddie was a kid and Wayne was trying to figure him out; it’s sort of comforting in its familiarity, in its neutrality.
“You wanna tell me about it?” Wayne asks.
Eddie knows that if he says no, Wayne will let it go. He might keep sending curious and worried looks Eddie’s way, he might ask a few more prodding questions over the next few days, but he won’t make Eddie say anything he doesn’t want to. And Eddie doesn’t really want to – but he thinks that maybe he needs to.
“If… you had to define mine and Steve’s relationship, what would you say?” Eddie asks after a moment.
Wayne cocks an eyebrow at him. “I’d say that feels like a trick question.”
Eddie lets out a little huff of a laugh. “It’s not, I swear. I’m seriously curious,” he says. “There are no wrong answers – go.”
“Well,” Wayne says, still eyeing Eddie consideringly, “I don’t know if you kids put labels on things these days or what, but from the outside, I’d say you’re dating. I’d say that boy is fully in love with you and that you’re at least halfway to loving him back.”
“Right.” Eddie gives a jerky nod. “Seems like that’s what pretty much everyone thinks.”
“But that’s not what’s going on,” Wayne takes a guess.
“Well, that depends on your perspective,” Eddie says, a little high and tight.
“Well, the only perspectives worth a damn here’re yours’n Steve’s,” Wayne shoots back. “So what would those be?”
Eddie drains the last of his water, turning away to put the glass in the sink. “Steve… shares your perspective. Or, uh– he did. But I… I didn’t realize he was so serious. I thought we were just kind of messing around.”
The silence from behind Eddie is so thick that he can’t help but finally turn around and meet Wayne’s gaze again.
“That’s a hell of a blind spot, Ed,” Wayne says simply, and Eddie folds in on himself a bit, crossing his arms over his chest. His main defense has always been to become larger than life – to make big gestures and even bigger speeches, but everything about this situation makes him feel like nothing so much as small.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“So, what, you figured out how serious he was and thought you didn’t want that?” Wayne asks, and Eddie hunches a little further in on himself.
“Nope. No, that– would’ve been better, actually. If that’s what happened. But that’s not what happened, because did I mention I fucked up? Because I seriously fucked up.” Eddie’s rambling is stemmed by an expectant look from Wayne. “It’s just – the other night, when the guys were over, we got to talking about it. The whole… me and Steve thing. As in, they thought me and Steve were a thing. And they asked me about it. While Steve was out of the room. And then he, uh. Hm.” Eddie rubs a hand nervously over his chin. “He walked back in when I was in the middle of telling them that he's just a friend and that we’re just having fun. And that’s… when I found out how serious he was.”
“Eddie…”
“I know. I know!” Eddie doesn’t even have to look at Wayne to catch the disappointment coming off of him, so he doesn’t. He scrubs hands over his face and then just leaves him there, telling the rest of the story to his palms. “He was so fucking upset, Wayne, I think– I think I actually made him cry? And the only reason he hasn’t been here to get the rest of his stuff out of the trailer yet is because he was down with a migraine the next day. Like, I hurt him so badly I made him physically ill. So I didn’t just fuck up, but I’m actually a horrible human being and should probably spend the rest of my days living in isolation so I don’t ruin anyone else’s life.”
Wayne is silent for so long that Eddie is eventually forced to peek out from behind his fingers.
“You’re not gonna tell me how bad I fucked up?” Eddie asks, still a bit muffled.
“Seems like you have that covered already,” Wayne says, then he holds up one arm in offer, nodding towards the empty spot beside him on the couch. “C’mere.”
He doesn’t need to ask Eddie twice. No matter how old he gets, Eddie doesn’t think a genuine hug from his uncle will ever stop being comforting, and regardless of whether or not he thinks he actually deserves it right now, he’s going to take it. He crashes down onto the couch and leans heavily into Wayne’s side, sighing as Wayne wraps his arm around his shoulders.
“You’re not a bad person, Ed. You made a mistake, s’all,” Wayne says, and Eddie scoffs.
“Pretty big fucking mistake,” he mutters.
“Yep, that was a doozy. You hurt someone you care about, and you might not be able to fix it all the way. But that doesn’t make you terrible. Makes you human.” Wayne gives Eddie a comforting squeeze. “And Steve ain’t a bad person, either. He’ll know you mean it when you tell him you’re sorry.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly.
“You think about what you’re gonna do when he does show to get the rest of his stuff?” Wayne asks.
“Besides grovel?” Eddie shoots back.
“I mean, what’re you gonna grovel for?”
Eddie lets out a long breath. “I… I know I might not be able to fix it, but I just – I want the chance to try. I’m hoping he’ll just give me that chance.” Eddie pauses for a moment, choked by the dread of the thought that Steve might not give him that chance. “Things don’t have to go back to the way they were, but I at least want him to know that even if I’m shit at showing it, I do care.”
“Sounds like a decent place to start,” Wayne says.
“Think so?” Eddie asks.
“Mm.”
“Well… I hope Steve thinks so, too.”
Wayne gives his shoulders another squeeze and says nothing more, but he doesn’t really have to. He’s already settled Eddie’s nerves more than he’d thought possible; just this is more than enough.
Now Eddie just has to try to hold onto the feeling long enough to talk to Steve.
-
It turns out, Eddie doesn’t have to hold onto the feeling for very long at all; the very next morning—two days after Robin had read Eddie the riot act and left him to begin tentatively planning—another knock comes at the door.
It’s ten in the morning – not as early as Eddie had expected, but early enough that he’s not long out of bed when he opens the door to find Steve on the other side.
In contrast to Eddie’s sweatpants and t-shirt, Steve looks like he’s trying very hard to look like he’s alright. His polo is clean and tucked in, the collar is straight, his hair is as perfectly styled as ever – but there’s still something off. There are dark circles under his eyes, stark against a paler than normal complexion, and none of the ease or contentment that Eddie has grown used to shines from his face. He feels a little like he wants to mourn its absence.
“Hey,” Steve says, nodding in greeting.
“Hey,” Eddie says back, because for all his thoughts and planning, he hadn’t really considered how to start this encounter.
“I came to get my shit out of your way,” Steve says, and Eddie frowns.
It’s not in my way, he wants to say. You’re not in my way. Leave your stuff. Stay.
“Uh. Yeah, sure,” Eddie says instead, stepping aside to let Steve in.
Steve is carrying a cardboard box, but doesn’t seem to have anything or anyone else in tow. For as spread throughout Eddie’s life as Steve has become, he wonders if all of him will fit into that one box.
“Kinda surprised you didn’t bring Buckley to help pack,” Eddie says, glancing back out the screen door, as if Robin might appear out of nowhere.
“Just dropped her off at work,” Steve says. “I figured she probably already had… words for you when she picked up my meds, and I didn’t think any of us needed an encore.”
“I don’t know,” Eddie says quietly. “The stuff she said got me thinking.”
In the process of grabbing a jacket he’d left behind off one of the hooks by the door, Steve only glances back at Eddie. “I’m sure she had a lot to say,” he says, carefully neutral.
“Yeah. She, uh – definitely did. Can we talk?” Eddie asks.
Steve sighs. “Eddie…”
“Just hear me out, please. Then I’ll get out of your way and let you pack in peace, I promise,” Eddie says.
“We don’t– have to talk about it,” Steve says, turning back to face Eddie. “Look, I’m sorry for putting my weird expectations on you. I was reading into stuff that wasn’t there, and I made assumptions instead of just talking to you, and that’s on me. So I’m gonna just – get out of your hair, and you won’t have to deal with my stupid, delusional bullshit anymore.”
“No, that’s not– Steve–” Eddie reaches out for Steve as he tries to brush past on his way to the bedroom, where most of his belongings are. He gets a hand around Steve’s bicep and, though Steve doesn’t jerk away this time, he goes stiff and still beneath Eddie’s touch, prompting Eddie to let go.
It hurts; even though Eddie’s done it to himself, the reaction still hurts. He’s always reached for Steve in the past, always had his hands on him, and Steve had always welcomed him, even before they’d started sleeping together. Now, Eddie takes a step back, forcing himself to give Steve some space.
“That’s not what I want to say at all,” he says. “I mean – I would’ve liked if we’d talked about it, because then I would’ve known, and I could’ve appreciated what it was – what we were doing.”
Steve turns back to face Eddie, his gaze snapping straight to him with equal suspicion and confusion. “What?”
“Steve, you weren’t reading into things that weren’t there, you’re not– you’re not stupid or delusional, I was just – I was sending you mixed signals,” Eddie says. “I was so wrapped up in thinking that I knew what was going on, that I didn’t look at what I really had, and I’m sorry. But if I knew, if I’d just gotten my head out of my ass, you have to believe that in a heartbeat, I would have–”
“Don’t,” Steve cuts in sharply.
“Steve–”
“I don’t need whatever this is, Eddie,” Steve snaps. “You don’t need to have pity on your pathetic ex-whatever I am to you, okay? It’s okay, just– just let it go.”
“This isn’t pity,” Eddie insists with an incredulous little laugh. “It’s fucking not, I swear! This is me saying that I fucked up and I hurt you and I want to make it up to you. I haven’t done anything to deserve it, but I want the chance to show you how sorry I am and how much you mean to me– in whatever capacity you’ll let me.”
“Whatever capacity?” Steve stares at him, brows furrowed.
“Whatever you’ll be comfortable with. As a friend, or… as more, if that bridge hasn’t burned,” Eddie says.
“What, so now I’m relationship material?” Steve asks, pointed.
Eddie winces. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said any of that, and if I could go back in time and slap myself upside the head before I let any of that shit out and hurt you with it, I would. I know that… I know I didn’t pay enough attention to you, but I also wasn’t paying very much attention to how I was feeling,” he says. “Because honestly? I’m kind of a moron, Steve. I’ve never had sex with someone I really liked, with someone who was anything like a friend, and when I started wanting to be around you all the time, and always wanting you within reach, and when every little thing started to remind me of you, I just thought… yeah, this is what friends-with-benefits feels like. Y’know, like a fucking idiot.”
Steve doesn’t laugh. “I don’t know if I can trust you on that,” he says softly, and that’s fair.
It hurts, but it’s fair.
“Then let me earn your trust back. Please, Steve, just… give me the chance,” Eddie implores, doesn’t even care that he’s basically begging – Eddie doesn’t beg, but for Steve, he’ll make an exception. For Steve, he thinks he’ll do just about anything.
Pursing his lips, Steve looks at the floor beside Eddie’s feet for a long moment, and Eddie gives him the time to sort his thoughts out.
“I want to say yes. Part of me just wants to accept your apology and pretend that none of this happened. Just keep going the way we were,” he says. “But I can’t keep doing that – ignoring shit. I just… can’t.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Eddie says. “I don’t want things to be like they were before, I want – I want to be better. I want to do better.”
“How?” Steve asks, both challenging and curious.
“I want to do it right. I want to show you how much I appreciate you, and how much you mean to me. I want to treat you like you deserve to be treated,” Eddie insists. “And if that’s just by being the best friend I can be, then that’s what I’ll do, but I would love—love—if you’d let me romance you.”
That briefly breaks through Steve’s stony façade, and he lets out a huff of a laugh. “Romance me?”
“Shit, yeah. Flowers and chocolates and candle-lit dates – the whole nine yards,” Eddie says with a slow grin. “All the things you’ve given other people but that no one has ever given you.”
“I…” Steve starts, his own humor fading quickly. “I don’t know.”
It’s better than an outright ‘no.’
“That’s okay,” Eddie promises. “You don’t have to know right now. I can wait. I’m a patient kinda guy.”
(That’s an absolute lie, and they both know it, but Eddie will find all the patience in the world if Steve needs time to think.)
Slowly, Steve nods. “I think… Just, give it a couple of weeks, okay? Really think about it, and if this – if I’m something you still want by then, come talk to me again,” he says. “Alright?”
“Yeah.” Eddie nods rapidly. “As much time as you want. I’m not going to up and change my mind. Two weeks, I’ll ask again.”
Steve shrugs, taking a step back towards the bedroom.
“I will,” Eddie promises – not defensive, but certain. He can wait two weeks. He can wait as long as Steve needs him to. Maybe he can take the time to get his shit together.
He does care about Steve. He does pay attention – and he’s going to prove it.
But in the meantime, the only thing Steve has asked for is space, so Eddie gives it to him. He retreats to the kitchen to let Steve pack up in peace, trying hard not to feel bereft at the thought of the gaps Steve will be leaving behind.
If he’s lucky—if he’s very, very lucky—it won’t be forever.
Part 5
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Tag List (drop me a line if you want on or off the ride): @bushbees @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @gleek4twd @hellfireone @westifer-dead @anne-bennett-cosplayer @starman-jpg @mugloversonly @swimmingbirdrunningrock @alycatavatar @y4r3luv @rhapsodyinalto @vinteraltus @lilpomelito @tillystealeaves @noctxrn-e
I did my best to catch everyone, but there were a few people Tumblr wouldn't let me tag. Sorry if I missed you!
#steddie#eddie & wayne#eddie munson#wayne munson#steve harrington#stranger things#eddiesteve#solar wrote#I write wayne once a year so here's my annual allotted amount I guess#listen you know I love hurt/comfort and I love happy endings but one thing you should never expect from me is consistent chapter lengths#things happen as they happen!
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I’m definitely not late to steddie week, right? this was for day 7: free space!! the boys are in love and they will be so gross about it <3
#steddie#stranger things#stranger things fanart#steve harrington#eddie munson#my art#these boys are so stinkin cute!!#oh also happy one year of stranger things 4#but specifically happy one year of steddie hell <3#steddieweek2023#steddie week
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a smile for the in-laws at the holidays
written for @thefreakandthehair's spicy six-ber challenge - It’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad
WC: 5414 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | platonic Stobin & pre-steddie | AO3
It starts with the red light on the Harrington answering machine. Blinky and out of place, he's shouting, “Who would leave you a message?” Before he even stops to wonder if anyone can hear him. Steve had followed Robin straight to the bathroom when they'd gotten back to his place, he's given up on trying to figure out just what had them joined at the brain, hip, and bladder preferring instead to just wait and see which of the hundred and fifty bathrooms in the McMansion they would re-emerge from.
“I talk to more than just you.” Steve’s voice echoes off the walls of the hall bathroom barely audible over the sound of running water and Robin’s half of the conversation the two of them were still actively having.
Echolocated, he moves to the door they're hidden behind to continue to conversation at a volume that hurts his fucked up throat less.
“Jury's still out on that. But it's not like Wheeler is gonna leave a message.”
He can feel Robin’s spiritual hum of agreement, his conversation with Steve now interesting enough that she's paused hers.
“I keep telling you that Nancy and me are friends.”
His personal jury is playing a game of 12 Angry Men on that subject. Seven months post apocalypse and what started as one especially delusional voice insisting that there was “lip looking” and “chemistry between himself and the prettiest boy Hawkins has ever seen” has now become a beautifully hung 6 versus 6; with the part of him that was hoping he would get to learn if Steve Harrington was as beautifully hung as the rumors said gaining traction.
“If Nancy Wheeler needed you, she isn't leaving a message,” Robin picks up the track Eddie's wishful thinking abandoned, “she’s going to get your machine, hang up, and call me and then Eddie and then the Hendersons and then Family Video, the arcade, the-”
“Assuming it's life or death.”
“It's always life or death.”
Through the bathroom door, Steve's eyeroll is practically audible. “It is not.”
“I don't think Nancy Wheeler has ever once shot the shit, the breeze, or anything that wasn't an active threat on her life, so again not leaving a message.” Eddie calls out.
He's rewarded for his status as shit-head as the door swings open and he gets to see Steve's fondly annoyed face. Bitchy eyebrows raised and lip curled into something pretending it isn't a smile. He wipes his hands down Eddie's shirt in a failed attempt at returning the annoyance. First the backs then the front running down his chest from collarbone to chest.
Maybe it's his imagination but he could swear it lingers. The tips of his fingers taking their time on their pass down his chest to his sides. The jury will be accepting it as evidence.
“Dustin then,” Steve says.
“This is the Professor to the Hair, come in Hair.” Robin comes out of the bathroom mimicking the familiar sound of the walkie.
“Claudia then.”
“If it's Claudia, that means dinner.”
And that's the best thing about Robin, he thinks, her attention to the important details. Then there's her follow through, as she leads the charge back to the end table where the answering machine sits, all before Steve's hands have fully left his sides.
Her rewinding is unmatched, she takes the tape back to the final seconds of the outgoing message.
When it plays his first thought is honestly that Steve should probably replace the tape soon. The “Sorry I missed you,” has the warped and wobbling sound of an overplayed ribbon. But the woman speaking is not any more familiar as the tape levels out. “The lawyer recommended some time separated, I would have preferred actual separation. What's the point of this no-fault thing after all, but I suppose threatening to castrate a man at a public dinner doesn't make for a very good case for favorable asset division.
“Listen to me blabber on. I've got some things to see to here, but then I'll be on the first thing that gets me home. I’ll see you for Thanksgiving! I love you, Shadow, see you soon.”
There's enough detail there to pick out the obvious: he's now heard what Steve's mom sounds like. Which rattles his world the same kind of way learning that Freak lived with his grandma and her ‘best friend’ did.
And well maybe he has spent the last seven months, and a good five years before that, convinced that Steve doesn’t actually have parents. That he sprung into a fully formed, perfectly manicured existence like the Athena of Midwestern gay bait. Which is to say he’s too busy realigning his entire world view to notice how Steve is reacting to the sudden introduction of his mother until the door is already slamming shut behind him.
“Shit.”
The first time he sees Steve after that he’s alone.
It’s unnerving enough that he touches his back pocket to make sure his walkman is there. Steve might be smiling but it doesn’t meet his eyes, his hair flops at the awkward angle it does when he’s been tugging at it. It’s the Right Side Up Family Video, so he tries his best to approach the object of his possibly reciprocated affections like he’s a normal person and not like he's afraid that a secret pod person is behind the desk.
“Stevie, hey,” the probably Pod-Steve finches at the practically inside voice level way that Eddie has greeted him. He assumes that all further communication should be done in the same style he uses to talk to Tom Bombadil, the tray tabby he is going to coax into the trailer.
With both hands raised in a subtle non-threatening gesture, he tries for levity when he says “ I know it's Thanksgiving, but it’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad.”
“This is the first time she'll meet Robin.”
He says it in the easy way Eddie has learned is habitual for Steve. He tosses out facts like putting them out in the world like they aren’t a big deal will make it so. But unlike admitting he knows a teenager with psychic powers or that he helps reset Hawkins expiration date on a yearly basis, this time he can’t hide the quiet desperation in his eyes.
“Oh.” His rings tap on the clamshell box in his hands, the dull sounds of each contact annoying even him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s Robin.”
Normally he likes when Steve’s eyes linger on him. It makes his stomach flutter and his heart race, and it's the closest thing anyone will let him get to high now that he's technically died, twice. The vacant way Steve's eyes hold on his doesn't feel like that.
The thing is Eddie isn't sure if the jokes Dustin keeps making about Steve and Robin having their own little hive mind are actually jokes. It's sort of a reverse Clark Kent situation, he's never not seen the two of them in the same place at the same time, and now that he has Superman is looking pretty vincible.
“Exactly,” Steve says, after pausing for too long. “It's Robin.”
His improvisation fails him. It feels like his brain is moving a thousand miles an hour and not coming up with anything. His foot is on the gas but the road is wet, and his tires are spinning without catching on anything. He thinks maybe, maybe, he could bullshit something about good parents and families you make being just as important as the blood ones. When the bell above the door chimes saving him from fucking it up.
Steve straightens up like someone in the sky just yanked on his strings, smiling like he doesn't have a care in the world; and like Mrs. Johnson isn't glaring at Eddie like she has the Ronald Reagan given power to kill him with her eyes.
Eddie escapes before she can move to trying to bludgeon him with a copy of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly that she's returning.
He's safely in the van.When he realizes he's still holding the movie Wayne asked him to return.
He'll try again later.
Robin is behind the counter when he comes back. Alone. She looks adrift. Staring out over the counter at the wide expanse of shelves and tapes, she doesn't seem to be taking any of them in. Just staring, empty.
There's a movie playing, Back to the Future, but it's noise. Just noise. Because Robin is in Family Video right now the same way that Steve is.
Video in hand once again, Eddie approaches the wide-eyed thing at the counter cautiously. Robin's shirt collar is popped on one side and he doesn't think it's a fashion choice. Her face is bare and it doesn't move when he reaches the counter. Not when he sets the tape down. Not even when he says, hey.
“Did you rewind that?” She asks. Her eyebrows don't furrow, her mouth only moves enough to get the words out.
“It's Wayne's.”
Robin grabs it from the counter, scans it, and adds it to a stack that only looks taller than it did this afternoon.
“Look, Robin,” he tries more gently than he spoke to Steve this morning, still smarting from the way he had responded. “It's just dinner. It can't be that bad.”
She blinks once. Twice. Three, four quick times before she finally seems to be looking at him. A lemon pucker frown twisted across her face.
“She knows we're married.”
Robin turned 18 three days after the end of the world didn't happen. She spent the day in the hospital, in a chair that sat in the space between his bed and the bed they ended up putting Steve in. He hears one doctor call it, “Miraculous, really,” that he had been standing at all this long after his injuries and with the infection that had set in.
He collapsed in the middle of the Hawkins High gym with someone's donated sweater tossed over his shoulder.
And they won't let Robin in the ambulance. Tears streaking down her face, voice hoarse, and the EMT who survived doing his job in a place like Hawkins has the balls of steel to look her in her red faced, dripping nose glory, and tell her only family can travel in the back of the bus.
Wayne Munson, who was only in the gym to put up more posters of Eddie when he was caught by a limping Dustin Henderson, is the softest touch on this side of the Ohio River. Wayne Munson found himself playing taxi, making a quick stop at the Buckley house before taking all of the loved ones that the ambulance left behind to Hawkins General.
Inside the backpack she forced Wayne to let her grab, is a change of clothes for both of them. A strange amalgamation of pieces from both of their closets and, more importantly, a blank marriage certificate waiting to be signed.
You can, it turns out, get just about anything with the right forms mimeographed from the library or a bright enough smile when you ask for them.
And what Robin got with the correct forms was getting to request a marriage license without anyone at the county clerk's office looking at her twice. And with the smile she gets the hospital notary ready to officiate their marriage once Wayne and a sour faced nurse agreed to be witnesses. Eddie only gets to watch, too shaky still to sign his name on the license, he chose privately to think of himself as the flower girl with some extra special buds he could give the happy couple once he could get out of here.
It wasn’t storybook, but Robin and Steve were smiling so wide that it made the stitches on the side of his own face hurt. He could tell from the set of Wayne’s shoulders that he was trying not to cry and if they had him on a little less morphine he might be on the same boat. He called for the first cheers to the happy couple and it didn’t feel weird at all that neither the Harringtons nor Buckleys were there to watch their two children get hitched.
Eddie is the only witness left when later that night the cot comes out and Robin and Steve Harrington-Buckley bed down separately for their hospital honeymoon. It's not like he wants to overhear their marital pillowtalk, but even though he knows he's supposed to be asleep it won't come.
It’s Robin’s voice he notices first, a rough whisper that soothes something in him. The words wash over him for a second before his brain catches up. “In two years,” she pauses, but even Eddie who barely knows them can tell that Steve is and always is riveted to whatever she is saying. “When we get out of this shithole, I'm gonna have an affair with the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.”
"Is that the feminism Glory Steinway is teaching people, women doing men's jobs?” Steve’s little giggle makes his heart monitor jump, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and hopes they think he’s just dreaming. “That would explain why my dad doesn't like her.”
“A Steinway is a piano. It's Gloria Steinem.”
“And you can try, but I've seen your taste,” Steve continues his part of the conversation like she hasn’t even spoken.
But Robin continues hers too. “And anyway, I don't know if that second part even applies anymore anyway, asshole. Not after that stuff we've been talking about.”
He’s not a good person, he knows that, that’s the only explanation for the way he was straining to hear like he could make his ear stretch across the floor toward them to hear better.
Steve blows a raspberry, surprising enough that Eddie flinches back in his bed. “I can't think about that if I can't sleep on my back.”
“That's not how it works,” Robin says with the confidence of someone who isn’t sure what she’s saying and lets Eddie be sure that he’s not going to learn anything else about whatever stuff they had been talking about.
“It is how it works. I've got to have my arm all funny to get comfortable enough to sleep.”
“Make sure I'm in here when Nurse Ratched comes to check on you and learns you dislocate your shoulder to sleep on your side.”
“I don't think that's Becky's last name, I think it's Collins.”
“Who cares. Now scoot over, one of us should get some sleep tonight and this cot is worse than Eddie's floor.”
He understood the bone deep instinct for protection Steve had now. The same drive that had Steve, still high on painkillers and a lack of sleep, stumbling out of the bed beside Eddie’s in the hospital. “They always say it’s gone, and then it comes back,” he’d whispered while clutching Eddie’s hand tight.
Underneath the warning, he’d heard the want. The desire to take Robin and Eddie and the kids and everyone he cared about, to shove them all in the back of a car and drive as far away from Hawkins as he could. To stop them all from doing something stupid that shouldn’t be their responsibility anyway, to drive until Hawkins was a stain on a map that couldn’t be seen in the rearview mirror.
That’s how he feels right now.
It’s been three days and he hasn’t seen Steve and Robin in the same place at the same time. It feels like a sign he should have been looking for that this thing is coming back.
So he tries to think of his next steps as self-preservation. He has a certain reputation to uphold and going to the mall isn’t very counterculture. But Sam Goody is Sam Goody and getting his nearest and dearest their favorite tracks on cassette feels like the same kind of practical as the thick wool socks Wayne gave him last year. If he brought Steve and Robin then their presents wouldn’t be a surprise, is his reasoning And maybe that’s self-preservation too, it’s a long drive to Bloomington and it’s hard to imagine mirror-Steve and Robin being very fun to road trip with.
He’s talked himself around on it by the time he’s window shopping the Gap. Nancy is trying to organize a Christmas party from Boston with the single minded determination he would expect of a general arranging a siege. She had them pick names for Secret Santa while she was home for fall break and he’d drawn the short straw and ended up with the general herself. Which puts him outside The Gap, all he really knows about Nancy is her penchant for guns and a good sweater and he’d hate to get her a 9mm she’s already got.
The pastel colors are probably some kind of danger signal, but he’s already stepped inside and has his hands on a sweater he hopes says ‘I’m a badass and there’s a gun in my handbag don’t fuck with me’ in prep when he spots the danger.
The danger being Steve, alone still, with a dark plaid skirt pinched between his fingers.
He drops the sweater and slips back out the store, hoping he hasn’t been caught. He’ll find Wheeler a fancy pen or a nice notebook somewhere in Indy.
It's two days before Thanksgiving and when Eddie walks into Steve's place the first thing he hears is shouting.
Hand on the door knob, he pauses, listening as Robin's voice carries throughout the house. “I'm not wearing it.”
“Robin-”
“No, listen to me! I am not wearing that. I’m not gonna meet your mom looking like some, some-”
“Nancy.”
“You said that, not me.”
“Robin. Robin!” Footsteps, Eddie hears footsteps. Robin’s angry heels slamming down hard on the floors beneath her enough that he can track her movement through Steve’s house even though she’s only wearing her socks. He takes a step back toward the door. Puts his hand back on the door handle, ready to pretend that he had just walked in. Ready to pretend that he hadn’t heard the two most in-sync people in his life arguing like the Wheelers.
“Let me storm out! Let me leave. I can’t just stay here and argue with you until we both say something-” The knob twists in his hand to the sound of the desperation in Robin’s voice. Eddie’s feet don’t move, frozen in place by courage or cowardice or the seven years of high school engrained need to hear every last bit of gossip possible.
Steve has always been good at making good gossip. “Robin!”
“I’m not wearing that fucking thing just because you want to and can’t!”
He knows the sound of an argument ending when he hears it. The holidays always leave him a little more tuned in for the sounds of smashing glasses and raised voices.
The silence that comes after a landing hit.
The door knob gives in his hand, pulling it just wide enough that he can feel the chill of the late November air, Eddie is a little surprised at what side of the door he finds himself on when he slams it shut again.
Footsteps moving faster toward him, heavy heel first steps. He starts putting on the production of arriving: shaking his shoulders like he’s shaking off the frosty chill of the early winter hitting Hawkins like the latest plague. He’s got a toe at the heel of one boot, ready to kick it off when Robin comes barreling toward him. Barrelling into him, he stumbles over his tangled up feet to keep them both from falling to the floor.
She’s got a hand pressed into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, using it to drag him impossibly closer. He can smell the coffee on her breath when she hisses, “As one of the people responsible for saving your life, I need you to put me in that death trap you call a van and repay your debt.”
“I-?” Closer than he thinks he’s ever been to Robin, the fight he just overheard playing through his head once again, he tries to parse through the pissed off urgency in her voice that’s now being directed at him.
Her eyes are wild and she only looks more insistent as Steve’s voice carries from the kitchen. “Is that Eddie? Eddie, come in here and taste this.”
“If you have never trusted me before, trust me now, if you value your life you'll leave.”
There’s a part of his brain that believes her. There really is.
But then Steve whines, “Seriously, Eddie, I need you.” It’s a tone of voice Eddie has only heard in his wildest fantasies, and sometimes not even then.
“Oh that's a cheap trick,” Robin snaps.
“Please?” He drags the word out into a moan. Something sultry that Eddie wouldn’t dare dream of, so it has to be real.
“Cheap trick,” he pats Robin on the shoulder as he walks toward the vision he can only just begin to imagine in the kitchen. “Yeah sure, put them on.”
“This is for your own good.” For a band geek, she’s strong. Maybe it’s the world saving.
Eddie has only managed a step toward what has to be everything he’s ever dreamed of when her hand closes tight around his arm and pulls him back toward the door. The jury in his head has just reached the unanimous decision that he does actually have a shot with Steve Harrington as he’s being lifted kicking, but not yet screaming, by a scrawny band nerd and now they’re calling for her head.
“Eddie?”
“I’m taking him with me. Maybe between the two of us we can get the right onions.”
“Who would use a sweet onion for a green bean casserole?”
He’s stunned, still enough that Robin can finish pushing him back out the door he just walked through. Not because Steve was being a bitch, Steve’s always kind of an ass, but that Robin wouldn’t respond. The ‘god you never listen to me and I’m actually mad about something else but this is the thing that’s broken me’ tone is one he associates with the bitterly married Mr. and Mrs. O’Leary from the trailer two down, the frowning couples in the grocery, not Steve and Robin.
Steve and Robin had full conversations in their brains with nothing but facial expressions and laughter, they didn’t storm out of the house angry and resentful.
It feels like something is broken, waiting to be fixed. Broken things have always preoccupied him, and they’re halfway down the road before he realizes they aren’t headed toward town.
And that he isn’t the one driving.
“Um, Buckley? Did you get your license when I wasn’t looking?”
“I have my permit. We have the beamer, it's not like we’re going that far.” He grabs the oh shit bar as she rounds a corner without breaking.
“All due respect to the royal carriage- Shit, brake. Brake! Arwen doesn’t exactly handle the same.” He recognizes where they’re headed now, if only because the edge of the quarry is quickly approaching. Maybe he hasn't given enough weight to the amount of stress she’s under.
“It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous.”The edge of the quarry is looming and her foot is too light on the brake. Even as the dust flies out behind the van, he’s torn between listening to her and watching the windshield. The brakes squeal as her foot finally presses down hard enough to actually stop the van all the while chanting. “It’s a dinner. A dinner. All this for a dinner.”
They stop. The car rocks back, Eddie lunges for the column to make sure it’s in park while Robin launches herself out of the cab.
He can see her pacing beside the van in the side view mirror, her mouth moving in a rant he can’t hear over the sound of his own panting breath. “Okay, this is okay,” the words leave his mouth but they might as well be coming from some third tag along in the van. “Robin is freaking out, so you can’t freak out.”
He scrambles into the back, knees smarting as he crawls across the blankets that aren’t doing enough to cushion the floor. Robin almost gets hit, when he tosses open the doors to usher her in.
“Climb in, we’ll partake in the time honored tradition of escaping from family, getting high, and bitching.”
She doesn’t look convinced, hands shaking when he grabs ahold to help her get into the back. Eddie makes it a point not to look at her as she settles. She fusses, fidgeting with pillows and smoothing out the afghan that Steve picked out from the thrift store, and he holds any comment about how Steve had done the same thing the last time they hit the drive in mostly because he knows she was there for it. His time is better spent carefully rolling up a fresh joint, lighting it, and taking a big hit.
He still doesn’t know everything that happened to them before he got involved with the Upside Down. But he knows that the Harrington-Buckleys don’t handle being high well these days. But with the doors open, the ambiance, and the faint second hand smoke it isn't long before Robin is speaking.
“It was funny when he was showing me the best way to climb into a girl's window or scale a trellis.” She isn't looking at him while she speaks. Her eyes are locked on the toes of the new Chuck Taylors that she and Steve had lucked into at a thrift store in Seymour of all places. One blue and one red, they'd split the pair after decorating them. The two of them so in sync they even share a shoe size.
Still the words keep tumbling out, slow but gaining speed like a snowball rolling down a hill. “It was fun learning the best way to shotgun a beer and the flirty hand thing. And I liked, like, having someone who will gossip with me and we can paint our nails.”
She stops, breath shuddering and it's worse, now that he's got the smell of weed around him but none of the haze, when she looks at him with red, watery eyes. “But now I'm gonna be the girl who isn't girl enough who ruined her perfect son and made him not boy enough and ruins their relationship forever. He loves his mom.”
“And he loves you, Rob.” There's no right amount of emphasis to put on the words. It feels like he’s repeating facts to a conspiracy theorist. DnD isn't devil worship. The Earth is round. Steve Harrington loves Robin Buckley, no matter what.
And just like spouting facts, he isn't met with a good reaction.
“I know,” she croaks, voice breaking as she holds back a sob. “I know and he knows better than anyone that loving someone isn’t enough to keep you from resenting them.”
It's miserable. He feels miserable. Robin looks miserable. And if there’s anything he hates more than injustice it’s misery.
“What can I do?”
She sits up further, grabs the wrist that’s holding the forgotten joint, a look on her face that makes him think of the urgency of a quest. “I can’t be someone he ends up resenting in a year, in five.”
“What can I do, Robin?”
“Say you’ll come Thursday?”
That sounds like the worst idea in the world, Eddie Munson, former murder suspect, joining in at the Rockwellian dinner table. But he isn’t good at denying his friends much of anything these days. “Will it help? Me being there?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. But you’ll be there for me, for him, for us.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
Thanksgiving comes and Eddie’s hands are sweating around the wheel of the van as he sits in the Harrington driveway.
He hasn’t celebrated the holiday in earnest like this since he was little. When his own mom was still alive and they would load up in the pick up to drive to his Mammaw’s house where it would smell like roasted turkey and fresh baked bread. Now he and Wayne need the money too badly to skip out on the holiday pay. They would have turkey sandwiches for lunch before he would leave and Eddie would float around town selling to the teens who had slipped out their front doors for a “walk” before dinner so they could stand to be around their overbearing relatives.
Which leaves him in the position of trying to figure out his role here.
Is he the dirtbag that Steve has somehow managed to befriend, there to take the heat off of Robin and make her better by default?
Is he the reformed killer that the two of them have fixed through the power of their goodness, there to make them both look like the power couple that they are?
Is he there as their friend Eddie, there to be moral support in a stressful situation?
He isn’t sure and each different version of himself that he can imagine looks different. Each a different performance that requires different costuming.
It’s left him arriving late, wearing a hodgepodge of pieces that speak to each version. Stitched up jeans and a thrifted band shirt, overtop that one of Wayne’s cowboy shirts and he’ll kick off his trusty Reeboks at the door if he can get himself to go inside. He isn’t sure what anyone is going to think if he manages to make it in the door, but he can imagine what the neighbors are thinking right now.
Trudging up to the door, nerves prick at his fingertips but he doesn’t regret coming. Not even as he tries to anticipate the stuffy, frigid silence he’s about to walk into.
At least the food will be good, the stuff Steve made anyway.
Through the door he hears laughter.
When he knocks, it doesn’t stop.
And then he’s looking at Steve wearing that skirt from the Gap with his hair pinned back. “Eddie!” His eyes are wide, sparkling with a bright joy that Eddie hasn’t seen in days.
From down the hall voices, Robin’s he knows too well not to identify and the other’s can only be Mrs. Harrington, chorus, “Oh Eddie!” Before he hears the sounds of giggling laughter once again. Steve’s face flushes a beautiful, distracting pink.
“I should have brought something,” Eddie finds himself saying. Empty hands clenching even as his eyes are locked on those two moles on Steve’s cheek and how they stand out on that blush.
“You never have to bring anything, Ed.”
“Stevie! Quit hogging Eddie, we want to see him,” Robin’s voice has the slip sliding quality Eddie has come to associate with drinking.
“There’s still time to run, if you want to avoid everything,” Steve teases.
“You know I’m not a runner anymore, and anyway your missus invited me.”
“And nobody has ever accused Eddie Munson of being rude.”
“Got that right, baby.” Eddie can feel the smile on his face broaden as Steve rolls their eyes, a smile tugging at their lips, and that sweet pink kissing his face again.
But when Steve’s hand runs down his wrist, a tentative touch reaching to tangle their fingers, the situation he’s in fully cements itself in his mind. Fingertips brush past one another as Steve keeps walking and Eddie stays put. He can hear Robin’s familiar cackle and a pleasant laugh that shares the same cadence as Steve’s coming from the kitchen. Warm brown eyes look him up and down, he tries to ignore that as he listens for whatever conversation is accompanying that laugh.
“She wants to meet you, y’know.” Steve says finally. “Hasn’t shut up about how my tastes have gotten better now that I’m back to my old self.”
“And she means me?”
“She means Robin,” he laughs, “but she’ll like you because I do. Because you haven’t said anything about this,” he flicks his hand down to his skirt. “Because you won’t say anything when you see she’s wearing the same outfit.’”
“Mama’s boy?”
“Something like that. C’mon, I need someone on my side in there.”
“Yeah, alright,” Eddie agrees, reaching out to grab Steve’s hand for real, “It’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad, right?”
#spicysixbermonthchallenge#steddie#platonic Stobin#steddie fic#my fic#lavender married Stobin#Steve and Robin#pre steddie#gonna be so fr with you Tumblr tags not completely happy with how this one turned out#but it's a week before Christmas and i'm posting thanksgiving fic so we live with what we have#it ran away with me a bit and I think in an ideal world I would have spent another hundred years tweaking the Stobin gender of it all#but this is where we're at just know that stobin have some gender fuckery going on even if its just implied and not all out there#Steve harrington's mom#who is named Stephanie#please ask me about my steve's mom headcanons#i wanted to get them all in here and I think I featured absolutely none of them on page because it felt too awkward#so the gender and the steve's mom got left on the cutting room floor
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Eddie and Jonathan bonded over- actually, their first meeting was a fight. They were fighting over the newest Mötley Crüe album, and the only one left, at the record store and almost beat each other up, until they realized they were both didn't have enough money for it. So they decided to pool their money together and share it, clearly not thinking the process through because they kept it at Eddie's house and that meant every time Jonathan wanted to borrow it, he ended up just getting high with Eddie and listening to music with him for hours
That is how they became friends
#and at this time steve is bullying jonathan after years of being his friend and eddie is crushing on steve at the same time#the three of them are in this poly love triangle except no one is confused because they are all just happy#and on top of that argyle is dating jonathan#theyre all poly and all dating#all four of them#and they all have good music and get high and cuddle for hours#stranger things#steve harrington#steddie#eddie munson#jonathan byers#jargyle#argyle#stonathan#polyamourous#motley crue#stranger things headcanons
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love me softly p21
part 20
Steve steals a Metallica hoodie from Eddie’s closet.
Eddie doesn’t know about it until he sees him at school on Friday morning, and Eddie stops after turning off the van, melting into the driver seat and staring, watching Steve. He’s sitting on the hood of his car, swatting Tommy’s hands away and laughing. Gareth is already there, laughing so hard his head is thrown back.
One of Steve’s hands is in the front pocket of the hoodie, and when he stops hitting Tommy, he lets the other sleeve fall over his hand before he lifts it to his face, rubbing his cheek. Eddie watches, biting his lip as his throat tightens.
It takes a minute for him to finally be ready to join them. Steve sees him coming, and he gives Eddie that squishy-cheeked, squinty-eyed grin that Eddie loves so much.
“Where’d you get that hoodie?” he asks, leaning against the car, and Gareth snorts.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would, yeah, it’s cool.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“You guys are so annoying,” Tommy says dryly, leaning from where he’s sitting next to Steve to look at Eddie, who sticks his tongue out at him.
“Do you guys wanna come over tomorrow?” Steve asks, moving slightly closer to Eddie but looking from him to Gareth and Tommy. “For like a movie or something?”
“I will if Eddie brings weed,” Gareth says, and Eddie wrinkles his nose at him.
“Ass.”
Gareth sticks his tongue out mockingly.
“So is that a yes?” Steve asks, ignoring them.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, cool.”
“So why were you and Tommy fist fighting?” Eddie asks, nudging Steve with his shoulder.
“Oh, Tommy’s just a dick.”
“You’re a dick,” Tommy argues.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Gareth says loudly.
As they’re headed inside, Steve nudges Eddie’s hand, and he gestures with a tilt of his head when Eddie looks. Eddie follows him to his locker and leans against the locker next to his as Steve twists the lock.
“Will you come over tonight?”
Eddie suppresses a smile, pushing his hands into his pockets and looking him up and down. The hoodie is too big for him, and the fabric is thick and cozy, the design on the front faded and worn, and Eddie wants to hold him and hide in his chest.
“We have a Hellfire meeting tonight,” he says after a moment. “After school.”
Steve looks at him, moving a book in his locker.
“I can come over after,” Eddie adds. “Or you can come with. Hang out.”
“I don’t know the other guys in Hellfire,” Steve says softly.
“They’re nice,” Eddie tells him. “You’ll like them.”
Steve hesitates, nibbling his lip as he rummages through his locker, but Eddie sees the nervousness in his eyes even though he looks away.
“You don’t have to,” Eddie says gently, and Steve’s lips curve into a tiny smile. He glances at Eddie, hesitating again.
“Maybe next time,” he says softly, looking at Eddie. Eddie nods, holding back from leaning in to kiss him.
“I’ll go to yours afterwards,” he says.
“Okay,” Steve says, still smiling shyly. “And then tomorrow Tommy and Gareth will come over.”
“You excited?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows, watching Steve nods happily.
“‘S been a long week,” he says lightly.
“‘S gonna be a good weekend,” Eddie says softly. His chest is warm. Steve looks back at him, his cheeks pink as he smiles, but his smile falters after a moment as his eyes flicker across Eddie’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Steve shrugs, shoving a book into his backpack and sighing softly.
“I just…”
He shrugs again, his eyes skimming across Eddie’s face again, lingering at his lips.
“Me too,” Eddie murmurs. Steve exhales, his eyes meeting Eddie’s and shining. “Later.”
Steve nods.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” he says softly.
Eddie nods, biting his lip and hesitating, leaning a little bit closer to whisper softly enough that no one could hear him even if they were to step too close.
“I’m kissing in my head,” he murmurs quietly, squinting and staring intently into Steve’s eyes. Steve giggles, staring back, leaning in and scrunching his nose adorably.
��I feel it,” he whispers, and Eddie laughs, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.
“I’ll see you later,” he giggles, and Steve smiles, reaching up to pat his cheek just a little too hard, smacking him gently, casually, the touch leaving his face warm. Eddie pulls away, snorting as he steps past him, winking as he walks away.
Rumours are already swirling around the school about the graffiti. Most of them point to Eddie.
He doesn’t mind. It is pretty on brand for him, obviously, and even though nobody’s even glanced in Steve’s direction, Eddie would rather keep the focus off him as much as possible. It’s not hard. When people ask him about the graffiti during the day, he keeps a poker face and just shrugs lazily.
The others in Hellfire also ask about it, but Gareth doesn’t say anything, and after a brief moment of hesitation, Eddie lies that he did it. He isn’t about to out Steve to them, and they wouldn’t have believed him if he’d told them the truth anyway.
The sun is going down when Eddie finally gets to Steve’s.
Steve opens the door after just a few seconds, smiling brightly, and he pulls Eddie inside without hesitation. Eddie giggles, hugging him tightly and tossing his backpack aside.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hi, Eddie.”
“You okay?”
“Mhmm. How was Hellfire?”
“Was good,” Eddie says lightly. “Just did a one-shot session,” he adds, reaching to run his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Was fun.”
Steve lifts his head and presses a soft, lingering kiss to his lips that makes Eddie’s knees feel weak.
“I made dinner,” he says lightly when they part, tracing a line down Eddie’s neck.
“What’d you make?”
“Pasta.”
“Ah, romantic.”
He leans down and grabs at Steve’s legs, hefting him up over his shoulder as Steve screams and laughs, clutching at Eddie’s jeans. Eddie carries him to the kitchen, hanging him upside down, grinning as Steve exclaims loudly that Eddie is a fucking menace. His face is red when Eddie manages to set him on the table, and he swats at Eddie, trying to hit him and suppressing giggles as Eddie dodges his hands, laughing.
They sit at the table together, kicking at each other’s legs and giggling as they talk. Eddie tells him about the one-shot. Steve tells him about how he overheard some teachers saying the graffiti is probably going to be painted over this weekend. It makes Eddie snort, and Steve scrunches his nose at him, swaying in his seat happily. Eddie offers the spray paints up for Steve to practice some more. There’s an old junkyard around Hawkins, full of rusted, broken-down cars and school buses that would be perfect canvases.
They clean up together after eating, Eddie washing the dishes in the sink and Steve drying and putting them away. He keeps nudging his hips against Eddie’s, or tracing lines across his back and making him shiver. When Eddie is done with the dishes, he shuts off the water and looks for a towel on a counter, but Steve just steps close and dries his hands himself, so gently and tenderly that Eddie’s chest aches.
He leans in and presses his face into Steve’s neck as he dries his hands for him, nuzzling into him and kissing him softly. Steve hums quietly, and Eddie knows without looking that he’s smiling.
Steve sets the towel aside the towel when he finishes, holding Eddie’s hands, running his thumbs over his knuckles gently.
Steve leans close and nudges their noses together, sighing.
“‘S nice,” he murmurs.
“What is?”
“You,” Steve breathes. “I like being close to you.”
Eddie pulls him closer, kissing him softly. He smiles when Steve’s arms wrap around his neck, and after another soft kiss, he reaches down to Steve’s thighs, tugging to pick him up. Steve’s legs wrap around his hips.
Eddie looks over his shoulder to find the living room, hugging Steve close, and Steve mumbles a soft, “Don’t drop me,” as Eddie steps down into the conversation pit. When he sits on the sofa, Steve buries his face in his neck, humming again. Eddie runs his hands over his back, under the hood and over the folds of the fabric.
Steve sits up and plays with Eddie’s hair, pushing it back and tucking it behind his ears and running his fingers through it.
“You’re beautiful,” he says softly.
Eddie’s cheeks flush.
“Gimme a kiss.”
Steve leans down and kisses him gently, chastely, pulling away to gaze at him before he kisses him again. Eddie’s head feels fuzzy, like his brain is full of static, as Steve presses kiss after kiss to his lips, to his cheeks and nose and forehead.
“Woah,” he says softly when Steve finally stops, and Steve giggles, touching his cheek. Eddie blinks his eyes open, looking up at him blearily. He’s smiling brightly, his cheeks pink, eyes shining.
“You give me butterflies, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, tucking his fingers under the hoodie. Steve’s cheeks flush more, and his shoulders hunch shyly as he leans down until their lips brush.
“You give me butterflies too.”
Eddie tilts his chin up to kiss him, sucking on his lip gently before he pulls away to bury his face in Steve’s neck. Steve laughs softly, pushing his fingertips into Eddie’s curls as Eddie kisses his neck, just under his jaw, across his throat, under his ears.
“Eddie?” Steve says softly as Eddie is sucking on his skin carefully.
“Mhmm?”
“…Could you help me with something?”
“‘Course,” Eddie says between kisses. “What?”
Steve takes a deep breath, and then he starts laughing under his breath. Eddie lifts his head after leaving one last kiss on his neck, right on one of his moles, and looks up at him curiously.
“What is it?” he asks quietly.
Steve hesitates, biting his lip as he looks at Eddie’s face.
Eddie waits patiently, his thumbs brushing over Steve’s soft skin until Steve speaks again, his voice quiet.
“Will you cut my hair for me?”
Eddie blinks.
“Seriously?” he says when Steve stays silent. Steve suppresses a smile and nods.
“I— I know exactly what I want, and I think you can do it fine, I have clippers and everything,” he rambles quietly. “I’ve been wanting to for ages, but I think I— I think I want you to do it.”
“You wanna trust me with your hair?” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. Steve giggles, nodding. Eddie stares, wide-eyed, and he reaches up to touch his hair, combing his fingers through it carefully. It’s soft.
“How do you wanna cut it?” he asks, gazing at it. It’s warm brown, almost golden in some lighting.
“Wanna shave the sides,” Steve says.
“Oh, shit.”
Steve giggles again, swaying in Eddie’s lap.
“How much?” Eddie asks, touching Steve's chin to make him turn his head so Eddie can push his hair back.
“Maybe like from here…” Steve touches his temple and traces a line across the side of his head to touch behind his ear. “…to here.”
“Fuck, okay.”
“You’ll do it?” Steve asks excitedly.
“If you’re one hundred percent positive you want me to,” Eddie says firmly. “And if you promise you won’t hate me if-slash-when I destroy your hair.”
“You won’t ruin my hair,” Steve says softly, still grinning. “And you could shave my all hair clean off and I wouldn’t hate you, Eddie baby,” he adds softly, tracing a line down Eddie’s throat. “I trust you.”
“Should you, though?” Eddie manages to ask weakly, his cheeks flushing.
Steve’s nose scrunches.
“I do,” he tells him. He kisses him softly, still smiling. “Will you cut my hair for me?”
“Okay,” Eddie breathes, his eyes still closed as Steve’s lips brush his.
A few minutes later, Eddie finds himself standing behind Steve in the bathroom, scissors in one hand, clippers in the other, as Steve sits on a tall stool he dragged over from the kitchen.
Steve is smiling, looking at him in the mirror.
“Okay, wait,” Eddie says, blinking hard and setting the scissors and clippers down. “Show me again.”
Steve points to his head, gesturing where he wants it cut, and Eddie reaches for the comb.
He combs Steve’s hair carefully, as gently as he can, furrowing his brows as he parts the hair to separate it where Steve wants it. Steve is watching in the mirror, smiling, gazing.
“Like this?” he asks when he finishes, stepping back, holding the hair out of the way for Steve to see. “That good?”
“A little more,” Steve says. Eddie fixes it. “Yeah.”
“Okay, hold this.”
Steve reaches up and holds the hair for him as Eddie does the other side, looking back and forth between Steve’s head and the mirror to make sure it’s even.
“Okay,” he sighs when it’s done, holding the hair out of the way and setting the comb down. “Alright.”
Steve is grinning giddily, his eyes gleaming.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Eddie mutters, reaching for the scissors.
“You took me to graffiti the high school,” Steve says, holding back a laugh, “and you’re shocked that we’re cutting my hair?”
“You’re Steve the Hair Harrington—”
“Fuck my hair!”
Eddie is doubling over in laughter, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, which is shaking as Steve laughs too.
“Babe,” Steve says loudly. “Do it!”
“Why am I more scared than you?” Eddie exclaims. They’re practically shouting at each other, their voices bright and happy and echoing off the tile walls.
“I have nothing to lose,” Steve says, grinning.
“You have this.” Eddie holds up the bundle of Steve’s hair he’s holding. Steve shrugs lightly, smiling. “What do I have to lose?”
“…My trust?”
“Steve!”
“I’m kidding!”
“Oh my god—”
“Just do it,” Steve says excitedly. “Do it, do it, do it, do—”
“Okay!” Eddie tugs the hair gently, making Steve shut up, and Steve giggles. “Okay, alright. Okay.”
He reaches for the scissors before he meets Steve’s eye in the mirror. He pauses, gazing back at him, at the hair they’re both holding. It looks a bit silly, the hair they’re holding from opposite sides of his head, like his head is hanging from their hands, but he’s glowing with a bright smile.
“Kiss for luck,” he says, tilting his head and leaning down as Steve turns to face him. They kiss slowly, carefully, and Eddie has to tear himself away before he can forget what they’re doing.
He lines the scissors up, watching carefully, and squeezes his eyes shut, listening to the sharp snips as he cuts through it.
Steve is giggling as the hair falls to the floor.
Eddie focuses harder than he’s ever focused in his life when he turns the clippers on, carefully holding Steve’s uncut hair out of the way as he buzzes the hair short.
Eddie is silent as he cuts the other side, and Steve’s hand falls after he looks at the cut hair in his fingers before he drops it to the ground.
When he finishes, Eddie turns the clippers off, and the room falls an odd sort of silent that seems to bounce off the tiles. Eddie can hear his own breath. He sets the clippers down on the counter, brushing hair off Steve’s shoulder before he looks at him in the mirror.
Steve is staring at himself, lips parted, eyes wide. Almost in awe.
“Holy shit, Steve,” Eddie says softly. Steve looks at him in the mirror, lips curving into a smile. “Alright?”
“Fuck. Yeah.”
Eddie combs his fingers through his hair, pulling it back into a small knot that wouldn’t be able to hold with a hair tie, exposing the shaven sides. Steve beams, his eyes shining.
“God,” Eddie breathes. “You have any idea how gorgeous your smile is?”
Steve's smile widens and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as his cheeks flush pink.
“Fuck.” Eddie stands up straight, releasing Steve’s hair and watching it fall. “You like it?”
“I love it, Eddie,” Steve says, looking at himself in the mirror and reaching up to his hair, styling it almost lazily, pushing it back and fluffing it. Eddie flushes with heat.
“Okay,” he breathes, watching. Steve notices the shift in Eddie after a moment, and he looks at him.
“What is it?”
“Uh.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re really hot.”
Steve’s face lights up.
“You think?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
His face is burning, and his stomach is fluttering, and Steve is just grinning at him before he turns to look over his shoulder at him. He tilts his chin up at Eddie to wordlessly ask for a kiss, and Eddie obliges without hesitation.
Their mouth crash together, and Steve reaches up to push his fingers into his hair, tugging it gently in a way that makes Eddie shiver as he holds Steve’s face in his hands. He gives everything in the kiss, every ounce of desperation and hope, and when they part, they’re both panting.
“Oh,” Steve says breathlessly. He pulls away to look at Eddie. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown, glistening, and his cheeks are flushed pink.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, caressing his cheek. “I, uhm…”
“Do you…” Steve pulls Eddie’s head closer to press their foreheads together, speaking so quietly Eddie can just hear him. “Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I want to.”
“Fuck. Okay.”
He kisses Eddie again, biting his lip and slowly standing up off the stool to pull Eddie closer. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, pushing his hands under the hoodie to press to his soft skin.
“Are you sure?” Stew asks breathlessly between feverish kisses as Eddie tries to keep up, holding him desperately.
“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes. Do you want to?”
“Yeah,” Steve exhales against his lips. “Fuck, yeah, I do, I want to.”
“Okay.” He tugs at the hem of the hoodie as Steve presses a hard kiss to his lip, and after a moment Steve leans back, letting Eddie pull it over his head and toss it to the ground. It lands in Steve’s hair.
Eddie lets Steve pull his shirt over his head. It fucks up his hair, sending it across his face in a staticky mess, and they both giggle as Steve tosses the shirt away and combs through Eddie’s hair.
“Woah,” he breathes after a moment, his eyes finding the spider inked on Eddie’s chest.
“Oh, I forgot about that. You didn’t see it the night you sleep over?”
Steve shakes his head. He traces the legs with a light fingertip.
“Was distracted by your bed head.”
“Ha.”
“Why a spider?” Steve murmurs, touching it. Eddie slides his hands over his waist softly, squeezing. He shrugs.
“Thought it was cool.”
“Oh, so metal, man,” Steve teases dryly without looking up, and Eddie pinches him, scrunching his nose at him. Steve suppresses a grin. “‘S pretty.”
“You’re pretty.”
Steve smiles brightly before he pulls him into another kiss, sliding his hand over Eddie’s chest firmly.
“‘M nervous,” Eddie admits when they part to breathe.
“We don’t have to.”
“No, I want to. I just… I’m just nervous.”
“I am too.”
Eddie smiles softly, nudging their noses together as he exhales.
“You don’t have to be.”
“You don’t either.”
Eddie kisses him softly.
“I’m still nervous.”
“God, me too,” Steve says, laughing softly, his breath on Eddie’s face.
“Why are you nervous?” Eddie questions, tracing a line over Steve’s spine lightly. Steve exhales before he lifts his head, looking into his eyes. He looks like he might cry. His hair is messy, his cheeks flushed warm, and he shrugs weakly, tracing Eddie’s collarbone.
“Want it to be special,” he murmurs softly, shyly.
“Everything is special with you, Stevie,” Eddie says quietly, pulling him closer and sliding his hand up his back. He’s always so warm. “That’s what love is.”
Steve’s eyes glisten. He blinks at him, swallowing thickly, and his lip quivers for a moment. Eddie tilts his head, opening his mouth to say something like Oh, sweetheart or My love, but Steve interrupts him with a hard kiss.
“Bedroom?” Eddie gasps when they part, his fingertips digging into Steve’s sides.
“Come on.”
Steve takes his hands, kissing him one more time before he pulls at him, dragging him out of the bathroom and down the hall into they’re giggling and stumbling up the stairs.
part 22 read the whole thing on ao3 tagging: @thehumblefigtree @doilooklikebees <3 comment to be tagged in part 22 :)
#just realised theres only one chapter left of this#and then the epilogue#but#oh god#anyway#the 'thats what love' dialogue has been stuck in my head for like a year and I've been wanting to use it#but i didnt know what to use it for#but this scene was so perfect for it I'm so happy#ok anything go drink some water and eat something and take your meds#love u guys#steddie#steddie fanfic#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#love me softly
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Bicycle Race
Inspired by Queen and my oblivious self as a child:
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Steve liked Queen. He’d hum along to the music while driving, or whenever it came along on the radio. While he never said he was an avid fan, he had a few songs on rotation on his mixtape. We Will Rock You, Somebody To Love, Don’t Stop Me Now, Bohemian Rhapsody. All great, fun tunes to pop into the player when he felt like it.
But there was one song that Steve always perked up at. Where his eyes got a little shiny, and he’d sing along to no matter who was in the car with him.
Eddie learned this about Steve pretty early on in their friendship. With the former king of Hawkins driving him around so much, he was bound to see this side of him.
“I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike~!”
Steve had a great voice, Eddie realized. Even if the music wasn’t exactly his scene, he could listen to Steve sing along for hours.
“I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like~!”
Bitting back a joke, the metalhead focused on Steve instead. On the way he danced in his seat, tapping in time with the music. At the way he knew the lyrics by heart, and the way he giggled through “I say hey man, Jaws was never my scene and I don't like Star Wars!” With a little “Fuck You Keith!” Added on with so much gusto, Eddie knew he had to ask about it one day.
The third time Bicycle Race came on when they were in the car together, Eddie was ready. Was it a dumb idea? Probably. Did he hope Steve would find it funny anyway? Absolutely.
They were sitting in front of a long red light. Steve was jamming along in his seat, singing away like usual. He had asked once, if Eddie minded, and the memory of how quick Eddie was to assuring that he didn’t was only just a bit embarrassing.
“Fuck you Keith~!”
Eddie hoped his smile wasn’t too noticeable, or the way he swallowed down a laugh. He needed to be ready.
“You say Rolls-“
“I say Royce!”
Steve stumbled, blinking over at Eddie, who was already looking at him. “You say God give me a choice!” Eddie added, internally praying to whatever cosmic being who would hear him that Steve didn’t get annoyed.
The smile Steve flashed him was beautiful.
“You say Lord-!“
“I say Christ-!”
“I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman, All I wanna do is-!”
A loud honk interrupted them. The two jumped, looking up at the green light and then at the man driving past them with a waving fist. Steve looked at Eddie, Eddie looked at Steve.
“Bicycle~?” Eddie sang, laughter making his shoulders shake. Steve wheezed, soon driving down the road. “Bicycle!”
“I want to ride it where I like~!”
The song soon ends, but the two were still giggling over it. “I didn’t know you liked Queen?” Steve ventured, turning a corner. “Like, it’s not very uh..metal?” He added, almost like he was trying not to offend him. “I don’t listen to him a lot, no, but Y’know that song kinda speaks to me.” Eddie jokes, looking over at Steve knowingly, only for him to look confused.
“It’s the first one you heard too?” He ventures, and Eddie weighs his next words carefully. “Nah, it’s uh…cuz I’m Bi. Or well, I usually go with Pan but there aren’t a lot of Pan songs.”
There’s a long silence, and Eddie can feel the ache in his stomach. In his heart. Had he misread Steve wrong? “I’m just joking man, I-“
Steve starts laughing. “Wait, that’s what that song is about? Oh my god…Well, that explains a few things about myself.” He turns to look over at Eddie, who slow blinks. “Wait you-“
“Yeah.” Steve admits, and he’s gazing at Eddie with a look that left the metalhead’s cheeks heating up. “I thought I just realized it this year, but I guess even back then some part of me knew.” He snorts, leaning back against the seat with a heavy sigh. “You’re the only other person I’ve said this to other than Robin.”
Eddie fiddles with one of his rings. “You’re the first person I’ve told directly, other than Wayne.”
The rest of the drive isn’t eventful, but as Steve drives Eddie up to his trailer, the two pause as another song floats from the speakers. Steve smiles, tawny brown eyes shifting over to look at Eddie. There was a hope in his eyes that lured Eddie back into the car. The sound of it clicking closed barely registered to the metalhead as Steve’s voice filled his mind.
“Can anybody find me somebody to love~?”
#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#eddie stranger things#stranger things hc#thebunspeaks#eddie munson x steve harrington#eddie x steve#steve stranger things#steve x eddie#would you believe me if I told you I learned that Bicycle Race was about Bisexuality at 19 years old?#I’m 22 for reference#I swear I had no idea-#I never claimed to be the smartest person out there#happy pride 🌈#biseuxal#bi steve harrington#bi eddie munson#it’s literally one of my fave Queen soon too
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One year trusting the process
Here, a little redraw of the very first steddie piece I ever did.
When I say "trust the process", this is what I mean. It's not only through a piece, from idea, to sketch, to final version. It's trusting the process over and over again. It's trusting yourself. It's stop focusing on what other people do, for better or for worse, and just keep doing your thing. Keep doing what makes you happy.
Don't compare to other people's work. There's no growth in that. But compare to your past self. That's where growth and love resides.
I hope it's clear that when I say "trust the process" it's me begging you to love and celebrate yourself.
I did that with all of you and it's been an amazing fucking journey.
Thank you so, so much, to all of you.
#inklessletter#trust the process#redraw#steddie#fanart#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#i love you all <3
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A Leash, a Van, and a Christmas Plan
steddie | rated teen | 3.7k | tags: Christmas fluff, Nurse Steve, meet-cute, Bear the dog | Read on AO3
Steve had always wanted a dog—ever since he could remember. As a kid, he would beg his parents endlessly, swearing up and down that he’d take care of it. He’d walk it, feed it, clean up after it.
Despite all his promises, a dog remained one of the few things he didn’t get as a child, right alongside the attention and affection he truly craved.
So, the moment he could afford his own flat, he knew exactly what to do. Together with his best friend Robin, he made his way to the local shelter in search of a furry companion. Robin, a self-proclaimed cat person, indulged him in this quest to fulfill his childhood dream.
They wandered the shelter for what felt like hours. Even Robin started to joke that they should just take all the dogs home. Steve, however, found the decision nearly impossible. How could he pick just one? They all deserved to feel safe and loved.
Steve was not projecting. Okay?
Anyway, just as they were about to give up, they passed what looked like an empty kennel. A faint growl stopped Steve in his tracks. Curious, he stepped closer and found a small black bundle cowering in the far corner. The dog was young, terrified, and yet somehow still looked like it was ready to take on the entire world.
“Robin!” Steve called over his shoulder. His friend was busy fussing over a golden retriever a few kennels ahead. “Can you get someone from the staff?”
A week later, after passing all the background checks and paperwork, Steve brought Cerberus home.
The name wasn’t his idea. That credit went to Dustin, one of the kids who worked at the shelter. Dustin had taken one look at the little dog and declared that it would grow into a huge, black monster, making “Cerberus” the perfect name. Steve hated it—but he liked the kid enough to keep it.
Besides, they ended up calling him Bear anyway.
That had been three years ago. Since then, Bear had grown into the huge, black monster Dustin had predicted—well, minus the monster part. Unless, of course, you counted being a total cuddle monster.
Still, Bear was a big guy, and his size alone was enough to make most people wary. It didn’t help that he was fiercely protective of Steve, growling at anyone who dared to come too close. He always needed time to warm up to new people, but once you were accepted as part of his pack, you had a loyal friend for life.
Steve didn’t mind Bear’s intimidating presence, though. If anything, it made him feel safer. As a nurse at the local hospital, his unpredictable shifts meant late-night walks were a regular part of their routine. Bear’s size and low, rumbling growl made it easy for Steve to wander through quiet streets at night without a second thought.
It was on one of those walks—a bitterly cold December night, just two days before Christmas—that everything changed.
Months of working with Chrissy, his dog trainer, had paid off in more ways than one. Steve ended up with a kind-of-well-behaved-but-stubborn dog willing to (mostly) cooperate, and Robin got herself a girlfriend who was every bit as amazing as she deserved. Even if it meant that Steve would have to spend Christmas alone this year, while Robin took Chrissy home to her parents for the first time.
Usually, walking Bear was uneventful—a blessing, considering Steve, despite being fit and regularly working out at the hospital gym, was no match for 145 pounds of determined dog. Bear stayed close to Steve’s side, happy to keep watch, growling menacingly at any perceived threats but always trusting Steve to handle things.
That’s why Steve wasn’t gripping the leash as tightly as he should have been. His thoughts were far away, preoccupied with a little boy he’d been tending to—a boy stuck in the hospital over Christmas and heartbreakingly sad about it. Steve was busy planning ways to make the holiday festive for the kids in his ward when it happened: a sudden, sharp tug on the leash.
The leash slipped from his fingers before he could react.
“Bear!” Steve shouted, his voice cracking with shock and just a little more panic than he’d like. “Come!”
Bear, however, had other ideas. He bolted, disappearing into the dense trees at the edge of the park.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Steve swore as he took off after him, already regretting not listening to Robin when she suggested a cat. A cat, after all, wouldn’t have him tripping through brambles and stumbling over undergrowth, with only his runner’s light bouncing wildly to guide him.
Finding a black dog in the pitch-dark night was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Impossible.
“Bear!” Steve called again, cupping his hands around his mouth to carry his voice further. “Come here, buddy!”
He stopped, straining to hear anything—a rustle, a bark, a clue—but all he got in return was the sound of his own heavy breathing and the distant hoot of an owl. The silence felt louder somehow, now that one of his senses was compromised.
The realization crept in slowly, chilling him even more than the night air: he was alone, in the dark, with his dog gone and no one else around.
His breath came in visible puffs, clouds of mist dissipating into the cold. A shiver ran through him, though he couldn’t quite tell if it was from the cold or the unsettling weight of his surroundings. The trees loomed, their shadows stretching longer than they should, and everything felt just a little off.
He was on the verge of giving up—tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, frustration mixing with fear—when a loud snap echoed through the stillness.
Steve flinched, his heart leaping into his throat.
Then, a deep, rumbling growl broke through the stillness, followed by a sharp bark.
“Bear!” Steve shouted, bolting toward the sound. More barks followed, their tone higher and lighter—not aggressive, but curious.
“Good boy,” a voice called out, shaky but trying for calm. “Or—uh—good girl? I don’t want to assume, man. Or… woman. Shit. Please don’t eat me?”
The voice sounded young, male and unmistakably terrified. Steve couldn’t blame him. Anyone would panic if they were cornered by 145 pounds of black fur and sharp teeth.
Forcing his legs to move faster and silently praying he wouldn’t trip over a stray root or branch, Steve barreled toward the commotion, his heart pounding in his chest. Bear was obviously holding someone hostage, and Steve had no idea what he was about to find.
He burst through the trees and stumbled into a clearing. There, parked at the edge, was an old van—and standing on top of it was a man.
The guy had his hands raised in a desperate, placating gesture, his voice trembling as he pleaded with Steve’s dog.
“Easy, big guy. Good boy. Or girl. Seriously, no need for violence here—”
Steve couldn’t tell you why, but the whole thing was so absurd, so completely surreal. Bear, massive and proud, sitting at the base of the van like some four-legged guardian, and the poor guy perched on the roof like he’d been treed by a bear. The adrenaline coursing through Steve’s veins, paired with the overwhelming relief that Bear was safe—and that no one appeared to be bleeding—hit him all at once.
Steve doubled over, hands on his knees, laughing in near hysteria.
Both Bear and the guy turned toward Steve’s laughter. Bear let out a low whuff, the canine equivalent of “Look what I found!” Meanwhile, the guy, clearly panicked, shouted at him.
“Run! There’s a wild beast—it’ll tear you apart if you don’t move! Hurry! I can try to distract it, but I don’t know if it’ll work.”
Another wave of laughter threatened to bubble up, but Steve managed to swallow it down. The poor guy was terrified, and yet he was still trying to save Steve. It was kind of adorable, in a completely ridiculous way.
Instead of laughing more, Steve decided to end the guy’s suffering. He walked toward them, shaking his head.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” the guy yelled, eyes wide. “Don’t come closer! I—I don’t think I can stop it!”
Steve smiled up at him, though in the dim light—provided by the van’s headlights and his bouncing runner’s light—he doubted the guy could see it. He kept walking until he was right beside Bear, the dog’s massive head level with his waist.
Calmly, he reached down to scratch behind Bear’s ears and said, loud enough for the guy to hear, “What do you think you’re doing, huh? We talked about this. No running away, and definitely no hunting down poor, innocent people.”
Bear responded with another satisfied whuff, his tail wagging furiously despite the fact that he was still sitting.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” The voice from above sounded incredulous. “Are you some kind of dog whisperer or that your beast?”
Steve looked up at Bear’s hostage, and upon realizing that his runner’s light was blinding him, turned it off. He could still see well enough with the headlights casting a warm light close by after his eyes had adjusted. The first thing he noticed were the guy’s eyes. They were huge and almost black in the low light, sitting atop full lips on a pale face framed by dark curls. He was adorable and hot.
“Sorry,” Steve began, running a hand through his hair. “Not a dog whisperer, or this big guy wouldn’t have bolted the second I got distracted and loosened my grip on the leash. In my defense, though, he’s never done that before. You must smell pretty incredible for him to chase you all the way down here.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Steve wanted to slap himself. Once upon a time, he had game. Real game. But apparently, those days were long gone, and now he was reduced to this—word vomiting as soon as he came face-to-face with a hot guy.
The guy—whom Steve had silently dubbed Bambi because of those wide, enchanting doe eyes—blinked at him, utterly speechless. Steve dared to hope he was overwhelmed by Steve’s suave charm, but that hope was dashed by the guy’s next words.
“Are you for real? You’re telling me it’s my fault for smelling like dog food that your… your beast chased me down?”
Something about the incredulous tone, coupled with the faint tremor in his voice that betrayed more lingering embarrassment than true anger, lit a spark of mischief in Steve. He wanted to make the guy laugh, to banish the last traces of fear, and—let’s be honest—to see how those full lips would look wrapped around a smile.
“Not dog food, no,” Steve said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Bear here is a professionally trained drug detection dog. So he must’ve picked up something really interesting to go off the rails like that.”
It was meant as a joke—obviously, Bear was no such thing as a professionally trained anything. But at Steve’s words, Bambi’s eyes widened to cartoonish proportions. Before Steve could assure him he was kidding, the guy scrambled to climb down the other side of the van, his movements jerky with panic.
“Whoa, hey—wait!” Steve called out, stepping forward, but it was too late.
There was a sharp slip, followed by a dull thud and a pained groan.
Steve hurried toward the spot where Bambi had hit the ground with an alarming thud, but Bear was faster.
“Please make it quick, big guy. Haven’t I suffered enough already?” came a slightly wheezing voice, followed by another soft whuff.
When Steve rounded the corner of the van, he stopped dead in his tracks, the scene before him equal parts surreal and hilarious.
Bambi was sprawled on the ground, spread-eagled, his head tilted to one side. Bear sat beside him, their faces mere inches apart. Bear’s loose fur and skin hung comically, his head tilted in a way that screamed curiosity, as if he were silently asking, “What are you doing down there?”
Steve considered taking a picture. Robin and Chrissy would never believe this otherwise. But a low groan from Bambi snapped him out of it.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Steve asked, quickly crossing the remaining distance. He dropped to his knees on Bambi’s other side, mirroring Bear’s concerned expression as he leaned over him.
“This is hell,” Bambi muttered, his voice heavy with dramatic despair. “The hellhound Cerberus has chased me to my demise, and now Charon’s coming to ferry my soul to Tartarus.”
Steve blinked. Was this guy serious? A concussion seemed likely at this point. But it was hard to ignore the weird coincidence that Bambi knew Bear’s namesake.
“I’m so sorry, man,” Steve said, raking a hand through his hair. “It was just a joke—I didn’t think you’d believe me. Robin’s right. I’m hopeless.” He let out a frustrated groan. “I mean, who almost gets someone killed trying to make them laugh?”
To Steve’s surprise, a hand reached out and found his, squeezing it once.
“You wanted to make me laugh?” Bambi asked, his voice soft.
“That’s what you’re focusing on? Not the ‘almost got you killed’ part?” Steve sighed, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah. You looked so scared and embarrassed. I just wanted to see you smile. So I made a dumb joke… and ended up getting you hurt instead.”
Bambi—he needed to find out the guy’s name, Steve reminded himself—hummed softly, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “So, just to be clear: You’re not a cop, and he—” he gestured toward Bear, still sitting like this was all a casual hangout in the park—“is not a drug detection dog?”
Steve let out a rueful laugh, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as warmth crept up his cheeks. “Nope. Not a cop. Not a drug detection dog. Just a pediatric nurse with a terrible sense of humor and a dog who’s usually better behaved.”
Bambi’s tentative smile grew into something full and radiant, so dazzling that Steve momentarily lost track of everything else. It was the kind of smile that made you think cheesy things, like comparing it to the sunrise—hopeful and brilliant, warming something deep in Steve’s chest.
“What’s your name?” Steve asked, shaking himself back to reality. “I keep calling you Bambi in my head, and I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”
That did it. The man on the ground burst into surprised laughter, his head tipping back as his eyes crinkled at the corners, the sound bright and unrestrained. It sent a wave of smug satisfaction through Steve, though it didn’t last long. The laughter soon faded into a low groan, Bambi wincing as the movement jostled whatever injury he’d sustained.
“Shit, sorry,” Steve blurted, words tumbling out as his concern surged. “Are you okay? God, I didn’t mean—”
The guy’s hand found Steve’s again, squeezing it firmly. “Shhh,” he soothed, his voice low and warm. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. I mean, your sense of humor might be the death of me, but what a way to go, huh?”
Steve barked a startled laugh at that, though it quickly gave way to a more serious tone. “I’d really prefer you don’t die on me,” he said, pausing deliberately for the guy to fill in the gap.
“Eddie,” came the soft reply.
Steve smiled, relief and something else he couldn’t quite name washing over him. “I’d rather you don’t die on me, Eddie.”
They were both smiling at each other, the night cold and silent around them, as if the world had paused just for this moment. And then, as if the universe wanted to underscore how surreal and cinematic everything felt, it started to snow.
Big, soft flakes drifted down, landing on Eddie’s long eyelashes and melting on his nose and cheeks. Eddie’s smile widened, his expression pure delight as he laughed softly, tilting his face up to the sky. Without hesitation, he stuck out his tongue to catch a few flakes, his laughter bubbling up again at the absurdity of it.
In that instant, Steve felt very much like one of those snowflakes—falling, utterly and irrevocably.
“So, Nurse—” Eddie’s voice broke through the quiet, pulling Steve from his rose-tinted thoughts.
“Huh?” Steve blinked, realizing he’d been staring.
Eddie grinned, a hint of mischief lighting his face. “I was being sneaky, trying to find out your name,” he explained, “while also asking for a little help here. As much as I’m enjoying the view, it’s getting kind of cold down here.” He shifted slightly, wincing before adding with a smirk, “I thought I’d be clever and ask Nurse Prince Charming—that’s what I’ve been calling you in my head since we cleared up the Charon situation—to help his patient off the ground.”
Steve threw his head back and laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained. He couldn’t help but feel charmed by Eddie’s offbeat but endearing mannerisms. In all his life, he couldn’t remember meeting anyone quite like him—and they’d only known each other for a few minutes.
“It’s Steve,” he said finally, his smile lingering. “And I’d prefer to check you out real quick—” he paused, realizing how that sounded, and tried to recover, “—to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself too badly before helping you up. That okay?”
Eddie’s grin turned sly. “Oh, darling, you can check me out as much as you want,” he replied, tongue-in-cheek.
Heat flooded Steve’s cheeks at the innuendo, even as he tried to stay professional. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, though he couldn’t deny that having an excuse to touch Eddie wasn’t exactly the worst thing in the world.
“I think it’s safe to say it’s nothing life-threatening if you can joke around like that,” Steve said, shaking his head but unable to hide his fond smile.
Eddie snorted—a sound that shouldn’t have been cute but somehow was—while Steve carefully began to palpate his ribs.
“My uncle always said my last words would be a joke,” Eddie mused, wincing slightly as Steve pressed on a tender spot. “Probably after my big mouth got me into trouble.”
Steve chuckled softly, trying to keep the mood light as he continued his examination. “Well, I’m not letting you test that theory tonight, so sit tight.”
Eddie’s ribs were bruised, and he’d probably be sore for a few days, but thankfully, there was no serious injury. Steve helped him up carefully, Bear trailing close, unusually subdued but steadfast. The dog stuck by their sides as Steve walked Eddie around the van to its rear. Following Eddie’s quiet instructions, Steve opened the door and helped him settle inside.
The interior was cramped but functional. A mattress with a thick sleeping bag was tucked in the back, surrounded by scattered clothes, empty bottles, a bong, a pizza box, and an acoustic guitar propped against the passenger seat. The van had the unmistakable feel of a makeshift home, and Steve’s heart sank.
Eddie caught him staring, and a nervous laugh bubbled out as he rushed to explain. “It’s not what it looks like... God, I can’t believe I just said that. Jeez—” He cut himself off with a sharp breath, grimacing from the strain. After a moment, he added, quieter, “I know it looks bad, okay? But it’s just for a few days. Until I get back on my feet. It’s fine. Just a hiccup.”
The words were defensive, but the shame lurking beneath them hit Steve like a punch to the gut. Eddie was trying to downplay it, but the tightness in his voice gave him away. Steve wanted to say something, anything, but before he could, Bear whined softly, breaking the silence. The big dog nudged Eddie’s thigh with his muzzle, his soulful brown eyes a perfect mirror of Eddie’s own.
Eddie, who’d been so terrified of Bear earlier, now reached out instinctively, stroking the thick fur of his head and neck. His fingers found the sweet spot behind Bear’s ears, and the dog leaned into the touch, letting out a contented huff.
“You were planning to sleep here tonight?” Steve asked softly, the question heavy with concern.
Eddie didn’t look up. He just nodded, his hand still moving absently through Bear’s fur.
Steve cursed silently. The thought of Eddie spending the night in this van, in freezing temperatures, sent a chill down his spine. Even if he kept the engine running, the risks—carbon monoxide poisoning, frostbite, worse—were too high. Steve couldn’t stomach the idea.
“Come home with us,” he said, the words tumbling out before the thought had fully formed. He just knew he couldn’t leave Eddie here.
“What?” Eddie blinked, his hand pausing mid-stroke. Bear, displeased by the interruption, let out a soft, insistent whuff and nudged Eddie’s hand again.
Steve forced a smile, trying to sound casual. “Bear and I both want you to come home with us. I can bandage your ribs properly, and you can keep petting Bear. Clearly, he’s touch-starved and desperately needs some affection.”
Once again, Steve was not projecting. Okay?
Eddie raised an eyebrow, scanning his face carefully. "Oh, so Bear needs some affection, huh?”
Steve rolled his eyes, his cheeks heating. “Look, are you coming or not? Because I’m not leaving until you agree, and I’ll have you know Bear can be very persuasive.”
At that, Bear whuffed again, his tail thumping lightly against the van floor, as if to second Steve’s statement.
Eddie’s lips twitched, and for a moment, Steve thought he might actually laugh. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?”
“Not really,” Steve admitted, his tone softening. “But seriously, Eddie. Let us take care of you. Just for tonight.”
Eddie hesitated, his gaze dropping to Bear, who was still gazing up at him with unrelenting devotion. Finally, he sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine. But only because your dog’s giving me the eyes.”
Steve grinned, relief flooding through him. “Smart choice. Bear’s impossible to say no to.”
Bear, as if understanding, let out a low, approving bark.
As Eddie took the hand Steve offered, his fingers cold but steady, Steve felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the touch itself. It was the kind of warmth that came with hope—the quiet, surprising hope that maybe neither of them would have to spend Christmas alone this year.
#steddie#steddie fanfic#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie au#stranger things fanfiction#my writing
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No Upside Down steddie AU where Steve gradually meets the members of Hellfire (-Eddie) in and out of school and they all come to befriending him really fast because “Steve Harrington is actually a good dude”
But Eddie fucking hates it.
And this only spurs Hellfire on because they think him getting mad over Steve Harrington is fucking hilarious.
Jeff who takes a foods class in third period and Steve does to and then the teacher pairs them for a baking project and Jeff gets to go to Casa Harrington. And he realizes rather quickly that Steve really likes baking and cooking and actually knows what he’s doing and that he’s not just taking the class for an easy A.
Brian (I’ve named him Brian, yes), meets Steve in Art class. Like Jeff, he thought Steve was taking it for an easy A but when seats are changed and they sit together he realizes that, no, Steve’s actually kind of good at drawing (particularly scenery). They get to talking about one of Steve’s sketches and the rest is history.
Gareth doesn’t officially meet Steve until later, but he does see him out with the kids at the arcade. Gareth works at the arcade and there’s this particular group of kids that just irks him— turns out they’re Steve’s gaggle. He watches in begrudging amusement while Steve rounds them up like a pro.
Then Gareth officially meets him after Hellfire one day. It’s fucking windy and he’s just leaving to school to go home when the papers and sheets he was holding are fucking torn from his hands. Steve grabs the papers— there after some kind of sports practice— and makes sure Gareth has them secured in his bad before leaving with a dorky finger-waggle wave.
And Eddie just downright refuses.
And then the school year ends and Steve graduates. And he’s convinced he doesn’t have to see Steve again.
Until, of course, Mike Dustin and Lucas join.
Jeff, Gareth, and Brian are all ecstatic to share their own run-ins of Steve Harrington to the three boys who so clearly idolize him. Gareth happily recalls how Steve “tamed” them in the arcade every time he came in.
Eddie sits in brooding silence.
And then Lucas joins the basketball team. And sure— Jeff’s on the volleyball team— but basketball jocks are so much worse than volleyball jocks.
Mike and Dustin, however thrown out of orbit they were at first, seem to settle in eventually and learn to plan around it. They think that anything that makes Lucas happy is a good thing (even if it did take a bit of a talk with Will for them to realize).
But Eddie? Eddie can’t stand it.
Which is why he refuses to move the date for the final campaign.
But Eddie doesn’t even get to introduce Vecna before Steve Harrington himself is all but breaking down the fucking door.
Eddie has this whole argument in his head that quickly dwindles when he sees the pure anger in Steve’s eyes (and also because Steve is really fucking pretty holy shit).
Steve tells Dustin Mike and Erica to pack up and get to the game before he drags them and you know what?
They listen.
Including hard ass Erica Sinclair.
And then idk Steve and Eddie get into a whole fight about.
But Steve makes it very clear that he doesn’t appreciate Eddie making Lucas feel like he can’t be happy doing DnD and basketball because that poor boy deserves nice things dammit.
And Eddie sleeps on it over the weekend before hunting Lucas down first thing Monday morning to apologize.
Lucas forgive Eddie (against Eddie’s protest because let the man grovel) but makes Eddie also apologize to Steve.
Which Eddie does by showing up to the Harrington Estate.
Eddie apologizes and they get high together and the rest is history.
.
I might actually make this into something, it’s already pretty fleshed out but eh
#stranger things#steve harrington#dustin henderson#mike wheeler#eddie munson#robin buckley#will byers#lucas sinclair#max mayfield#el hopper#gareth emerson#jeff from hellfire#the dude I named brian#hellfire club#corroded coffin#minor steve x cc#you can’t escape the harrington charm#jeff and steve play volleyball together#probably gareth x jeff#but hella steddie#steddie#eventual steddie#steve x eddie#eddie x steve
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we share that really
for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt ‘band politics’
rated t | 905 words | no cw | tags: famous corroded coffin, reunion tour, future fic, steddie dads, everyone has a family and is happy
🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸
Their label said it was too soon to do a reunion tour. They were only in their early 40s and had only been officially “broken up” for ten years.
But they were all in the right place: married, children who were old enough to come on tour but still young enough to be excited about it, and writing music that meant more to them than anything they’d done before.
Rumors had swirled for years after they announced their break up. None of them saw it as a breakup, more an early retirement that let them focus on building their lives. Fans and media alike hadn’t stopped coming up with other reasons for it: Gareth had been in love with Eddie for years and finally said something which caused friction, Jeff’s wife had threatened to divorce him if he didn’t take time off, Frankie had a drinking problem that was spreading like a viral disease.
None of it was even close to true.
The one and only reason for all of them was that they wanted to focus on their families for a while.
They stayed in touch, almost more than when they were on tour together. Jeff and Gareth lived in the same neighborhood, and Frankie bought an RV so he could come visit as often as he wanted. Eddie had traveled for a very extended honeymoon with Steve for nearly a year before finally settling an hour away, halfway between his favorite people and Steve’s favorite person.
They still played together at least once a month, a full set and any new stuff someone brought with them.
So when they all agreed it was time to come back and record a new album and do a tour, it wasn’t really a reunion so much as an excuse to be even closer for a while.
The label was thrilled, willing to give everyone their own tour bus so their families could come with them for the US part of the tour.
One thing none of them were prepared for was the media following the announcement.
“Is it true that you only just reconciled after years of legal battles about rights to songs?” A journalist from Rolling Stone asked.
Gareth snorted. “Not even a little, dude. We’ve been best friends this entire time.”
“So there was never any issue with Eddie being the most famous?”
Everyone looked over at Eddie, who was making faces at his youngest daughter at the side of the stage. Jeff leaned into his mic and gestured over to him.
“None of us have ever had a problem with him being the face of the band. We’re here to make music and perform, not fight over who gets to be in the center of pictures,” he said. “Plus, none of us would wanna deal with what he deals with on a daily basis. He’s not that interesting, I promise.”
Everyone laughed as Eddie turned back to the crowd with a smile. “I’m super boring. Just ask my kids.”
"So you don't mind that he gets creative control?" Another reporter asked.
They all shared looks with each other before Eddie leaned forward into his microphone to answer.
"I don't have creative control. We all share it. We all share everything. That's the point of a band like ours. Sometimes I know what sounds best for a guitar solo, sometimes Jeff does. Sometimes Gareth writes a chorus that people will sing along to, sometimes Frankie does. We've never had any of that lead person bullshit no matter what the media wants to show," Eddie drummed once on the table. "Are there any questions about the upcoming album and tour or is everyone here gonna keep asking about shit that isn't true?"
"Language!" Steve yelled from the side of the room.
Everyone laughed and Eddie waved him off.
They got more questions about the album and the tour and it finally seemed like everyone was done asking about band politics until the very end.
"So will Eddie still be the lead guy for the reunion?" Someone from the back asked.
Eddie banged his head against the table.
"Alright, thanks everyone! We'll see you on tour!" Gareth yelled as he pulled Eddie's arm so they could all exit the stage.
"They want us to hate each other so bad," Frankie shook his head.
"Look at this face," Gareth said as he grabbed Eddie's jaw in one hand, squeezing his cheeks until his lips pouted out. "Who could hate this face?"
"Shit!" A small voice exclaimed from behind them.
Eddie turned to see his youngest daughter smiling up at him and Steve standing next to her with his hands on his hips.
"You're right, sweetie. Daddy's in deep shit," Eddie leaned in to kiss Steve's cheek. "And he is so sorry for breaking the no bad words rule today. He really is."
"Our fearless leader appears to be absolutely fucked," Jeff said as he started to walk towards his wife and kids.
Gareth trailed behind him in search of his own family.
Frankie punched Eddie's shoulder. "Good luck, big guy."
"Everyone hates me, call the media and tell them they were right," Eddie pouts.
Steve rolls his eyes and picks up their daughter, walking away.
Eddie turns to his twins. "Well, you guys don't care if I say shit."
"You said worse while getting ready this morning."
"And I'll say worse again! Let's get out of here."
#corroded coffin#corrodedcoffinfest#eddie munson#gareth stranger things#jeff stranger things#Frankie#steddie#steve harrington
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Substitute Santa
written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 22
prompt: Santa | rated: G | wc: 998 | tags: Eddie & Wayne Munson, single dad Steve Harrington, pre Steddie
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | AO3 (+bonus epilogue)
"Thank you, son. This means a lot to me."
Eddie grumbles into the phone, says 'No problem, old man. I'm happy to help.' before hanging up, not really feeling his own words despite his uncle's gratitude.
Eddie groans loudly, head tilted back, eyes pinched close - he really should've just said no. But he knows how important this is to Wayne and for all that man has done for him, this really is only a small favour to ask of his nephew.
It's just- ugh.
The prospect of having to sit in a room full of noisy, snotty children for three hours, wearing that ridiculous costume, sweating his butt off underneath the suit, is one Eddie could definitely do without.
For as long as he can remember, every year, his uncle has dressed up as Santa for the Hawkins' annual Christmas charity event at the community centre.
This year, unfortunately, Wayne won't be able to make it because- 'How are the kids supposed to believe Santa will bring their gifts in time when he can't even walk properly?'
Because unlike Santa, Wayne isn't some kind of magical creature, so when he tripped and broke his foot, it meant cast and crutches and rest, even if he keeps forgetting that last part.
Eddie had already made plans to visit him for the holidays, but since his accident happened a few days ago, he decided to take some time off work and head home a week earlier. Which, apparently, gave Wayne the idea that, instead of asking one of the many other possible candidates, Eddie could take up his role this year.
'Keeping up the Munson tradition.'
So, that's what got him into this mess. And although he knows it'll make his uncle happy, he dreads it. Hates it. Wishes it would already be over so he can forget all about it.
The community centre is packed with people. There are little stands where they sell handmade goods and cookies and hot drinks. And at the far end of the room, right in front of the beautifully decorated Christmas tree, he finds the area where half an hour from now, he'll be sitting in the massive wooden chair that reminds him a bit of the makeshift throne he used to sit in while playing his favourite nerd game with his friends in the school's basement.
His DM skills will come in handy today; he was always good at acting, doing voices, and slipping into different roles - so passing as Santa should be easy as pie.
Maybe it'll be half as bad as he thought. Although he's still not sure about handling the kids. Or their parents. Because he knows how impatient and annoying they can get when they have to wait in line for too long.
Two hours in, Eddie is already on the brink of a nervous breakdown. The kid on his lap has been crying for 5 minutes, not wanting to follow his embarrassed mother's plea to 'just sit still and look at the camera'. It's not the first time this happens, and he's pretty sure, not the last.
He already had to bite his tongue multiple times not to yell at someone for cutting the line, or at parents for trying to force their kids to sit on this big, scary man's lap when they clearly didn't want to. No 'nice picture for Grandma and Grandpa' is worth traumatising a child. So Eddie makes sure to always ask the kid in question whether they want to sit or just stand by his side.
When Sobbing Charly's mom has finally gotten a decent enough shot, Eddie takes a deep breath and turns to the next kid in line.
It's a girl, maybe 4 or 5, looking at him with big, curious eyes from where she’s half-hidden behind her dad.
"Robbie's a little shy, sorry. We can just come back later, don't wanna hold up the line," the man says apologetically, and when Eddie looks up at him, he instantly recognises the face.
Standing before him is Steve Harrington, someone he hasn't seen in years, who apparently has a daughter now, and- wow. Eddie needs a moment to process it all. Because he might've had a little crush on the guy back in high school. Okay maybe a massive one. And seeing him now, looking somehow even prettier than he had back then, makes Eddie’s heart flutter.
He shakes himself out of it and turns his attention back to the girl.
"Don't need to be shy Robbie, I know you've been very good this year. Just like your dad. Right, Steve?" Eddie winks at the man whose expression freezes when he seems to realise who is hidden underneath the costume.
"Dad! Santa knows your name!" the girl says in wonder and Eddie has to bite back a laugh.
"Duh, I told you Santa knows everything," Steve answers with a smile directed at Eddie and suddenly the room seems much brighter than before.
Robbie comes out of her hiding spot, still holding Steve's hand tight.
"Can my dad be in the photo with me?" she asks and her big, hazel eyes make Eddie's heart melt.
"Of course, he can."
Before Eddie realises what's happening, he's got both, Steve and his daughter in his lap, cheering at the camera and- Eddie will definitely need a drink after that, if he survives this.
Once they're done, Steve stands up quickly, mouthing 'Sorry' at him, smiling his pretty smile again, and Eddie feels hot all over. Must be the costume, he's sure.
He tries not to let his mind wander to other scenarios of Steve in his lap, turns to Robbie instead, acting as casual as possible when he asks her what her biggest wish for Christmas is.
She thinks about it for a moment, before leaning in to whisper in his ear.
"I wish my dad would find someone that makes him happy."
Oh.
Well. Eddie would gladly make that happen.
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I was bored so I wrote another one :)
They’ve defeated the UD and everyone came out of it okay. A!Eddie has to use a cane some days and O!Steve gets migraines but otherwise they’re fine. Steve helps everyone through their recovery but especially Eddie. This results in them spending a lot of time together and getting closer. Eddie would wish nothing more than to court the shit out of Steve. He’s kind and cute and perfect and adorable and… you get the point. But after about two weeks of Eddie laying in a hospital bed Steve actually told him why him and A!Nancy broke up and how he’s been a little hesitant to get into anything real since then, he just doesn’t want to get his heart broken like that again.
Once Eddie learns this he has to stop himself from growling every time he sees Nancy (it has only happened twice so far, contrary to popular belief he can actually behave thank you very much). He also realises that if he wants to court Steve he might have to do the dating version of gentle parenting. So. They take things slow. Really slow. Eddie basically just gets to know Steve like a good friend.
Suddenly nine months have passed, Christmas is over and they’re getting ready to celebrate New Years at the new Byers-Hopper house. Everyone is there and they’re all celebrating that the UD is gone and that they’ll all (hopefully) get a normal year for once. Midnight is getting closer and so is Steve and Eddie.
While they’re eating dinner they sit next to each other. Bumping shoulders while they clean up. Holding pinkies while they sit on the sofa and Joyce put “1987!” hats on them. Eddie with an arm around Steve’s waist while they’re talking to Robin. Whispering and giggling at each other's jokes.
Then it’s time to count down until midnight and they’re standing at the back of the room (Eddie still has his arm around Steve’s waist). It’s 10 seconds til the new year when Steve looks at Eddie and says
“Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
Cheering starts up around them.
“Happy New Year” and Steve kisses Eddie for the first time while their family celebrates around them. When they pull back both of them are blushing. Eddie is a bit shell shocked but once he gets his wits about him he pulls Steve in for another much longer kiss.
Maybe 1987 will be their year
soft slow loving steddie makes me mushy🥺
#slick sunday#steddie#steddie omegaverse#omega steve harrington#alpha eddie munson#steve x eddie#a/b/o#omegaverse#my asks
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How was I not supposed to love you?
“Are you dating yet?” Robin grabs at his sleeve.
“SHHHH” Steve’s eyes are panicked.
Robin rolls her eyes at him “Whatever it’s fine.”
“It is not fine!! He doesn’t even like me like that.”
“…he was just sitting on your lap.”
“And?”
Eddie peeks his head around the kitchen corner “Are you guys talking about me?”
“No!” Steve panics “Why? What’s up?”
“Are you ready to go?”
Steve exhales, “Sure, let’s go.”
He leads Eddie out reaching his hand behind him. He and Eddie have grown closer over the years since Vecna. They’ve definitely become comfortable touching which is why Steve is surprised when Eddie pulls his hand back.
“I don’t feel like holding hands,” Eddie grumbles.
Oh…
“What were you talking about? In the kitchen?”
“Nothing just work problems”
“Really.” Eddie sneers at him.
“Why would I lie about that?” Steve puts on his best puppy dog eyes hoping the conversation will end.
“Maybe I embarrass you.” He tilts his head to the side staring at the full moon above him.
“What?! They’re obviously ok with you and they know how I feel about you. Do you know how many times people asked me tonight if we were dating?”
Eddie’s eyes grow wide “Why?!”
“Eds you sat on me the entire time.” Steve deadpans.
“Why!? Sitting on laps is not gay.”
“It definitely is.”
“Well it’s not and we wouldn’t be dating anyway.” Eddie huffs and crosses his arms.
“We wouldn’t?” Steve feels his heart shatter.
“Of course not! We’re friends!”
“Why do you say it like that.” Steve says quietly.
“Like what?” Eddie looks at him confused.
“Like I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.”
Eddie’s mouth forms a little o before it settles into a deep frown.
“…don’t say that”
“Why not!” Steve argues. “We tell each other we love each other all the time-”
“As friends! Platonically!!!”
“You care about me more than anyone else. I know you think I’m attractive that’s not an issue. I know you’re not straight so why not? You notice when I bite my nails, when I haven’t eaten. You claim you don’t care for me but you’re glued to my side. You grab for me in your sleep. You want me to introduce you to my family. You want to live together because spending the night isn’t enough. You call me just to tell me you miss me. How was I supposed to not fall in love with you.” Steve tries to pull him closer but Eddie pushes away.
“You don’t love me you like the attention.”
“No,” Steve said sternly. Trying to convey every emotion he’s felt for Eddie in that one word. “You’re wrong.”
“But…” Eddie’s big eyes were watery with tears. Confusion apparent in his features, “We’re friends…”
—————-
Hate to say it but…inspired (almost word for word) by a conversation I just had….
Yes I’m the Steve in this situation.
As always I pour all my thoughts and emotions into my writing.
Will be going back to writing my happy steddie fics when I’m over this.
Sorry for the rushed job :P (and the pity party)
#steddie#strangerthings#eddie munson#steve harrington#ficlet#steddie fic#robin buckley#steddie ficlet#stranger things#ambiguous ending#open ending#sad ending#unrequited love#steddie microfic#microfiction#microfic
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Kiss and Tell
(Can be found on ao3)
Steddie WC: 2,279 Tags: Post Season 4, Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder, Eddie Munson Loves to Talk, Minor Angst, Mostly Fluff, Queer Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Bisexual Awakening, But He Already Knows (Sort of), First Kiss, Lots of Kissing
Based on this post that I made. Happy reading! <3
-------- Steve has a staring problem. He knows this. He's been told this. And it's not something he can help or fix or find an alternative for. This is just what he knows.
It's something he's tried to maintain since he was a little boy. And, on that same note, is something he picked up while being a boy in a room with two adults who were fast talkers and big negotiators and all-in on the nature of their careers. But his parents certainly hate that he has a staring problem. Which, that's not unusual, most people hate that he does. Because he doesn't look them in the eyes for more than thirty seconds at a time. And even if he does, he doesn't hear a single thing they said, politely asking they start over, and feeling hurt when they just scoff as loud as possible and walk away from the conversation all together.
The audio just doesn't process. Never has. Probably never will.
He listens to music, but doesn't understand any meaning. He talks over the phone, but must have all other sound blocked out and the curtains shut and his eyes closed to imagine what the words look like leaving the other person's mouth. He argues, but loses track of the original point of the argument—when he laughs instead of apologizes.
And it would be fine—if—he wasn't close to losing his life every year. Where he has to listen to everybody and the important tiny details and the plans and the reasons for what they're doing. Which leads him to danger. Which gives him a bruised face. Which makes the listening even harder, once the concussion leaves and he's just got the leftover damage of his quirkiness.
It would be fine—if—he wasn't made to feel so stupid for what he must do. The jabs and the constant reminders and the...yeah, his sob story.
But there was Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins, who he could keep up with. Because they'd talk about the same things over and over, until he could practically relay all the information, pulled straight from the deep crevices of his brain, and it ends up that they had forgotten, rather than him.
And there was Nancy Wheeler, who was polite enough to repeat things. Who had flash cards and a soft, focusing voice. It was easy to write off looking at her lips. "Eyes up here, Steve," she'd say. "Sorry," he'd respond sheepishly, "getting lost." And he'd chuckle and she'd giggle and then they'd kiss a little and he wouldn't be reminded that he's just a little weird. That, maybe, he just isn't normal.
Robin Buckley makes things easy-ish. She talks fast. And a lot. And she never looks him in the eyes, unless she's asking for a very serious favor, or he has something on his face, or she just feels the need (she claims it's that she hasn't looked in a while, but he shrugs her off every time). (If he can get away with staring at her lips, then she can get away with never looking him in the eyes.) He's mentioned, though, that he has a hard time following her sometimes. That he needs the words repeated a few times. Explained the lip thing, with a tense voice and a quake in his chest and his fingers tapping at the sides of his thighs. And, for a brief moment, he had felt like a creep. Like one of those weirdos that preys on the idea of women kissing. And he wanted to open up Family Video's register, shove his head inside, and sort himself out into the container of fives. But she shrugged, said "Okay," and went back on some ramble, to which he was immediately drawn to her mouth. And saw her repeat the name, Vickie, at least twenty times. He grinned and then when the store was empty, he leaned across the counter and teasingly said, "You have a big fat crush on Vickie, don't you?" To say that he was proud of her sputtering is an understatement.
Now, Dustin and the others were harder to get through. Because they moved at their own pace. And they don't really stop to add him to the conversation. He gets it, to an extent. He knows that he's not really all that intrigued in what they enjoy. (Even if he really leans into the conversation when they mention Sherlock Holmes or Dracula or Star Wars or, even, Star Trek. And he pretends to not be interested in their science fair projects. Or the one time he caught them huddled around a Sports Illustrated, in which he fought the urge to chat their ears off about both baseball and basketball statistics.) But there's a point in the conversations where he's made to feel a little dumb; even if he was staring where they were speaking, but they always grow frustrated, a huff of air released, when they notice he's not "paying attention" (translation: looking them in the eyes. "Because, Steve, it's just talking etiquette!" Dustin had shouted once).
He loves all of them anyway. Even if he misses words. And he loses track of what they were saying. He just wishes they were a little bit more forgivable about it at the end of the day.
Then, Eddie Munson is walking along side him in an alternate universe. He's peeled the vest off his back and chucked it at Steve. And they're talking. Jealous of one another, but talking. But, Eddie's voice goes soft and quiet, his eyes pointing towards Nancy's back.
Steve is looking at Nancy, words fading into the background. And it's not a moment of realization. Or a moment of longing. Yearning, what say you. No—it's one of his moments in which he's "listening," but not processing. So he looks back. And for a mere second, Eddie's eyes are big where Steve stares. Big and wet and curious. Big and wet and persuasive. Big and wet and not at all his lips and Steve is still not listening.
But his lips. Well, Steve's seen lips. These are pretty. They're pink. Chapped and bitten and plush appearing. Mesmerizing. Stretching over Eddie's sharp teeth, exposing dimples and smile lines, making his recent stubble more noticeable than it's ever been before. But his lips are pretty.
Like girls lips, Steve muses. Not really taking in what that means. Because Eddie's saying something about true love. And—shit—okay. Steve can get behind an act of true love. He can get behind sharing denim and coating Eddie's clothes in blood and staring down his lips and—god, his eyes, Steve can't help but notice once more.
Eddie's like a vulnerable cow. With pretty lips, he has to point out. Or a baby deer. With such pretty lips. And he's talking and Steve's finally listening. But it's not just processing. No, Steve's intrigued, interested even. He tilts his head like a curious puppy. Leaning in. Eddie's breath ghosts the tip of his nose. And, sure, it's a little rank. But weirdly sweet. Warm where Steve is otherwise cold. Warm in places Steve's never considered to feel warm in, but he's willing to give in, to wrap up in whatever Eddie has to say. If it all means more of him.
So, it makes sense that after all that they go through, Steve finds himself in Eddie's orbit. As a friend. As a trauma bond. As everything Eddie needs him to be.
He sits on the Munson's couch. On the cushion that dips a little too low. The lights orange and dim and casting beautiful streaks of almost candle light on Eddie's soft, beautiful features. Highlighting where his nose is the most bulbous. His pronounced Cupid's bow. The outer edges of his irises, golden and honey against the off-white of his scleras.
Eddie talks like Robin does. Excited. A lot. Fast. But his voice is soft, focused on the information—like Nancy's. It's teasing, like Dustin's. Soft, though. So gentle. Murmured. Which makes sense, if Steve were to stop and think about it for just a moment. With how late it is. With the little amount of weed they smoked. And it all just fits, with how slow and careful Eddie's lips move. As if testing the words. As if searching for what he means.
But, god, Steve is following along. Of course he is. Hanging onto each one of Eddie's words.
"So, the cashier at the record store got all apprehensive about selling me this tape. Which, I guess makes sense because it's a special edition. Comes with a photo card or whatever, but like—Come on, y'know? If he wanted it so bad, he should'a bought it the moment it dropped. Not my fault he slacks on not just his job, but also his opportunities," Eddie rambles. And, that's right, he's complaining about the music store encounter he had today. Trying to buy some album for some band. Steve got lost part of the way through, so he's not sure who exactly Eddie was getting a tape for. The style of music. But he has most of the information. He just—
Has to squint harder.
So, Steve leans in. As casual as he possibly can. And narrows his eyes at Eddie's lips. The word pretty comes to mind again. Because of course it does. And he can't pull his eyes away, no matter how hard he tries. For some reason, the tips of his fingers tingle a little. Wanting to reach out. Trace his lower lip, right where it sticks out, just above the divot of his chin. Would it be soft, he asks himself. Does he wear chapstick? Steve sighs softly. I wish I could...taste it. His eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. But he ignores that in favor of whatever Eddie is saying. If only he could make it out. He leans impossibly closer.
And there it is again. The soft puffs of warm air. On the tip of his nose. His own lips. Tickling his stubble. Eddie's breath smells like weed and strawberry Tab; a little bit of Kraft macaroni and cheese. Maybe the smallest trace of pepper—
"Uh, Steve?" Eddie nervously calls out. But gets no response. Steve is only a couple inches away from his face. Eyes hooded. Glassy. Zeroed in on Eddie's lips. He's not talking. Doesn't even give a hum. Just...keeps staring.
Eddie sucks in a breath. Eyes darting over Steve's face. He doesn't talk again, hoping maybe Steve will stop. But, nope. In fact, the only thing Eddie gets as acknowledgement for the fact he's stopped talking, is that Steve pouts. Upset. As if his lips no longer moving is some great catastrophe to Steve, some tragedy, some misfortune.
And, Eddie, the awful wreck that he is, can only assume that this means one thing.
Steve wants a kiss. And is, maybe, too chicken shit to close the gap.
So, with no other option. And definitely not wanting to get away from the heated, stirring, calm mask of Steve's face—Eddie presses his mouth against Steve's. Hesitantly smushing their lips together. Dragging his lower lip against Steve's soft scowling one.
And he pulls away. Because Steve isn't doing anything in response.
No, in fact, Steve is extremely expressive now.
Wide eyes. Mouth opened into a silent "Oh." His cheeks are flushed. And as quick as it came upon him, whatever realization that was, fades. Like a cartoon character, Steve's face melts into one of pure infatuation. Mouth lilting. His posture slouching. Eyes going soft against the extreme red of his face.
"Do that again," Steve whispers.
Eddie obliges. And he obliges. And he keeps obliging until they're under a cool top sheet, skin slick with sweat and eyes piercing one another's mouths.
That's when, in the silent air of Eddie's tiny bedroom, Steve admits the greatest thing in the world. "I don't really process when people are talking unless I'm looking at their mouth. I have to read their lips. I didn't—I wasn't trying to kiss you at first, but—" And the motherfucker giggles. "If that's all it took..." Then he's kissing Eddie again. Like it's the last thing he'll ever get to do. And Eddie thinks, If I die from running out of breath doing this, then I've done everything in my life correctly.
So, sure, Steve has a huge staring problem. And he doesn't really listen. And it's something he'll never fix, even if there's a way to.
But he finds that his technique—the thing he's crafted since he was a little boy—no longer works. At least, not on Eddie. Because suddenly, looking at his gorgeous pink lips makes Steve only able to think about one thing: Kissing. And he can't follow along unless he fulfills that want.
Eddie could be in the middle of a deep, all inclusive description of his recent trap in the campaign he's crafting. He could be singing. He could be complaining about some movie he rented. But that doesn't matter. Because he stops talking the moment Steve leans in and kisses him. Kisses like he needs it to live.
And though he rolls his eyes. Huffs a breath. Smirks and barrels on. There's that giddiness, that love pooling in Eddie' heart. Just knowing the effect he has on Steve. And the way he's affected, too, when Steve just whispers, "Sorry, I got lost again. Start over?"
He obliges. And he keeps obliging. And his lips are usually swollen by the time he's finally done rambling.
Steve stares. Eddie talks. And it's the combination of a lifetime.
--------
❤️
#stranger things#fanfiction#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#fluff#first kiss#Steve Harrington has a bisexual awakening#Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder
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