#my steddie bang

[formosusiniquis]

today is a new day to find you - ch 3

Steve Harrington is on his picnic bench.

“Oh good, you did stop by your locker.” It’s a sentence that luckily requires no comment since Eddie doesn’t know what he’d say anyway.

“Listen-”

“I haven’t figured out your schedule yet. It’s like everything I do to figure you out changes things. I tried taking notes, but,” He is laying flat on his back on the bench saying these batshit fucking statements to the sky. The wind rustles the trees as he blows a raspberry to punctuate his trailing thought. Maybe the wind and the sky have settled into something that suits the strange mood Harrington is setting.

“Are you stalking me, Harrington?” It doesn’t come out as a joke. It sounds just left of scared. He’s the teen in the horror movie about to realize the pretty boy isn’t a friend.

And Harrington laughs. A crack sounds in the woods, branches rustling, a deer with better sense taking off to safety. Fright. It makes the bubbling laughter all the more manic. Eddie knows manic. “Shit,” he says it on an exhale, struggling for breath. “I guess I am this time.”

This time, deja vu. He’s embarrassed and upset, screaming at Harrington in the hallway.

But Harrington hadn’t even been in Murphy’s class today, and Eddie’s homework had made it zipped up in his backpack all semester except today. A month of classes and no good will.

There’s probably bird shit on the benchseat Harrington is sprawled across. His gray rich boy jacket pillows his head and protects his perfect mane. Is this where he’s been all day? With legs spread, straddling either side of a seat he’s too long for. Waiting for… Waiting for Eddie Munson of all people?

“It’s not creepy,” he insists and really he must. Cause from where Eddie is standing -- five feet away, ready to make a quick getaway lest he get pinned to a tree with a comically long hunting knife; gasping for a last breath and looking for answers from a silent killer as a bloody title screen fades in -- it looks pretty creepy.

“You know what a time loop is, Munson?” he asks. The segue intriguing enough that Eddie creeps closer. The early fall dead, his fated brethren, crunch on the ground beneath him. There is no stealth to his approach. Harrington is a haunted thing, something not of this world and Eddie is…

Eddie is afraid. 

He is a coward by trade. He knows it’s far from desirable as traits go. But it’s what he is when the devil’s in the doorway. Eddie is a runner.

Harrington can sense him and Eddie is curious and afraid. So he approaches with uneasy feet; and, at that table with no one around but the wind and the trees and any critters brave enough to listen to Steve Harrington’s half mad cackle, he sits. As far as he can from what once was a boy he went to class with.

“Didn’t think Steeve Harrington would be a fan of sci-fi,” he lets his mouth drag out the name, lets himself relish in the feel of it. Maybe if he changes the shape enough it will all fit again.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“Well, I’m familiar with many a concept, your majesty; but why don’t you surprise me again and tell me what you think a time loop is.”

He can just make out Harrington’s face, just past the softening boundary of the weather worn table. He pulls a face at the sky, more disbelief than scorn, and continues to make no move to sit up. To face Eddie.

“It’s a loop of time, Munson. Thought you were into this shit. I know you aren’t a super senior because you’re dumb.”

The backhanded compliment catches him across the jaw. “Maybe I wanted your astute observations on the subject, Harrington. Someone should give you a chance to be more than all that hair.”

“You’ve got a real gift for being a dickhead, anyone ever tell you that?”

“I’ve heard something along the lines.”

The belabored sigh he gets in return is fitting a prize lapdog, “Here’s the thing inquiring minds wanna know,” he finally says, “you’re stuck because of antimatter or sunspots or cause a groundhog cast a magic spell-”

“A groundhog?” It sputters out in a laugh.

“That’s my personal guess, I couldn’t remember what you said last time.” He blows right past that particularly confusing statement into, “What are you going to do -- specifically -- none of that whatever I want shit.”

“Why is that shit?” The fall afternoon sun cuts through the canopy for just a second. Finding a break in the rain heavy clouds to lay a golden hand on Steve Harrington.

“In my experience, it’s a lot harder to do whatever you want than it looks.” The sun is smothered again, and the absence of the dappled gold leaves a gray faced kid behind.

Eddie can feel the splintery wood grain threatening to send slivers beneath his fingernails, it doesn’t stop the arrhythmic beat he taps the table with. What does Steve Harrington have to be sad about? What on this Earth is there that he might want and can’t have.

“Maybe you just don’t know what you want?” It comes out as a question. A softening of an accusation though he hasn’t softened anything about himself in years. Except for his sheepies. And even then it’s a provisional softness.

“What do you want?”

Read the whole chapter on AO3 Now

[wormdebut]

Give me scary metal head rock star Eddie Munson and his best friend sapphic pop princess icon Chrissy Cunningham. I need Eddie Munson absolutely bodying HOT TO GO during one of Chrissy’s shows.

[steveshairychest]

Thinking about a deaf actor Steve Harrington x sign language interpreter Eddie Munson au.

Thinking about them doing interviews together and half the time it's just Eddie rolling his eyes and signing to Steve 'This guy asks really shit questions.' 'He thinks you're hot, can I tell him we're dating?' They weren't even dating yet. A lot of the time, Eddie has to smile and sign, 'He told a bad joke, laugh.' 'Too much, it wasn't that funny.'

Thinking about Steve eventually learning how to lip read and not needing Eddie to interpret as much but still bringing him to every event because having Eddie by his side just feels right, they're best friends after all.

Seeing them together becomes such a common sight that when they're on their own, they're immediately asked where the other is. A popular picture of Eddie features him wearing a shirt that says, 'Steve's not with me. Leave me alone' and it covers magazines for weeks.

Thinking about Steve finally getting the courage to confess to Eddie while he's standing up on stage after winning an award.

They've both been too scared to say anything, scared that talking about their feelings would ruin their friendship, but standing up there on that stage, Steve decides he doesn't want to be scared anymore. He signs, 'I love you' directly to Eddie, who's sat in the front row as Steve's plus one, and Eddie laughs, cries, and signs it right back at Steve.

[cuips-not-cute]

one of my pieces for @notesappwitch's amazing fic i sing the blues and you swallow them too for the @steddiebang!! so excited to finally be posting this<3

[paintedpatroclus]

friend’s forever, right?

this work has been in my drafts for forever but i got to join @xpaperheartso in making work for their fic for the steddie bang!

(i’ll add the link when the fic goes up asap!!)

[harmonictechnicality]

Steve wakes up around three or four in the morning almost every night. He’s always careful getting out of bed. Small movements, slow footsteps. Minimal bones cracking. Doesn’t want to wake Eddie. Not that he needs to be this careful because his boyfriend could sleep through several natural disasters (and if someone bothered to wake him in this scenario, he’d put an impotency curse on them or some equally fucked-up shit). 

But that’s one of the reasons why they work. Not because of the sad-dick curse thing. They just exist on different sides of the scale. The raging insomniac and the deepest sleeper known to mankind. It balances out in the weirdest possible way.

Still… he’s always careful. Can never be too careful.

Steve doesn’t really do much when he wakes up at this ungodly hour. He sort of walks around their duplex, drinks a glass of water, opens a window to breathe in that pre-sunrise air. It fills his lungs up differently than normal air. At least, it feels like it does.

Like less people are breathing it in. Like he can take up space without feeling selfish. The logic doesn’t really add up but whatever. Concepts like logic and science are overrated at four in the morning.

After another lap around the place, he slides back into the covers, drapes an arm over Eddie’s waist. His t-shirt is rumpled up to his chest, so Steve is met with linen-warm skin. His fingers curve into Eddie’s sides, pulling himself closer. 

Steve yawns, breathing out all of his pre-sunrise air. Inhales the scent of his boyfriend instead. Smiles like an idiot into the pillow because it’s totally a fair trade.

And Eddie… well, he doesn’t even budge - doesn’t even stir when Steve settles in next to him. He just continues to wheeze through his nose, mouth slightly open. Not quite a snore, but Steve will probably tease him about it in the morning regardless. 

This right here. This makes Steve’s shitty sleep cycle worth it.

The sun pokes through the window blinds. Eddie pokes Steve’s cheek. Too much poking going on for Steve who definitely didn’t get enough sleep, per usual.

“You got up last night.” Eddie mumbles, still lazily poking him. 

“How’d you know?”

“Bed felt different.”

Oh. The way Eddie says it. A crash of honesty. His voice sounds weathered, unused from sleeping. Barely awake. It sort of hits Steve’s heart like a crime he didn’t even know he was capable of committing. 

Honestly, he doesn’t get why last night would be any different. Steve gets up most nights, not just last night. But Eddie looks particularly wounded by this (new) realization, so Steve probably shouldn’t point that out right now. Maybe in the afternoon when Eddie is more alert. Less… offended.

“Well, I’m back now.” Steve grabs Eddie’s index finger, the one poking him, and places it over his own lips. Bites at it gently till Eddie pulls away in protest. He’s smiling as he swears. Lets out a string of half-hearted threats about how he’s gonna pour Steve’s hair supplies down the sink for such a vicious attack. 

It’s a little irresistible when Eddie gets like this. When he’s the pouty one instead of Steve. All he can think to do is reach out, curl his hand underneath Eddie’s chin and pull him in. Eddie moves so easily, gives up his one-sided fight long enough to kiss Steve. Hands running up his back, legs hooking around Steve’s thighs.

Drowsy, morning kisses are so good. So, so good. Their lips feel heavier, their motions feel thicker. Every touch is guided by pure need. Steve fucking needs this, to feel Eddie curving into him, arms framing his own, groaning every damn time they break away. It all makes Steve feel needed too. Needed by the guy who changed the trajectory of his life by asking Steve to ‘hang out or something’ two years ago. 

Or Something turned out to be absolutely everything.

“New rule.” Eddie huffs, drags his lips down Steve’s jaw. “For every hour you spend awake during the night, you owe me.”

Steve laughs. “I owe you, huh?”

“Mhmm. You owe me an extra hour of wallowing in bed together in the morning.”

“What about work?”

“The hours will have to rollover, I guess. Accrue interest.” Eddie lifts up from Steve’s neck, eyebrows raised. Clearly having too much fun with this. “We can hash out the details over coffee and burnt toast.”

Typically, Steve would play along, continue the little comedy routine that Eddie starts up. But he’s so damn tired from the lack of sleep and early fucking wake-up call. So instead, he tugs Eddie back down by his collar and whispers, “Whatever you say, baby.”

Because that’s what it boils down to. He’d do anything for Eddie to kiss him this deep, till their lips blister and their jaws ache. Steve would give every fragment of lovesick happiness in his heart, just to hear the way Eddie says his name all breathy and raw. 

He can’t say that out loud, dear god no. Eddie would mock his ass into next century. So Steve just hums into Eddie’s mouth, twists the collar of his shirt enough to permanently wrinkle it. They’re verging into that gray area between cable-approved makeout sessions and dry humping till the alarm goes off. If there wasn’t an alarm to worry about, Steve would already have Eddie’s boxers already his ankles and moaning his name the way he likes it best.

Whoever invented alarm clocks are the ultimate boner-killer.

Steve ducks his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck, lays a few quick kisses on top of his shoulder. Hopes that translates to, ‘I wanna suck you off till there’s nothing left, but I’m a boring fucking adult with a boring fucking job.’ 

The translation must be clear enough because Eddie rolls off of him and heads to the bathroom. Seems just as grumpy about it as Steve. Good. They can be cranky together.

When he comes back out, they get ready for their respective work shifts. Steve looks over, watches Eddie struggle with a tangled portion of his hair, before giving up.  Accepting defeat way faster than Steve ever would. “Uh, Eddie?” He tries his best to hide his snickering through the question.

“Yeah?”

“Why does it matter if I wake up sometimes?” Okay. Most times.

“You’re gone.” Eddie shrugs. “Simple as that.”

The reaction is too mellow for Eddie though. Shrugging and dismissiveness? Nah. He’s downplaying the shit out of whatever he’s feeling, and Steve’s not having it.

“What do you mean it’s simple?”

“It’s just… I don’t know. Doesn’t seem fair.” Eddie checks the clock, then sighs. “I want more time.”

More time? More time with Steve or more time in general? Either way, it doesn’t add up. They’re young - they have all the fucking time they could ever want. Also, they live together and have all the same friends. It’s not exactly a logical theory.

Then again, neither is Steve’s ‘pre-sunrise air supply’ theory. None of it makes sense. But at least they’re here. Wanting fresh air and each other. That’s enough logic for a lifetime.

“Hey.” Steve walks over and takes Eddie’s hand. He taps over his ring finger, the one that symbolizes something they can’t have. Not now, not in this society. Still. It means something. So he stares intently at it, rubs over the place where a ring might sit. Thinks that Eddie would pick out something bold. Something gaudy and perfectly him.

More time. Steve gets it, he does. He releases Eddie’s hand and nods. Smiles.

“I’ll steal us as much time as I can, Eddie Munson.”

[aomaoe]

No Body, No Crime 🔪🩸 | A Steddie Big Bang Fic 📕

assassin!au where eddie is hired to take out none other than.. steve harrington!!! i had so much fun drawing this piece. there is so much background detail i covered up with their bodies but i'm still rly happy with the turnout.

The story can be found here! written by the wonderful @sourw0lfs!!

and please check out my friend @clankclunk's work for this story as well!! it's amazing!!! if i could marry their use of colour... mmm.

[sparkle-fiend]

Second Big Bang project is up! Project 119, Hungry Like the Wolf by ReadySteddieCook.

It’s Stranger Things - if Steve was a werewolf. (As soon as I read the excerpt for this story I knew I wanted to draw werewolf Steve going up against the demogorgon.)

[nomunun]

bonus:

-LIVING IN A LUNAR SPELL-

finally i can share my steddie big bang work in collaboration with @mojowitchcraft !!!

here's the link to chapter one of her wonderful story. [ additional art for this fic made by @sourw0lfs ! ]

[becomingfoxes]

“Promise?” Eddie pushes, checks, to be safe and it’s only then that he hears the tears in his own voice. 

“Oh babe,” and Steve’s wiping them before they fall because he’s Steve, he’s Eddie’s Steve: “I promise.”

It's here! I had the wonderful opportunity to create a few pieces for @hitlikehammers beautiful fic Made of Light. Thank you for being a lovely person and inspiring these pieces! This fic is gorgeous and if you love soulmate au's then this is for you! 💛

[amethyst-crowns]

my art for how greedy my heart by @matchingbatbites | for the @steddiebang

Chapter 1 is up now!!

[unspecifiedfigure]

[After All This Time]

#steddiebigbang

(an incriminating photo leaves famous musician Eddie Munson scrambling to save his public image — luckily the PR team has a solution: date Steve Harrington, a fellow celebrity with a perfect record)

👔🎸📸🎬

{LINK} @stevespookington

[starrystevie]

steve wakes up for the first time that morning on a lumpy couch with sticky red lipstick smeared across his forearm.

there's a pair of lips imprinted next to a glob of red and if he looks closely, eyes squinted in hangover glory, he can make out the ghost of a handful of numbers, something that looks like maybe like a 5 curving around the inside of his wrist. it's hard to tell in the dull morning light, even harder when he can't open his eyes because of the pounding drums of a headache in his skull so he gives up, plops his head down on the well-worn couch cushion, and falls back asleep.

when steve wakes up for the second time, his head is positively throbbing, blurring his vision and making him feel weak. his neck is cricked and pops uncomfortably as he stretches before he forces himself to stand. the lipstick is less sticky now, but it's still very much there, even though steve had convinced himself it was just a dream.

as he weaves around other people on the floor who are still passed out with red plastic cups and bottles strewn between them, he digs his keys out of his back pocket and examines the writing. he can't make out the words written under the jumble of numbers. 'cah nie' is what it looks like, but even hungover steve knows that those aren't real words.

steve's pulling into his driveway when it hits him. oh, he thinks, it says 'call me'; the numbers feel a little more important now.

he stumbles through the front door, his feet shuffling along the floors because he feels too puny and lazy to pick them up properly, and makes his way to the kitchen. while steve may not have a career as a private investigator in his future, he's curious, excited to look at the numbers smudged along his arm to figure out who it could belong to.

and it wasn't like he really even went to parties anymore. between the world almost ending and then the world piecing itself back together and the kids going off to school and making the move to indianapolis and making a new group of friends just to move back to hawkins with a few in tow, he didn't exactly feel like the partying type. too much had happened between high school and now.

but lori had convinced jimmy to throw a rager to celebrate moving into their new apartment that they got for cheap on the outskirts of town, out near a lake that steve won't step foot in anymore. then came the gin followed by tequila followed by dancing and joints and laying on his back in the dewy grass to look at the stars with curly hair tickling the side of his neck as he-

curly hair. that's it, his first clue.

steve grabs a notepad off the kitchen counter and jots out every combination he can think of from the numbers on his wrist. the only thing he can clearly see is that the first two numbers are 42 and the last is definitely a 5. everything else in between is guess work, a jarbled combination of maybe 8s and 2s, but he has nothing but time to kill and he won't be able to let it go until he gets the bottom of the mystery number.

he makes call after call to random numbers, switching 7s and 2s and 3s and 8s hoping for any sort of a hint. there's a sort of hope blooming in his chest that someone could have liked steve enough to leave him a message written on his arm like they were staking a claim. it's been a long time since he's felt like this. like he's wanted.

it's when he gets to a number near the bottom of his list that he gets someone to actually answer the phone. it rings once, twice, three times until it's picked up, steve's stomach tied in knots that he wants to write off as lingering hangover nausea even though he knows it isn't.

"yeah?" a gruff voice responds, and if steve concentrates, really concentrates, he thinks it sounds familiar.

"uhm, hi?" he squeaks out and pulls the receiver away from his face so he can cough around the dryness in his throat. "this is probably a weird question but-"

"whatever you're selling, i'm not interested."

and there it is, it clicks in steve's head who he's called. he laughs a little bit to himself and slumps down further into the chair he was sitting in.

"eddie?" he asks, scrubbing a hand over his face now that he knows that this is all either an elaborate prank to make him look stupid or a way to make sure steve makes good on his promise from the party last night to call eddie about when they could hang out next.

there's a sound on the other end of the line, something between a huff and a groan, before the line goes dead. the dial tone blares in steve's ear and it's loud enough that he has to yank the phone away to save his hearing. he can feel his face pinch together before dialing the number again.

the line rings. it rings and rings and rings until it clicks off.

steve calls back.

it rings a few more times and steve has half a mind to drive over to the munson's new place and see eddie in person until finally, there's a voice on the other end of the line.

"the voicemail box you have reached is currently-"

steve sighs. "eddie, i know that's you, come on."

"what, i thought i sounded pretty convincing." eddie's voice is deep, albeit a tad scratchy, and steve's memory brings him back to the night before. the two sat on the porch and smoked cigarette after cigarette while they caught up, thighs touching and fingers brushing as they traded them back and forth.

"it would have been if i didn't know that you guys don't have a voicemail."

"touche," eddie responds. steve can hear the smile laced in his voice and he can vaguely make out something in the background, maybe the tv or a record, and he can't help but picture what eddie might be doing. his brain supplies flashes of eddie standing around the sound system the night before, his hair wild, smile even wilder when he looks up at steve as he convinces ray to turn on tears for fears for him and-

something flutters around in his stomach for a second before settling and it has steve blushing. he wants to slap himself back into reality.

"did you get home okay?" he asks, phone cord wrapping around his finger like he's talking to a girl he's sweet on or like a curl twisting over his hand as he plays with someone's hair. "after the party?"

he hears eddie sigh and what must be their metal kitchen chairs scraping across the linoleum flooring. "yeah, got back last night."

the hangover from the morning is fading and with it goes the blissful ignorance of not thinking back on embarrassing moments from the night before. steve's no stranger to making dumb decisions during a night out, but hearing eddie's voice is pulling at something like a loose thread on a well loved sweater. he feels like he's unraveling, getting closer and closer to the end of the thread before he's laid bare.

"good, that's good." steve goes quiet as does eddie, uncharacteristically quiet as whatever it drones on in the background. "so why-"

"let's not go there, okay?" eddie cuts him off and it has him frowning.

"go where?" steve asks while his eyes trace over the remnants of the lipstick kiss on his wrist and he fights the urge to see if his lips fit over it, too.

it's almost a minute but feels like longer when he finally breaks the silence. "to why i wrote my number on your arm, that's where we're not going."

"okay but you didn't just write your number... which by the way, thanks for using lipstick instead of pen like a normal person because it got all smudged and you have no idea how many random houses i had to call before i got to you and..." steve takes in a breath to stop himself from rambling any further and hears eddie do the same.

"i didn't have a pen, steve-"

"-and you kissed my arm, at least i'm assuming that was you." eddie chokes on the other end of the line. "i'm not upset or anything, ed, just confused."

there's more silence cut through only by eddie cursing under his breath.

"was it a joke? get me to think someone wanted me to... i don't know, take them out or something?" steve has to ask, feeling a tiny part of his heart ache to ask it.

eddie curses to himself again, this time a little louder. "it's not a joke, i swear. i think i just got a little brave with our good friend mr. jack daniels and... you know?"

"... no? know what?"

"i just-" eddie groans, "you were right, steve. someone.... someone does want you to take them out, just not someone you would think would want to date you."

steve's head is still pounding, fragments of his hangover still lingering around. it makes him want to crawl into bed instead of listening to eddie's riddles, draw the curtains shut and wake up when he can wrap his head around things again. he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath in an attempt to calm his fluttering nerves.

"let me get this straight. you wrote your phone number on my arm ruining some poor girl's lipstick and kissed my fucking wrist to go along with it, all because some mysterious someone wants me to ask them out?"

"... yes?"

"so why did you write your number and not that someone's?"

eddie whines and he sounds like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum despite his deep voice from chainsmoking with him the night before and oh.

the curls tickling his neck. the smile he threw at steve from across the room. the way he goaded the makeshift dj into playing his song. the ever so gentle fingers holding his shoulder steady so he could light his cigarette off his own. the stars bouncing off the darkness of his eyes and the touch of fingertips against his cheek when he pulled the blanket up to steve's chin as he fell asleep on the couch and a whispered "g'night stevie" with his breath grazing his ear and-

"oh."

"and he's got it, ladies and gentlemen!" eddie fakes cheers and applause while steve chokes on his own stuttering breath at the realization. "only took him calling half of hawkins to put it together."

"hey, be nice to me, i had to solve your riddle with a hangover." steve laughs along side eddie and he can see it. it wouldn't be like a regular date, not by a longshot, where he takes a girl to some moderately priced restaurant followed by a movie where he gets to hold her hand. it'll be more like eddie, where he gets to laugh and be himself and not worry about saying the wrong thing, like he actually wants steve there and not just his reputation.

the silence this time around is a little more comfortable. a little more light. steve's finger tightens around the phone cord and it isn't all that hard to imagine it as a dark brown curl instead.

"and you better be extra nice to me when you let me take you out on that date."

[cuips-not-cute]

cowboy kisses🤎

for @toburnup's drop dead GORGEOUS steddie cowboy au, searching for the elephant for the @steddiebang

[hellfiredemon]

My final piece for the @steddiebang for @starryskeyes's warm and wonderful fic! Chapter 2 is live!

kiss my wounds but not forever

Eddie Munson narrowly survives his act of heroism in the upside down, but he's far from free. He's a person of interest. A wanted man. So no, he can't go home to his uncle's single wide trailer while he heals. Instead, he ends up where nobody would ever think to look for him: Steve Harrington's house.

Chel's story is adorable and heartwarming and I'm so glad I got to collab with them :) Their main is on Twitter, go give them some love there and in the comments!

[paintedpatroclus]

my art for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang!

now i know the light guided me here

link to the fic here!

this was made in collaboration over many moons with the lovely @transmascsteveharrington who i was paired with! it turned out so much more perfect than i could’ve ever imagined!! give it a read! it was a huge joy to get to draw mythology again— i’m itching to do more. 🥰