#scoops troops are the best!

[strangersynth]

i enjoy s3 what can i say

[bylerxbrainrot]

robin and steve

name a better duo i can wait

[wheneverfeasible]

A Birthday Miracle

wc: 2.3k || rating: T || cw: child neglect, period typical misogyny and homophobia || tags: Steve Harrington has bad parents, platonic Stobin, implied future Steddie || brief summary: Steve’s birthday is December 25th and is always ignored, until Robin gets him a birthday present. || ao3

Steve, much to the disappointment of everyone, was born on Christmas Day.

Over the years, Steve learned to ignore his birthday. Despite what others may believe, he never received double the presents any year, and in fact by the time he was thirteen was just given a lump of cash and told to buy his own present. The Harringtons were far too busy planning their annual Christmas party, something that Steve’s birth had put a delay in that first year and which had never been forgiven.

It wasn’t that his birthday was ignored completely of course. At least not always. It just never was acknowledged on his actual birthday. As he got older, he might have done something with Tommy and Carol during the winter break, but they always had plans with their families on Christmas Day for obvious reasons. Even when he started dating Nancy, family took precedence over a boyfriend’s birthday.

Steve’s Christmas was always very simple. Wake up and get dressed in an outfit that his mother approved of, take posed photos in front of the wrapped but empty boxes before the tree, be handed his envelope of cash, and then make himself scarce as the caterers began arriving.

It was the winter of ‘85 when something different happened.

Steve was in his room, outfit for the Christmas party (different from the outfit he wore for the morning pictures) hanging from his bedroom door, something he would have to change into soon actually. Instead, he was laid starfished on his bed, staring up at his ceiling with that familiar sense of apathy regarding the day.

A few days previously the group had had their own little Christmas party, something where they wore casual clothes or even just their pajamas, crowding into the Sinclair basement to exchange gifts and share (kid friendly) eggnog and cider.

Steve had even managed to get Jonathan to take a special picture of the Scoops Troop, feeling more at ease with his arms around the people he rode an elevator to hell with than he knew he would in a few days in his own home. Erica had protested, but her grin was a little too genuine to make it anything more than a token attempt to remain aloof. Steve knew that feeling well.

So really, Steve had been expecting much the same as every previous year. He would attend his parents’ party just long enough to be the proper, well-behaved son, then he would escape with whatever leftovers he could pilfer from the caterers (they usually made him a plate) and sneak back into his bedroom to wait things out. Tomorrow, he might try to see if anyone wants to hang.

At least, that was the expectation.

Plink!

A small furrow etched into Steve’s brow at the soft noise, turning his head towards the shuttered blinds of his window. It had been a sound he was familiar with, just never on this end of things. When a soft thud came next, Steve let out a small snort and rolled off his bed, moving towards the window to pull open the blinds and look outside.

Robin Buckley had her arm arched back, a look of concentration on her face as she stood on the back patio, and even from this distance Steve could tell she had her tongue poking out slightly as she squinted one eye to make her shot. It explained why the previous one missed the mark and hit the siding by the sound of it.

Robin’s face lit up when she saw Steve, causing a flare of warmth to spread through Steve’s chest. He’d known the strange girl for half of a year and he’d be lying if he didn’t say it was the best six months of his life. Sure, the start of their genuine friendship had come about because of some crazy Russian scientists, an alternate dimension full of monsters, and a bit of physical and psychological torture, but all of that was worth it to be best friends with one Robin Buckley.

Still, he huffed faux annoyance at her, pointing at her through the window pane until she shrugged unrepentantly but dropped the small rock she’d been about to throw all the same. He hesitated only a brief moment before he mimed at her to head towards the basement garage, causing her to grin again and flash him two thumbs up.

A small bit of hushed bickering, sneaking around the caterers and decorators getting the place ready, and avoiding his parents ended with the two of them stumbling through the doorway of his bedroom with muffled giggles. Steve quickly shut and locked his door, turning to give Robin a fondly exasperated look as she began perusing his bedroom.

She’d been there before, of course, but less than a handful of times. He could see the way her gaze paused as it took it in the swimsuit model poster, grinning at her when she suddenly hurriedly looked away with a blush. She scowled at him, but he was glad that she no longer looked hesitant when he was reminded of the fact that she liked boobies.

Of course, it wasn’t really something he ever forgot, but he was glad that she felt safe with him. Felt like she could be herself without fear of retaliation. Sure, he could acknowledge that he still had a bit of a crush on her, but that was his problem, not hers. And he loved her more like a platonic best friend than he did as a silly crush.

“What are you even doing here? Don’t you have family visiting from out of town?” he asked with a shake of his head. They had already exchanged Christmas presents at the Sinclairs’, and they were more than likely going to meet up tomorrow after whatever family shit Robin had.

Robin rolled her eyes. “I told them I had somewhere important to be but that I’d be back in time for dinner.” She slid off her backpack she was wearing to rifle around until she pulled out…a lumpy package wrapped in white wrapping paper designed with balloons in rainbow colors. A big yellow bow was taped to the top.

“Happy birthday!” Robin exclaimed with a grin, dropping the backpack to thrust the package—the gift out towards Steve.

Steve physically startled at the exclamation, his mouth dropping into an ‘o’ of surprise as he took in the present that looked nothing like a Christmas present. No, he could see in between the balloons small script that repeated happy birthday! amidst tiny confetti bursts.

“Wh-what?” he gaped, certain he had misheard in some way.

Rolling her eyes again, Robin closed the distance and pushed the gift into Steve’s hands. “I said, ‘Happy birthday,’ dingus,” she laughed.

“But…you already got me a present,” Steve pointed out, because she’d just bought him Freddie Mercury’s new solo album Mr. Bad Guy for Christmas, which was perhaps one of the best if not the best presents he had ever received.

“I got you a Christmas present. This is your birthday present,” Robin stated like that should have been obvious.

Oh.

Steve’s fingers tightened on the present, the wrapping paper crinkling under his grip. There was a suspicious burning behind his eyes, but his father had told him only girls and queers cried, so he blinked rapidly for a moment to rein it all back in. It was just…

He couldn’t really remember ever receiving just a regular birthday present. Even by his friends. Tommy and Carol had always said their gift was a little bigger because it was for both, and even Nancy hadn’t really done separate gifts the one Christmas they were together. It was just never something he ever expected.

Yet here was Robin, his best friend, leaving her family on Christmas just to wish him a happy birthday and give him an honest to god birthday present. He swallowed thickly, more than just incredibly touched.

Before, he might not have said anything. Before, he might have just laughed it off and opened the present and been secretly grateful that someone had thought of him. But this was Robin.

Robin.

His best friend. God, he loved her. It didn’t matter if it was only platonic (with a capital P at that); it didn’t make it any less profound or true. He loved her. He didn’t think he had ever loved anyone as much as he loved her. Even back when they had bickered all the time at Scoops, there had been something there. He had just confused it for something else at first.

But they had clicked immediately, even back then. Even back when Robin had still thought him the same asshole he’d been back in high school, and potentially homophobic. Even she couldn’t deny that. Like they were meant to find each other. He just wished they had found each other a lot sooner.

But then, he hadn’t been that great of a person back then too. Maybe they found each other exactly when they meant to, like the universe just knew.

“No one…no one’s ever gotten me a birthday present before,” he softly admitted. “Not just a birthday present, I mean. Not one that wasn’t also a Christmas present.”

Robin’s gaze softened, and almost like they were reading each other’s mind, they reached out at the same time to grasp each other by the elbow in a gentle cradle. She didn’t look at him with pity, however. She knew that wasn’t what he needed.

“Well, of course I would be the one to do it first, dingus,” she lightly teased, squeezing his elbow briefly before letting him grasp his present with both hands again. “You’re my dingus. I love you,” she softly added, and the words helped heal that crack inside him that wondered if maybe he was still unworthy of love, just like it did every time she uttered those words.

“I love you too,” he replied, just like he always did. They didn’t say the words often, but they never let them go unanswered.

Robin grinned at him then, and it was that same grin as in the bathroom, when they suddenly knew that they had found their other half after all. “Open your birthday gift, Stevie,” she chided, spinning around to find the edge of the bed before plopping down with a clap of her hands.

“Dork,” he scoffed, but it was full of affection. He knew he was just as much of a dork. They both knew it, truly. He grinned down at the birthday gift in his hands, taking a deep breath before ripping the paper away.

“Bucky, you didn’t,” he gasped, his grin growing as he looked up at his best friend who was grinning back.

“It took ages to find the right one,” she confessed. “I made my mom take me all over for it.”

Steve hurriedly pulled the red puffer vest from the rest of the wrapping paper, careful not to drop the small toy figure resting on top. This? This right here? Christ, he had thought the album Robin had gotten him for Christmas had been the best present ever, but this certainly took the cake.

“Oh!” Robin exclaimed, and then like she could read Steve’s mind again, she was once more diving for her backpack. She pulled out a small cardboard box from the bakery downtown, followed by a blue candle.

“I don’t have a lighter,” she said apologetically as she opened the lid of the box to reveal a cupcake that was a little worse for wear from being in her bag, but still noticeably a cupcake. That she stuck the candle in. “But I know that you do, so hand it over and let’s light it up.”

Steve felt that burn behind his eyes again. A birthday present, one that symbolized something so important to them, and a birthday cake. On his actual birthday. He had never loved Robin as much as he did in that moment.

Huffing a small laugh that was only slightly wet, Steve carefully moved to set the little packed figure on his desk, propped up against his bowling pin he’d stolen with Tommy one year, and found his lighter to hand off to Robin.

“Happy birthday to you,” Robin started singing as soon as she had the candle lit, holding the box up with both hands. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear dingus. Happy birthday to you. And many mooooore…” Robin’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Make a wish, Stevie.”

What more could he possibly wish for when he had the best friend he could ever hope for giving him the one thing he’d never had before?

I wish for Robin to get all the happiness and love that she deserves, he decided, wishing for that with all his heart, and then he leaned forward and blew out the candle.

Next year, after the earthquakes, his parents canceled their Christmas party for the first time in two decades. They were done with Hawkins, they decided. And Hawkins, or at least the people in it important to Steve, were done with them too.

Steve’s friends convinced their parents to celebrate Christmas the day before, allowing them to throw Steve his first ever actual birthday party whose sole focus was just him.

But if Steve used the opportunity of a stray piece of mistletoe still hanging from the Munsons’ new house to kiss the boy he had a crush on, well, he just considered that his birthday present to himself.

After that, Steve never had to spend a birthday alone again, or have it ignored, even when they celebrated Christmas that day too. With one arm wrapped around his Platonic soulmate and one arm wrapped around the man of his dreams, Steve knew that he had somehow found the happiness and love he deserved too.

And it was the best birthday present he could have ever wished for.

~

Hostage Hotties (open):

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @lawrencebshoggoth

[urhoneycombwitch]

love light gleams

rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader Eddie and the band are stranded for Christmas. at least the pay phone's working.

foreword: haven’t heard from these cuties in awhile!! here’s my other fic of these two but not necessary to read beforehand. just a bit of schmoopy holiday fluff for the soul <3 (in the timeline, this is set in the early days of Corroded’s first tour where they’re just on the cusp of public notability/recognition)

cw: holiday fluff, alcohol/drinking, R is referred to with occasional she/her pronouns, R is related to Joyce (no specificity), Eddie gets a public boner™️, implied smut

wc: 3.1k

___

Goddamn Murphy and his law.

First, the tour bus breaks down in the middle of Where the Fuck Are We, Idaho, and Jeff maybe could’ve fixed it in time to get them over the next leg of the trip- if it weren’t for the giant snowstorm blizzard from hell. 

After much pulling of hair and frozen appendages, the band decided to call it quits and splurge some of the quickly dwindling Road Fund on a motel for the night; the idea of ones own room and a hot shower swiftly smothered by the front desk clerk. 

“Four rooms, the night before Christmas?” The man looked about as haggard as the rest of them, but Eddie couldn’t find it in his heart to feel too bad with the way the guy was chuckling mirthfully. “Got a better chance of seein’ Santa himself.”

Eddie grit his teeth and paid for a single. Without cussing. A feat that should land him on the Nice List, forever. 

When the group finally trudged into the lone spare room (spreading out as much as could be allowed, they were all sick of each other, at this point), Eddie used the phone to get ahold of their tour manager, who managed to top the evening off with the worst news of all.

“Christmas show at Garter’s is cancelled,” Eddie had announced to his sullen men after slamming the phone back on its hook. “Looks like we’re sitting ducks for the holidays.”

After dejected calls home and a few last desperate, futile attempts to charm airline employees over the phone, Corroded Coffin trooped through the bitter weather to hole up at the only bar in town.

Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob all settled into a booth with minimal complaints, gloved hands wrapping eagerly around mugs of hot toddies while Eddie simmered and stewed at the end of the bench, unable to sit still.

He should probably make the best of a bad situation, buy his boys another round and muster up some goodwill, but Eddie isn’t ready for an attitude adjustment quite yet.

He’s thinking of you, nearly two thousand miles east, cozy at home in Hawkins. In Eddie’s mind’s eye, you’re curled up by the fireplace in soft flannel-print pajamas (the pair he let you ‘borrow’ years ago), munching on sugar cookies and looking deliciously peaceful. 

Jeff throws him a bone, slides two quarters down the table to Eddie, saying- “Go call her, man. You’ll be annoying as hell until you do.”

Emerson chimes in, pointing towards the front doors a touch too gleefully- “Only pay phone’s out front.”

Eddie scoffs- figures, they’d try to get rid of him- but he can’t blame them too much, seeing as Jeff is right. 

Damn Murphy and his damn law. Eddie scoops up the change with an exaggerated flourish and stomps out, icy wind swallowing all the noise of the bar the second his boots hit snow. 

He follows the gravel trail that leads to the glass phone booth, the whole structure at a poorly-crafted slant that makes the door stick; Eddie shoves his shoulder against the iced-over seam four fucking times before it cracks and gives. 

Shoulder smarting, Eddie closes himself inside the booth, and with movements made clumsy by mittens and cold, loads the quarters and dials home. 

The trailer landline’s dial tone drones. With each ring, Eddie thunks a mittened hand against his forehead and watches the frost of his breath suspended in the air. 

You don’t answer. 

His shoulder stings, and he rubs at it, petulant, quarters clinking back down into the tray. He reloads them, grizzling all the while, and punches in Jonathan’s number, banking on the fact that you might be at your aunt’s place for Christmas Eve festivities.

No luck there, either. Eddie’s close to using the returned quarters as eye covers and laying down in the snow, letting hypothermia guide him to the afterlife- when suddenly, inexplicably, the phone on the hook rings.

The first time, Eddie thinks he imagined it. The second time, it jolts him into action, hardly daring to hope as he snatches the receiver up and speaks, breathless- “Hello?”

“Eddie!”

He doesn’t get caught up in the logistics, the why and hows just yet. Upon hearing your voice on the line, full and sweet after so many droning tones, Eddie slumps with relief against the booth’s angled window pane. 

“Sweetheart. Hi. Holy shit, are you a sound for sore ears. God, I fucking miss you.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose between clothed fingers, biting back tears of joy when your giggles like tinkling bells surround him.

“I miss you too. So much. Gareth called earlier to give me this number, said you’ve been a pest and might benefit from hearing my voice,” you tease, sounding like you’ve cupped the phone around your mouth to hide your words from others.

Eddie is basking in it, the simple act of you speaking doing wonders for his whole system, like a mug of cocoa for the soul. He makes a mental note to do something nice for Gareth, at a later date when he’s not sick of looking at his bandmates. 

“Bet he did,” Eddie concedes. “It’s been a total nightmare shitshow from hell over here, babe. I’m barely holding it together without my handler.”

“Poor thing.” You’re sympathetic but there’s still a playful edge to your voice when you ask, “Don’t you know it’s almost Christmas? Being a Scrooge only gets you so far.”

“Noted.” Normally, Eddie would be better at matching your energy, but he feels like all the wit got sucked out of him somewhere between here and the bar. “Keep talkin’. The tips of my ears aren’t quite warm yet. Wearing anything slutty on this holiday eve?”

You laugh, again (a balm, a blanket, et al cheesy romantic idioms), and Eddie can practically hear the eye roll this time- “Oh yeah, dressed real sexy for Aunt Joyce’s family supper. Light wash Levi’s and everything.”

Eddie makes various dramatic horny noises and you snicker. In the following lull, the noise from the party in Hawkins plays muted in the background. Glasses clinking, indistinct chatter from other people he loves, puffs of your breath quiet in comparison.

“Sounds noisy,” he says, and when you sigh, there’s a weary undertone that plucks a chord in Eddie’s heart.

“Yeah. It is. Gonna come rescue me? My knight in shining armor?”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie groans, hard plastic receiver pressing into his temple. “You know I would in a heartbeat, princess. Gareth told you all the flights are fucked?”

“Yeah. Guess we’re just shit outta luck, this year.”

“Two more weeks,” Eddie says, clawing at the only hopeful thread he’s got left. “Two more weeks of this horseshit and January third, baby, my ass is on a plane to you. If it kills me. Seriously.”

“It’s not gonna kill you.” Buttery soft and gentler than he thinks he deserves, you say, “However much you’re missin’ me, I’m feeling the same. I know it sucks to be apart right now, but I’m so proud of you. And the band. But mostly you. I’m probably too partial.”

Eddie grins and lets the praise wash over him, tucks it away for a dreary day (which’ll be tomorrow, at this rate). “Good thing somebody is. Keeps me sane in this godforsaken wasteland.”

He’s being dramatic and you both know it- but since Eddie’s much worse off in terms of post-call comfort, you let it slide. After drawn out, gushy goodbyes and promises to call sometime tomorrow, Eddie treks back reluctantly into the heat of the bar.

In the time it took to make the call, the place had filled out- mostly farmers and locals eager to celebrate the upcoming holiday with whiskey and gossip; Eddie squeezes through a sea of knit scarves and bobbled hats to get back to the table. 

Upon their Fearless Leader’s return, Jeff’s the only one with balls enough to look Eddie in the eye when he says, “There’s a fan of yours at the corner booth who wants a signature.”

“Gotta be shittin’ me.” Not yet seated, Eddie leans into his fists on the table, but he’s quick to swallow his irritation, even as he mutters expletives under his breath. Bona fide fans of the band are still rare enough to be exciting, and he really, really doesn’t want to be an asshole to anyone, especially not a fan, not on Christmas.

Plus, Eddie’s feeling softer, more charitable, since he got to speak with you. Unfortunately for his not-yet-curated rockstar persona, you make him a better person. Even from across the country.

To show his displeasure with the general situation, Eddie swipes a tall-necked beer from Gareth’s collection and downs a quarter of it on his way across the bar. There’s a line of booths along the back wall, partially hidden by the centralized bar; strings of Christmas lights and tinsel twinkle from the rafters along the path Eddie takes, while an old stereo system plays local holiday FM. 

Eddie winds his way between tables and the bustling bar, trying to come up with a game plan to make this interaction as friendly and speedy as possible- but when he rounds the corner and sees the booth, he freezes.

There you are. Sitting in a bar booth in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho, wearing your downy winter jacket and a smile bright as a homing beacon.

It’s like his brain is on a ten second delay, everything between his ears a high pitched ring as he takes you in while anything that isn’t you melts away into insignificance. 

“Hi,” you say, beaming, rising out of the booth, brimming with excitement.

Eddie almost trips over his own boot to close the distance, pulling you into his arms, wrapping them tight around your shoulders. He buries his face into the side of your neck, breathing deep, memorizing for the next time you’re not this close.

“What the fuck,” he murmurs, hoarse against your hair, and he feels the giddy laughter tremble through your whole frame. 

You’re clinging to him, too, a big handful of his flannel in your left hand, the outline of his skull in the other, thumb sweeping under all those curls, soothing. “Hi, baby. Hi. Couldn’t stand being away from you any longer.”

Eddie pulls away to kiss your cheek, then mirrors the action, then behind your ear and down down until you’re giggling, pushing at his forehead in protest- “Don’t you wanna know how I’m here?”

“Santa,” Eddie says, confident, squeezing your hips. “Or God. Who I will totally believe in and pledge my soul to for bringing you here.”

“I don’t think you can pledge something that’s already mine.” You punctuate this with a poke to his ribs, then a pull of his hand, and Eddie follows you into the booth, sitting close enough to keep a hand tracking a soft path over your thigh. 

It was Gareth’s idea, apparently- he called home a few days ago, confirmed that you were equally eager to pull off the surprise. The original plan was to meet at the band’s next tour stop, but when the Christmas Day gig got cancelled and a blizzard rolled in, your plans went hinky.

“It was Uncle Wayne, in the end.” You kiss the back of Eddie’s knuckles, and he feels a tender part of his heart thump in response. “He covered the extra cost of a last-minute ticket, figured out the bus route to this place for me, too. Said to tell you Merry Christmas.”

Eddie could cry from the wave of gratefulness that swells in his chest, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a shimmering line of tears in your own eyes, and he can’t have that, so in lieu of words he leans in and kisses you.

Your lips slot perfect and familiar against his own, tasting the sweetness from an earlier candy cane. Eddie’s tongue traces the contours of the inside of your mouth, probably a bit too familiar for a public setting but fuck it, it’s Christmas and no one’s watching.

The two of you are mostly sequestered in the corner of the big room, the added bulk to Eddie’s frame from his jacket doing a perfect job of shielding you from view, happily backed against the wall with one leg draped over his thigh.

When Eddie finally pulls back, just enough to see you, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt, fingers warming against his ribs. There’s an inked sparrow you find by memory, one of your favorite places to touch and kiss.

Your thumb runs over the familiar spot, the signals of his skin decipherable to you alone. 

Eddie fills his lungs with air and tries to quell the stiff wave of arousal, and in the same breath, winces, remembering- “Well, sweet thing, I’d invite you back to my place but I’m sharing a one-room with a whole pack of miscreants.”

Eddie’s about to suggest raiding the motel’s blanket stock and sleeping in the van, just the two of you, when something like guilt pinches at your features. “Um. Yeah. About that. I may have bullied Gareth into getting me your manager’s number, and I also may have called him from the airport and chewed him out a bit.”

When Eddie’s brows shoot up in shock, delight, you wince, cutting him off before a word can get in edgewise- “It’s not right that he left you all stranded out here, on fucking Christmas, no less- you’re the ones funding that asshole’s cozy little vacation.” 

With the strength of your conviction, you tilt your chin up, eyes glittering and defiant- “I told him if he wasn’t gonna take care of you boys, I’d take care of him. Get right on a flight just to kick his ass.”

The hand still at Eddie’s ribs flexes with residual anger, your nails digging a quick flash of welcome pain that helps tether him to the present, mind almost completely fogged over with lust at the thought of you bitching out his piece of shit manager. 

“So…” Eddie starts, clears his throat, tries to tug at his pant leg subtly but catches the moment that sharp spark of your hostility melts into a smirk; you drum your fingers against him with a tilted head as he finds his voice- “So he’s gonna, what, promise to be less of an asshole in the new year, is that the deal?”

“Yeah. That and a couple of hotel rooms magically opened up for my favorite rockstar. Four of ‘em, enough for the boys to each have their own- if you don’t mind sharing with me, that is.”

Eddie wants to swallow the coy tilt of your mouth but settles for kissing you again, veins zipping with glee and good cheer; he pulls you in impossibly closer, tugging by the lapels of your coat, nose to nose while you giggle, smothering his affections- “Holy shit. Babe, you’re the rockstar. Replace me with a cardboard cutout and I don’t think anyone would know the difference. What in the fuck are we still doing here?”

Eddie moves to pull you both from the booth, overzealous in his excitement; you shift to keep your weight on the bench, Eddie plopping back down with a little oof while you chastise, “Hold on, I have to give the boys their room keys and I wanna wish them a merry Christmas! Plus, you should probably give yourself a second to- uh- settle down.”

You’re doing a poor job of concealing your amusement and Eddie groans, arms wrapping around his middle and hunching forward, head hitting the table with a dull thunk. “Fuck’s sake. I’m a short walk away from getting you alone in a warm room with a real bed and you’re telling me not to pop a stiffy at the thought? I’m but a mere mortal, have some compassion, jesus christ.”

“Nope, just me.” An escaped lock of dark hair gets caught between your fingertips, then tucked behind his ear. When you lean in to kiss the exposed spot shivers erupt down Eddie’s spine, even more when you whisper, “Can call me whatever you want once you get me in that room, though.”

After a few more minutes in which Eddie attempts to recall every unsexy thing that has ever happened in the span of his life, you’re both presentable enough to weave hand in hand back to Corroded’s table. 

There’s a flurry of exclamations and hugs, well wishes and present-distribution (because of course you packed everyone’s gifts, seeing as you’re some sort of angel or perhaps a fae being from Valinor, Eddie hasn’t decided yet). 

Eddie buys another round of drinks for the troupe, and tousles Gareth’s hair while the other two are distracted with Jake’s new Lego set. “Merry Christmas, kid. I owe you one.”

Gareth’s cheeks are rosy from the heater and the alcohol as he gives a nod of acknowledgement; they clink beers, and all is forgiven.

Once everyone is set up with the hotel address and their individual room keys, Eddie plucks at your elbow, patience stretching thin until the two of you are finally, finally borne out into the cold on a wave of goodbyes.

The snow is blindingly white, even in the low light of a winter’s eve; Eddie blinks, the image of your face tipped up to the sky burned into the black of his eyelids.

A perfectly-formed snowflake lands on the high point of your cheek, dissolving into your skin. Eddie kisses the spot and winds an arm around your low back, pleased when you bundle into his side.

“Our chariot awaits,” he declares, sweeping a grand arm at the endless snow and empty street, which makes you laugh again.

“Come on.” Your eye roll is fond as you pull Eddie’s steps in line with yours, setting off in the direction of a hot bath and silk sheets. “Let’s see if we can’t find us a little Christmas cheer.”

Eddie thinks he might be starting to like Idaho.

[itsabouttimex2]

Eclipse Kings

Part Three: Wild Dawn

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: You Are Here)

(Extra One)

For almost all his life, Sun Wukong had never really known “want”, not for more than the few moments it took to decide he was going to pursue some fleeting and new desire.

The land itself seemed to conspire to his favor- he was borne to a thriving mountain of surplus and luxury, sparkling streams racing down each hill, bountiful orchards with boughs so heavy they dipped near to the earth. Even the horizon was generous, spanning sunrises to color his every lavish breakfast and hosting a banner of glittering stars to lull him to sleep.

He wanted for nothing, because when the world would not bend to his whims, he simply bent it himself- to the end result of power, luxury, and adoration.

His life was fraught with the inevitable turning of blades, stuffed full of motion, conflict, and inevitable triumph. His troop grew by the year, Flower Fruit Mountain knew nothing of suffering, and his treasury was brimming with relics.

A demon crowned eternal king of a flourishing mountain, untouchable and immovable.

What more could a monkey want?

Company, as it turned out. The varied little simians scattered all through the trees and bushes of his mountain were wonderful, of course- he cherished them all like his own children, and doted on each and every one of the little menaces.

But he still wanted more.

—-——————————————————————

“That, little mortal, is when I joined my Sworn Brotherhood!”

The Great Sage Equal to Heaven smiles warmly at his recited memories, claws lightly sifting through a large collection of traditional clothing.

“We were going to lead a siege on that stuck-up realm of Celestials, but my darling moonbeam had an even better idea- why not start our own kingdoms? Instead of teaching those stuffy old fools how to respect us, we could just show them up and take all their little worshipping mortals away!”

You don’t say a word in turn, still bundled up in a fluffy towel, sitting on the nearest chair, idly watching through blank eyes. Since you hadn’t been willing to walk or respond, Wukong had scooped you up with a sigh and hurried off to his and Macaque’s shared changing room, given permission to pick out some old clothes of theirs to give you.

“Of course, all of the stuff that was supposed to be boring was, uh… a total mess. Y’know, like deciding on territories, drawing borders, figuring out taxes—ugh. Mortals do not like taxes. Sure like ‘em better than being eaten by demons, though.” He chuckles at his own words, shaking his head as if to dismiss the unpleasant memories of bureaucracy. Wukong pulls out a black ceremonial robe embroidered with purple thread and holds it up against you, squinting as if he’s considering how it might look.

“…no. My sweet moon wouldn’t like you wearing this.”

“…s’it “too nice” for me?”

“…you mortals really aren’t the best with self-esteem, are you? No, little villager- it’s because he wore something like this when we were married. After that, he started commissioning seamstresses to make him more clothes like that robe… the actual thing is framed in a glass box over our bed. I don’t understand why Mac wanted that, but I can’t ever say no to him…”

Wukong’s voice trails off, tone softening as his gaze drifted to the ceiling. A smile plays on his lips, barely restrained, as he’s replaying his dearest memory of Macaque on repeat. You shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond, the weight of his affection for his moonlit partner pressing against the silence.

He breaks it himself, but only after walking across the room and popping open lacquered wood chest, breaking the preserving sigil printed across it .

“You know,” says the king, his claws tapping the gleaming pauldron of gold within, “I wore this when we got married.”

He turns to the side, catches the fact that you’ve perked up even a little, and continues.

“It was the nicest thing I owned at the time- most of my outfits were skinned animals and stolen rags. This is something my brothers had given me, so it was the nicest thing I had that wasn’t my staff.”

Wukong’s fingers linger on the golden armor, tone rich with an ancient nostalgia. “I wasn’t one for fancy clothes back then- still coming around to it now- but I was even worse with it back then. I wanted to go in my tiger skirt and my old boots! But my brothers? Oh, they insisted: “You’re getting married- you can’t just show up looking like a bandit on your wedding day!” So they gave me this, and a nice red robe with a ton of silly characters embroidered into it- it’s framed right next to my mate’s robe, now.”

Say something. You need to say something. You can’t just mumble and mutter if you want to stay in a king’s good graces, can you?

“…do you… remember your vows?”

He perks with a smile, intrigued by the random question, entirely missing how dangerously close you are to cracking.

“Well, if that’s want you want to know, how about I tell you about the whole ceremony? Here, I’ll lay out how it went…”

——————————————————————

Macaque shuffles in place for a moment, old meekness returning to him- his hands twitch, and the notes smoothly inked onto the sleeve of his silk robe catch in the light, drawing his aureate eyes downwards. The crowd all around is nervous mortals and drunk demons, dressed in red or black or gold, held at peace mostly by his eager “brothers”. On Azure’s lap and shoulders are several children, more interested in his blade and snout than the ceremony. He’s smiling, more at ease than any other here.

The others for the most part are doing alright. Peng is preoccupied with their drink, casually allowing themselves to be marveled at by a blacksmith and a jeweler- though neither are allowed to touch, both mortals are fervently etching the gilded designs into their paper scrolls. The avian flaps those glimmering wings on occasion, causing streaks of light to flash over the modest venue, catching across the polished tiles.

Yellowtusk sits on a carved stone chair, marking the attendants in a neat ledger, made oversized to fit his hands. Several troops of Long-Tailed and Crab-Eating Macaques play on his trunk and tusks, their little fingers deftly taking hold in the cracks of his thick skin to ascend it. They don’t ever distract him for more than a few seconds, even when the youngest cubs forget their manners and start chirping in his ears.

The largest of their Brotherhood stands at attention in the doorway, toying with the straps of his battle axe. His face is painted with a rarely seen apprehension, looking back and forth over the room on occasion. Sometimes his gaze stills on a veil-shrouded woman with painted lips, and then he smiles for a moment.

The Demon Bull King is not nearly as subtle of a man as he thinks.

Not that it matters- when, for all that (which is very much) his Sworn Brothers know he’s courting a Celestial Maiden, they’ve chosen to keep an oath of silence on the matter.

(“He’s our big guy,” as Wukong had put it during one meeting months ago. “And we want that goofball to be happy.”)

(All of them- even Peng- had toasted to that notion, in the general direction of the bull’s empty chair.)

The mortals are safe. His brothers are content. He can do this.

Once more the dried notes on his sleeve catch Macaque’s attention, snapping him from the venue and to his golden love.

One last time he goes over them, dedicating those practiced words to memory.

He takes a breath, and turns to the audience.

“My mate-to-be is… molten gold, kissed by the rising sun. Beautiful is a shallow word to describe him- he is a masterpiece, a divine work of art carved by the heavens themselves. His eyes hold the all the world’s fire within them, blazing with the brilliance of a thousand sunsets. His laughter is a hymn to freedom itself, a melody I pray to hear every day for the rest of my life. When I look at him, I don’t just see a king, but the very heart of my existence, the axis upon which my world turns. He is my sun, my storm, my sanctuary, my everything.”

Several of the softer mortals are touched by his speech, lifting their cotton sleeves to the very corners of their eyes. Others only lightly clap, still uncomfortable at being called to the union.

Macaque does not have time to look away from before Wukong’s ginger-furred paws clasp onto his shoulders, holding tight.

There are no notes, no hours of reciting, no time spent with helpful Sworn Brothers to listen and offer advice, no matter how snarky- Sun Wukong simply turns from the crowd and offers himself.

“Macaque… I love you. I want you to be my mate forever. Until the sun goes dark.” Wukong's tail flicks behind him, expression softening with a rare blush. "Because... you're part of my story, bud. You’ve always been a part of it. And I'm tired of pretending like I can write the rest of it without you. Be mine forever and let’s be mates.”

The world is blurry, at least to Macaque. Nine and a half seconds prior he had thought there’d be some disappointment to push through, delivered an insincere joke or a vow written by another’s hand.

But there was only been Sun Wukong, love of his life, smiling at him.

“I will be your mate,” he chokes out, “forever. Until the sun goes dark.”

——————————————————————

“We’ve never been apart since then,” he purrs, dragging one claw over a hanfu the color of a sky on a gentle morning, toying with the white sash to untie it. “Not even for a day.”

Before you have a chance to respond, he plucks up the garment and holds it out to you. The size difference between him and the outfit is comical, and you wonder why these two demon kings have it in the first place.

“This should fit you, bud! Here, let’s get that towel off-“

You scream.

It’s not particularly loud or long, or even desperate- but it’s a scream all the same.

Worse still for yourself, you take this hysteric moment to lay on some shaky remand.

“NO! No more! Just stop touching me! I don’t- I d-don’t like it! You’re- you’re twice my size and you keep- you and him are always getting in my face and- a-and putting your hands on me, and I- I’m am so, so sick of it! I am not an o-object! I am a person! I am a person! I-“

“Quiet. Now.”

Wukong’s golden eyes narrow as he stands there, the weight of his presence pressing down on the room like a thundercloud ready to burst. His tail flicks sharply, but his voice remains measured.

…there are tears rolling down your eyes now, lost in the fluffy expanse of the towel around your body, sopping uselessly away as the king takes two footsteps to your form, frowning.

Not that it does anything to settle the rapid beat of your heart, crushed by the newly oppressive atmosphere.

“…you’re scared. I understand that. And maybe my moonbeam and I, we’ve been a little too hands on. That’s on us. But this my pagoda, and I did not build it by hand so that a little guest could yell at me. You know that you’re not a prisoner here. The doors aren’t locked, and there aren’t guards stationed outside them… now. I’ll let you get dressed- alone- and then you can eat. And…

“And no more touching without your permission. Okay?”

“…m’sorry. F-for yelling.”

“…I’m not mad,” he lies, one hand shifting to condescendingly pat you on the head. “I forget- my brothers, and my mate, too- we yaoguai just aren’t the same as mortals. You little things are scared too easily, and break so quickly.”

Something about hearing that is humiliating, but you don’t dare argue with him. Instead, you hunch your shoulders and cling to the towel, sniveling down at the floor.

Wukong’s frown softens the longer he watches you cry, all the sharpest edges of his irritation melting away into something closer to pity.

“I’ll leave it here. Call if you get lost looking for the kitchen.”

His words are painfully curt, and then the king is gone, golden beads and silk robes swishing behind him with each step.

You were never close, and only ever tangentially in the “good graces” of these kings. It’s not like you’ve shattered some precious bond.

But you still feel bad.

You wouldn’t, not usually. But as you unwrap the towel and begin to dress yourself in the lovely hanfu left draped over the chair nearest to you, the aches and pains of yesterday’s chase down the mountain weigh on you, just as MK’s new identity and newer happiness strike a deep point of insecurity- that you simply weren’t good enough to take care of him.

You weren’t good enough to provide for him anymore.

You wanted to believe you were more than them- strong enough to survive on your own, to fight your way through the world with MK in tow. But the truth was harder to face: Sun Wukong and the Six-Eared Macaque were meteoric gods, and you were just a mortal caught in the tides of their myth.

And where MK was thriving in this ecliptic chaos, you instead were already cracking under pressure after only a day spent before the kings.

…there’s a lovely silk pouch, dyed the color of new lavender blooms, hanging from the hanfu- you only notice it after tying the sash into a decent bow. The soft texture grounds your tumultuous thoughts, and a powerful aroma steadily drifts from within.

You fiddle with the tie and open the sash, revealing a dried bundle of orange blossoms tightly tied together, each stem marked with a glittering mystic sigil- 提高.

Whatever scent they would’ve had already was amplified by the marking, causing a heavy flow of fresh floral scent to ooze from the little purse.

You lift it and take a deep breath from the bag, allowing the veil of citrus aroma to utterly cloud your mind, providing it a much needed fog to rest under.

The soothing haze is slow to fade, even after you’ve pulled away and sealed the bag, but eventually you are left with only your steadied thoughts in the ornate chamber, amongst fine silks and polished wood, treasures of centuries past hung casually about It’s beautiful—almost too much so.

A reminder that this world of theirs is not the same of yours.

But you would not stop trying to survive in it.

You couldn’t.

[dynamitegun]

I have this dumb mental image of an aged Liara, now in her Matriarch stage centuries after the end of the games leading a diplomatic mission into Krogan space. Upon arrival her staff are horrified by a band of Krogan soldiers that meet them at the landing zone led by a grizzled leader. His scales marked by a hundred battles and a demeanor to match, roaring out a 'request' to speak to "the one in charge."

The mood is tense. Krogan space is civilized but along its border bands of renegades, holdouts of the old ways of war aren't uncommon. The mission has a few Asari commandos providing security but they're outnumbered two to one. Should they turn back? Stall for time and try to plan an escape?

Instead, Matriarch T'Soni holds up a hand, calming her staff and without a word, walks down the ship's ramp towards the Krogan completely unarmed, in nothing but her gown, ignoring the cries behind her begging her to come back.

She reaches the band of Krogan warriors, looks the leader up and down and places her hands on her hips.

"Is this anyway to greet your mother, Grunt"?

A tumbleweed passing makes the only sound

The Krogan grins, and scoops Liara into his arms for a hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her 'round.

"I missed you." He says softly. She pats his shoulder as he places her down again.

"It's good to see you again too Grunt. You've got quite the command here it seems." She feels a smile on her lips as she waves her hand at the Krogan milling about, all trying their best not to stare, just as stunned as the members of the Asari mission.

"Yep. I've got my own brigade now. Aralakh Brigade. Over 2'000 strong. All under my command." His voice rings with pride. Liara nods.

"She'd be proud if she were here you know. Of what you've become Grunt. Following in her footsteps."

Grunt laughs. "She would, wouldn't she"? He doesn't wait for an answer and Liara knows he doesn't need one. They both know the answer. Shepard had taken Grunt in, seen past the tank bred warrior exterior to the boy beneath and had taken him to her side.

When Liara learned of this upon meeting Grunt for the first time on Utukku (Learning her bond mate had an adopted son that she'd never seen fit to mention) she had been surprised, but surprises were something she had grown used to with Shepard.

"Kid just needs a bit of direction Liara. Give him a chance." She could still hear Shepard's voice in her memory reassuring her.

She had been right "on the money" as she was fond of saying.

Liara ran a hand down her front, straightening the folds of her dress as she put back on her 'matriarch face'. "Well then. We have a schedule to keep. A meeting with the planetary overseer. Would you escort us"? She asked aloud.

Grunt nodded, with a slight twinge in his own voice putting on his 'Commander' voice. "I'd be honored, Matriarch T'Soni." Turning he bellowed out to his troops. "Form up!"

Liara walks back to her staff, almost all with wide eyes at what's unfolded before them. She crosses her arms. "As I recall we have a schedule to keep, do we not?" Breaking the trance they rush to their duties. She turns her back to them, hiding a small smile and watches Grunt form up his troops. The way he orders them into formation reminds her of no one but Shepard, a small piece of her still alive all these years on.

She would be proud.

...

I'm of the option that Femshep is Grunt's adoptive mom, and realized that even if she won't be around forever with Grunt, a romanced Liara certainly would be.

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

summary: in which best friends, y/n henderson and steve harrington get caught up in their feelings while paranormal activities occur in the small town of hawkins, indiana

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞

I - the vanishing of will byers 1.9k

II - the search 2.1k

III - the weirdo on maple street 2k

IV - the house party 2.1k

V - the body 2.4k

VI - pictures 1k

VII - the woods 2.4k

VIII - don’t turn off the lights 1.7k

IX - monster hunting 2.5k

X - the kiddie pool 2.7k

XI - let’s kill this son of a bitch 4.1k

XII - happy holidays 2.7k

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨

XIII - mad max 3k

XIV - new kids on the block 2.4k

XV - halloween night 4.6k

XVI - tension 1.9k

XVII - episodes 2.3k

XVIII - the cellar 2.3k

XIX - sexual electricity 3.1k

XX - the junkyard 3.3k

XXI - hawkins lab 2.3k

XXII - the spy 1.8k

XXIII - together again 3.4k

XXIV - the fight 2.6k

XXV - tunnels 3.1k

XXVI - the snow ball 3k

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

XXVII - scoops ahoy 3.3k

XXVIII - suzie, do you copy? 2.7k

XXIX - the code 2.4k

XXX - evil russians 2.6k

XXXI - the air ducts 2.1k

XXXII - child endangerment 2.4k

XXXIII - booby traps 2.8k

XXXIV - the gate 2.4k

XXXV - caught 2.9k

XXXVI - drugged 2.1k

XXXVII - escaping evil russians 101 2.8k

XXXVIII - interrogate me 3.6k

XXXIX - the bite 2.4k

XL - the mind flayer 2.1k

XLI - scoops troop 3k

XLII - the battle of starcourt 4.5k

XLIII - new beginnings 2.7k

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

XLIV - the pep rally 5.4k

XLV - the nightmares 5k

XLVI - the game 2.5k

more tba!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[devondespresso]

(found this bad boy in my drafts and honestly i loved reading it again so we're gonna post it. wahoo)

my personal canon for post-starcourt stobin is that they're actually inseparable for the first month or so

im talking steve taken to the hospital for his injuries and the staff having to force them apart and call security. im talking they have to drag robin kicking and screaming to a different room because last time Steve left her sight he was dragged back lifeless and presumably dead (i firmly believe they intentionally used physical torture for steve and to use his condition for psychological torture for robin)

and steve waking up half-present in a cold plain room alone? might as well be back in the bunker. and if theres doctors trying to run tests and examine his wounds? might as well be Russian soldiers standing over him and touching his injuries. hurting him again. possibly planning to hurt Robin next.

and now hospital staff are trying to deal with two screaming desperate teenagers who keep begging for the other in between rambles of nonsense and they can't run tests or do their jobs or even get answers from them because all these two seem to care about is the other teen

so they don't really have any practical choices other than moving them to a combined room. and they still freak out every now and then but having the other in the room keeps these outbursts much shorter and doctors are able to actually run tests and help these kids as long as they're close together. And when Robins blood tests and everything come back ok and shes able to be discharged, shes given special permission to stay in the room at all times

and the two little kids that came in with them? they're not exactly freaking out quite like the teens but they're certainly not making things easy either. Ericas testing the willpower of any doctor or nurse she can speak to and both kids stay as close as they can at all times and refuse to leave the hospital. visiting hours over? they're in the waiting room, even convinced a couple to move so they can have seats closest to the hall that teens room is in. try to call their parents? good luck getting a full name or number out of them. once their parents do come get them they're showing back up in an hour, bikes lodged in the bike rack and back in their seats. they've been stopped for sneaking in several times and caught hiding under one of the teens beds even more often. eventually staff just gets tired of spending half their shift wrangling two middle schoolers and it becomes an unspoken agreement to just ignore them hiding in the room.

And once Steve is discharged its the same thing all over again. Robins parents were worried about her spending all her time in the hospital with the boy from her summer job, but given the cover story about the fire and the pair getting trapped inside they convinced themselves its reasonable to want to stay by your friends side while they recover

but now that hes out, shes asking if she can spend the night at his house? and his parents won't be there? absolutely not. except robins in no mindset to accept leaving him alone for this long let alone overnight so she tried sneaking out to bike over to his before he can get the dumb idea to drive over in the middle of the night post-concussion. but the buckleys notice shes gone either because she makes too much noise sneaking out or they notice the severe lack of Robin-trying-to-be-quiet noises into the night (robin my tism queen definitely has bump-into-shit syndrome in the middle of the night but she also doesn't make any noise sneaking around the base with scoops troop so i think it's a 50/50 weather she can use the adrenaline to sneak out to see steve quietly)

so they put two and two together and drive over to the Harrington house. steve answers the door and calls robin over, both of them looking sheepish but not exactly guilty. they talk on steves couch (yes Steves there too) and stobin does their best to explain their separation anxiety that gets the severity across without getting them sent to a mental hospital all while making sure not to break any ndas (which ends up being a long conversation with stobin trying to translate their experience in the bunker to fit the cover story well enough, which is very different when the real story is kidnapping and the fake one is a building fire)

eventually they reach an understanding of "we're worried this is kinda unhealthy but its clearly more stressful to try and separate you right now and we're definitely not going to be able to stop you" so they compromise to let steve stay at the buckleys for a little bit so they can at least keep an eye on them. at first they try just letting steve sleep on the couch (which they agree to because steve worried about overstepping as the guest in their house) but one or both of them have nightmares the first night and robin ends up on the couch with him anyway.

after a few nights they get the gist of the stobin dynamic: attached so strongly its concerning but nothing... flirty. anything they do is always completely innocent. hand holding with no heart eyes, banter with no tension, hell even sharing a bed they resemble little kids in a sleepover pile more than lovers. and especially after nightmares they'll find robin holding steve like hes just one of her old teddy bears.

of course theyre still cautious and have their suspicions that theyre secretly dating and just really good at hiding it, they're paranoid parents after all and robins never shown this much attention to a boy ever. but they do relax a bit with it as they're more confident theres no... funny business.. going on. or at the very least nothing thats going to leave robin hurt. they'll have their talks and robin will promise its "nothing like that", but they've grown to like steve so they're sure robin will come to them when shes ready.

now if only there was a reasonable explanation for the middle schoolers that keep showing up. apparently they were also trapped in the fire with robin and steve which helps make some sense of it, but they also sat with them in the hospital. surely if they're having nightmares about the fire they'd go to their parents? they hadn't really talked much with the sinclairs but they seemed like very loving parents and robin follows steve to his little dinners with mrs Henderson pretty often so its not likely that they can't go to their parents about nightmares, but they seem to prefer going to steve specifically. like ringing the Buckley's doorbell at 1 in the morning asking if steves there. and of course they'll let them in and show them to robins room (after calling their parents first, do they even know their childs run off?) where steve was sleeping in a pallet on the floor but is now a glorified blanket pile robins hugging. on her bed, of course. because god forbid theres 2 feet of space between them.

and the kid just joins them in their sleepover pile, dustin usually clinging to steves other side like a baby koala and erica usually finding a spot leaning against robin or occasionally making room in between them

and so more often than not the Buckley's have not one, not two, but three extra children in their house that isn't their daughter, all of them sleeping in a pile on robins bed like theres nowhere else they'd rather be

[strangersteddierthings]

Imagine, if you will, that Steve gets Vecna'd during the weapons building portion of the adventure. They're parked far away from Hawkins to prevent someone stumbling upon them and there are like a total of 4 tapes in the RV, none of which have anyone's favorite songs on them.

Steve, in his mind, hears Robin say she has a bad feeling, and it twists to be that she cruelly says Steve's the reason it's going to end badly. If Steve were a better, smarter, less pathetic person, they'd need him. He should just leave before he fucks this up for them all. Nancy piles on how he's bullshit, has always been bullshit. Dustin asks why he's even still around when they've already replaced him with Eddie. It's a bad time.

Meanwhile, Robin is freaking out because Steve just froze in the middle of making Molotov's. "Steve. Steve! STEVE!" Her shouting draws everyone and someone asks what his favorite song is and Robin's freaking out, but she thinks she knows this. "Bohemian Rhapsody! We sing it all the time together!"

"We don't even have a Queen tape!" Dustin is shouting like they don't know that already.

"Then we sing it!" Lucas suggests. "It's Bohemian Rhapsody. Everyone knows it, right?"

Robin wastes no time. She starts the song, slightly off-key, "Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"

And slowly, everyone joins in. It doesn't sound great, and they don't really fall into a good rhythm, though Eddie does move to tap out the rhythm of it onto the side of the RV in hopes of keeping them all somewhat in time with the song.

Robin, Eddie, and Erica, surprisingly, are the only three that know all the lyrics in the correct order. The song has some long guitar solos they can't recreate out here, so the just jump into the next lyrics.

Cannot emphasize enough that it does not sound good.

But it works.

The noise of it breaks through, reaches the part of Steve's mind that is separate from where Vecna has Steve trapped. That little portal thing Max described forms, but it's not the music that breaks Steve from his mind. Not really.

Both he and Vecna turn towards the portal because whatever they're hearing is fucking awful but Steve can see, like Max saw, that everyone has gathered around him. They are all singing, off key and as loud as they possibly can, at him. To him.

For him.

He watches as Eddie bangs out a tempo for them to follow on the RV side, as Robin sings into his chest because she's wrapped him in her arms as tightly as possible, Dustin and Erica on either side of Robin (Scoops Troop reunited). Lucas and Max are scream-singing, Max with one ear out of the headphones and a hand clutching Nancy's as even Nancy sings along.

It's the worst singing Steve's ever heard.

It's the best version of Bohemian Rhapsody Steve's ever heard.

The plot twist is this. It's not even his favorite song. It's just a song he likes well enough.

He breaks free of Vecna not because it's his favorite song, but because it's his favorite people singing it, doing their best to save him because they care about him.

[oh-stars]

Sundays are for Scoops

for @nerdsandthelike as a part of @fandomtrumpshate.

Thank you @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Rating: G | Scoops Troop, found family | No warnings | 2,394 words

--

It takes Steve twelve hours to decide to go for it. It takes him another three days to get Robin on board. 

“These kids have you wrapped around their finger,” Robin huffs, feet scuffing up his dash as she sinks further into the passenger seat. 

“Like you could deny them anything,” Steve points out. “You biked across town to get Erica a pint of ice cream from Melvad’s because she mentioned her mom couldn’t find it at Bradley’s Big Buy.” 

Robin scowls at him, arms crossed. “Not the point.” 

Steve adjusts his grip on the steering wheel as he turns into the Wheelers’ and Sinclairs’ neighborhood. “This is going to be good for us,” he says, maybe too sincere for their usual schtick. 

“I’m not getting out,” Robin says as he eases up to the curb on the house between the Sinclairs and Wheelers. “The last thing I need right now is one of your kiddie friends stealing my seat because of some arbitrary rule.” 

“Oh the best friend privileges?” Steve asks, already opening his door. “The same ones you claim?” 

Robin flips him off, a quick, sarcastic smile pinching her face. 

He heads to the Sinclairs’ first. Steve doesn’t even get to knock before Erica’s opening the door, unimpressed. “He’s not here.” 

“Cool, not here for him,” Steve says. 

She pauses, lips pursed. There’s a flicker of hesitance, of something deeper, before she cocks her hip out and crosses her arms. “What do you want?” 

Steve leans against the wall and shrugs his free shoulder as nonchalantly as he can. Act cool, Harrington. “I’m having a game night at my place–” 

“Pass.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, pushing himself back to standing. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Rob’s in the car already and I’m about to drag Henderson out of Wheeler’s basement–” 

“I’m not playing with my stupid brother and all his–” 

“He’s not invited,” Steve says. “Scoops Troop only.” 

Erica’s eyes grow wider, just enough for Steve to pick up on it. He sees her hand ease up on the door frame. “I’m too old for Chutes & Ladders,” she says pointedly. 

“Good, because I was thinking Henderson could help us learn Dweebs and Doorknobs, if you were up for it,” Steve says with another shrug. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Or I could teach you guys Gin Rummy. Your call, Sinclair.”

She juts her chin up with a sniff of her nose. “Fine.” 

Steve tries to hold back his smile as much as possible, but he’s sure he’s failing miserably if the roll of her eyes says anything. “Grab your shit and meet Rob in the car. I’ll go get Henderson.” 

Erica slams the door in his face. He’ll take it for the win that it is. 

Mrs. Wheeler barely says hello as she opens the door, motioning with her head toward the belly of the house with Holly on her hip. “You know where they’re at.” It took a while for her to come around to him showing up for Mike instead of Nancy, but she’s finally settled with this new reality. Probably a lot faster than Steve himself did. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler,” Steve says, kissing her cheek as he passes. 

The wall of sound that erupts from the basement when Steve opens the door nearly takes him out. He pushes past it, jogging down the stairs, and snaps his fingers. “Henderson, time to go,” he says over the boys arguing. 

Dustin and Mike barely falter, only stopping for a split second to share a curious twitch of an eyebrow before they’re diving into another argument about some alligator of Star Wars or whatever. 

Lucas is watching them go back and forth like a tennis match, mindlessly shoving chips into his mouth as he nods along to their points. 

“I don’t have all day, Henderson,” Steve says. “Chop, chop! Let’s go!” He claps his hands, leaning over the railing to get a better vantage point to glare at the kid. 

Dustin rolls his eyes. “We’re in the middle of something, Steve,” he hisses. “Can’t you wait?” 

“Nope. C’mon. We’ve got places to be.” 

“Dude, seriously? You’re not even supposed to be my ride today! I biked here!” 

“Then shove the bike into the trunk. I don’t really care,” Steve says, shrugging just to piss him off even more. It’s fun riling him up, and as his honorary big brother, it’s Steve’s sole purpose in life to irritate him as much as possible. He takes his job very seriously. 

Dustin waves him off and turns back to Mike, who looks just as irritated by Steve’s presence but that’s not exactly new. “Ignore him. He’ll go away eventually. But you’re wrong about–” 

Steve looks to the popcorned ceiling and takes a deep breath. These kids, man. He propels himself off the rail and practically snags Dustin by the ball cap in one fluid motion.

The squawk of indignation he receives for his efforts only fuels him further. Steve drags him to the stairs. “Say bye, Henderson.” 

“This is child abduction,” Dustin squeaks, stumbling after Steve, considering he won’t free his hat or take it off his head. “I could call the police on you.” 

“Oh no,” Steve says, monotone, “I’m so scared of the cops.” 

“Hopper takes this shit very serious–” 

They both pause, breath hitched in their chest for a fraction of a moment, as they stare at one another in a silent panic. Understanding passes through them, quiet and heavy as they swallow their grief and move on. 

“Don’t fight me,” Steve says as he pushes Henderson along. “You’re going to like this.” 

Dustin groans his goodbyes to the Wheelers, then stomps his way down to the Beemer with Steve. 

He rounds the car, then groans even louder when he sees Robin in the front seat. “Steve,” he whines, long and loud, “tell her to move.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and slides into his seat. “Just get in, dude. We’ve got plans.” 

“Oh yeah,” Robin says. “Because this is so time sensitive.” 

“We’re about two seconds from Mr. O’Neil having me towed, so,” Steve says, cranking the car with a pointed look through the window at a pouting Dustin. “Get in the car, Henderson.” 

*

The Harrington House is usually cold and lifeless, but right now, it’s the warmest Steve’s ever felt. They’ve got a mixtape Robin made playing through the sound system on a low volume, a nice hum through the spacious rooms that shakes the chill from the walls. The dining room lights are dimmed and they lit candles for ambiance, the shadows flickering over their faces as they all gathered around the table. 

Dustin’s at the head, standing over them as he hovers over the papers strewn around the wooden surface. “And then, out of the depths of the forest, a creaking, eerie whistle–” 

“How can a whistle creak?” Robin asks, tapping her pencil against her chin. 

Steve tilts his head back, lips moving as he tries to imagine the sound in his head. 

Dustin levels her with a glare. “Just roll with it–” 

“But if I can’t imagine it–” 

“Then work on your imagination–” 

“Maybe you should use descriptions that actually make sense,” Erica snips, lips pursed as her eyes light up with glee. 

Dustin scrubs at his face for a second. “Okay,” he stresses with his hands in front of himself. Rushed, he says, “Out of the depths of the spooky forest, you hear a long, sharp whistle that sounds like a–”

“When did this become a spooky forest?” Robin asks, leaning forward. “You didn’t say that last time.” 

“It was implied–” 

Steve covers his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking with laughter as Dustin’s face gets progressively redder. 

Erica giggles, hiding in her hands as well and then suddenly all three of them are laughing hard enough to shake the table. It’s so silly and fun, playing together and riling up Dustin for the heck of it. Even Dustin was breaking, plopping back down in his seat and hiding his face behind the brim of his hat. 

It’s all just so… trivial. 

Steve knows how much this game means to Dustin, has spent the better part of a year hearing all about it, but he’s never seen how fun it could be. And here they are, with the characters Dustin helped them build, learning how to play and barely able to function for just… fucking around. Granted, he knows that Dustin probably wouldn’t be this flippant about his “real” games with the other guys, but it’s a very special kind of reward to see him and Erica act a little goofy. 

The last time the four of them were in a room together, just the four of them, they were escaping a secret Russian base. So this is a much appreciated improvement. 

Composed, Dustin sets the scene again. “Sir Robin,” Dustin addresses Steve, “you have to make a choice between the paths. Do you steer your horse, and subsequently your party, down the right or the left paths?” 

Steve looks to Robin, who just shrugs. “Don’t I have a spell thingy I can play?” 

Erica shakes her head. “No, but I do. I want to cast a light down both paths to see what's down there.” 

Dustin considers this, then hands her two different shape dice. “Roll both of these.” 

She does, but Steve can’t be bothered to see what numbers they landed on. Dustin will explain it anyway. By the looks of it, neither he or Erica are all that impressed with the outcome.

“Okay, you’re able to conjure enough magic to cast a light twenty feet down the path, but you can only do one of them. Which do you choose?” 

Erica looks down at her notes. “The right one is closer to the sound, right? That creaky whistle nonsense?” 

“Yup,” Dustin says, looking smug. 

“The left then.” 

“What?” Dustin squawks. “You don’t want to see what’s on the right?”

“No,” Erica huffs, crossing her arms. “It’s spooky and obviously a trap, so we’re making the smart play and going with the left.” 

Steve points his pencil at her. “What she said.” 

Robin’s head bobs between them like a tennis match, face alight with pure glee. 

Dustin groans but scribbles something down, before saying with a mighty sigh, “You don’t see anything. It’s a perfectly normal path.” 

“Oh, that’s the trap then,” Robin says. 

“Definitely a trap,” Erica agrees. 

“They can’t both be traps!”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no, I’m going with their gut here. I take my sword and start hacking through the brush to make my own path.” 

The barely concealed rage behind Dustin’s eyes as he levels Steve with a look is all worth it. 

*

The game night becomes a biweekly thing. Every other Sunday, the Scoops Troop gathers at Steve’s house to play games from sunrise to sunset. Well, not really, but it's damn near close. They have a one D&D session per month rule, since both Erica and Dustin play with other clubs too. The other Sundays, they play classic games or sometimes Dustin will try to make his own or have them test out another game similar to D&D. 

It’s a good way to connect, especially when they take breaks and Steve can check in with everyone. It’s the only way he knows that Erica has nightmares and can’t do enclosed spaces anymore without thinking about the vents. Or how Dustin likes to walkie in the middle of the night for a proof of life check, but he didn’t think Steve would be okay with that until their third session – which is frankly absurd, since they’re best friends and Steve would literally die for that kid, so a little middle of the night check in is nothing. He and Robin are pretty in sync as is, but it’s fun getting to be silly and forget that they’re like adults and shit. Or close to it. 

With Dustin and Erica, they can be silly and annoy them to their wits end without worrying about life or death consequences. Sure, Steve’s house is usually in disarray after their sessions and he’s usually sick with how much junk they consume, but goddamn is it worth it. 

It’s a few months into their routine when the other boys show up. The Byers and Eleven have been in California for a few months now and their absence seems to emphasize Dustin’s absence every other Sunday. They show up in between their games; a rousing game of Monopoly has left them deliriously competitive for a Game of Life that the girls are setting up. 

Steve answers the door with a raised eyebrow. “What are you two nerds doing?” 

Mike rolls his eyes. 

Lucas scratches at his neck. “Is Dustin here?” 

“You know he is,” Steve says with a sigh. “C’mon, we talked about this at movie night last week. We take Scoops Time seriously.” 

Mike rolls his eyes again. “You’re just playing dumb board games! Why can’t we join you?” 

“How come Erica can’t join your little Dragons and Dorks game, huh?” Steve counters, crossing his arms. “You guys iced her out of that–” 

“Because she’s a baby–”

Steve goes to close the door. “We can do games as a group instead of movie night Thursday, but today is for the Scoops Troop, guys.” 

Lucas nods, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, okay,” he says with a sigh. 

Fuck, Steve really cares for these kids. “Come over tomorrow, Sinclair, and we can work on your free throws. Wheeler, you can come if you want–” 

“I’d rather die,” Mike huffs as he stalks off. 

“Suit yourself,” Steve calls after him. He turns back to Lucas. “I’m sorry, you know?” 

He waves him off. “I get it. Erica needs this,” Lucas says. “I’ll come over after Hellfire?” 

Steve holds out his fist for Lucas to bump. “Good plan. Do you need a ride?” 

“Please?”

“I’ll be there.” 

Lucas’ smile seems genuine as he turns back to the yard to grab his bike from the lawn. He waits until he meets Mike at the mailbox before he waves back to Steve. 

Steve waits until they’re both on their bikes and speeding down the road before he shuts the door. He’s got three nerds to beat at Life, after all. 

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Okay so my ADHD butt has stumbled upon your blog and became hyper fixated on the Warlords AU. Now it had me thinking, how would the monkeys would react to a neurodivergent reader (ADHD, ASD… etc.) with sensory issues. 

[Possible useful context.]

Sensory issues can lead to restricted diets (which can be unhealthy with lacking nutrition) and various other restrictions like clothing. For instance I physically cannot eat fruit because it feels slimy or it feels like I’m eating fabric, it gives me a sensory overload, but the way I get around that is making smoothies.

(I may not be using the right terminology sorry.)

Alright so if the warlords fall in love with someone with ADHD and sensory issues? Well they’ll find out during the first part of the journey of course. Aka when they are cursed and can’t do anything.

They’ll see how Spirit finds a way to make Reader eat something. Spirit makes sure Reader is able to eat and finds exactly what she is able to eat. If Reader tells her that she can only eat mashed/blended fruit then Spirit would take the time to make her smoothies so she has something to eat.

So when they inevitably courtnap their love they know what you will and will not eat. At least what they were able to see you eat. They will do whatever it takes to get you to eat a good and healthy diet. So to be honest they will give you what you like to eat for the most part. And if you can’t eat something they wont force you to eat it.

Basically whatever Reader has a sensory to the warlord duo will do everything in their power to make it so that she can eat and they will work around these things. They want you to love and depend on them and don’t want you to feel like they are lacking in anything. They will give you whatever you want/need to feel comfortable.

If Reader has an aversion to clothing? Well simple they’ll get you what you want to wear. They’ll hand make you any type of clothing that you want (Or have one of their troop make you something)

>>>

“I can’t eat that,” You muttered softly staring at the bowl of fruit sitting in front of you.

Both of the monkey cubs looked at you with confusion while Spirit nodded. She had known it was a long shot to get you to try something like this again.

“I’ll mash it up for you. Watch the cubs for a moment,” She smiled knowing that you felt bad for not being able to eat it as it was, but she didn’t mind at all.

“Thank you,” You smiled as you gave Peaches a few scratches which he fell into easily.

Plum butted his head against your arm to get your attention as he looked up at you with an adorable tilted head. Your eyes widened before a grin spread across your face.

“You are the cutest!” You gush which resulted in an offended sound from Peaches, clearly disliking the fact that HE wasn’t the cutest. You giggled as Plums chirped in your arms when you scooped him up.

“Here you go,” Spirit said as she placed the bowl of newly mashed fruit on the table in front of you. The only thing around was fruit so it was what you had to settle for.

“Thank you, I hate to be a bother but I am grateful that you are willing to mash the food I can’t eat,” You said with a smile not explaining what your friend already knew. Plum looked over as you set him down, he slowly pieced together what you meant as you continued your journey.

>>>

“I already told you, my wife needs her fruit mashed. You can’t chop it, or slice it. It needs to be mashed,” Wukong stressed out while gritting his teeth, he did his best not to yell that his troop but the monkey demon just didn’t understand.

“It’s just fruit, surely she can-,” He was cut off by the king.

“I SAID MASH IT,” Wukong growled before leaving the room in a huff.

He and Macaque had just gotten you back and he would NOT have his troop not serving you properly. He wanted you to be able to eat, to be able to feel comfortable in your new home.

Walking up to the garden area where you had decided to ‘hide’ he sighed when he saw Macaque sitting at a wooden table. His tail was moving in slow, gentle movements to show that he meant you not threat even as you hid behind a tree glaring at him.

“She still won’t come out?” Wukong asks with a frown.

“Give her time. It’s not every day that THE Sun Wukong and Six Eared Macaque take a human home,” Macaque replied calmly.

Wukong was grumpy and wanted to argue, but you had already thrown a rock at his head. It was better to let you calm down before anything else. That’s why he got you food… he left it in the kitchen FUCK!

“I’ll be right back,” He muttered storming back out of the room, not telling Macaque that he forgot the food that he went to go get.

>>>

So to put it simply the duo will do anything in their power to make you feel comfortable in any way that they can. They love you even with any sensory overloads that you may get.

Hope you enjoyed your answer!

[ukiiseikou]

the start of something new.

thoma x gn! reader. figure skating au

synposis: thoma's really nervous ever since he spotted you: skating prodigy, at the local rink he's volunteering at as the zamboni driver. a/n: this is part of a series called complementary figures, which is a figure skating au with the hyv characters!

"hi! sorry, this might be really weird, but can i get your autograph?" 

you look up at the voice from your phone, and you see a cute blonde guy giving you an awkward smile. there would be nothing weird about it, except for the fact he was just climbing down from the zamboni that was making it's rounds around your local rink a few minutes ago.

"oh, hey," you give him your best dazzling smile, "no problem! you got anything i can write with?"

"seriously? um, here!" he manages to scramble and produce a sharpie and a printed out picture of you at one of your competitions, a gold medal slung around your neck.

"aw, this was from two seasons ago! when i won the world champion gold for the first time."

you make small talk as you uncap the sharpie, finishing your signature with a flourish.

"what's your name?" you smile at him again.

"uh, thoma - t. h. o. m. a.," you laugh at how bright red he is as you scribble down a quick TO: THOMA above your signature.

"oh my god, thank you so much," he says, almost breathlessly as you hand the sharpie and photo back to him, "my parents used to watch your parents on TV. we used to be from mondstadt as well."

"mom and dad? haha, that's so sweet. when did you move here?”

“a few years ago,” he scratches the back of his neck, “maybe when i was, like, twelve? anyways, i never managed to get the same ice time as you, but i’ve been watching you a lot. archons, that sounds weird, right? sorry.”

“oh, it’s okay. actually, thanks for the support,” you let out another laugh as he frantically apologises, “i’ve been skating here since forever, i think everyone in this town has seen me fall once or twice.”

"thoma! the ice!" the both of you wince as the rink manager yells at him, gesturing to the buckets of ice used to patch up the surface of the rink.

"right, that," he mumbles. you watch as he troops over to the buckets of ice, picking up one with a spatula. turning to survey the ice, you see the various divots and holes that dot the ice, thanks to you and the other skaters, no doubt.

“here, let me help,” you watch as he pulls on his rental skates and go to grab your own bucket, taking off your guards as you step onto ice. he awkwardly follows behind, legs scrambling to keep up.

“haven’t - haven’t skated in a long time,” he says, after straightening up.

“you don’t skate often?” you’re scared he’s going to splat straight onto his face with the way he’s moving, so you move in closer, just in case he falls.

he shakes his head, “winter sports and me? not a great match. more of a track runner, actually. just here to earn some extra cash during the holidays. my friend skates here, uh, ayaka?”

“ayaka kamisato? i know her, the one who skates with her brother, right? i see her sometimes.”

you blink and suddenly thoma’s feet nearly slide out from under him as he bends to patch up a spot. he wobbles before regaining his balance.

you breathe out a sigh of relief as you round up on him, “here, bend at the waist, not the knees.”

“like this?” you cringe as he does exactly the opposite as what you just said.

“not quite… actually, just grab onto me,” you take his hands in yours, at which he sputters at. you laugh as you take him into the middle of rink, letting go of his hands to scoop some ice to patch up the surface of the ice beneath you.

“like this,” you demonstrate, and when he finally nails the pose you turn around with a self-satisfied grin to focus on the far end of the rink.

thoma short-circuits, but as he watches you busy yourself with inspecting the ice, he turns and does the same thing, wishing that a hole could open up in the ground and swallow him whole. the extra cash thing was true, but he’s had a major crush on you for years - but he swears its not for that reason alone. ayaka and ayato are here, so he gets to hang out with them in his free time and not worry about being bored out of his mind all day; and he likes helping out the neighbourhood whenever he can, and when he heard the rink manager fretting about not getting enough volunteers this summer, he naturally signed up.

“hey.”

he nearly slips and falls when he hears your voice next to his ear, and you laugh - which sounds like wedding bells.

“i finished my end of the rink, you done with your’s?”

“uh, yeah,” he stares down at the nearly empty bucket in his hands, guess he works fast when spaced out and imagining things.

“great!” you take his hands again, and he has no choice but to allow himself to be pulled back and forth by you.

“thoma, do you wanna get dinner together? maybe my parents can meet your’s someday, and give them an autograph, too.”

he doesn’t reply, but you’re plenty amused by his ums and ahs and shaky okays.

[midnightshindig]

Okay, so... Since you're practically the saviour of Cecil fans, could I request a cecil x reader where reader is being reckless and Cecil is frustrated because he's worried?

Of course, feel free not to, I love your work anyways! Thank you for sharing your work, have a wonderful week ❤️

psshhh daw shucks, me? Savior of the Cecil fans? How kind <3

as always, fic under the cut!

You’re a b tier superhero, good for saving major cities from minor threats, you do a great job of keeping annual bank robberies down

buutttt you’re not exactly the first person they call when there’s an alien invasion

Your partner, Cecil Stedman, knows this

What he doesn’t know is that you’re best friends with Black Samson, and have convinced him to let you know when the Guardians go on a mission

This is how you end up crashing a fight between the Guardians and some vague nondescript alien invaders

Your flying is all the best yet, and you come tumbling and crashing through the swarms of large grey aliens

rolling like a bowling ball knocking them down until you land in the middle of their troops

gulp. uh oh.

meanwhile, Cecil is screaming at you over your earpiece

you assume, at least, you turned it off a while ago, knowing he wouldn’t want you on this mission

but you can HELP the guardians, shouldn’t you?

speaking of, Monster Girl fights her way through the aliens to scoop you up under her giant green arm, before returning to the rest of the team

”Cecil’s mad, Y/n, like- ow my head hurts from the yelling bad!” She’s not mad at you, but you can imagine the toll having Cecil in your head takes, especially while fighting for your life

”It’s okay, Monster Girl! I’m here to help!” You grinned, giving her a sturdy thumbs up and wriggling free of her grasp

She Narrows her eyes incredulously

“Yeahhh I dunno about that..”

But you’re already gone, throwing yourself back into the fight- and to your credit- you get down a good twenty aliens or so before being overtaken

once again, and I can’t stress enough how funny this is in retrospect, hahaha isn’t it funny Cecil- Cecil please laugh I promise it’s funny in retrospect- but you have to get rescued again, this time by Rex Splode

hes not having your shit

”Y/n I swear to fucking GOD- you’re putting us all in danger, go. The FUCK. Home!”

swallowing your pride, you turn back on your ear piece and fly off, getting lectured the entire time

“what the hell were you thinking?! Cecil pinches his temple, pacing back and forth

“I’m not a child, Cecil, I don’t need you to scold me for doing my job.”

”You job-“ he sighs, pausing to collect himself “Y/n your job is to go where I tell you and fight what I tell you. Not interrupt guardian business and almost get KILLED.”

If you didn’t feel scolded before, shrinking in your seat, you certainly do now

”I’m sorryy, but I know I can be more useful-“

”You’re useful as long as you’re alive.” He bites back, folding his arms and giving you that unimpressed glare reserved for when teenagers misbehave. But you’re in your thirties

man you fucked up.

You slink into your chair a little more

“ugh…” he continues to pace, processing everything over the last few hours

you stand up, walking over to him and placing an open hand on his shoulder

”Cecil… I’m sorry” your voice is soft and shaky, eyebrows knitted up and eyes glassy with forming tears

he Looks at you, oh he can’t stay mad at you

not when he’s doing this just to keep you safe

He lets out a deep, frustrated groan, before opening a single arm and pulling you to his chest by the back of the neck

“😒”

Its okay though because he cares about you

”Y/n, promise me you’re going to stop doing stupid stuff like that. I give you the toughest missions I know you can handle. But-“ he sighs “If you want to get reassessed, I’ll tell Donald to get the stuff ready.”

your eyes shine, and you smile up at him “Id like that a lot”

a beat of silence between you two

”I’m sorry for scaring you today, Cecil.”

He pulls you a little closer, just enough to kiss the top of your head

”Yeah yeah, don’t do it again. You gave me and half the analysis department a god damned heart attack.”

under his nagging and frustrations an undercurrent of care, its audible in his tone

You Pull him back for a real kiss, resting your foreheads together after pulling away “I’ll be safer from now on.”

the moment passes, and you grab his hand “Now come on I wanna see how much stronger I am since the last time we did this!” and off you go, to get reassessed

[brbsoulnomming]

WHERE NOBODY KNOWS YOUR NAME

For: @sharpbutsoft

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 14.9k

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, mention of alcohol and financial exploitation of child stars

Tags: Famous Steve Harrington, Bartender Eddie Munson, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Snapshots

Summary: A drop dead gorgeous man walks into The Hideout one night while Eddie's bartending, and Eddie's absolutely determined to flirt with him. What follows is snapshots of the two of them growing closer and closer, all while Eddie's absolutely oblivious to the fact that Steve's secretly one half of the famous pop duo Scoops Troop.

This fic is a part of the @steddieholidayexchange

-----

The prettiest man that Eddie has ever seen walks through the door of the Hideout, and Eddie damn near drops the glass he was rinsing out. It's not like their town's small enough that Eddie could actually recognize everyone in it, and the Hideout gets enough business that Eddie doesn't know everyone who comes in, but still, he was not expecting to get hit in the face with that kind of handsome on his shift tonight.

Sure, the nearby resort is a particular favorite among the wealthy elite - Eddie even heard there was one douchebag pop singer who booked the entire place for two weeks in the spring, apparently just so he wouldn't have to associate with any other guests - but they usually stay on the resort. It's rare for any of them to venture out into the town itself.

Pretty boy is wearing a dark blue polo with Hawkins Hope in Action stitched in yellow across his shirt pocket, which Eddie definitely does not notice purely because he's admiring the way it stretches across his chest. He takes an empty seat at the bar, pushing one hand through his hair as he scans the chalkboard specials they've got on display.

"You think it's as soft as it looks?" Chrissy asks, nudging him with her hip as she joins him in absolutely not just staring at the guy from the backroom.

He huffs out a little laugh. "I think you've got a better chance at me than figuring that out, Chris."

Still, he's fully prepared to head out there and try on at least a little bit of charm, until Jeff comes up next to them.

"I think Chrissy should head out there for a while," he says.

Eddie turns to fix him with a betrayed look. "What? Come on, man, I said Chrissy had a better chance, not that I had no chance."

Jeff nods towards the guy. "Look at him, he's all on edge."

And it's true - the guy's perched on the bar stool like he expects to have to bolt at any minute, and he's started to hunch in on himself like he's trying to take up as little space as possible.

It's kind of sad, actually, which unfortunately doesn't make him any less cute.

"So?" Eddie asks.

"So you know I love you, man, but you can be kind of a lot," Jeff says apologetically.

Eddie gasps, whirling to face Chrissy. "Can you believe this?"

Her nose is a little crinkled, lips turned down the way she does when there's a hard truth she doesn't want to tell him. "You're not always the most soothing presence," she admits.

He lurches back dramatically, hand over his heart. "Complete and utter betrayal, from my own best friends no less."

Jeff pats him on the shoulder. "You'll get over it."

"You can talk to him next time," Chrissy offers.

Which, considering pretty boy is probably staying at the resort and not going to come back, is small consolation.

But, well. He's probably staying at the resort and not coming back, so Eddie guesses he really isn't losing out on much by not getting to talk to him.

At least he can enjoy the eye candy.

He keeps an eye on them at first, only partially because of said eye candy - Chrissy can handle herself, but if the guy is going to be the typical resort douche, Eddie won't hesitate to come back her up. Pretty boy starts to relax a little the longer he's there, though, and Chrissy's doing the genuine smile she does when she has a good customer, so he doesn't worry about it.

By the time the guy leaves, Eddie's heard the sound of them laughing a few times.

"His laugh is just as pretty as the rest of him," Eddie sighs to Chrissy as they watch him leave.

"His name is Steve," Chrissy replies. "He works for that charity that's booked the resort this weekend for a fundraising event."

"That explains what he was doing here," Eddie jokes. "I knew we wouldn't see a resort guest slumming it at the Hideout."

Chrissy rolls her eyes at him, but she doesn't disagree. "They work with kids in the foster care system," she says mildly. "They put on camps and events and things for the kids to come to, do fundraising to get money to support them. He spends most of his time with the kids.”

Eddie groans. “No, come on, that's not fair,” he whines. “Handsome and a pretty laugh and he works for a charity and it's for foster kids and he's likes spending time with them? He's gotta have some flaws. Maybe he's actually terrible with kids, maybe they all hate him.”

Chrissy giggles. “Maybe he leaves his wet towels all over the floor.”

Eddie nods. “Maybe he sings off key in the shower and it's awful and he won't stop.”

Chrissy gives him a little shove. “Well, Steve says they've booked the resort for a few camps and events throughout the rest of the year, so you'll have plenty of time to find out.”

“If he comes back,” Eddie points out.

“Oh, I have a feeling he'll come back,” she replies.

—

Steve comes back.

It's just him behind the bar tonight, with Gareth and Grant back in the kitchen, so Eddie spends a moment quietly collecting himself before he heads over.

Eddie shoots him a smile. "Hi."

"Hey," Steve returns, smiling at him in return - though it seems practiced, nothing like the soft, warm smile Eddie'd seen him give Chrissy when he left the other night.

Ouch.

"Chrissy's not working tonight," Eddie says, trying not to let his disappointment show.

Steve's face scrunches in confusion, a little furrow between his brow that Eddie has the immediate urge to reach out to try to smooth with his thumb.

What is wrong with him? He's usually way better at not letting customers get under his skin.

"Thanks for telling me?" Steve says, the end of the sentence raised up in a question like he's not quite sure he's giving the correct response.

"Just thought I'd let you know, in case you came back in hoping to see her again," Eddie says.

Steve's expression smooths out. "Oh. Nah, I just really liked the… atmosphere…"

He trails off, clearly aware of how what he's saying sounds, but Eddie makes a point of scanning around the bar anyway - it isn't empty, but it's not exactly crowded, either, occupied mostly by small groups who stick to themselves or solo patrons who are more interested in their drinks than engaging in conversation with other customers.

No one's paying the slightest bit of attention to them.

He cocks an eyebrow as he looks back at Steve, and now the smile he gets is a little less practiced, a little more genuinely pleased - maybe even a little teasing.

"Exactly," Steve agrees. "What's not to like about a place where nobody knows your name?

Eddie barks out a little laugh. "Not nobody," he returns. "It's Steve, right? I'm Eddie. What can I get you?"

He calls Steve's order of onion rings back to Gareth, then grabs a glass to get his beer.

"So, Chrissy said you work with the charity that rented out the resort?" he asks. "What do you do for them?"

Steve lights up a little at the question, which, unfortunately, makes him even prettier.

"I'm the activities director," Steve replies.

Eddie raises his eyebrows as he sets Steve's beer in front of him, inviting him to continue.

“I plan all the stuff for the kids to do at camp,” Steve clarifies.

His eyebrows go even higher. “That sounds exhausting.”

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “Sometimes,” he admits. “But I don't, like, personally do all of them. Some of the other staff will take lead on things that interest them - like Nancy does journalism and writing workshops, and Lucas picked up basketball, Jon does photography, and Robin's doing film watching and analysis. We actually do a lot of partnerships, too, get people to come in and do guest spots leading activities for like a week.”

Right, Eddie's pretty sure he heard that Hawkins Hope was a celebrity sponsored charity. Makes sense why they're able to afford using the resort for things.

“So what do you take lead on, then?” Eddie asks, mentally hi-fiving himself for finding an effortless way to ask Steve about his interests.

He's pretty sure it doesn't go unnoticed, because Steve blinks at him for a moment before he gives him just a little bit of a smirk.

It's a good look on him, though, so Eddie doesn't mind one bit.

“Swimming,” Steve replies. “Mostly lifeguarding, if we're somewhere on the water, and I do lessons. Baseball in the summer. Ice skating in the winter. Music, sometimes. Cooking. I'll pretty much fill in whenever I need to.”

Eddie's not surprised that the majority of those were sports, but it does mean he flounders a little bit in the next step of his plan - find a common interest and get his flirt on. He's a decent enough cook, but it's not exactly something he does for fun. Which means he's got one option left, and he latches onto it eagerly.

“What kind of music?” he asks.

Steve watches him for a moment, like he's waiting for the punchline. Or waiting to be judged, maybe - maybe the guy only likes Top 40s and is used to being looked down on from guys wearing Dio t-shirts.

And all right, Eddie might judge him a little - but only teasingly, and only if he knew him better. So he just waits, hoping he looks as genuine as he means to.

“I'm not picky,” Steve says finally. “I can find the merit in just about anything. It's not about the genre to me - it's about how the song makes you feel, if you can connect with the lyrics or if the music stirs some kind of emotion in you that you didn't even know was there.”

Oh.

“I get that,” Eddie says.

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Like - it's not what I usually listen to, and it's not what people expect, but my mom loved Bluegrass and country. I hear it now and it makes me think of her. I still end up singing Hazel Dickens or Loretta Lynn when I clean the kitchen, makes me feel like she's there with me.”

And there's that soft, warm smile that Eddie'd briefly seen him give Chrissy - only now it's even worse because it's directed at him, and it keeps lingering.

“Yeah,” Steve says again, but this time it sounds like you really do get it.

“So, it, uh, sounds like you like what you do,” Eddie says.

“I love what I do,” Steve agrees. “What about you?”

Eddie shrugs. “Can't complain. I get a lot of freedom here, actually. I'm the one that comes up with most of the drinks on our specials list.”

That's usually the most he goes into it, but Steve's still looking at him, so much less closed off than he was when he first came in, and he leans in like he's interested.

So when Steve asks him to tell him more about it, Eddie does. How it's not what he thought he'd be doing after high school, but then, he hadn't really given a lot of thought to much of anything after high school while he was still there, too busy just trying to graduate. How he likes the people he works with and the Hideout itself, how much fun it is coming up with his own drinks, how he's gotten to the point where he can figure out the best drink for someone before they even know what it is themselves.

And all right, he'd maybe been bragging a little, maybe said that with just a little bit of a cocky smirk to see the reaction he gets, but he's still a little bit surprised when Steve picks up on it and gives it back.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “Do me, then.”

Eddie smiles at him, pleased. “What's the first cocktail you order when you go somewhere new?”

“House special,” Steve replies immediately, shooting him a little smirk.

Eddie gives him a look.

“It's true!” Steve insists. “I can get an old fashioned or a margarita anywhere, but the house special is usually something unique.”

Eddie considers that. “What's your go to drink if you're making yourself something at home?”

“Lemon drop,” Steve says. “They're my best friend's favorite, I learned how to make them for her. It's the only drink I can pull off that isn't just popping a can of beer or pouring a glass of wine.”

Eddie hums. He already knows Steve's taste in beers, so - “Red or white wine?”

“White in the summer, red in the winter,” Steve replies.

“Whiskey or tequila?”

“Whiskey.”

“Apple cider or hot chocolate?”

“Apple cider.”

Eddie manages to fire off questions like that for a while, and Steve even plays along when he asks him something that clearly has little to do with his drink preferences - though Eddie is absolutely ready to spin a tale about how it's vital to know if someone is a summer or a winter person for flavor choices, and being a romance or a horror fan will tell him how adventurous they are if Steve questions it.

Steve doesn't call him on it, though he does raise one eyebrow and give him a little smirk at each one, which leads to Eddie dropping into his explanation, anyway.

He wants someone to appreciate his brilliance.

It makes Steve laugh, warm and a little surprised, like he hadn't been expecting it. “Does that excuse work?”

“I don't know,” Eddie admits. “I haven't tried it on anyone else. What do you think?”

Steve hums, eying Eddie up and down in a way that, ridiculously, makes Eddie want to hide behind his hair.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I could see it working. Depends on how good your drink ends up being.”

That gets Eddie back on more confident ground, and he points dramatically at him. “Prepare to be wowed.”

Steve's an autumn person who likes apple cider, whiskey, and action films, so Eddie makes him a spin on a whiskey highball with ginger ale, apple juice, and cinnamon simple syrup.

Steve takes one sip and immediately looks delighted. It's far from the first time that Eddie's gotten that reaction, but coming from Steve, well.

Eddie doesn't want to say that it makes his whole week, but it kind of makes his whole week.

“This is amazing,” Steve says. “You do this all the time?”

“Eh, just when I feel like showing off,” Eddie finds himself saying, which is true but is definitely not what he wanted to admit to.

Steve's finally looking reasonably relaxed, though, so he can't bring himself to regret it.

“I hope you know you've set yourself up for having to do this every time I come in,” Steve tells him.

Eddie grins. “I'm holding you to that. Better not see you getting drinks from one of the other bartenders here,” he teases.

He's joking - really, he is - but when Steve laughs and agrees, well.

Okay, maybe he kind of means it.

—

It's Eddie's day off, but he's at the Hideout anyway.

He'd feel more pathetic about that if it weren't for the fact that it's Jeff and Gareth's night off, too, and they're also at the Hideout.

It's a slower night, so they're just sitting at the bar drinking beer and heckling Grant while the regulars ignore them and their antics. Or, well, he and Gareth are heckling Grant - Jeff is shifting back and forth between taking their side and taking Grant's, claiming neutrality with a gleam in his eyes that says he knows exactly what he's doing.

Even though he's not working, Eddie still looks up on instinct when the door opens - and then grins when he recognizes Steve.

He flings himself around the other side of the bar, ignoring Jeff and Gareth's surprised exclamations, and very heroically manages to not immediately wave Steve over. He plans to wait until Steve's come to sit at the far corner of the bar, then slide on up to him, but - Steve sees him and immediately makes a beeline to grab a seat in front of him.

Oh.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve greets with a smile.

“Hey, Steve, what can I get you?” Eddie asks.

“I don't know.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him, expression almost playful. “You're the expert, right? What can you get me?”

“What is happening right now?” Gareth asks, immediately squashing the little thrill Eddie'd gotten at Steve's words.

“What's happening right now is that I'm trying to serve an actual paying customer, so why don't you two go find a table to sit at and shoo,” Eddie grumbles at him.

“Come on, Gar, let's quit bothering Eddie,” Jeff says, pushing away from the bar and tugging Gareth with him.

Fuck, Jeff is Eddie's favorite forever, he's going to owe him -

“Eddie's apparently decided to throw in a little free labor for us tonight,” Jeff calls back as they saunter off towards an open table.

Never mind, Eddie hates him.

Steve's brow furrows, and he looks up at Eddie expectantly.

“It's my night off,” Eddie admits.

“Eddie!” Steve chides.

“It's just one drink,” Eddie protests.

Steve rolls his eyes at him. “Uh-huh. What if I wanted more than one drink, were you going to hang out here all night?”

“Maybe,” Eddie grumbles.

Steve laughs at him, but it's soft and - well. It might just be Eddie's wishful thinking, but it sounds almost fond. “Go hang out with your friends. You can get me next time.”

Eddie sulks for a moment - like they're friends, like Steve is scolding him over a stupid decision and Eddie's whining at him about how it totally makes sense, really.

Wait.

“Come sit at the table with us,” Eddie says. “I can give you recommendations on what to order.”

Steve hesitates. “Your friends won't mind?”

“Nah. They love heckling me, so I'm sure they'll get a kick out of it. Come on, it'll be fun.”

Despite his words, Eddie's actually a little nervous that Steve won't get along with Jeff and Gareth, or that the tense, rigid way Steve had held himself when he first came to the bar will come back, but by the time Steve's two drinks in, he's folded almost seamlessly in with the three of them.

Jeff and Steve like the same baseball team, apparently, and he gets Gareth talking about ice skating in a way that makes him light up - a way that might make Eddie a little jealous, if Steve didn't keep catching Eddie's eyes and smiling at him.

Steve even gets a couple of their Lord of the Rings jokes, though he admits he hasn't read the books himself, just picked up on some things from the kids he used to babysit. The way he talks about this Dustin kid makes him sound more like a little brother than anything else, and it's really sweet.

Shit, he's probably not terrible with the kids. Maybe Eddie better hold out hope for the wet towels or the terrible shower singing.

It's probably pretty damn late when Eddie hears the door open, and glances over. The man walking in is unfamiliar, but he's looking around the bar with a sense of purpose that makes Eddie grimace.

“We're all up to date on our liquor license and everything, right?” Eddie asks in a low voice.

Jeff frowns at him. “Of course. Why?”

“Check your ten o'clock,” Eddie says, purposefully adding in a little flair like he's a spy operative keeping an eye out for the enemy. “He's just screaming off duty cop.”

Both Jeff and Gareth crane their heads to look, leaving Eddie to sigh internally, but Steve plays along, tipping his head in towards Eddie like they're sharing a moment.

Steve's face is so close to his that he can feel the soft puff of air on his cheek when he breathes out, can see the whites of his eyes as his gaze flicks towards the door. Then he grins, and Eddie can see the way it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Fuck, Eddie should be ridiculous around Steve more often.

“Retired cop, maybe,” Steve replies. “He's here for me. I, uh. I must have missed my curfew.”

Eddie looks back over at the guy, who must have spotted Steve, because he's making his way towards them.

“You still have a curfew?” Eddie teases.

“Shut up,” Steve says, but his smile hasn't faded.

“No, it's cute,” Eddie says. And honestly - it is. “Your dad is your ride when you've had a few too many to drink?”

Steve's eyes darken briefly. “My dad's an asshole,” he mutters, something cracked and bitter in his tone that Eddie's pretty sure wouldn't be there if Steve was entirely sober. “He wouldn't be caught anywhere near somewhere like this, or me in general.”

Well, shit, leave it to Eddie to open his mouth and accidentally step in it.

“Hey,” Eddie says, bumping his shoulder against Steve's. “Mine, too. Fuck ‘em, right? We're better off without them.”

“Better off without who?” Retired Cop asks as he stops in front of their table.

“Our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad fathers,” Eddie replies immediately, shooting Retired Cop what he hopes is a very charming grin.

It must be, considering Steve is back to smiling, and now he's looking at Eddie all soft and pleased.

Retired Cop grunts in what Eddie is going to optimistically assume is agreement.

“Hey, Hopper,” Steve greets. “This is Eddie, Jeff, and Gareth. Hopper's the head of security for Hawkins Heroes.”

“Among other things,” Hopper comments drily.

Eddie's going to guess those other things include picking up wayward activity directors when they stay out too late.

Steve looks a little abashed. “Sorry, lost track of time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hopper grumbles. “Get your shit and let's get going.”

“Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys,” Steve tells them.

“You kidding?” Jeff asks. “It was great, man.”

“Come back any time,” Gareth agrees.

“I'll have a new drink ready for you,” Eddie promises.

Somewhat foolishly, considering he knows that Jeff and Gareth are going to tease him about that, but the smile he gets flashed at him is well worth it.

“I still gotta settle the tab,” he hears Steve tell Hopper as they head out, but he's too distracted by Jeff and Gareth's smirks to think anything of it.

“Not a word,” Eddie threatens before either of them can say anything.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Gareth replies, batting his eyelashes at him instead of saying anything.

“Just let me know when you have the drink ready,” Jeff agrees mildly. “We can call it Steve's Special.”

Gareth and Jeff fistbump each other while Eddie rolls his eyes and shoves himself up out of his chair.

He ignores their laughter as he heads over April, who's behind the register at the moment.

“What's my damage for the night?” he asks.

“Your friend already paid,” she tells him.

“Okay?” He frowns at her, a little too tipsy to make any kind of connection between his question and her answer. “I mean, I'm glad he didn't duck out on his tab and leave me stuck with it, but I'd still like to pay mine?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, you moron, he paid for all of you.”

Eddie gapes at her. “He what?”

April smirks at him. “Guy that good looking, and he picks up the tab for you and those two? I'd hang onto him.”

Eddie's pretty sure his cheeks are bright red. He covers it up by muttering, “Son of a bitch. I'll get him for this.”

—

Steve's already at the bar when Eddie arrives for his shift that night, which instantly makes him perk up.

His crush on the guy is probably a little bit out of control, but eh, that's future Eddie's problem. Tonight Eddie gets the pleasure of some very nice eye candy all night, on top of the security of knowing he's going to have an awesome interaction with at least one patron.

Steve's clearly been there at least a little while, since there's a half eaten plate of loaded fries and a beer in front of him, and he's chatting enthusiastically with Grant.

Well.

Maybe chatting is the wrong word for it, now that Eddie gets a closer look at them.

Steve's leaning in, one elbow braced on the bartop with his gaze focused intently on Grant, as if he was the only person in the room. He's saying something in what must be a low tone, considering Grant's leaning back in to hear him. And is that -

Yup, that's a faint pink flush to Grant's cheeks.

Eddie gapes.

"Is Steve flirting with Grant?" he hisses the moment he finds Chrissy.

Chrissy rolls her eyes. "They got into an argument about pick up lines. Grant said pick up lines are shitty and cliche and don't work, and Steve insisted it's not about them being lines, it's about delivery and intention."

"So they're… flirting to prove a point?"

Damn it, why didn't Eddie think of that?

Chrissy's smiling at him, that sweet little grin she gives him when she knows exactly what's going on in his head. "Why don't you go over there and tell Steve where you sit on the pick up line debate?"

Eddie hip checks her, but, well.

It's not a bad idea.

He does go over, if only because he wants to say hi before he actually starts working.

He hears Grant laughing as he gets closer, but it sounds a little strained.

"Hey," Steve says quietly. "I meant all of it, you know. I wouldn't have said anything I didn't think was true. Any girl would be lucky to have you. Or, uh, guy, if you swung that way."

"You're kind of making me wish I swung that way," Grant teases, but there's something sincerely appreciative in his voice that tells Eddie that they'd been talking about more than just an argument about pick up lines.

If Steve could stop being so kind to his friends, that would really help out Eddie's stupid heart.

He tells himself very firmly to absolutely not think into the fact that Steve's apparently okay with guys dating other guys.

Instead, he stalks up to the counter as Grant walks away, pointing accusingly at Steve.

“I caught you!” he informs him. “What, did you think you could hide it from me? That I wouldn't notice? You're in so much trouble.”

Eddie's not sure what he's expecting, but it isn't for Steve's expression to completely crumble. He sags in the chair for a moment, then Eddie watches him visibly pull himself together, straightening up and looking solemnly at Eddie.

“Okay,” Steve says, very quietly. “How do you want to do this?”

And that - completely deflates the wind in Eddie's sails.

“You're not like, actually in trouble, dude,” Eddie tells him. “I just can't believe you thought you could pay our tabs and we wouldn't realize it.”

Steve's brow furrows, then smooths out. “Oh!”

It's clearly a startled little realization, which immediately makes Eddie narrow his eyes.

“What did you think I was talking about?” he asks.

“I, uh. I guess I just wasn't sure what I did to upset you?”

Eddie considers that. It's possible - but Steve hadn't looked confused, he'd looked resigned. Like there was a secret that he was keeping, and he hadn't been expecting to be able to continue to keep it, and he was pretty sure Eddie knowing it wasn't going to be anything good. But what could he -

And then he remembers that he walked over in the middle of Steve flirting with another guy, and clearly implying that he was okay with guys dating other guys, and -

And the first thing that Eddie said was that he caught Steve and he was in big trouble.

Shit.

“It, uh,” Eddie starts, then stops, pausing to think about how he wants to say this. “There's a rainbow flag pinned up at the corner of the bar.”

Steve gives him a tiny smile. “I noticed,” he says softly. “It's one of the things that made me come back here.”

“Really?” Eddie asks, immediately derailed. “It was my idea to put it up. I wanted people to know the Hideout is a safe space, even if it doesn't look like it.”

“It worked,” Steve tells him. “You're a good guy, Eddie, that was a great thought.”

Eddie flushes, ducking his head for a moment before he determinedly gets this conversation back on track. “So, uh, I just wanted to make sure you knew that none of the staff here are going to hassle you no matter what way you swing. Especially not me.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment. “Especially not you?” he repeats.

Eddie swallows, then nods. “Yeah.”

Steve's quiet at first. Then, “Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie nods again, letting the moment sit for a little bit. Then he shoots him a teasing little grin, tipping his head at the beer in front of Steve. “What you're really in trouble for is getting a drink from another bartender here.”

Steve smirks at him. “Oh, that's not mine. It's Robin's.”

“Robin?” Eddie asks.

“My best friend, the one who likes lemon drops? She came with me today, said she wanted to meet the guys who got me to stay out so late,” Steve replies.

Oh!

Eddie straightens up, looking around. “Where is she? I want to meet her.”

“She was going to the bathroom, but I think she got distracted on her way back,” Steve says drily. He nods over towards where Chrissy is talking animatedly with a girl he's never seen before. “So you might have to wait a bit on that.”

Chrissy's smiling in a way he hasn't seen her do in a long time, which immediately makes him like this Robin girl.

“Guess you're stuck with me until then,” Steve adds.

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, voice monotone. “However will I get over my disappointment.”

Steve laughs. “You can start by getting me a drink.”

Yeah, okay, Eddie guesses he can do that.

He's going to finish the night by making the best impression possible on Steve's best friend, though.

Even if his own best friend seems to have gotten there first.

—

It's D&D night the next time Steve shows up at the bar.

The other regulars are pretty used to it, by now, and seem content to let the D&D crews take over the back half of the bar, but Steve hasn't seen it before. He's not sure when he started thinking of Steve as a regular - can someone be a regular if he doesn't live here, even if he does seem to come in every time he's in town? - but that's beside the point.

D&D nights were Eddie's idea. He'd wanted to do something similar to what he did in high school, give them a safe place to be able to play - only this time, some place fun, where they'd be welcome as adults instead of laughed at for playing a "kid's game." Even the nights when he isn't playing or DMing, he has a lot of fun with coming up with campaign themed drinks.

It's stupid, but he's kind of nervous about what Steve thinks of it. It's not like anything's going to happen with Eddie's crush, but he enjoys it anyway, enjoys Steve's company. It's going to suck if Steve laughs at it.

Steve beelines for the corner of the bar where Eddie's at as soon as he sees him, which makes Eddie smile involuntarily, despite the clench in his stomach when he sees Steve staring intently at the group in the back.

"Is that Dungeons and Dragons?" Steve asks.

"You know D&D?" Eddie asks. His stomach is still clenching, but now it's in a very, very different way.

"Yeah," Steve replies, shooting him a little smile. "Some of my friends play it. We actually used to have it as an activity for the kids, but Mike and Will are at college and Erica had this huge project she needs to finish for school, so it's on hold now."

"Have you ever played?" Eddie asks.

"A couple of times," Steve replies. "I did, uh. The side characters? For the kids a few times. Do you play?"

"Yeah. I used to run a D&D club in high school, actually, and I started D&D night here."

"Dude, that's really cool," Steve says, so genuine that it makes Eddie want to hide behind his hair. "Oh, hey, I know it's kind of a lot to ask, but would you be interested in doing it for camp this week? Some of the kids coming have really missed it. We'd pay you for your time, of course."

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it again. "You want to pay me to DM a D&D game for summer camp?"

"Yes?" Steve says, like he's not sure why Eddie's in a little bit of disbelief here. "Only it's October now, so not summer camp anymore."

Right, because that's the unbelievable part.

"You know what? Sure. Do you want a one shot, or a short campaign?" Eddie asks.

Steve's face scrunches a bit in confusion.

"How many days do you want me there?" Eddie clarifies.

"All of them?" Steve blurts out.

Eddie's eyes widen, and Steve's ears go a little pink.

"I mean, how many can you do?" Steve asks.

Eddie considers. He could use some extra cash, and he's really missed throwing himself into D&D - he actually thinks he has the perfect campaign, one he used leading up to Halloween back in high school. A few tweaks and he thinks it'll be perfect.

"How about four days, five hour sessions each? Is that too long for the kids?" Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head. "Nah, I've seen them spend like ten hours playing before, five should be perfect. Come by the resort around noon tomorrow and I'll have the paperwork all ready for you?"

—

There's more security at the resort than Eddie remembers there being the handful of times that he's been there before.

Makes sense, he guesses, since there's more kids than adults there now. It'd probably look bad if the resort let just anyone onto the grounds and some of the kids got kidnapped or something. And if they've got celebrities coming in to get their good PR by volunteering, too, they've probably got to be at the top of their game.

Eddie must be on the approved list, though, because once he's shown his ID and proven who he is, he's given a “guest staff” badge, a map of the resort, and a list of which amenities he's allowed to use for the next week.

Nice. Steve hadn't mentioned that, but Eddie is definitely going to take advantage of it.

He's a little early to meet Steve, so he wanders around the inside of the resort instead, taking in everything.

Eventually he stumbles onto a lounge with a roaring fire and a massive plush sofa, occupied by a teenage girl and a bunch of textbooks.

“Can I help you?” she asks, for all the world like she's a busy executive behind a fancy desk and he's already wasting her time, instead of a teenager sprawled out on a couch doing her homework.

“I'm looking for Steve,” he says.

Her eyes narrow as she sits up. “Why?” There's an edge in her voice now, something a little bit protective.

That's kind of sweet, actually.

“I'm meeting him here about a temporary gig,” Eddie says. “Hi, I'm Eddie.”

Her expression shifts from wary to downright skeptical. “You're the DM who that hairbrain thinks will do a better job than me?”

Yeah, Eddie's taking back that sweet comment.

“You must be Erica,” he says.

“That's Lady Applejack to you,” she retorts with a sniff. “You better be at the top of your game, or I will sneak behind any monster you throw my way and stab them in the back with my poison-soaked kukri. And I'll smile as I watch them die a slow, agonizing death.”

Oh, fuck, Eddie likes this kid.

He raises one eyebrow at her. “I thought you had a big project that you're supposed to be working on?”

She stares right back at him, unimpressed. “You going to rat me out if I come play?”

Eddie hams it up a little, making a big show of thinking it over. Before he can tell her that obviously, he's the last one to give any kind of quibble about playing D&D instead of doing homework, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching echoes through the lounge.

“Hey, Erica?” Steve's voice calls, sounding a little strained. “Can you keep an eye out for Eddie, tell him I'm going to be a little late? I gotta - oh. You're here!”

Steve's rounded the corner, and now Eddie can see the reason for the heavier footsteps. He's giving a piggyback ride to a kid, who looks about eleven or twelve. The kid's face is screwed up in pain, and Eddie spots a bloody, skinned knee peeking through ripped jeans.

“Hey, man,” Steve greets. “Give me a minute? I've got to get this guy to the nurse.”

“I don't want to go see Nurse Henderson,” the kid sulks. “Can't you just patch it up yourself? Max is going to tell me I should have just walked it off!”

“Probably,” Steve admits. “But she'd also want you to get looked at if you're really hurt. And Nurse Henderson is the only one who's qualified to decide that, right? Besides, didn't we already talk about not doing stupid things just for a girl?”

“Especially for a girl like Max, who's way too old for me,” the kid replies, in a tone of voice that says, yes, he's heard all of this before. “Fine, I'll go to the nurse.”

“I'll keep Eddie company,” Erica volunteers.

Steve looks at her with narrowed eyes.

“I'm just making sure his campaign is up to snuff,” she informs him.

Steve relaxes, though he still cuts his gaze over to Eddie and waits for him to nod before he takes off.

Eddie tilts his head at Erica. “How would you feel about a little extra backstory? A little party betrayal, maybe?”

Her eyes light up. “I'm listening.”

By the time Steve comes back, Eddie and Erica and hunched over character sheets, and they've got a frankly amazing tie in for Lady Applejack into his slightly tweaked campaign.

“I take it things went well?” Steve asks.

Erica stuffs her character sheets into her folder. “He'll do.”

Eddie gets the feeling that's high praise, coming from her.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Lady Applejack,” he says solemnly.

She rolls her eyes, but accepts the hug that Steve gives her, and Eddie's pretty sure he hears Steve whisper thank you.

“Come on, let's go see Joyce,” Steve says. “She's the director of Hawkins Hope, she's amazing. Then we can grab lunch after.”

“Are you bribing me with fancy resort food?” Eddie asks.

Steve grins at him. “Maybe.”

Joyce is amazing, but lunch with Steve is even better. Eddie makes a big deal of moaning over how good the food is, but really, making Steve laugh is the best part.

Yeah, Eddie's in way too deep.

—

"Eddie!" Steve greets when he comes into the Hideout a few days after the final session. He sounds a little bit breathless, and Eddie immediately smiles.

It's amazing how much having a favorite regular there improves his night, on top of the fact that he thinks he and Steve are actually friends now.

"Hey, man," he greets. "The kids all get where they're supposed to be okay?"

Steve looks at him like he did something amazing, instead of just asking a question that any decent human being would ask, but Eddie's not going to protest.

"Yeah, just the staff left now. Hey, I wanted to ask - we're doing a masquerade event on Halloween as a fundraiser. I mean, the event itself is going to be kind of shitty, catering to a bunch of semi famous people, but the staff are having an after party. Do you want to come?"

Eddie swallows, trying not to get his hopes up. "Me?"

"Well, yeah, you were basically staff this week, so you should come."

"Oh." Turns out it didn't work, not getting his hopes up, and now he's fighting disappointment.

Steve must take that for reluctance, though, because he adds, "Chrissy and Jeff and Grant and Gareth are all welcome too, so you don't have to worry about not knowing anyone there? Unless you guys already had plans."

"Nah, I think we were just going to hang out and watch shitty horror movies, I'm sure they'd rather go to an after party at the resort," Eddie says.

It sounds like a much better night than anything they had planned, even if it isn't what he thought Steve might be asking.

"Good! Uh, that's good." Steve looks uncertain for a moment, like he's having a debate with himself. Whatever it is, he must come to a decision, because he leans over the counter a little. "What about you?"

…okay, maybe he's not completely out of luck here.

"Me?" Eddie asks again, but this time he keeps his gaze locked on Steve's.

"You," Steve says again. "I was really hoping you'd come, Eds."

"Yeah? What do I get if I go?"

Steve smiles at him, this soft little hopeful thing, and his eyes drop briefly down to Eddie's lips. "I got a few things in mind."

Oh fuck, this is happening.

"Well now you've got me intrigued. I guess I better make an appearance."

Steve's expression lights up. “See you at the resort at ten?”

—

There's even more security when Eddie arrives at the resort on Halloween. He isn't driving - he's pretty sure there's going to be free alcohol tonight, and he's planning on taking full advantage of it - but the cab he and the others took gets stopped three times by security guards, and each time they have to show their IDs.

“Who the hell is going to the stupid masquerade?” Eddie grumbles after they finally get dropped off at a side entrance to the resort.

“Celebrities,” Gareth says with a roll of his eyes.

There's still a small crowd of people exiting the resort through the main entrance a little bit away, and despite the grumbling and eye rolling, none of them can help craning their heads just a little, to see if there's anyone they recognize.

There isn't - looks mostly like people with press badges and cameras.

There's a little bit of a commotion, though, and that makes them pause, just for a moment.

“He owes us!” someone is shouting. “One song for the bronze tier donors, that's it? What does Alistair think he's trying to pull?”

“Oh, wow,” Chrissy says. “I mean, I knew Alistair was the celebrity endorser for the charity, but I didn't think he'd be here tonight.”

Eddie shrugs. “Steve said it was for the semi famous.”

“Alistair and Hawk are a little more than semi famous,” Jeff points out.

There's more shouting at the front entrance that distracts them, though - looks like whoever it was that was complaining is getting very firmly escorted out to the parking lot by security.

“What are you losers still doing out here?” someone asks, and Eddie turns over to see Erica scowling at him from the side entrance.

He beams at her. “Lady Applejack, destroyer of Vecna, light of my life!”

Erica rolls her eyes. “Get your butts in here,” she orders, disappearing through the side entrance.

Eddie and his friends dutifully follow her, down a few hallways and into a massive ballroom that's all decorated in orange and black lights, fake cobwebs, swooping bats, and even a fog machine. There's about thirty or so people mingling about, but fortunately, she leads them to where Steve and Robin are standing together. They're both dressed in black tuxedos, but Robin has a twinkling gold halo crowned on her head and a pair of feathery wings, and Steve has a pair of devil horns. There's a cup of something bright orange in each of their hands.

Jesus, Steve looks even more gorgeous.

“Hey!” Steve greets, lighting up. “You guys made it!”

There's a round of greetings, finished by Steve pointing out the tables laden with food - some of it is clearly fancy shit that was probably left over from the masquerade, but a decent chunk of it is freshly made, mixed in with a ton of boxes of pizza and pitchers of various drinks.

“Come on,” Steve says, circling his fingers around Eddie's wrist and giving it a tug. “I want to introduce you to my friends.”

Steve leads him around the room, weaving through the small crowd and stopping whenever he finds someone. Eddie meets Jonathon Byers, Argyle, and Nancy Wheeler - Steve's ex, apparently, which throws him for a moment when he sees that they're clearly good friends.

Eddie can't imagine being friends with any of the small handful of exes he has.

Steve shrugs when he says as much. “Nancy and I are much better as friends,” he admits. “Our break up was… all right, it was pretty bad. But it was a long time coming. We just didn't work, you know? We wanted different things.”

“Not a great point in favor of you still being friends,” Eddie points out.

Steve laughs. “Nancy's amazing at what she does. She's an investigative reporter for her real job - she just volunteers here, because it's family. It's a lot easier being her friend.”

Eddie's not completely convinced, but he'll take Steve's word for it.

Nancy seems pretty great, anyway, when both of their circles of friends end up spending most of the party together. She and Robin and Chrissy keep ducking their heads together and giggling, and Jeff and Jonathon are having some kind of emphatic discussion about something Eddie doesn't really understand, and he's pretty sure Gareth and Grant and Argyle have snuck off somewhere to smoke weed.

Eddie's a little disappointed they didn't invite him, except, well, Steve's been pretty much plastered to his side the whole time, so he can't really complain.

“You want to get out of here?” Steve asks, when Eddie has definitely had too many candy corn jello shots to be effectively considering the ramifications of that question.

He agrees anyway, wholeheartedly, and hopes he doesn't come across as way, way too eager.

Steve is beaming at him, though, and he leads him out of the room.

“Let's go for a walk?” Steve suggests, which isn't quite where Eddie's mind had been going, but he can admit it's probably a better idea than anything he might have come up with.

So they grab their coats, and Steve winds a scarf around Eddie's neck even though Eddie insists it isn't that cold out.

He's pretty sure the scarf is Steve's, though - it smells like his cologne - so he doesn't actually try to stop him.

“This is definitely a date, right?” Eddie asks as they're walking along the path to the lake, their fingers laced together.

You know, just to make absolutely certain.

“Yeah, it's definitely a date,” Steve says with a little laugh.

“It's technically our fourth date,” Eddie points out.

There's a little furrow between Steve's brow as he frowns at him. “What?”

Eddie holds up his free hand so he can tick them off his fingers. “One, you bought me drinks and dinner at the Hideout.”

“I paid for Jeff and Gareth too!” Steve protests.

“Two,” Eddie says, ignoring him. “You bought me lunch at the resort.”

“We're staff, we get free lunch!” Steve says.

“Three, you invited me to go to a Halloween party with you. And four, moonlight walk by the lake,” he finishes triumphantly.

“Those are the same date!” Steve's clearly trying to sound exasperated, but he's grinning, so Eddie's calling it a win. “And the other two are like, half dates. So if you really want to, we can call this our second date.”

“Come on, sneaking away from the Halloween party to get time alone is at least worth a half date on its own.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, two and a half dates.”

Eddie pumps his fist in victory, but he doesn't get time to crow too much about it.

Steve kisses him for the first time out by the lake, leaves rustling in the wind and the reflection of the moon hanging heavy and orange.

It's perfect.

At the end of the night, after they've been gone from the party for so long that people have had to notice - though no one says anything - Steve gives him a piece of paper with his number on it.

“You don't have to call me,” Steve tells him, like there's any chance that Eddie won't use it immediately. “But I'd like it if you did.”

Eddie steals a pen and paper from the front desk, sprawls down his own phone number and shoves it at Steve.

“Here,” he says. “So you'll know it's me when I call you as soon as I get home.”

—

Eddie expected it to be a little awkward, trying to keep up a relationship - or whatever this is, is it a relationship when they've only had two and a half dates? - via phone, but it really isn't. Steve remembers his work schedule, and he calls him every day after he gets home from work, and it -

It's almost as good as having him there. They talk about their days, about everything and nothing, and it's so fucking good it helps distract him from knowing he's not going to be able to see Steve in person again until December.

Or at least, he wasn't supposed to see him until December.

But about a week after Steve's gone, when he's hanging out with Chrissy and trying to pretend like he doesn't miss him an unreasonable amount, Eddie asks, “Who is Alistair, anyway?”

Chrissy raises her eyebrows at him. “You don't know?”

Eddie shrugs. “It hasn't come up.”

“Scoops Troop?” Chrissy asks, like that's supposed to mean something. “The pop duo?”

And yeah, all right, the name sounds vaguely familiar, but it's not anything that Eddie looks for, and he shrugs again. “I mean, sure, I've probably heard some of their songs on the radio.”

She rolls her eyes. “You're ridiculous. I have a poster of Alistair in my bedroom, it's your favorite one. You've listened to him with me, he does that cover you really like, the one you said at least he wasn't a coward who changes the gender when he covers female songs.”

Shit, okay, yeah, now Eddie knows who she's talking about. He remembers that poster - a blown up shot of the pop star wearing a pair of tight jeans with the button popped, bare chested, head tilted back so all you could see was the line of his neck and the underside of his chin. He remembers sitting with Chrissy a year or so after they graduated high school, listening to one of his albums, hearing the guy sing about how it feels to watch the man he loves kiss some other girl, remembers how the song had stuck with him.

Huh. Handsome, good singer, funds charities - maybe he should have given more of his songs a chance.

“Oh,” Eddie says.

Chrissy laughs softly. “Yeah, oh. Should I tell Steve to watch out for your crush?”

Eddie bumps his shoulders into hers. “Steve is prettier,” he says confidently. “And sweeter, and funnier, and - everything-er.”

He does know to cut himself off before he starts going into too much detail, though, and instead he flops down on his bed.

“What's his deal, then? You have a poster, you probably know some things.”

Chrissy shrugs, flopping down next to him. “He's pretty private. Teenage pop star, made it big pretty quickly, had a huge, blow up falling out with his manager and record label. Went quiet for a while, made a massive comeback with a new manager and label as part of a duo with Hawk.”

Eddie hums softly. Nothing all that interesting - or nothing out of the ordinary from things he's read about in the music industry before.

“What was the blow up about?” he asks, curious. He could go look it up himself, of course, but it's easier to ask Chrissy.

“Something about his manager and label mismanaging his earnings. There was some kind of scandal back then about exploitation of child stars, it's why you don't see Harrington Studios or Brenner Talent Acquisition around much anymore.”

Jesus.

“Wait,” Eddie says. “Harrington Studios? Like Steve Harrington?”

Chrissy frowns. “Maybe?”

“Shit, Steve did say his dad was an asshole who wouldn't want to be anywhere near him,” Eddie says. “I wonder if that's why Steve cut ties.”

“You could call him and ask him,” Chrissy says mildly. “Didn't he say he and Robin were just going to be hanging around at home the next few days?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at her. “You just want to talk to Robin,” he protests, even though he's already picking up the phone.

Steve and Robin are home, and Steve sounds so happy to hear from him that Eddie almost immediately forgets everything else.

“I miss you,” Eddie says before he thinks better of it, before he wonders if maybe that's too much.

“I miss you too,” Steve says immediately, sounding a little bit relieved - like maybe he was worried it was too much, too. “I wish I could see you.”

“Hawkins isn't too far from here,” Eddie points out. “And I've got a guest room.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, his voice a little soft, a little hopeful.

“Yeah. Come stay the night, we'll get pizza and watch bad movies.”

Steve hums a little like he's considering it, but it's playful, and Eddie's pretty sure he's going to say yes. “Are we counting this as a whole date, or is this another half date?”

Eddie breaks out into a grin. “Half date,” he decides. “That'll bring us up to three, and tomorrow we can make four.”

“Deal,” Steve agrees. “See you soon.”

Steve kisses him the second he and Robin arrive, crowding him in against the wall in the narrow hallway like it's been so much longer than a week since they last saw each other.

“Hi,” Steve murmurs when they break for air.

“Hi,” Eddie replies breathlessly, smiling so wide it hurts.

They end up squished together on the couch, Steve and Robin in the middle with Eddie and Chrissy on either side of them. After the pizza's gone, and they're mid way through their second movie - Eddie glances over, sees Robin's feet tucked under Steve's thigh, Steve's hand curled loosely around her ankle, Chrissy's head pillowed on Robin's shoulder.

Which sounds like a fantastic idea, actually, and he squishes down so he can lean into Steve's chest, Steve's arm wrapped around his shoulders.

Later, after the girls have disappeared into the guest room and Steve and Eddie are getting ready for bed, Steve seems… nervous, almost, as they climb under the covers.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks.

“There's things you don't know about me,” Steve admits quietly. “Important things.”

Things like his dad owning a record label and working with a manager who exploits children, Eddie'd guess. Not a great thing for a guy who now works so closely with kids.

But Eddie trusts him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “It's okay. I mean, you don't know everything about me either, right? We're only at date three. It's okay if you want to take this slow, to get to know each other before we jump into the messy stuff.”

Steve looks like he's thinking about that. “That's okay?”

“Yeah, of course. If you want to feel each other out, keep this low commitment, even see other people, that's fine.”

It's not really fine, but now Eddie's said it, so he can't take it back.

Steve frowns at him. “I don't want to keep this low commitment,” he protests. “Eds - I'm in this. I don't want to date anyone else.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, a little shaky.

Steve's expression shutters a little. “Did you want to?”

“No!” Eddie replies, a little too quickly. “No, of course not. I just didn't want to pressure you. I, uh, I'm in this too.”

“Good.” Steve tips his head in to kiss him softly. “But - maybe slow is good? I haven't really had a serious relationship since Nancy and I broke up.”

“It's been a while for me, too,” Eddie admits. “…is it bad that it kind of makes me feel better? That we're both figuring this out together?”

Steve snorts. “Nah. Not bad. I kind of like the idea of figuring things out with you.”

—

“Hey, Munson!” April shouts from the office, when he's elbow deep in sudsy water doing the dishes. “You got a phone call!”

“Who is it?” Eddie yells back. He doesn't want to lose his groove if it's just a crank call, or one of his friends with something far from urgent.

“Some guy named Steve! Want me to tell him to get lost?” she asks.

“No!” Eddie yelps immediately. Then, in what he hopes is a calmer voice, “No, I'll come get it.”

He dries off his hands, passes April on the way to the office and has to put up with her smirking at him, but he pointedly ignores her.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie greets, already feeling himself smiling.

“Hey,” Steve says back. “Am I interrupting a busy shift?”

He sounds - just a little bit off. Almost like his normal self, but more like he's forcing himself to sound normal.

Eddie frowns. “Even if you were, it'd be a welcome interruption. What's up?”

“It's nothing really important,” Steve says. “I just - wanted to hear your voice, I guess.”

Oh.

Eddie lets himself feel soft and gushy over that for a moment before he leans out to shout, “April, I'm taking my lunch!” and closes the door to the office.

“Eds, you don't have to do that,” Steve protests. “I just wan-”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie cuts him off gently. “I can tell something's wrong. Taking my lunch is nothing - I'd drive to Hawkins right now to see you if you wanted.”

Eddie can Steve breathe out, a slow, ragged exhale.

“What happened?” Eddie asks.

“My dad happened,” Steve mutters.

Shit.

“Well, if anyone gets how hard it can throw you off when your shitty dad pops back up in your life, it's me,” Eddie says. “You want to talk about it?”

Steve's quiet for a moment. “I don't know why I let him still get to me,” he says after a while. “He didn't even talk directly to me. He hasn't tried to reach out since I cut him off, but he still knows exactly what to say to get under my skin, and he knows where to do it so it'll get right back to me. God, it's so stupid. I don't even care about his opinion, but…”

“But he's your dad,” Eddie finishes for him when he trails off. “Even if he's terrible, even if you don't want to be anything like him, even if you don't really want his good opinion, it's always going to matter a little.”

There's another exhale, though this one's tinged with something like relief. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks.

Steve snorts. “Just the usual shit. I'm not living up to my potential, I'm wasting my time on publicity stunts, I've lost sight of what's really important.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. “Your dad really is an asshole.”

“Grade A,” Steve confirms.

“You sure you don't want me to drive down there?” Eddie offers.

“Nah,” Steve says, though Eddie can hear a smile in his voice. “I'm with Robin. She just went to pick up dinner, she should be back soon. Just, uh. Like I said, I wanted to hear your voice. It always makes me feel better.”

“You can't say stuff like that to me when you're not in kissing range,” Eddie teases. Mostly to cover up the way it makes his heart beat a little too fast.

“Sorry,” Steve replies, not sounding apologetic at all.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says. “I'll still stay on the phone with you until Robin gets back. What do you want me to talk about?”

Steve hesitates for a moment before asking, “Is it too much to ask about what happened the last time your dad popped up?”

Part of Eddie wants to say that nothing Steve could ask him for would be too much, but he does the responsible thing and actually thinks about it before he answers.

“I was seventeen,” he says, once he's decided that yeah, he's okay with Steve knowing this. “I'd been living with my Uncle Wayne for almost five years. He blows back into town, claims he has something of my mom's that she'd always wanted me to get, before she got sick.”

“What was it?” Steve asks.

Eddie snorts. “Nothing. I already had everything of hers that she left behind. He didn't realize I'd already emptied out the old house after he left the last time. But he said he missed me, said he needed me. That he really wanted it to be the two of us this time, the way we always talked about when I was younger and he was teaching me things.”

Steve makes a little encouraging noise.

“Shitty things,” Eddie clarifies. “Other dads taught their kids how to fish or play ball, but mine? He taught me how to hotwire cars. Even at seventeen, he had me convinced. I wanted to believe him so bad, I went along with his idea. Ended up with him skipping town and me in a jail cell taking the fall. My uncle had to come bail me out.”

“I'm sorry, Eddie,” Steve says quietly.

Eddie shrugs, even though Steve can't see him. “It's not your fault.”

“That's not why I'm sorry,” Steve retorts, in a tone that Eddie knows means he's rolling his eyes. “I'm sorry that he couldn't see how amazing you are. You deserve better.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up. “So do you,” he replies. “Fuck our dads, all right?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees empathetically. “Fuck ‘em. Who needs them when we have people who actually give a shit about us?”

Eddie wishes they were together, so he could take Steve's hand or tug him in for a hug or something, to make it clear that Eddie is one of those people who gives a shit about Steve.

“Yeah,” he settles for saying. “You can call me anytime, you know that, right?”

“I do now,” Steve says softly. “Thanks, Eds.”

Fuck.

“Any time,” Eddie managed to get out.

“You too, okay? Any time. Even if I don't answer right away, I'll always call you back.”

—

Eddie's pulling his boxes of Christmas decorations out of the storage space off of his little balcony when he notices one of the boxes is damaged.

He's not sure what happened. Water leaking, maybe, or maybe just the box giving out, but it's sagging in on itself, and when Eddie opens it he - he sees the remains of some of his oldest Christmas decorations. The ones that belonged to his mom.

Eddie stares at them for a long time, fighting back tears, and then goes inside to call his boyfriend.

“Hey, Stevie,” he says when he gets his answering machine. He doesn't even bother trying to sound like he isn't bummed. “It's not urgent, just - some of the Christmass stuff I had from my mom got wrecked. Guess I just wanted to hear your voice. Give me a call when you get this, yeah?”

There's an awkward pause that he almost fills with love you, before he hangs up real quick so he doesn't end up going there on a fucking voicemail of all things.

He doesn't really know how long it's going to be before Steve's able to call him back, and it's stupid to just wait around waiting, but… he can't actually bring himself to do the only thing he had planned today and get the Christmas decorations up.

Eddie's still dithering around hours later when the doorbell rings, and he considers ignoring it and pretending he isn't home. He's not in the mood to be any kind of good company, after all.

But then he hears Steve's voice calling his name through the door, and he's on his feet and opening it up before he knows it.

“You're here,” Eddie says, a little gobsmacked.

Steve shifts his weight, looking a little hesitant. “Is that okay? I mean, I know you said you wouldn't mind driving down to Hawkins for me if -”

Steve cuts off, because Eddie's dragged him inside the apartment and pressed him against the back of the door, doing his level best to kiss him senseless.

“It's not too much?” Steve manages to ask in between kisses.

“It's so far from too much,” Eddie returns.

Eddie's not really sure he knows what to do with someone who drove all the way here just for him, just because he was sad, but Jesus, he's not going to complain about it now.

They're both a little disheveled by the time they manage to get away from the door, and Steve gives him a tentative little smile.

“I brought you this,” Steve says, holding something out to him.

Eddie takes it, and it's - a copy of Loretta Lynn's Country Christmas. A signed copy. A signed copy specifically addressed to Eddie, wishing him a merry Christmas and a wonderful holiday season.

He looks back up, gaping at Steve a little. “Steve?”

“It was supposed to be your Christmas present,” Steve says. “But I thought - maybe you could use it now.”

Jesus Christ, Eddie's pretty sure he's really close to crying. He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a ragged breath.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

He sets the album down, then practically launches himself at Steve, folding him into his arms and hugging him tight. Steve lets himself be held, sinking into the embrace and hugging him back just as strong.

Eventually, when Eddie's reasonably certain he's not in danger of crying - or blurting out a love confession - Eddie pulls back.

“How long are you here for?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “I don't have any where to be now. I finished work up early, so I've got a few days before we have to get started on winter camp and the Hawkins Hope Christmas gala.”

“Stay here?” Eddie asks, even though he's a little afraid he's pushing it. The guy drove here for him after one upset voicemail, he's pretty sure he's not going to be turned off by the suggestion of staying over a few days.

“Shit, yeah, I'd love to. You want me to help decorate?” Steve offers.

Eddie swallows past the lump in his throat and nods. “Yeah, that'd be great.”

He puts on Loretta Lynn, and before he knows it he's laughing along with Steve as they bicker about where to put some of the decorations and immediately agree on others.

It's a much better day than Eddie could have ever imagined.

—

“How'd you guys even find this place?”

It's mid December, and the Hawkins Hope crew officially have the resort for the rest of the year.

Which means Eddie's been hanging out there pretty much all of his days off, to the point where the security staff don't even bother to check his ID anymore. They just let him waltz right into the resort to meet Steve at one of the lounges.

Or in the room Steve's staying in, which is where they're at now.

“We rented it out for a couple of weeks back in the spring. Or I guess, technically Scoops Troop did, but when Joyce saw it we figured it would be the perfect place.”

“That was you guys?” Eddie asks. “I figured it was some doucebag pop singer.”

“Well, I guess you'd be kind of right, depending on how you feel about Scoops Troop.” Steve says it too casually, like he's trying to pretend that he doesn't care about Eddie's response - but he clearly cares about Eddie's response.

Eddie hums softly. “How do you feel about Scoops Troop?”

“Hawk is fantastic,” Steve replies immediately. “She's so, so talented, she could do just about anything, you know? She's funny, and so damn smart, she's just amazing.”

Briefly, Eddie wonders if he should be jealous, but nah. Steve'd sounded similar to the way he does when he talks about Robin, and Eddie knows there's nothing going on there.

“What about Alistair?” Eddie asks.

Steve gives a one shouldered shrug. “I don't think my opinion really matters all that much.”

“Of course it matters, Stevie, your opinion always matters,” Eddie says.

Steve smiles at him, soft and fond. “Thank you.”

Eddie waits, but apparently Steve is going to play hard to get on the subject of Alistair. “Do you like him?”

Steve shrugs again. “Yeah, sure.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, squirming a little so he's draped across Steve's lap, staring up at him expectantly.

Steve huffs out a little laugh, carding his fingers through Eddie's hair.

“It was touch and go there for a little bit,” Steve admits. “There was some pretty dicklike behavior going on for a while.”

Eddie gives a dramatic gasp. “A teenage idol? Being a dick? You don't say.”

There's another little laugh, which Eddie's going to count as a win.

“And now?” Eddie asks. “The charity thing, is that all a cover?”

“Nah,” Steve says. “That's genuine. You go through some shit, get a couple of good thumps on the head, it can change your perspective on a lot of things. Makes you realize what's important, and what's just bullshit, you know?”

It sounds like Steve's speaking from experience, and Eddie makes a little encouraging noise.

“My dad did some pretty shitty things to some of my friends,” he says quietly. “And to me. There was a time when I was probably too much like him. I mean, I wasn't ever that bad, but - I put popularity and shit above the things that really mattered.”

“It's hard to imagine you like that,” Eddie says.

Steve frowns a little. “Really?”

“Well, okay, you're kind of a preppy jock, and back in high school I would have thought you were a huge asshole. But I mean, I was kind of a dick back then, too. I probably would have judged you without even knowing you. And now, knowing you? Shit, you're amazing, Steve.”

Steve swallows, leaning down to kiss him.

“I kind of like that you don't know a lot about Alistair,” Steve admits quietly.

“Really?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Most of the people that I work with, aside from the core staff? They're in this because it's a good look for them, or because of their connections with Scoops Troop. You're one of the few who helped out just because of the kids.”

“You guys did pay me,” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but you said yes before you even knew how much. It wasn't because of some celebrity, it was just because you're a good guy.”

Something squirms around in Eddie's gut, in a way that he can't decide is good or not. Don't get him wrong, Steve telling him he's a good guy's got his heart beating a little quicker, but he also feels like Steve's got the wrong impression of him.

“I mean, I also did it because you asked me to,” he says, before Steve goes thinking it was entirely selfless. “And you're the prettiest guy I've ever seen.”

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “You agreed to help out just to get paid and to get in my pants?”

“Well, not just that. It worked though, didn't it?”

There's another laugh, and Steve jostles him with his knee a little. “Seriously, though. There's not a lot of people in my life that aren't here because of Alistair.”

It's Eddie's turn to swallow. “Well, now you've got me.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, still far too serious. His eyes are so intense as he looks down at Eddie, like he's seeing straight through him - like he's on the verge of saying something big, something maybe too big.

“So what are you going to do with me, then?” Eddie asks, light and teasing, wiggling his eyebrows.

It works to break the moment, though Steve's still looking at him almost too closely.

“Keep you,” Steve says. “If you'll let me.”

Jesus Christ.

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “Yeah, I'll let you.”

—

The sound of a piano playing draws him down one of the resort hallways, smiling softly as he recognizes it as a Billy Joel song.

“La, la-la, di-di-da,” echoes along with the notes of the piano. “La-la di-di-da da-dum.”

He follows the sound, until he reaches another one of the resort's many little lounging areas. This one has the customary fireplace, wide open windows with gorgeous scenery, and cozy seating. It also has a baby grand piano, and Eddie's a little shocked to see Steve sitting at it, eyes closed as he plays.

“Sing us a song, you're the piano man,” Steve croons. His voice is a little raspy, a little rough, low and soft and so fucking gorgeous that it makes Eddie catch his breath. “Sing us a song tonight. Well, we're all in the mood for a melody.”

“And you've got us feeling all right,” Eddie chimes in.

Steve's eyes fly open, and he looks a little panicked for a moment before his gaze catches on Eddie. The tension in his body relaxes a little, though there's something about him that seems a bit wary.

It makes Eddie feel like maybe he shouldn't make a big deal about this, shouldn't exclaim that he didn't know Steve could play or tell him that he should sing more often.

“Practicing for a music activity with the kids?” Eddie asks.

Steve's expression lights up with a smile, and Eddie immediately feels like he's said the right thing.

Which isn't all that common of an occurrence, honestly. Makes it feel pretty damn good that he just about always gets it right with Steve.

“Doing a piano lesson later,” Steve says.

“And you're going to teach them Billy Joel?” he asks.

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “Christmas carols, actually. I was just trying to warm up a little.”

“Don't mind me,” Eddie says, plopping down at the bench next to him and leaning against him. “Warm up away. Hey, you play one I know, and I'll even sing.”

Steve's expression goes contemplative for a moment. “How about we sing together?”

“You don't have to,” Eddie says a little guiltily, kind of worried that he'd made him feel pressured.

Steve shakes his head. “I want to. What's your favorite Christmas song?”

“Carol of the Bells,” Eddie says immediately.

Steve barks out a little laugh.

“What?” Eddie demands, bumping his shoulder. “It's a good one!”

“I know,” Steve says. “It's my favorite, too. It's just not a great dueting song.”

“Nah, come on, give me some notes. We got this,” Eddie insists.

Steve rolls his eyes, but his fingers dance over the keys as he starts playing.

“Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away.” Eddie's not exactly singing so much as he's whispering the words into Steve's ear, lips brushing up right against his skin.

It makes Steve's breath catch. He tips his head to face Eddie, playing without looking.

“Christmas is here, bringing good cheer, to young and old, meek and the bold,” Steve whisper sings back. Even like this, he sounds good - Eddie can tell he must have gotten some training, but with who Steve's dad is, he's not surprised.

Eddie kind of figures that's why any musical ability Steve has would be a sore subject, so he doesn't ask about it. “Ding dong ding dong, that is their song, with joyful ring, all caroling.”

“One seems to hear, words of good cheer,” Steve sings, lips so close to Eddie's that they're practically breathing the same air. “From everywhere, filling the air.”

Steve joins him in singing, “Oh how they pound, raising the sound,” their voices melding together in a way that Eddie's not sure is technically good, but fuck it feels downright magical.

They make it through a few more verses like that, but Steve kisses him before they finish out the song, and they're too distracted to get back to it.

Really, it's not like Eddie's going to complain.

Steve's amazing with the kids, he's clearly not a terrible shower singer, and Eddie's not holding out much hope for the wet towels on the floor at this point.

Eddie just doesn't know how he got so lucky.

—

When Eddie opens the door, Chrissy immediately smacks him with a magazine, but doesn't say anything until she and Jeff have pushed their way into his apartment and shut the door behind them.

Eddie blinks at them, bewildered.

“When were you going to tell us?” she asks in a low, excited whisper.

“Tell you what?” he asks.

“He probably swore you to secrecy, right?” Jeff asks.

“Can we talk about it now that we know?” Chrissy says. “Oh, wait, you probably had to sign an NDA or something, right?”

Jeff makes a face. “Are we going to have to sign an NDA?”

“An NDA about what?” Eddie demands.

Chrissy thrusts the magazine at him, shaking it until he takes it.

Oh.

That's Steve and Robin on the cover, wearing matching Christmas sweaters, with glitter on their eyelids and cheeks and snowflakes in their hair.

He can feel his expression go a little dopey and fond, but hey, how is he supposed to help it?

Eddie assumes it's some kind of article about the Christmas gala Hawkins Hope is throwing, but the caption of the picture catches his eye as he's looking up.

Christmastime With Scoops Troop! Alistair and Hawk spill about their holiday traditions.

It's not until Eddie hears Chrissy saying, “Oh” and Jeff going, “Oh shit, you didn't know,” that Eddie realizes he's gaping.

Eddie slams his jaw shut. “No,” he says tightly, feeling a sharp stab of hurt covered up immediately by a blinding rush of anger. “No, I didn't know that my boyfriend is famous. Apparently that's something that he didn't feel was important to tell me.”

He throws the magazine down onto the couch, stalking around the living room. “Apparently Alistair likes to play games with poor, hick bartenders, make them think they've found something amazing, while Mr. Famous Douchebag is probably off laughing with his other celebrity friends about what an idiot I am.”

“Eddie,” Chrissy says, sounding a little shocked. “I don't know if that's fair.”

“Fair?” Eddie demands. “Fair would have been leaving me the hell out of however he gets his rocks off. It wasn't coming into the Hideout again and again, hanging out with us and getting to know us, all the time keeping something like this!”

“Hey,” Jeff cuts in. “Come on, man, Steve didn't owe us anything then. He was just a guy coming into a bar to get some drinks, getting along with the staff there.”

Eddie snarls, because he wants to be as furious as possible, and he isn't thrilled that Jeff's making a logical point. “Fine,” he concedes. “But he owed me something. He should have told me what I was getting into before I got too deep. I don't - what, was his plan to just keep quiet about this forever and hope I wouldn't find out? How stupid does he think I am?”

Chrissy and Jeff are silent at that, but that just deflates Eddie more than if they had tried to argue with him.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks.

“Do you want to break up with him?” Chrissy asks.

Eddie startles. “No!” Then he pauses, considering. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” Jeff prompts.

“What if all of this was a game? What if he never liked me at all, and he was just a celebrity asshole having some fun?”

“What if it wasn't?” Chrissy counters gently. “What if he's just a guy who found someone he really liked and was too scared to tell him about this?”

Eddie drops down into the couch, burying his head in his hands. “I have to talk to him, don't I?”

—

Eddie goes to talk to him.

He asks the resort staff to let Steve know that he's here, waits around in the front entrance until one of the staff tells him they got the go ahead to let Eddie wait in Steve's room.

Eddie's sitting on the bed when Steve there.

“Eddie? Are you okay, they told me you-” Steve cuts off, and Eddie's going to assume that he saw the magazine in Eddie's hands.

He can't bring himself to look up to see him, to check for sure.

“Was any of it real?” he asks. His voice comes out rough, though he manages not to sound like he's on the verge of tears.

“God, Eds, of course it's real, how can-”

“Don't,” Eddie cuts him off, harsh and sharp.

Steve makes a little wounded sound before he falls silent, and this time Eddie can't help but look up at him.

Steve looks - he looks like a fucking wreck. His eyes are wet and sad, and he looks like everything that he'd been trying to balance on his shoulders has come crashing down. Eddie wishes he could say with confidence that the guy he knows, the guy he's fallen in love with, is the same guy he's seeing now, is who Steve really is.

Still, Eddie isn't here to purposefully hurt him. Chrissy and Jeff had talked sense into him - he just wants answers.

“I don't think it's fair for you to act like I'm out of line for doubting that,” Eddie says.

Steve crumples like a wet paper bag.

“You're right,” he says, which honestly - Eddie wasn't expecting. “It's not fair, I'm sorry. Of course you'd think that if I was hiding this, what else wasn't I telling the truth about?”

Eddie rolls up the magazine to hide how his hands want to shake, crinkling it with the force of his grip. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Not at first,” Steve admits, lips twisted in a humorless little smile. “This summer, I just - it was nice, spending time with people who had no idea who I was. I thought that would be it, but then the more time I spent with you, the more I fell for you, and by the time I realized I didn't want to let you go, I was afraid. Afraid of your reaction, afraid of what it would mean for us. There's so many people that think they know me as Alistair, and so few that know the real me. I knew, just - even if you didn't hate me, even if you still wanted to be with me, things were going to change. I wouldn't just be Steve anymore.”

“But… you are Alistair. I'm not getting the real you unless I can have both.”

Steve swallows. “Do you want both?”

Eddie blinks at him, a little thrown. “What kind of question is that?”

“Most people want to date Alistair, the pop singer. I haven't had anyone since Nancy who knew me as Steve first, and I - I don't know. I kind of thought it would work the other way, too,” Steve admits. “That you wouldn't want any part of Alistair.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “Dude, you keep talking about Steve and Alistair like they're different people. They're both still you, right? I mean, sure, you've got to put on a different front when you're out there with the press and the celebrities, but we all do that a little. You think I act the same way with most customers that I do with you?”

“I - no. Okay, well, I hope not,” Steve adds, just a little bit teasing.

“Definitely not,” Eddie says, giving him the tiniest smile. “So if you're really in this, I want you to be in it. I don't want you to have to hide something so huge from me. I think I deserve the chance to know all of you.”

“Okay,” Steve says softly. “You're right. You're - yeah. If you still want this, if I didn't fuck everything up, then I promise no more secrets.”

Eddie lets out a slow, ragged exhale. Then, “It was real, right?”

“Every bit of it,” Steve says. He inches closer, then when Eddie doesn't stop him, he comes to sit next to him.

“Everything I've told you is true,” Steve says solemnly. “It's okay if you can't believe that yet. I promise I'll work really hard to show you.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Maybe I'm stupid, but I do believe you. There's a lot of things that make sense now.”

Thinking back on it - he doesn't think Steve ever actually directly lied to him, not once. Just by omission.

“Fuck, your dad is even worse than I thought,” Eddie swears. “I assumed you guys had a falling out because he fucked over your friends, but he fucked over you.”

“And my friends,” Steve says. “Jane, Hopper's adopted daughter - she got it the worst. I mean, it was mostly our manager, Brenner, who was the real piece of work, but it's not like my dad gave a shit.”

“Fuck him even more,” Eddie mutters. “Am I allowed to ask what happened? Will I have to sign an NDA or something?”

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “No NDAs, and yeah, you can ask. Hopper and Joyce were the ones that uncovered a lot of it, at first, and then Nancy and Jonathan did this massive push and got all the details to leak to the press. They're in investigative journalism half because of how good of a job they did. Robs and I both almost quit music after, but Joyce and Hop knew this guy who was a really good manager, and Murray knew Dimitri who had a small record label, and it just… fell together.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Hopper's your head of security, isn't he?”

Steve grins. “And the security for Hawkins Hope, but yeah, mostly me and Robin. Jonathan also does most of our pictures for album covers and stuff, and Argyle actually handles our PR.”

Eddie hums. “Wait, why didn't I have to sign an NDA? What if I was secretly a reporter just pretending to be a bartender?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “But you weren't.”

“What if I was?” Eddie insists. “Or, okay, what if it didn't work out and I was the kind of guy who liked petty revenge? What if some shady paparazzi comes up to me and promises a huge pay day if I spill all of the secrets I learned?”

“You wouldn't,” Steve says confidently.

Which, okay, yes, Eddie very much appreciates Steve's trust in him and it kind of makes him feel a little gooey inside, but Eddie's on a roll and he has a point to make.

“I could!” Eddie protests. “What if I was just a huge asshole? What do Hopper and Argyle think of you dating someone without an NDA?”

“I don't think I've ever had anyone mad at me that I didn't ask them to sign an NDA,” Steve says thoughtfully.

“Well clearly you've been dating douchebags,” Eddie grumbles. “You have to look out for yourself more, okay, what if I was just the worst person in the world and - what?”

Steve's smiling at him way too fondly. “I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you,” he says softly.

Eddie's breath catches. “Is that, uh. Is that a confession, or the reason you didn't have me sign an NDA?”

“Both?” Steve admits. “Look, I know it's kind of early, so I'm not expecting -”

“No, fuck that, I'm definitely in love with you,” Eddie cuts in. “I've wanted to say it since the time you called me at work.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out. “Still?”

“Still.” Eddie makes a little face at himself. “I do trust you, Steve. It might take me a while to get used to everything, but I don't think there's anything I'm going to learn that will change that.”

Steve kisses him, tangling his fingers in Eddie's hair.

“Come to the Christmas gala with me?” he asks.

“Won't the press and stuff be there?” Eddie says.

“Yeah. It's okay if you're not ready for that, but I - I think I'd like to tell people that I have a boyfriend. To introduce you whenever you are ready.”

Eddie considers that. He's honestly not sure he is ready, but - shit, is he ever going to feel ready? “Yeah,” he says. “Jesus, yeah, let's do it.”

“Yeah?” Steve says, his face lighting up.

“Yeah,” Eddie says again. “Just, uh, let me call my uncle and tell him first. Unless - do you want to come with me, tell him together?”

Steve kisses him again. “I'd really like that. We're still in this, still figuring this all out together, right?”

Eddie follows after him for another kiss. “Together,” he agrees.

Yeah, Eddie can handle that. As long as they're together.

[itsabouttimex2]

This can be for anyone you think would best fit.

I have a personal comfort item that I cuddle to sleep. I get pissed if I am not cuddling it so what would ANY of the yanderes do about this?

Stuffie Reactions

Sun Wukong, MK, Azure Lion

What does this character think of your comfort item?

Cute, cute, cute. Sun Wukong considers your attachment to be simply adorable, and doesn’t interfere with the attachment you have for the thing. We get to see that he’s a little nostalgic for the past, so I think he’d understand the love for a long-standing comfort item. If it’s a plushie of some kind, the Great Sage will probably have a few commissioned in similar fashion to give you a ‘troop’ of cuddle-buddies.

That being said, he still wants your attention! Cuddle your plushie all you’d like, but come and lay your his in his lap while you do. Clean and brush it, but let him wrap an arm around you while you’re at it.

As long as he gets the same amount of love that you dish out to the personal possession, Wukong won’t complain. Start ignoring him I’m favor of it… and he’ll find a nice little cranny to hide it in. Maybe a few sleepless nights spent looking for it will drive you to his arms… eventually. He can wait.

He’s not the one losing sleep over it, after all!

MK is, in a word, jealous. He wants to be your hero, the one who scoops you up and delivers you to safety, the one who comforts you and wipes away tears. And instead of him, an actual hero, you have… a toy.

Regular MK wouldn’t care- in fact, he’d sympathize with you, given he’s got a massive monkey plush of his own! But with obsession to bog the mind, he’s more demanding of your time and attention- as well as your affection.

He wants those cuddles you give to the precious plush you’ve kept since childhood! He wants to be the pillow you rest on! Honestly, MK is more than a little hurt that he’s being one-upped by a literal object.

He briefly considers stealing and trashing the stuffed animal, but settles on an even better idea that won’t break you heart- his power to transform.

MK slips the worn plush under your bed and stealthily takes the thing’s place, shifting into an exact replica- every bead, stitch, and discolored patch is just as you remember, left right where you always put it before leaving your room-

So you don’t hesitate to give him it a good cuddle.

Azure Lion has a tendency to view his obsession as much younger than they truly are- you having a stuffie only reinforces this incorrect view.

Anytime he sees you holding your plush, it’s as though ten to fifteen years drop from your age. He can’t see a teen or an adult in you- just a child that needs him. (If you are a child, he spoils you with plushes and dolls to make up for his frequent absence. It’s not like he’d allow you to have real friends, after all.)

It’s not like Azure is going to grow jealous over a stuffed piece of sewn fabric- he’s just happy that you have something that makes you happy. He can just steal away into your room at night, settling for stroking the hair from your face and tucking the blankets tight.

(And a forehead kiss. Always. He’s never once forgotten it.)

Unlike the monkeys above, though, Azure Lion will remove your plush as a punishment. Not out of jealousy or desire for affection- but as a method of keeping you in line.

To him, it’s a particularly beloved toy, not really an object worthy of respect or love. And since taking it seems to be a good way of getting the response he wants, Azure is prone to snatching it away without hesitation- and returning it promptly once you’ve “learned your lesson”.

Thankfully, he’s not cruel enough to destroy it.

[starry-eyed-steve]

Thinking about Scoops Troop today (like so many others) and how they probably never escape the horrors of those two days and nobody cares about it in the show.

Thinking about Steve, who probably feels guilty for going along and encouraging Dustin in the first place and dragging two innocent bystanders into this mess. Thinking about how he took the torture from the Russians in hopes they wouldn't touch Robin. Thinking about how he probably thought he was going to die at 18 years old. Thinking about how he feels guilty of telling the Russians Dustin's name and putting him in danger that way. Thinking about how he tried his best but still failed the people he loves.

Thinking about Robin, who didn't know what was going on. Thinking how she saw Steve being passed out, thinking he was dead. She probably feels guilty that Steve took the brunt for her. She definitely beats herself up for suggesting that Erica helped them and how she didn't put a stop to it in the first place. Thinking about how she also thought she was going to die at 17 and how she wasn't able to live out her life as her true self.

Thinking about Dustin, who literally killed a man at 13 years old in order to save Steve. Thinking about how he feels guilty because it was his idea to go after the Russians in the first place. He was crawling through the vents with Erica for hours while not knowing what was happening to Steve, who is his brother. Thinking about how he thought him and Erica would get to Robin and Steve too late.

Thinking about Erica, who was just 10 years old, who had to witness Dustin killing a man. She couldn't even rely on Steve or Robin because they both were out of it. Suddenly, she was in charge of getting them to safety. Thinking how her whole life got changed now that she knows about the monsters from horror stories are actually real.

Thinking how all four were just kids and saw more than anyone else. Thinking how nobody really checked up on them in the show and that they only have each other because nobody would understand what they went through.