#steve harrington is kind of a dick but he doesn't mean to be

[hairmetal666]

Steve and Eddie.

Eddie and Steve.

After Vecna, they're inseparable. They share a bed. Always. Twine their legs together and sleep close. No reason to pretend they don't need each other when they so obviously do.

Eddie loves him. He knows it's stupid. Doesn't know how to protect his heart when Steve is everything.

Spring fades into summer, and between nights spent with entangled limbs, Eddie starts to see more in Steve's hazel eyes; soft fondness and gentle care, a flash of heat. Their physical affection goes beyond casual touches--arms around waists, fingers on hips, faces nuzzling against necks, kisses pressed into hair.

It feels like they have all the time in the world, but Robin asks Steve to move to Indy and Steve never mentions it. Eddie pretends like the silence doesn't hurt. They've only ever been just friends, after all.

Then, one night, "I'm moving to Indy."

"Okay, yeah." Eddie tries to keep his voice even, the tears from spilling. it was always a mistake, falling for Steve Harrington.

"Come with me?" Steve's hands are clenched in the duvet.

"I'm moving to New York." He had no plans until this very moment.

Steve falls quiet. "That's nice, Eddie. That's--yeah, you should do that, if it's what you want."

He nods. Ignores the lump in his throat. "Maybe I can really be somebody."

Steve smiles. Eddie's not sure why it looks so sad. "You'll knock 'em dead, Ed."

---

They stay friends, of course they do. There's phone calls and visits, and it's not the same, but it's still good.

Eddie tries to get over him. He does. There are dates, men, possibility. But they're not Steve.

Steve meets a girl--nice, pretty, wealthy--the kind of girl made for a King. It sticks. Eddie likes her. And nobody needs to know that he cries himself to sleep, thinking of what might have been.

The invitation comes in the mail. He throws it in the garbage without a thought, before standing against his counter, knuckles going white where he's gripping into the laminate. Tries to remind himself to keep breathing around the shattering of his heart.

He's not going. Knows he can't take it.

Then, a phone call.

"I'm getting married," Steve says.

"Yeah, just got the invite. Congrats!" Bile in his throat threatens to choke him.

"Will you--you'll stand up there with me?"

Eddie smacks his head repeatedly against the wall. "Of course," is the only possible answer.

---

The wedding is fine. During the ceremony, he tries not to listen to the vows, keeps his eyes on Robin's back and never, ever on Steve. He drinks through the reception. Knows it's too much, knows he's losing control. Can't take watching Steve dance with his new bride, so he sneaks out a side door into an alley, lighting his last cigarette. The nicotine barely hits his lungs before a scuffle of feet interrupts his moment.

"Can I get in on that?" Steve asks.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, handing over the cigarette. "What're you doing out here?"

"Haven't really talked to you at all today."

"Well. You've been a little busy." He means it to be a joke but it falls very flat, his bitterness too close to the surface.

Steve exhales a cloud of smoke. "Yeah. Didn't realize weddings were so much work."

Eddie doesn't know what to say, so they fall into silence, passing the smoke back and forth until it burns down to the filter.

"You happy?" Eddie asks. Doesn't think he meant to, doesn't want the answer.

"Ed..."Steve swallows.

"So, yes," he chuckles. It's the most hollow thing he's ever heard.

"It's just--It's normal, you know?"

And it's like Steve punched him, to know they never could've been because Eddie--being with Eddie--would never be normal.

"Right, of course, Harrington. Normal."

"That's not what--I'm not saying--"

"What else could you possibly mean?"

"I want quiet. No monsters, no secret dimensions. Something regular. Easy."

"Six-fucking-nuggets, right? Still a pretty lady in the front seat next to you."

"What's wrong with that? Huh? What's wrong with kids and stability and a fucking life. Not bartending until 4am and playing the occasional gig and living with 18 goddamn people."

Eddie straightens at that, fingers twisting in his button-down. "Sorry my life doesn't meet your exacting standards, King. Sorry I can't be what you want."

He storms away, Steve shouting after him, but he leaves him there with his promising and bright and normal future unfurling before him.

---

They don't talk. One month. Six Months. A Year. Two.

For lack of better to do, for stability, he writes a book. Fantasy. About an Adventurer who helps a group of kids save the world. They're joined by a handsome, mysterious man who seems like an asshole, but helps them selflessly every time. He and the Adventurer are something, but before it's anything real, the stranger is revealed to be their Prince. They save the world, but the Prince has to leave the Adventurer behind.

The book is a hit. Spawns a series. Eddie's somebody.

---

Eddie comes home from the store, paper bag of groceries balanced against his chest.

Steve Harrington, not looking a day older than at his wedding, stands at his door, hands wringing.

"Steve?" He asks.

"Hey, Ed." The nickname twists Eddie's stomach, but he doesn't say anything.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm getting divorced," Steve says.

Eddie almost drops his groceries, his hands shake so hard. He busies himself with the lock, ushering Steve inside.

"Is that all?" He asks.

Steve blinks at him, dazed expression on his still pretty face. "What?"

"You came all this way just to tell someone you haven't spoken to in almost eight years that you're getting divorced? What's it to me?" He stomps into the kitchen with his groceries.

"I wanted--I thought--"

Eddie snorts, makes it mean because he feels mean, wants to make Steve hurt the way he has for years. "You thought? We haven't spoken since your wedding day, man."

"She was ready for kids, and I realized that she's not--she's not who I picture having a family with."

The words pierce him like shattered glass, and he whirls into the living room, into Steve's space. "What the fuck are you doing?" he hisses.

"I wanted you to know, Ed. After all--"

"Stop calling me that. Stop acting like we're friends, for Christ's sake. And I don't give a damn about whatever realization you had once you realized normal wasn't for you."

"I'm trying to make this right!" Pink splotches highlight Steve's cheeks, his anger spiking to match Eddie's.

"There's nothing to fix, Harrington. We're over. It's fine."

"It's not fine," Steve is breathing hard. "I wanted you so badly, and you fucking ran away--"

"Bullshit! I waited for you. And you moved to Indy with Robin without a thought."

"I asked you to come! You were the one who said no."

"You asked a week before you left!"

"I was scared!"

"Of what, Steve? Not having that normal, easy, life you wanted so badly?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why?"

Steve chuckles, steps back. "I always thought you of all people would understand, and now--"

"Not when you come to my house unannounced to unload on me about your divorce because you expect us to pick up like none of it ever happened."

"That's not what I want!"

Eddie turns, pinching the bridge of his nose to cut off the stinging in his eyes. "I can't do this. I think you should leave, Steve."

"Fine." Steve won't look at him, storms to the door. "This was a mistake."

He slams it hard enough it makes the walls shake, picture frames rattle. Eddie can't stop the sob that rips out of him. Entitled, selfish, Steve Harrington, the only man Eddie will ever love. Steve Harrington who thinks love comes with strings attached. Steve Harrington who was afraid of asking Eddie to move away with them. And Eddie, always the coward, stifled by the weight of his own impossible love.

Eddie moves on autopilot, just knows he needs to find Steve, to see if there's a chance.

He skids down the stairs, almost falling a time or two, out into the night. His eyes scan the sidewalk, searching for familiar tall hair, but there's no sign of Steve, no sign--

A soft sob cuts through the air and Eddie's eyes fall to the steps in front of him, to the beautiful man sitting with his head on his knees.

"Steve," he says.

He stands, whirling, face a wreck. "Eddie?"

He doesn't know what to say at first, swallowing and swallowing around nothing. "I--I'm sorry I said no, when you asked me to move with you."

Steve's face does a funny, fracturing thing, even as he gives a little laugh. "I'm sorry I took so long to work up the nerve to ask."

Both of them take a step forward, then stumble together in a clumsy, tear-soaked hug.

"I'm sorry I got too drunk at your wedding," Eddie whispers against his friend's neck.

Steve giggles, but quiets quickly "I'm sorry about the 'normal' thing. I didn't mean it. I was--it doesn't matter. I'm sorry."

They hold each other for a long time on the steps of Eddie's building, rocking gently back and forth. When they finally let go, Eddie pushes Steve's hair off his forehead, asks, "wanna order a pizza and catch up?"

The answering smile is blinding as a sun, and Eddie is just as hopelessly in love as he was at 20.

They walk inside, fingers still entwined, lit up with hope.

"Hey," Steve says as they walk up the stairs together. "Are the Adventurer and the Prince going to find each other again? Because it's been four books now, and I'm still wait--"

Eddie twists his fingers into Steve's t-shirt, pushing him against the stained stairwell wall. "Fuck, Steve, I--"

He's interrupted by Steve closing the distance between their mouths, pulling them together in a searing kiss.

"They get forever, sweetheart" is Eddie's answer.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve’s dad is the kind of guy who would have a kid with another woman and leave the baby with Steve to take care of. Unknowingly, to his dad, Steve is hiding Eddie Munson in his loft. His dad just dropped the baby off and left. That's when Eddie decided to wake up from his nap. He stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and his hair a mess. He was missing a sock. Steve stood at the counter with a baby on his hip.

"Oh, good, honey, I'm glad you're up. I think it's your turn to take care of our baby," Steve said.

"What the fuck? How long was I asleep for? Am I still awake?" Eddie asked.

"I think someone must have wished really hard because now we have a baby," he said sarcastically, messing with Eddie.

"Oh my God!"

Eddie was panicking. This was his fault. Stupid. He just had to go and imagine Steve with his baby, a baby that looks just like Steve. Of course, magic was real. The Upside Down was real. Eddie wondered if a fairy happened to be passing by when he made his wish.

"I'm sorry, Stevie, this is all my fault!" Eddie exclaimed.

"It's your fault that my dad passed off his child he had with another woman for me to raise?" Steve asked with amusement.

The little girl started making grabby hands at Eddie.

"Oh yeah, that makes more sense. Your dad is a dick, man. Ugh. Also, you cannot fuck with me when I just woke up," Eddie said rubbing sleep from his eye.

"Mama!"

"Oh yeah, you do kind of look like her!" Steve giggled. "He had the decency to leave a picture of her for Rosie."

"Fuck off, Harrington. Look, I'm not your mama, kid," Eddie said.

"Mama?" She looked at him with big, watery eyes and a pouty lip.

"Aww, you hurt her feelings!"

"Ah, hell, come here," Eddie said and took the baby. "I'm sorry, but - "

"Mama!" Rosie exclaimed and started bouncy on his hip. "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

"Okay, question, since she brought it up, where is her mother in all of this?" Eddie asked.

"Abandoned her," Steve replied.

"Damn, kid, doesn't she know how cute you are?" Eddie asked. "Okay, if you're going to call me something, why not Dada? I'm a dude, Rosie."

"Mama!" Rosie said firmly.

"Dada."

"Mama!"

"Dada!"

"Mama!"

"Eddie, you're arguing with a baby," Steve explained.

"Dada!" Rosie said, looking at Steve.

"Oh, well, it looks like you got your wish after all, Eddie," Steve said. "We do have a baby."

"I hate you."

A few days later, the party had been gathered together to meet Rosie. Eddie was bouncing her on his hip, cooing at her.

"Mama!" Rosie grinned happily and grabbed his face.

"Yeah, that's right, I'm your mama!" Eddie said happily.

"Eddie, you're a guy. You can't be her mother," Dustin said.

"Aww, my little Rosie-roo, Uncle Dusty didn't mean that," Eddie scowled at him. "I am your mama."

Eddie blew a raspberry at Dustin, and Rosie followed suite, dimples appearing as she poked her little tongue out. Steve came into the room and Rosie squealed.

"Dada!" Rosie exclaimed.

"Man, I thought for sure that Steve would be the mom in this relationship," Mike said.

"We all did, Mike," Lucas said, slapping him on the back. "We all did."

[strangerstilinski]

𝙞𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.5k warnings: none really, fluffy ending, steve is kind of a dick, mention of alcohol, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if i missed anything) based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

It should go without saying that Steve Harrington is the bane of your goddamned existence. If the two of you aren't at each other's throats, it typically just means that you're both doing your best to pretend the other doesn't even exist.

And, sure, maybe it drives you a little bit insane that he seems to get along just fine with every person in your friend group except for you. It was like you pushed buttons that Steve wasn't even aware he had.

Nancy finds the whole thing amusing, says that Steve's clearly so in love with you that he doesn't know how to handle it. Eddie swears that Steve looks at you with hearts in his eyes, though any time you've caught his stare those ‘hearts’ tended to look a whole lot more like daggers. Argyle and Robin both insist that love and hate tread a very thin line, and eventually, a little push will have the two of you stumbling head over heels into each other's waiting arms. Johnathan tends to stay out of it, but then, he doesn't really need to say anything, because you've seen that look he gives you when he catches you looking a little too long at the moles dotted along the length of Steve's throat, or that stubborn lock of hair that tumbles over his brow bone, or the way his tongue pokes out and his eyes narrow cutely when he's concentrating-

You hate it. You hate Steve. Even now, you swear you hate him, regardless of the way you shamelessly ogle the curve of his bicep when he reaches across the back of the sofa to drape his arm loosely behind Robin's shoulders. You've accepted it. At this point, allowing yourself to admire his stupidly handsome physique was merely reparations for being forced to put up with him on a near-daily basis. Compensation for the never-ending bad attitude that he seemed to direct solely at you.

“Does anyone hear that?” Steve's voice speaks louder than your own suddenly, effectively cutting you off even though you'd been in the middle of a sentence. His eyes meet yours for just a brief second before his gaze is moving elsewhere, “It's like, this annoying buzzing sound?” He's sitting up a little straighter following his interruption, brows drawing together like he's listening intently for something.

His sudden line of questioning has thoroughly derailed your train of thought. The longwinded story you'd been regaling to the group about a customer at work is cut short, the words dissolving on your tongue as your try to work out what on earth Steve is referring to. Until his interruption, you hadn't heard anything.

“What are you even talking abou-”

“There!” He cuts you off once more, “There it is again! Did you hear that, Robs?” The fingers he nudges into his best friend's ribs makes her squirm away with a deep laugh.

You huff, “Are you seriously implying that I'm the-”

“God, you guys 're hearing that, right?” Steve interrupts with an irritatingly pleased grin on his face, “Like nails on a chalkboard-”

Though Robin's laughter isn't actually directed at you, your face burns hotly anyway. A pity-filled smile graces her lips when she meets your gaze after escaping the wrath of Steve's tickling, and his chuckles of amusement only serve to make you grind your teeth together in irritation.

“Real mature, dickhead.” You snap, snatching up the beer you'd set down on the coffee table when Eddie had actually asked you about your day a few minutes before. “I was in the middle of a story.”

“Yeah, no offense, honey, but I'm not sure any of us were that invested hearing you drone on about the ‘big tip’ some douchebag with a hand tattoo left you.” Steve grumbled with a roll of his eyes, “If your stories weren't so boring, maybe we wouldn't all be sitting here hoping for a hole in the earth to open up under us just so we don't have to keep listening to-”

“Steve. C'mon man-” Eddie tries, though his voice is drowned out by your own.

“Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You snap in Steve's direction.

“I'm just saying,” Steve shrugs, “Probably the only reason he left such a big tip was because pulled the wrong bill out of his wallet, alright? It sure as hell wasn't 'cause of your shining personality.”

“What, and just because you're a jackass, that means no man could ever possibly find me appealing?” You bite back.

“Yeah, well, your pretty face doesn't quite make up for your constant need for attention.”

“My need for attention?” You scoff incredilously, beer slamming back down onto the tabletop in front of you. The rest of your friends seem to fade even further into the background, the rest mist of your rage yet again blinding you to anything that isn't Steve fucking Harrington. “You're the one who can't stand when the focus is on me for ten fucking seconds.”

“So what, if I don't care that some prick hit on you at work-” Steve argues, “Sue me. If that makes me an asshole-”

“It does, as a matter of fact,” You interrupt easily, “Because I'm constantly listening to you whine about your conquest of the week, except I'm able to do so without acting like such a fucking-”

“Careful,” Steve hums, cocky little smirk reemerging on his lips, “You're sounding a little jealous, there, honey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“'S my house,” He returns just as quickly, “How 'bout you fuck off.”

The blood in your veins is full of fire. Your face is burning with rage and your eyes prickle traitorously with frustrated tears, because that customer from your story? He'd been the highlight of your god-awful day. The rest of it had been a fucking disaster.

You'd slipped on freshly mopped floors and dropped an entire table's drink orders. Subsequently, you'd been forced to finish your shift with sticky, soda pop-soaked socks that squelched wetly in your shoes with every step. Your boss had given you shit for the whole mess, even though it was one of your coworkers who had failed to put out the wet floor sign in the first place. You'd proceeded to burn yourself on a hotplate, twice. And then, after all that, you'd had little choice but to take an ice-cold shower before heading over to Steve's house, because the hot water heater in your decrepit apartment building was apparently broken. Again.

“Y'know what?” You grumble in defeat, “Fine.”

You're already rising to your feet, wiping the palms of your hands down your jeans to dry the lingering condensation from your half-finished beer. You blink furiously to push back the tears that had been pooling at your waterline, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of your own emotional state.

“Wha-” Steve is watching you with something like concern in his eyes now, “Wh-Where're you goin'?”

“I'm leaving,” You announce, gaze steadfastly avoiding where Steve has removed his arm from around Robin's shoulders so he can sit at the edge of the couch, as if he's planning to rise to his own feet at any moment. “I, um. I'll talk to you guys later.”

There are scattered protests from everyone, but you don't bear them any mind. You're already turning on your heel and moving toward the entryway with hurried steps. The front door slams shut behind you before you've even gotten your jacket all the way on. You've still got one arm struggling to find the hole of your sleeve when you hear the door swing back open behind you.

“Hey! Wait up.”

You're not sure why, but Steve's voice makes you slow where you've begun to move down the driveway, though you don't turn around to face him. He calls out to you again as he finally catches up with you. He all but throws himself into your path and at the risk of running straight into him, your steps finally come to a stop.

“C'mon, honey. Wait, wait, wait-”

You blow out a frustrated breath, your arms crossing over your chest like that might somehow put up a physical barrier between the two of you.

“I really don't want to do this with you, Harrington. Alright?” An air of defeat laces your words, one hand coming up to rub at the headache that's begun to pulse between your brows, “Just.. Not tonight.”

You move to step around him and the heel of your boots click against the pavement once, twice. But then something hooks into the belt loop on your jeans and you're tugged back. You nearly lose your footing at the unexpected shift in momentum, knees wobbling unsteadily for just a moment before you're twirled back around to face him and then your palms are meeting a firm chest.

The adrenaline has your brain whiting out for just a moment, any and all thoughts screeching to a halt. Warmth seeps into your palms from beneath the thin cotton of Steve's tshirt. The racing of your own heart in your ears drowns out the distant sound of laughter and the opening trailers of a movie rental coming from back inside the house. Your eyes are level with Steve's chin, your wide gaze locked on his lips as they quirk up at one corner with his gentle smirk. You're still standing pigeon-toed between his own larger feet, a little off balance but held firmly in place by the wide hand splayed across your waist.

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly — unexpectedly earnest.

It's only been a second or two since he dragged you back into his space, and to your surprise, his head dips, just a fraction. Steve brushes his nose against your own, a gentle stroke that sends butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. The cool mint clinging to his breath fans out over your face, smelling of the gum he's always chewing and smacking obnoxiously, but the scent this close is intoxicating. The hand he brings up to cradle your jaw is intoxicating. The loose flap of leather on his watch that tickles at the side of your throat. The way he's leaning in-

The passion he kisses you with, from the moment your lips touch, is intoxicating. It's all-encompassing. You can't think, and you're not entirely sure you're even breathing, but Steve's lips are moving in unhurried synchronization with your own. Your knees are weak. You're gripping the material of his shirt in your fists just for something to hold onto, but Steve' arm is curled tight around the curve in your spine now to hold you steady.

His tongue brushes warmly against your lips, licking softly at the seam of your mouth like he's asking for permission. The desperate sound that crawls up your throat at just that quick brush of his tongue nestles in the depths of Steve's brain where he files it away for later. He hitches his arm even tighter at your waist, pulling your stomachs flush until your chest heaves against his own.

Your head is a little fuzzy when you separate long enough for you to take a breath, and you're gasping almost comically in an effort to fill your lungs. Steve's quiet chuckle meets your ears, his hand sliding back from your jaw to cup the nape of your neck.

“You kissed me.”

The words fall from your lips in a whisper of disbelief. Your eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. You’re terrified if you open them even a crack, the entire scene will suddenly fade away around you like some kind of dream. The airy cadence of your voice is partially due to your surprise, but also thanks to the far-too-easy grace with which you've been spun and manhandled and swept entirely off your feet.

“I did,” Steve agrees just as quietly, “I did do that.”

His forehead meets your own as your eyes flutter open and he simply holds you there for a moment, nose dragging across your cheek before he presses another quick kiss to your lips. His head tilts, thumb stroking soft over the side of your throat before his mouth finds yours again, and again. These kisses are different — Casual and tender, sweet and unhurried. Like he's kissing you just because he can.

“You-” Is all you manage to get out before your words are silenced by his lips slotting between your own, but you carry on with barely a pause as you click apart once again, “Y'r still doing it.”

“Mhm.” He hums easily, the sound rumbling beneath your hands on his chest.

“Why-”

Kiss.

“Are you-”

Kiss.

“Kissing me?”

Steve's breath mingles hotly with your own in the narrow breadth of space between your parted lips, “D'you want me to stop?”

“No, no, I- Hell no.”

And there's that perfect smile of his. Straight teeth make an appearance as his lips quirk up at the corner, a breathy spearmint scented laugh that sounds a little too relieved for the casual coolness that he's clearly trying to give off. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no words seem to come. Lips parted, throat bobbing as he swallows around the heavy silence weighing down his tongue.

He looks so pretty like this, you think. The streetlight light at the end of his driveway catches in his brown eyes, caramel sparking with flecks of gold and green that you've never noticed before, but you're sure you'll never be able to forget the sight of it now. You're still sharing breaths, faces so close that you can't avoid watching the way his full lashes blink at you dumbly. As if he isn't the one who spun you around and pulled you close and effortlessly gave you the best kiss of your entire life. As if, maybe, he didn't quite expect to make it this far, and now he's at a loss for how to proceed.

You release his shirt from your fist, the fabric crinkled and stretched with how tight you'd been gripping it, only to slide your hand up the back of his neck. The tip of his nose catches the bottom of your own, lips brushing faintly while your hand finds a new home in his hair. The soft strands tangle between your fingers when you give it a gentle tug and push up on your toes to draw yourself impossibly closer.

“If I'd known kissing you was all it took to get you to shut up, Harrington, I would've done it ages ago.” Your quip lacks its usual bite, but it breaks the silence between you, and it also seems to break Steve out of whatever spell he'd fallen under.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he searches for an appropriate response, “Maybe we'll just have to keep kissing then.”

You find yourself swaying just a little on your feet at the way his eyes flick slow back and forth between your own, “Yeah.. Yeah, Maybe we will.”

When his lips descend on your own again, it's ages before he lets you back up for a decent breath of air, and even then he parts from you with obvious reluctance. You're both breathing heavy, lips a little swollen and shining wetly. Steve's expression has a warmth that you realize you've never actually seen directed at you before. Steve smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly all you can think about is what Eddie has said a hundred times over.

It's like there are hearts in his eyes.

[say-al0e]

Casual

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Steve Harrington has always been kind of an asshole and you've always been kind of in love with him. But a lifetime of friendship doesn't mean either of you are ready for something more than a casual fling because there's nothing scarier than vulnerability, even in Hawkins. [Set between seasons 2 and 3] Warnings: Car sex, requited unrequited love, unprotected PinV, mentions of cheating (parents, Carol; not Steve or Reader). Pairing: Steve Harrington x rich girl!Reader (briefly mentioned but important, off-screen Eddie Munson x rich girl!Reader) Word Count: 5.6k

Steve Harrington was kind of an asshole.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d been a bit of a dick. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, depending on who you asked, you’d known him your entire life. You grew up together, neighbors, with parents who, in their own way, were best friends - if either of your parents were capable of such a thing as friendship. And because of that, you saw a side of Steve that few others had ever witnessed.

There were moments where you saw the softness, the honeyed sweetness, that shimmered through the cracks in the facade he crafted for himself - beneath the hair and the smirk and the snarky quips. Moments where the real Steve, a tender-hearted, well-intentioned sweetheart who was always on the verge of getting it right but never quite managed to make it, lurked beneath the heavy crown he wore.

Just as there were moments when he saw beneath your own carefully crafted persona. He was the only only person who had ever seen the worry, the sadness, the deep-rooted yearning for something more that was buried beneath your walls of ice. He saw every impossibly strong, deeply felt emotion that lingered beneath your careful composure, your even stoicism. He saw the real you, not just the Ice Queen cloaked in department store dresses and expensive perfume.

Only, neither of you acknowledged those moments.

It was an unspoken pact, one you’ve honored since thirteen when you both realized that being popular meant more than being nice. You both pretended that you were still the same vapid rich kids you’d always been, unburdened by a world built to cater to you.

Even if that was no longer true. Even if it hadn’t been true in a very long time.

Either way, you didn’t mention his newfound soft spot for a strange, ragtag group of children and he didn’t mention the fact that he knew the hickey just beneath your jaw was from none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.

Just as you had nearly every weekend for the past six months, the pair of you sat in the backseat of his BMW after yet another party that neither of you particularly wanted to attend. It had long ago gotten old, pretending to enjoy the self-involved prattling of your former classmates - their bragging about taking on the family business or which colleges they’d be attending in the fall, snide remarks about Steve’s lack of direction while conveniently ignoring the fact that you were the only one with an Ivy acceptance - and you couldn’t help yourself as you huffed.

“Tommy and Carol are the worst. I swear, if I have to hear her bitch about his inability to make her come or him make another stupid fucking dick joke, I’m gonna scream.”

For as long as you could remember, you’d wanted to tell them both to fuck off, to disappear back into whatever hole they’d managed to claw their way out of, but Steve reveled in their following, once upon a time, anyway. Now, he looked almost resigned to their existence in your lives as he frowned.

“She told you that?”

“Won’t stop telling me that,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hand fell to your thigh, fingers idly tracing the bare skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. “I would tell her to break up with him but, honestly, they totally deserve each other. May they spend the rest of their lives making each other completely fucking miserable.”

It was only in these moments, hidden away in the thick of the trees near Lover’s Lake, that any glimpse of your real selves began to emerge. Your annoyed huffing, directed at the awful people you found yourself surrounded by, and Steve’s tender touch as he shifted closer and carefully brushed a lock of hair from your neck. Neither of you mentioned it, too lost in your own little world, but it never escaped either of your notice.

Still, Steve hummed dutifully. “Totally,” he agreed, “told him she cheated on him with Billy but he called me a liar.” He paused for a moment, shifted just a touch closer - his jean covered leg pressing into yours, body warm even in the cool air conditioning - before he changed the subject by asking, “New perfume?”

“Everyone knows about her and Billy. But, like, who hasn’t Billy fucked at this point.” Steve leaned in, nosed at the curve of your jaw, and you hummed. “Mom brought it back from that last conference they went to. Said I needed something more mature before I leave for school.” You left out the part of the conversation where she went on for nearly an hour about how much of a waste it was for you to even consider college in the first place when you were meant to marry someone of status - someone like Steve - and tilted your head to allow him more room.

“Smells good,” he complimented. “Like oranges or something.”

“Or something,” you mumbled agreeably, shifting against the seat to make yourself more comfortable as he began to press his mouth to the sensitive skin of your throat. “What’re you doin’, Stevie?”

“Giving you the attention you deserve,” he answered, never missing a beat and only pausing to nip at the pulse point. “Can’t have you unfucked in this skirt. That’d be criminal.”

As if he sought to make a point, Steve’s hand began to drift higher up your thigh, fingers traveling a well-worn path and ghosting over bruises left in his wake after last Saturday’s party at his own home. Again, he decidedly avoided the few extra spots that lined your thighs - the bite mark he would see when you parted your legs, in the shape of a certain metalhead’s teeth, and the hickey you’d been left with at the juncture of your thighs - as you laughed.

“Should call Hawkins’s finest,” you teased, grinning when Steve huffed a laugh.

“They’d send Callahan,” he mused as his fingers dug into the plush of your thigh and pulled you closer, encouraging you to climb onto his lap. “Would love to see him try to figure out what to do with you.”

“And you know what to do with me?”

Steve’s smirk was obvious, clear even as he nipped at your skin. “‘Course I do,” he assured you, settling back against the plush of the seat as you shifted in the small space and settled on his lap. “I know exactly what to do with you.”

“Prove it.”

The challenge hung in the air for a moment, thick even in the cool interior of his car, and gave you the briefest respite to study him. Soft brown eyes were blown black with lust, a darkness that you sometimes found yourself grateful for the chance to witness, and his hair had begun falling in his eyes. His cheeks were tinged pink and you knew that his lips would follow soon. 

Steve was beautiful, a work of art in the dim moonlight, and your heart beat just a touch too fast for something that was supposed to be casual as you waited for him to take the bait.

Before you could tease, attempt to bring some levity back into the moment that suddenly seemed too intense, Steve’s large hand found the back of your head. He pulled you in with a practiced ease, a touch that betrayed just how comfortable you were with one another, and pressed his mouth to yours.

Whereas Steve’s facade was all flash, easy confidence with nothing to prove, his kiss was almost desperate. There was the knowledge that he was good - he’d earned it, sought to learn exactly what you liked and adapted quickly - but beneath that, there was a desire to make the moment everything you could want. He kissed you with an urgency you could never quite understand, almost as if he wanted to savor the moment because he feared it may never happen again, but you knew that couldn’t be true.

As reticent as you both were to delve into your true selves - into your true feelings - you knew that this would happen time and again. It would happen until one of you inevitably broke the other’s heart, and maybe even after.

Still, Steve kissed your with more passion than you ever could’ve expected.

From your position on his lap, skirt bunched around your waist and hands falling into his hair, you could feel the growing bulge in his jeans. There was a slight rocking of his hips, something you might’ve dismissed as an attempt to get comfortable if you didn’t know him so well, and you still managed to find yourself surprised by just how much the little things turned him on.

“Girls like you,” he rasped, breaking the kiss before you could even think to, “just need to be fucked dumb. Be all pretty and cock drunk. Made into that pretty little trophy wife you swear you’d hate to be.”

The way he spoke was so casually condescending, a little mean in the way he’d discovered you liked, and you felt your cheeks heat as you squirmed on his lap. He knew - knew that your mother hated your ambition, swore you were purposely sabotaging her attempts to marry you off, including the few attempts she’d made with him - and smirked when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

“You can pout all you want, but that’s what you need, right?” His hands fell to your thighs, raking up the soft skin as your own tangled in his hair and tugged. “To be taken care of, to be fucked like you deserve.”

“Don’t think some hotshot husband would care enough to fuck me like that,” you countered, swallowing hard in an attempt to maintain your composure as his fingers trailed higher. “Would never come. He’d be too focused on fucking the secretary ‘cause she won’t be upset when he gets off and she doesn’t. But that’s why the trophy wives fuck the pool boys and tennis coaches, I guess.”

Steve hummed his understanding - had his own firsthand knowledge of both your father’s affairs, knew just what kind of men he was surrounded by now that he was old enough - before tipping his chin to glance up at you. “Guess you’ll have to look harder to find someone worth your time, then. ‘Cause this pussy’s too good to be wasted on some dickhead who won’t appreciate it.”

“Steve.” His name came out softer than you intended, a near breathless sort of whine that betrayed you - more than the growing patch of slick clearly visible against the light pink fabric of your panties - and he hummed.

“Don’t worry, babe. You know I’ll take care of you.” Though Steve could be an asshole when he wanted, he was nothing but a giver when he settled between your thighs. There were moments where you worried, secretly feared this might be the moment he decided to be selfish and leave you hanging, but more often than not, you were the one to tap out first. And any argument you could’ve formed died on your lips as he ordered, “Just shut up and sit pretty for me, yeah?”

Despite yourself - despite the part of your brain that wanted you to argue, to fight back and tell him to go fuck himself - you melted into his touch as his fingers ghosted over the fabric between your thighs. You heard him sigh, felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your mouth as he refused to put more space than necessary between you, as his gaze met yours.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in my bed,” he decided, gaze flicking back to where his fingers hooked into the soft material and dragged it to the side. “Can’t taste you the way I want in here.”

“Can’t keep saying shit like that,” you mumbled, nails biting into his skin as you gripped his shoulder to keep yourself upright. “Gonna make me think you actually like eating pussy.”

“I do,” he admitted, grinning when you rolled your eyes. “Like eating yours the best, though.”

With that, Steve’s fingers swiped through the slick gathered between your thighs. His thumb caught on the sensitive bundle of nerves and his mouth returned to yours, eagerly swallowing the soft noise of surprised pleasure you released.

Each swipe of his fingers was easy, almost lazy. There was a practiced ease there, a lover’s knowledge of your body - absent any of the almost nervous exploration of the first time - and you forced yourself not to think too hard about that fact as his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

The small space was cramped, not the easiest to maneuver, but it was familiar.

Though sometimes familiarity equated to boredom, routine, Steve’s touch was anything but. Every swipe of his fingers through your folds, every brush of his thumb over the aching bundle of nerves, was electrifying. He had you teetering on the verge of begging, eager for him in a way you’d never been for anyone else - almost anyone else - and you knew he could tell as he finally gave you something more.

Two thick fingers, skilled and steady, pressed into you. They stretched you - never quite enough to fully prepare you for the impressive length hidden beneath the denim you knew you were soaking through - in a way that had your breath catching in your throat and your heart hammering in your chest. Steve knew exactly where to press, fingers finding that one spot that made you see stars, and you could feel the twitch of his mouth as he refused to allow you to pull away from the kiss entirely.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, tone so smug it made you realize why so many were eager to brand him an asshole. “C’mon, babe, the sooner you let go, the sooner I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Despite your conflicting emotions - the desire to hit him, to call him an asshole and tell him to just get on with it; the desire to kiss him, to tell him that you only wanted this, him for the rest of your life - you settled for the middle ground and allowed yourself to sink into his touch.

Those murmurs of encouragement, almost reverent in a way that you hoped no one else had ever heard, had your mind blanking and your chest heaving as you focused solely on the press of his fingers. His pace was perfect, steady and even and never too much - always too much, always enough to make you wonder how you ever thought you could be fine with losing this someday - and you would’ve told him as much if you were capable of speaking without admitting that you were afraid you could love him for the rest of your life.

Instead, you settled for sinking your nails into his shoulder, for tugging at the soft strands of his hair, as he nipped at your skin. He sucked a mark just beneath the one you knew he’d seen, despite your attempt at concealing it, and that was enough to throw you over the edge.

Steve once admitted to loving the noises you made, promised they turned him on rather than weirded him out - something you only admitted when he asked why you were so quiet, refused to let you come until you explained yourself - and you knew you wouldn’t have been able to quiet yourself even if you’d tried as his fingers worked you through the first orgasm of the night.

Knowing him, Steve wouldn’t stop until he had you desperate - he liked to see your tears, watery eyes and mascara running as you finally let down the walls he’d only glimpsed behind - and that seemed to be the case as he resumed his pace the moment your breathing began to even.

“Steve,” you huffed, your best attempt at something resembling normal, though you could hear the whining edge to your tone. “Fuck me,” you demanded, or at least attempted to. “Fill me up. So big, always feel so full when you’re inside.”

It was a low blow, an attempt to appeal to his ego - exaggerated, though it was true; he was the biggest you’d ever had - and he rolled his eyes as he nipped at your bottom lip.

“So fucking impatient,” he huffed, though he gave in, just as he always did. “Such a spoiled brat.”

With a tap to your thigh, you shifted. You held yourself upright, knees digging into the soft cushions of the seat, long enough for him to unbutton his jeans and shift his hips. As you had every time you found yourself in this situation, which was more often than not lately, you watched with wide eyes and bated breath as he freed himself from the confines of too-tight denim.

For years, you wondered why so many girls flocked to Steve when they knew how things would end. You wondered why anyone gave him a chance, why anyone came back when he forgot to call or blew them off for someone else, but you understood now. The look of him, the weight and feel of his cock in your hand as you reached out and swiped at the pearl of precum beading at the tip, was almost answer enough. The effort he put in to make you feel as if you were the only person that mattered, as if your pleasure were more important than his, quelled the rest of your doubt.

When you lifted your hand to your mouth, lapped the bead from your thumb and hummed, Steve groaned.

“Fucking tease.” There was no bite, no venom, to the words, but you still bit back your grin as he reached for your hip with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He dragged you closer, settled you firmly on his lap and swiped the tip of his cock through your folds, as he tipped his chin in a silent request for you to return your mouth to his.

As you pressed your lips to his, he used the grip on your hip to drag your hips down. It was swift, faster than he’d ever gone and almost desperate in the way he pulled you in, but you reveled in the slight pinch as he stretched you open.

There was something so overwhelming about feeling Steve so close, about having him in the way you dreamt of when you first realized how you felt about him, but you did your best to swallow the sudden lump in your throat as your eyes fell shut and your lips parted.

The pace always varied with Steve. Some nights were hard and fast, usually when you were both wound up after a particularly rough night; others were soft and slow, when the emotion began to overwhelm you, when the desperate need to be close outweighed the potential damage a confession might bring. And others still were somewhere in between, teasing and playful; an alternation between soft and hard, slow and quick - a way for him to make you beg, to bring you out of your head and into the moment.

Tonight was no different.

Though you sat atop him, Steve did all the work. His hips snapped, cock pressing into you with every movement, as his hands dragged you down. He controlled the pace, controlled the moment, and you allowed yourself to be fully present.

There was no facade in these moments, no pretending to be anything other than you were, and you imagined that was why you both returned time and again. This was Steve - giving, eager, desperate to be good enough. And you were just as present, just as honest; soft, pliant, warm and overjoyed that he still wanted you despite the surface ice that froze most others out. 

Neither of you could pretend here, with nothing between you but a few pesky articles of clothing. Neither of you wanted to.

And you knew, as your mouth returned to his, that despite the rough snap of his hips and the bruising grip he held on your hip, that your kiss betrayed you. Each swipe of your tongue, each breathless gasp you allowed him to swallow, told him exactly what he needed to know.

When his hand fell between your thighs, thumb pressing to the aching bundle of nerves, your mind went blank and your thoughts revolved solely around the beautiful brunette beneath you.

The curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips; Steve, Steve, Steve, was all that existed in your mind. The drag of his cock, filling you so perfectly that it almost seemed as if he were a missing piece, designed especially for you, was all that existed. And just as he wanted, it left you pliant in his hands.

“There we go,” he groaned, voice softer than you imagined he intended, as a hand lifted to your cheek. “Look at that, givin’ you what you need, hm?” When you moaned your agreement, lips pursing in a silent request for him to kiss you, Steve smiled. “Look pretty like this. Soft and fucked out for me. I’m the only one that can make you feel like this, yeah?”

It was the first confirmation that he knew, that he cared more than you thought he might, about the other man in your life. And though you wanted to tease him, to poke and prod and be a bit of a bitch about it, you could only moan your agreement.

Eddie was good, was more than enough, but there was something about Steve.

“Prove it,” he demanded, voice only just beginning to show his exertion as his hips snapped a little harder. “Come for me, babe. Show me how good I make you feel.”

As was beginning to become a habit, you gave in to him without so much as an attempt otherwise. The press of his fingers to your aching clit, the rough snap of his hips, the warmth of his breath fanning over your sweat slick skin; all of it was too much, just enough, to send you barreling over the edge for a second time.

With a cry of his name, keening and louder than you intended, you came and Steve followed shortly after. You could feel the warmth of his spend, the twitch of his cock, as you settled for a long moment, and felt the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

Without so much as a second though, Steve lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks, careful not to press too hard, and swiped away the few that had fallen before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and shot you a teasing wink.

“Love it when you cry for me, babe,” he teased, though you wondered if he’d have the same reaction if he knew the tears were, at least in part, caused by the overwhelming flurry of emotion that had you questioning everything you knew. “Seeing the Ice Queen melt never gets old.”

“You’re such a dick, Stevie.” The huff was as playful as you could manage with your breath still coming in short pants and your stomach churning with emotion but he grinned just the same as he helped you off his lap.

“Think you mean, ‘you have such a great dick, Stevie’.” When you rolled your eyes, straightening out your clothes and attempting to smooth your hair, he laughed. “Oh, c’mon, not gonna say thank you for the incredible orgasms? Your parents raised you better than that, babe.”

“They raised me better than to fuck some rich asshole in the backseat of his car, but, here we are.” Steve followed your lead and began to straighten himself out, zipped his jeans and at least pretended not to stare as you settled your panties back into place, the fabric immediately darkening with his spend. “Speaking of, you should probably get me home, Romeo. It’s past curfew.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Steve simply tugged you back into his side, hand cradling your jaw as you both attempted to catch your breath.

The lie was obvious - your parents didn’t care very much how late you stayed out, even less when you were with Steve - and you knew that he knew who would be waiting for you to return home. However, you didn’t expect him to ask.

Steve’s touch was soft, though you could see the distaste in the set of his mouth as his fingers brushed the two marks beneath your jaw - one fresh and one fading. “What’re you doin’ with the freak, anyway?” He’d never asked, neither of you made it a habit to pry into the other’s personal life, but he seemed unable to help himself as he continued. “You know you could just buy weed, right? You don’t have to fuck him for it.”

“I don’t smoke,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into his touch. “Dunno,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as your hands worried with the hem of your skirt. “He’s exciting. Well, not really,” you amended because he wasn’t, “but he’s different. He’s just… Eddie. Doesn’t try to be something he’s not.” The slight was unintentional but you caught Steve’s slight wince, even as you barreled on. “And, I mean, it totally pisses off my dad every time he sees Eddie sneaking out because the guy’s a total fucking klutz and can’t leave without waking up half the neighborhood.” Steve scoffed, though you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it as he quickly covered the sound with a clearing of his throat before you added, as an afterthought, “And he listens to me. Not, like, pretends to.”

“I listen to you.”

While it wasn’t a lie - Steve listened, retained whatever you told him - neither of you were ever particularly honest with one another. Your conversations were never as serious as the ones you shared with Eddie, never as deep. For someone you considered your best friend, Steve barely knew anything about the real you. Though, that was as much your fault as it was his.

There was always a fear, deep and unfounded, that he might not like the real you. That if you were honest, that if you allowed him to see you for who you really were, that he might hate you. That he might leave. With Eddie, that didn’t matter very much. He was fun, a distraction, a taste of something forbidden and a glimpse into another life, but he was temporary. He could leave at any time, decide he didn’t like the real you and it might hurt for a moment but you would get over it quick. 

With Steve, it was your biggest fear.

Thinking that he might not like the real you, that he might suddenly change his mind and decide the real you wasn’t worth his time, was a fear that felt almost paralyzing. Steve’s opinion mattered, more than anyone else’s, so you held tight to the person you’d always been - the one he’d always at least tolerated - and never breathed so much as a word to the contrary.

Regardless, you humored him. “You do,” you agreed, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. “But you kinda have to. And you also moaned Nancy’s name the first time we fucked so, like, that sorta cancels out some of the good stuff.” Steve flustered, cheeks flashing neon pink as he recalled the moment - a drunken hookup soon after his breakup, the first of what would become a regular occurrence - but before he could defend himself, you asked, “How’s that going, by the way? You figure out how to get her back from the creep?”

Steve shook his head, then, and sighed as he admitted, “Don’t think I even want to, anymore. Think I was just… She was right, maybe. We were kind of bullshit.”

The resigned misery in his voice was obvious, still upset by the hurtful declaration of a girl you knew he’d loved - in his own way, anyway - and you sighed as you rested your head against the seat cushion. “All of this is bullshit,” you shrugged. “High school, Hawkins, Indiana; none of it means anything.”

“We don’t mean anything?” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Steve sounded almost heartbroken - devastated to hear yet another person who meant something to him declare that he meant nothing - and you sighed as you grabbed the hand that rested on your thigh.

“You know I hate sentimentality,” you mumbled, unable to look him in the eye, “but you’re the only thing worth anything in my whole life. You could never be bullshit. Annoying, totally, but not bullshit. Never bullshit.”

There was a brief pause, a moment in which you both felt the weight of you admission pressing on your chests - stealing what little air seemed to remain in the car, windows still fogged and radio still playing too softly to really hear - before Steve swallowed. “You know I…” He cut himself off, paused and seemed to think better of voicing the thought aloud, before he asked, “You know, right?”

‘I love you,’ went unspoken, as it always had. It lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to crack the ice and set it free. You knew, just as Steve did, that you were in something like love. Maybe not a love that would last forever, maybe not even a love that was ever meant to be, but it was there.

Warm, shiny and bright, and just waiting for you to stop pretending that things between you had ever been casual.

So, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you assured him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it gently. “I know. Me, too.”

Silence fell, then, thick and suffocating. It filled the interior of his car with a bitter chill and it struck you just how new that feeling was. It made you wonder what a future might be like, if you had one at all, and you found yourself mildly horrified at the idea that you could end up as either set of your parents. There was no world in which you could see a future without Steve at least somewhere in your life but there was no happiness in a world in which you both continued to pretend.

Either way, you were both stuck - caught up in a never-ending performance, an act for an audience that only existed in your minds.

What began as something effortless, something casual, had become so complicated that you no longer felt certain of much beyond the understanding that you loved Steve. How -  if you could love the real him, if you only loved the idea of him, if you loved the safety of him - was a question you had no answer to but before you could begin to even fathom it, the moment ended.

Steve pressed a final kiss to your mouth, bruising in a way that made your chest ache and your eyes sting with unshod tears, before he made his way to the driver’s seat.

And then, just as he had every night since he got his license, Steve drove you home. He pulled up to the door to let you out and didn’t mention the van he saw parked down the street. He squeezed your hand before you could step out into the night, three times in rapid succession, and lit a cigarette the moment you stepped out of the car. 

King Steve wasn’t one to fall in love easily, neither was the Ice Queen. But Steve Harrington wore his heart on his sleeve and that heart beat for you. Despite the distractions, the desperate attempts at finding something so disconnected from the cushioned prison of his gilded cage, he knew that it had been you all along. And just as neither of you mentioned the real people beneath the personas, neither of you mentioned just how real the love you shared had grown.

Loving one another, allowing yourselves to be vulnerable - to reveal the deepest, darkest secrets - was terrifying. Both of you feared what the other might think of the truth that lay beneath the crown so you agreed, silently, that to pretend was better than to face rejection.

So, Steve drove the few streets that separated your neighborhood from his and let himself into the empty house that meant nothing when his true home was likely sliding open a window to allow the only person he’d ever seen as true competition inside. And he wondered when the love of his life became a casual fling, when you both resigned yourselves to pretending that neither of you deserved something real - something true, something happy. He wondered why he carried on with it, knowing that in a few short weeks you would be in Boston, knee-deep in a life you hated, while he was stuck in Hawkins, wishing he’d had the courage to be himself and that he’d asked for something more than casual.

There was no satisfactory answer, not if he really thought about it, so he decided not to. 

The rest of the summer would be spent in the same way the last six months had. Steve would pretend to enjoy the parties and the attention of girls who only wanted him for his reputation. You would continue pretending that nothing fazed you, not even him. And things between you would remain casual. 

And he supposed that was just the way it was meant to be.

_________________________________________________

Author's Note: Did you know there's a chance black beans will catch on fire in the microwave? 'Cause I didn't. Anyway. This was my first time writing 'King Steve' and I had so much fun. This was loosely inspired by Chappell Roan's Casual. And my love of both Steve and Eddie. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[steviewashere]

What's A Boy in Love Supposed To Do?

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Biphobia, Eddie Being Kind of an Asshole at First, Use of the Word Queer (But not as a Slur) Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Aware of Own Bisexuality Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Angry Steve Harrington, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Temporary Unrequited Love/Feeligns, Rejection, (But not completely because Eddie doesn't know how he feels yet), Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Confident Steve Harrington, Bitchy Steve Harrington, (And he deserves to be here), Eddie Munson Being an Idiot, Eddie Munson Figuring Things Out, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, (But He's Not in Love Yet), Mild Resolve, Dialogue Heavy, Author is Bisexual For @steddieangstyaugust Day 24 Prompt: "Go, see if I care." Title from "Oh l'amour" by Erasure

🏳️‍🌈—————🏳️‍🌈 “As flattered as I am, Steve, I don’t want to be somebody’s experiment.”

He blinks at Eddie. Rigid to the cushion he sits on. It’s an instantaneous reaction: the flush of his cheeks, the pull to his lips, the narrowing of his eyes. A rage, he doesn’t think he’s felt since Jonathan Byers and his camera, begins to fill him. Can feel it low in the pit of his stomach and pulsing in the center of his forehead.

The gall of this asshole, Steve thinks, I can’t believe this shit.

Steve clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth. “Excuse me?” he asks thinly, “what the hell are you talking about?” His hands lay on his knees and squeeze harshly, fingernails digging through the denim of his jeans.

Eddie’s mouth twists. A sharp breath shoots through his nose. He looks away from Steve’s face, shrugging. “I mean,” he says slowly, “I mean…you like girls, Steve. This could just be a fluke. Like a…like maybe you should put more thought into this.”

Can’t help himself, Steve scoffs loudly. “Genuinely, Eddie, what the fuck are you talking about? I come out to you, I tell you that I like you, and you—what—turn this around as if I’m stupid about my feelings?”

“I guess?” Eddie answers, honest in a way Steve thinks he shouldn’t be. “You’re just…you’re confused. You’ve got some wires crossed or something. Maybe it’s just because I share some features with Nancy. But you don’t like me, Steve. Not really.”

He’s honestly not sure how to respond to that. Part of him is wilted. Part of him is alive with fury and flames, with tension, and unease. This feeling through him is the thing he doesn’t know. Steve falls back into his seat on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, and avoiding all of Eddie he’d be able to see.

“Can’t believe this,” Steve mutters, “can’t believe you’re treating me like this, too. Why does everybody think that.”

“What do you”—

“I’ve been to queer bars, y’know,” he explains bitterly, “been in there searching for people who catch my eye. Because, get this if you can, I’m not a picky person.” Steve glares daggers at Eddie. “Because, and if you can believe me on this, I know what I want. Surprising, I know. But you wouldn’t know that because you treat me like everybody does—like I’m some brainless fucking low-life who only knows how to use his dick and bat his eyes.

“I go out and tell these people at the bars that I’m bisexual. That I’m into guys, that I’m into girls. Tell ‘em that, yeah, I only have experience getting in bed with a girl. But it’s not like I’m not interested in that aspect with guys, too—I just haven’t had the chance, you understand me on that, I’m sure.” And that maybe hits a little too hard; knowing that Eddie’s gay and that his experience with sex is very limited. He continues, though, “Yet, as soon as I try and explain myself, I get pushed away. I get looked at all weird. One time, a guy told me I wasn’t queer enough to be with him. Like…what the fuck does that even mean?”

“Steve, I”—

He points a finger in Eddie’s face, hand shaking and palm sweating. “Don’t interrupt me. You came out to me and I listened all the way through; you get to hear me out, too.” Steve huffs. Draws his hand back towards his lap, immediately going to his habit of picking at his fingers. Trying to allocate the nerves he has, the ones that were so intense a few moments ago. “How queer do I have to be to want to kiss a guy?” he speaks rhetorically and quietly, “how queer do I have to be to appreciate the way they smile at me? Or…or how queer do I have to be to want to hold your hand, Eddie? Seriously. What’s it gonna take? Is it ‘experimenting’ if I know that I want it? Is it ‘experimenting’ if I know how much I already love you?

“Because I do, if you can believe that. I fell in love with you before I really had the words. And I fell in love with you before I came to the realization that I like guys, too. But I know my own feelings. I’ve been in love before, I think I can understand that part of me.” He looks down at his hands in his lap, eyes burning, throat stinging, and face flushing hot. “I wish I didn’t have to explain something I already know. But I guess I will for however long people question the authenticity of my sexuality. Including you, I guess.”

The room fills with tense silence after that. Air so hot and so thick, he can feel it heavy on his shoulders, weighing him further and further, and making him sink deep into the cushion underneath him.

Sure, this isn’t the first time he’s been rejected. Nancy did. Robin did. Now Eddie is. He’s been rejected by guys at the bars and clubs. Maybe he doesn’t have the whole knowledge or ‘etiquette’ to this yet, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to learn. He wants to call a guy his baby, hook his finger into their belt loop, drag them into a dark corner and kiss them soundly and breathlessly. Wants to take a guy home at the end of the night and hold his hand as they figure out each other’s bodies. Kiss him in the morning, if the guy sticks around. Wants to relish in the scratch of facial hair on his sensitive skin.

He could see himself with men, that’s the thing. He knows that in his fantasies—whether it be imagining himself with the men in the centerfolds of gay magazines, or the daydreams of being in love with Freddie Mercury—that he’s completely comfortable with the thought of being with a man. Loves the thought of it so much, that he finally realized he wanted that with Eddie especially. Because a night-in with Eddie, watching a movie, arm around his back, cushioning his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder, kissing each other slow and soft—all of that sounds like heaven, a dream that could animate and he could make real.

On the couch, distance between them, Steve’s never felt so far away from a dream of his. Even that initial daydream with Nancy sounds more probable than falling in love with Eddie slowly and surely. He sort of, really, hates that.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes. “I don’t know what to say.”

An apology might be nice, Steve sourly thinks. He just shrugs, though. “I don’t know what I want you to say, so,” he states quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Eddie give one sharp nod. “This is…a lot to take in. I should just leave.”

Of course. Run away, Eds. Run away like you always do. “Go. See if I care,” Steve murmurs. Face at his lap still, tears ready to spill down his cheeks. A part of him thinks that he’ll never see Eddie again. He doesn’t want that. But maybe…maybe it’s for the best? It’s the one thing he doesn’t know.

Eddie stands up, walks towards the door, but stops in the doorway to the living room. He raps his knuckles on the doorframe. Steve can’t help but look up. “I accept you,” Eddie says quietly, “even if it’s too easy to say or too easy to hear, but I do. Just let me have a little bit of time to think about your confession, Steve. I think I feel the same, but I want to be confident like you. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

He inhales slowly and lets out a soft breath through his mouth. Steve wants a better apology, but one thing at a time, he supposes. It was hard when he figured things out for himself; it’s harder to hold a grudge against somebody doing the exact same thing. “If you find out you feel the same,” Steve says hopefully, “can we hold hands?”

“Stevie, when I’m confident about how I feel, we can do whatever you want. I’ll be back, I promise. I’ll have better words and a better apology, too.” He lets go of the doorframe, where he rested his hand after knocking on it. But before he can leave, he looks Steve directly in the eyes. Says, “And there’s no such thing as ‘queer enough’. You’re perfect as-is, Steve. I’m just stupid. And those other guys are complete assholes for not even attempting to get their heads out of their asses and go out with you.

“You deserve the world. And I want to give that to you.”

“Let’s cool off first.”

Eddie nods again, smiles small, and Steve returns it. “Yeah, we should do that,” he whispers. Lets out a deep sigh. Softly, “Take care of yourself tonight, okay? I’m sorry for…I’m sorry for being an ignorant pile of shit. I’m gonna do better, no matter how long it takes to prove myself to you.”

After that, Eddie lets himself out. And Steve lets him leave, doesn’t chase after him, even when every part of him panics about letting Eddie get away. But this is for the better, he thinks. Knows that not everything works itself better overnight. It’s a start, though. Not a satisfying one, but it’s the beginning of something.

🏳️‍🌈—————🏳️‍🌈

[torakowalski]

Bit of a delay since the last part, but we're back! It's still late 1986/early 1987, they're still in a hotel, Eddie has still recently seen Steve's dick. This little pre getting-together mini arc should be three parts, then we're back to swimming!

(part one | part two | part three)

Robin is laughing so hard she sounds like she's gonna die, which isn't really helping Eddie's troubles but is making him smile despite himself. Girl's got an infectious cackle, what can he say.

"Oh my god," she says, more air than words, making static blow down the phone and right into his ear canal. He winces. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I know it's not funny, but you told it like it was funny to make me laugh, don't deny it."

Eddie had told his tale of woe like it was funny to make her laugh, so he doesn't deny it. "I know I'm being stupid," he says, feeling serious now, and listening as her laughter trails off. "But I kind of feel like I'm being a creep? Like, he thinks we're straight guys together, and it's totally chill if he comes out of the shower naked, but we're not."

Not to mention that seeing so much of Steve so often is doing nothing for Eddie's stupid crush, but he doesn't mention that. Either Robin knows about it or she doesn't, and if she doesn't, he's not gonna tell her.

She sighs. "Yeah, I know that feeling. But I mean, being naked is just like the norm for him; you know what jocks are like. And even when he is dressed, it's in tiny speedos half the time. I'm lucky, he never got totally naked around me, but I literally had to scream at him to get him to remember pants."

Eddie grins to himself. "What did you scream?" he asks, privately hoping it was just the word PANTS! over and over until Steve got the message.

Robin does a little cackle. "Okay, bear in mind I was at the end of my tether but it may have been, 'PUT YUR DICK AWAY, I AM TOO GAY FOR THIS!'"

It's Eddie's turn to laugh until he's maybe gonna choke. That is so much better than 'PANTS.'

"You're an inspiration, Buckley," he tells her and he means it.

They were always friendly in Hawkins, but he thinks they might be real friends now. Mostly because half the time she calls for Steve lately, his training is running long and she gets stuck talking to Eddie, instead, just like she is right now.

It's nice, having a friend who just gets it. Who knows not just the painful things that come from growing up gay in a small town, but the weird things and the funny things, too.

"I mean, you could do it too," Robin says, like it's easy. "Yell that in Steve's face, and I guarantee he'll feel super guilty and take you seriously and never wave his dick around in front of you again."

"He's not exactly waving it," Eddie protests, except now that's all he can picture. "That'd be a hell of a way to come out to him I guess though, huh? Just scream it in his face."

"Isn't that how you tell everyone everything?" Robin asks. "Or does it only work if there's a lunch table to strut around on."

"Nah, I'm resourceful." Eddie grips the phone receiver tighter, checks the length of the cord. "Hang on, I'm getting up on the bed."

"Eddie," Robin laughs, but Eddie's already done it.

Feet planted on the slippery hotel comforter, he does an experimental bounce and almost immediately brushes the top of his head against the popcorn ceiling.

"Okay, I'm up. So? I picture I'm in the lunch room?"

"Yup," says Robin. "Table of cheerleaders over there, table of jocks over there, me waving at you from the band geek table, and Steve standing in front of you, totally naked."

"I think I've had that dream," Eddie mutters.

"Ew," she says. "Moving on. You're Eddie the Brave, you're on your stage, what do you say?"

Eddie takes a deep breath. "STEVE HARRINGTON, PUT YOUR DICK AWAY, I AM TOO GAY TO SEE IT!"

He doesn't yell it as loudly as he could, since he doesn't want anyone in the rooms next door to hear, but Robin still says, "Yes! Perfect!" sounding delighted.

Eddie grins, flops down onto the bed. Then sits up again in a startled rush, when the door handle turns and Steve lets himself in.

Any hope that he didn't hear dies the second Eddie sees his face. His eyes are wide and his eyebrows are up in his hairline, and he is definitely, definitely blushing.

"Steve," Eddie says strangled. Then, louder, "Robin! Steve's back!" He shoves the receiver at Steve who takes it automatically. "It's Robin. For you. Robin! Calling for you! I'll give you guys some privacy. Have a good talk. Goodbye."

Shoeless, he flees the room.

(continued here)

[ladykailitha]

I have decided today I am giving out my Steve Harrington headcanons, because I love him so much.

His parents are very rich. His dad is new money, self made. His mom is old money.

His father is Indiana born and bred, but his mother is from Kentucky. She doesn't have her accent anymore because she trained herself out of it. Though it does show up when she's drunk or angry.

I know everyone does Richard (Dick) for his dad mainly for the lols, which I respect, but I think his name is Clint. It's just rich dude bro enough, you know? And then for the mom I go back and forth between Maureen and Allison. Allison because that's Ally Sheedy's character in The Breakfast Club and I often use her looks as bases for Mrs. Harrington.

They were never meant to be parents. They had the one because that's what was expected of them, but no. They don't like kids.

I don't know if his dad is only verbally abusive, but he is some kind of shit. Steve was so scared of him finding out that there was alcohol the night Barb vanished that that was all that consumed his thoughts. And even in season 3 Steve tells Dustin (thinking he was his dad) that he doesn't do drugs, just marijuana. Meaning that's something they've fought about a lot.

Kids of good parents rarely smoke, drink, smoke pot, and have wild parties all the time as an under-aged teenager. There are no doubt exceptions, but most of the time it's kids who are neglected and abused that are the ones that act out like that.

Steve had nannies and baby-sitters growing up that he saw more than his parents. But he would still be taken on actual vacations with them. Mostly to show off that they do have a son.

He was in baseball in middle school but quit when he got into high school. His parents put him in as many after school activities as they could. He was taught piano. Went to swimming and was so good at it, he joined the team in high school. Played basketball throughout both middle and high school. But he was forced to dropout due to the concussion Billy gave him his senior year. It's why he sneers at Brenda at the game when she says it would ironic if they won the championship the year after he graduated. Because he wasn't even on the team his last year.

When he turned sixteen they gave him his BMW. No, he did not get to pick the car or the color, but he takes very good care of it. Does a lot of the maintenance himself. One of the few things his dad taught him, but because you needed to know enough to make sure your mechanic wasn't ripping you off.

He can cook. But only if he has a recipe to follow and will get upset if it doesn't look like the picture. Is a consummate baker though. Because everything has a reason it's done like that and it makes sense.

Definitely a fall baby. That's why he was able to lifeguard for three years even if he didn't lifeguard after his senior year due to him working at Scoops Ahoy.

He's bad at math and science which is why the Party teases him all the time, but he's great at English and history.

Only applied at the schools his dad thought were "appropriate" and didn't get in. But to be fair, he was still suffering from a concussion when those applications went out and he wasn't really at his best. Just above his worst if he was honest.

He likes his preppy clothes and while he laughs it off, it upsets him when he's made fun for it.

Alt rock fan all the way. Depeche Mode, The Cure, New Order.

Has a list of the Party's likes and dislikes for food and other things, so he is the best gift giver. He doesn't spend a lot of money, though he has been accused of that a couple of times. But he prefers well thought out gifts over expensive ones. It's why Max, Eddie, and the Byers boys love Steve gifts. They never feel pressured to one up him.

Complete romantic. Loves being in love, but it was hard to pick up the pieces of his broken heart after what happened with Nancy.

Loves Robin, but even though it is sometimes weird, it never veers into creepy or obsessive. Robin is absolutely the vodka aunt of the party to Steve's mom.

When Eddie comes into the group, they tease him that's he's the dad to Steve's mom. Because as goofy as Eddie is he absolutely wouldn't let the kids get into real trouble.

Steve the romantic gets absolutely wooed by Eddie and never is made to feel wrong footed when showers Eddie with the affection he would for a girl. It's nice for a guy to receive flowers sometimes too.

Steve favorite flower is sunflowers. But his favorite color is blue.

He absolutely keeps the vest. Refuses to give it back. Which Eddie is surprisingly okay with.

I could go on forever, but I'll stop there for now and if I come up with more I'll add them later.

[rigginsstreet]

i beg you don't embarrass me, motherfucker

the upside of dating steve harrington was that he was hot as shit.

the downside of dating steve harrington was that he was hot as shit. and also kind of a bitch.

it's billy's fault, really. he should've known better when dating a guy nicknamed king.

the one good thing about being gay in indiana, though, is that secrecy is a requirement, which billy doesn't have a problem with. the thought of publicly displaying his affections makes his skin crawl. he's got no problem doing it with the girls he pretends to be interested in because that's all it is - pretend.

but when he really means that shit... it's a harder pill to swallow.

and none of this really bodes well with steve harrington's style of dating. billy knows from his brief overlap of being in town while harrington and wheeler were still a happy item that the guy likes to be clingy, needs constant attention and validation of his affections and he wants to put it all on display for the world to see. and billy can't give that to him.

so he goes looking for it elsewhere.

the one good thing about being gay in indiana is the secrecy, but that rule doesn't extend to billy's sister or his best friend.

heather was never supportive of billy's taste in men. warned him plenty of times that steve was a dick and a leopard doesn't change its spots. but billy had waved of all concerns by saying they weren't even in a serious relationship and that heather didn't know steve like he did. heather and steve hated each other, of course she was gonna see the worst in him.

max was supportive. at first. until dustin started coming around with stories of steve and the new girls he was picking up, gloating about him like he was some golden god of women. and max would come fuming into billy's room asking if he knew about this shit, and billy would sigh and explain to her that it was just steve keeping up appearances to throw the scent off their trail.

"oh, is that why he had his tongue down tina's throat?" max accused.

and billy would have to pretend like he wasn't embarrassed. like he was in on the joke.

the thing with billy is that he doesn't let himself fall often, because when he does it's like a ten ton boulder down the side of a steep cliff. and shame isn't a color he wears well. he's gotten enough of that for a lifetime from neil, and since he's thankfully fucked off now, billy doesn't want to face it ever again.

which is maybe why he snaps at tommy's party.

he came here with steve, but now he's currently watching him dance with some chick with ten pounds of hair and double the makeup. laughing his preppy little ass off as she gyrates her dainty little lady parts all over him.

and yeah, billy can handle a bitchy attitude and some temper tantrums. and he can even wave off vague flirtations that he only hears about secondhand.

but this shit? right in front of his face? that's where he draws a line in the sand.

so he crumples the red plastic cup in his hand, not caring that beer spills out from the top, spotting the hagans' carpet, and throws it full force at the wall beside him, causing those nearby to jump, probably wondering what the hell set him off, if there's gonna be some grand billy hargrove performance.

but no. they'll just have to make due watching his ass walk out the door.

-

billy's sitting on the steps outside his house the next day, smoking a cigarette, when the beemer pulls up.

it's half expected, half not. billy braces himself for a fight anyway.

"you ditched me last night," is what steve says once he's up the sidewalk, a few feet in front of billy. he doesn't sound mad really. maybe a little offended.

billy sucks on his cigarette. blows out the smoke, his eyes never leaving steve. "got hit by a sudden wave of nausea," he says. "didn't wanna ralph in front of the party. didn't think you'd notice."

"why wouldn't i notice? we came together. i was looking all over for you."

billy shrugs, taking another pull of his smoke. "you seemed preoccupied."

it looks like steve's playing a tape in his head of the previous night, trying to pinpoint what exactly the fuck billy's talking about until it must finally click. "man, are you talking about that thing with cindy?" he laughs. like billy's fucking joshing him. "that was nothing!"

billy finishes his smoke, flicking it into the grass before standing up. "yeah, well, it something to me." he turns to walk up the steps, leaving this conversation - and steve - behind, but he's stopped with a hand on his arm.

"aw, billy, c'mon-"

"don't!" billy spins around, hands shoving steve square in the chest. watches his face go from jovial to nervous in two seconds flat.

good. the prick should be fucking nervous.

"you think you can walk around doing whatever the fuck you want like you own this town, but guess what? you don't! and you sure as shit don't own me!"

steve watches him with wide eyes, clearly out of his depth. this isn't the meeting he came here for. billy doesn't really give a shit. "billy, i-"

"i stood up for you, motherfucker," billy seethes, shoving steve again with two pointed fingers. "you know how many times heather's tried getting me to leave your ass alone? how many times max has threatened to castrate you because you can't keep it in your fucking pants?"

"i haven't slept with anyone else!"

"i don't care!" billy bellows. he's making a fucking scene. he hopes the neighbors aren't home. "i'm prime fucking real estate, baby! back in cali i had guys lining up the fucking block to get a piece of this! you think i just give this up to anybody?" steve opens his mouth, but billy cuts him off. "don't answer that! i defended you, asshole. and you make me look like a fucking idiot."

"i didn't think you cared..." steve says after a moment of stunned silence.

and that stuns billy. but he recovers quickly. "of course i fucking care. i wouldn't be doing this-" he gestures between the two of them, "-if i didn't."

"well you don't exactly express feelings very well." it's mostly teasing, billy thinks, but still that undercurrent of signature harrington bitch. "but-" he takes a step closer. "-if you're serious about this, then i am, too." another step.

"i swear to god if i have to sit through an 'i told you so' speech from maxine or heather because of some shit you pull-"

"is this your way of saying you love me?" steve grins, all cocksure and obnoxious, closing the distance until he and billy are standing toe to toe.

"don't press your luck," billy breathes in the space between them. "i'm serious, steve. i don't do thi- this is new for me, alright? and, i don't know if you've noticed, but i don't really handle rejection well."

"yeah, no shit," steve chuckles. "i'll be on my best behavior from now on. scout's honor." he holds up the three finger scout salute in mockery, but billy thinks, hopes, there's a sincerity in his eyes that he can hold him to.

billy rolls his eyes, mainly at himself for wanting to kiss the idiot right now. he almost does, too, until he remembers where they are and prying eyes could be watching.

he settles for another shove, this time to steve's shoulder, before turning back towards the house. "c'mon," he says, nodding his head towards the door. "nobody's home. you can give me a proper apology."

billy hears footsteps behind him before he even gets his whole sentence out.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | mature | written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt 'hole' | wc: 404 | tags: s3 au, scoops ahoi steve, the d-word makes one appareance)

Eddie is used to life not working out the way he wants it to. In fact, he's come to expect it to.

His mom died when he was barely ten, his dad is a petty criminal who never cared for him beyond what Eddie could do for him.

And while he doesn't think there's anything wrong with living in the trailer park, being poor sucks. Dealing to help out with paying bills sucks. Having people make assumptions about him and call him names and treat him as less than just because of that sucks.

So Eddie tries to keep his head above water, trudge through life without making too many waves and hopefully one day reach the shore where he can get some goddamn rest.

He plays with his band, he DMs at Hellfire and gives the lost little sheep of Hawkins High a place to belong while he works his ass off to finally get that goddamn diploma that means he can leave this shithole town behind.

The last thing Eddie needs is a distraction.

The last thing Eddie needs is Steve fucking Harrington working in an ice cream parlor in a sailor's costume across from the record store he started helping out at during summer break.

The last thing Eddie needs is to see Harrington in that downright indecent outfit, with his pale, hairy thighs on display, begging to be bitten, and his fluffy hair fighting against the silly sailor hat, and his lips all shiny like he's wearing some kind of gloss, making Eddie think of those lips wrapped around his dick.

And the last thing he needs, like a hole in the head, is to find out that Steve Harrington? Is actually a good dude.

He never wanted to learn that, is the thing. But when he finally gives in to his animal brain and goes to the parlor to get some ice cream and ogle Harrington up close, he witnesses him greeting a nerdy kid with an imaginary lightsaber handshake.

Eddie is not proud of it, but after that, he starts coming to the parlor every day to get ice cream, always letting Harrington choose for him, only to see him blush a pretty shade of pink at Eddie's harmless flirting.

A crush on Steve Harrington is the last thing Eddie needs in his life, but it's also the best thing that's happened to him in a long time.

[allthingsfangirl101]

The Munson Twins – Steve Harrington

Steve's POV

The Munsons were always a strange pair of twins. For one thing, they were polar opposites of each other. Eddie was into weird role-playing games. Y/N was into volleyball. Eddie is in danger of repeating his senior year. Y/N graduated early. Eddie is into rock and roll. Y/N plays the classical violin and the piano. Eddie loves black leather jackets. Y/N likes flowery sun dresses. Eddie is kind of a loner. Y/N is more popular than me.

Since Y/N graduated early, we spent our senior year in some of the same classes. That being said, we barely spoke to each other. The most we ever talked was congratulating each other after one of us won a game. All through high school, Y/N and I ran in the same social circles because of our sports so we often went to the same parties. Just because we went to the same parties doesn't mean we were friends.

Not to say I didn't wish we were friends. I've gone to most of Y/N's games and she's gone to most of mine. Whenever I looked in the stands and saw her, I became more self-conscious of my playing. I even went to her orchestra concerts. I usually sat in the back and left before anyone noticed I was there.

Throughout high school, I couldn't get Y/N Munson out of my head. It seemed like everywhere I looked, she was there. Even when I was dating Nancy, my mind often wondered to Y/N when I was alone.

When Vecna started killing teens and Eddie was blamed, my thoughts focused even more on Y/N. I wanted to talk to her about all of this, to make sure she knew her brother wasn't what the town thought, but I also didn't want her involved in any of this shit.

I had to force Y/N to the back of my mind as we tried to help Eddie. When we got stuck in the UpsideDown, I allowed my mind to go back to her, hoping she was safe back in Hawkins. We were walking to Nancy's house and I kept glancing at Eddie. If he knew that my thoughts were constantly on his twin sister, he'd kill me.

"Eddie," I said, clearing my throat as I caught up to him. "Hey, man. Um, listen I just umm. . . I just want to say thanks. For saving my ass back there."

"Shit," he laughed. "You saved your own ass, man. I mean that was a real Ozzy move back there."

"Ozzy?"

"When you took a bite out of that bat," he tried to clarify. "Ozzy Osbourne. Black Sabbath. He bit a bat's head off on stage. You really don't know who that is?"

"No," I chuckled. "Sorry."

"Well, anyway, it was very metal, what you did, is all I'm saying."

"Thanks," I sighed.

"Henderson told me you were a badass," he continued. "Insisted on the matter, in fact."

"Wait, Henderson said that?"

"Oh yeah. Shit. That kid worships you, dude. Like, you have no idea. It's kind of annoying, to be honest. I don't even know why I care what that little shrimp thinks, but I guess I got a little jealous." Eddie sighed before continuing, "I guess I couldn't handle the fact that Steve Harrington was actually a good dude. Rich parents. Popular. Chicks love him. And not a douche? No way. It goes against all the laws of the universe and my own personal Munson Doctrine. Then again, that's worth shit because even my sister talks highly of you."

"Y/N talks highly of me?" I tried, and failed, not to stutter.

I looked over to see Eddie smirking at me. He leaned in a little too close and whispered, "Very highly of you."

"Okay," I said awkwardly as I used my elbow to push him away from me. I cleared my throat and rolled my shoulders back.

"All jokes aside," Eddie said, "my sister does think highly of you, dude. Whenever people would start to talk shit about you, she'd instantly stand up for you. I never understood it, but she's always talked about how people should give you a chance. She believes that there is more to you than meets the eye."

"She really thinks that?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Hell yeah," he laughed.

"I guess I always thought. . . I mean, everyone else saw me as a dick. I figured she did too."

"Nope," he teased. "She always sees the good in people. It's extremely annoying."

Eddie walked away, but my mind was going a hundred miles an hour. I thought over the few, very few, interactions I've ever had with Y/N. We walked a few more miles, the others talking amongst each other while I walked behind the group.

"Alright," Eddie sighed as he joined me. "Enough of this. You've been in your head since I mentioned Y/N. What's the. . ."

He didn't finish his thought. Instead, he turned toward me with a smirk on his face.

"Ohhhhh," he elongated. "I get it now."

He playfully pushed me before continuing to walk through the woods.

"Wait," I called out as I chased after him. "You get what?"

"Come on, Harrington," Eddie sighed. "Please tell me I don't have to be the one to point this out to you."

"Point what out?"

"You have a thing for my sister."

"What?" I scoffed. "I don't. . . Why would you. . . That's so. . . No."

"No?" Eddie teased. "You sure about that?"

"I mean. . . That would be. . . Crazy."

"No, it wouldn't," he said simply. He saw the look on my face and sighed. "Look, Harrington, as much as I may not understand it, Y/N's right. You're a good guy. You'd be an even better guy if you'd grow a pair and tell my sister how you felt about her."

"What if she doesn't feel the same?" I asked before I could realize how weird it was to have this conversation with Y/N's twin brother.

"She does."

My heart jumped into my throat at those two words. Eddie didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. He sent me a wink before jogging and catching up with the others.

"She does," I repeated under my breath. "Holy shit. She feels the same."

* * * * *

Three months later, Hawkins was barely rebuilding. After Eddie's death, there were two people I was worried about; Dustin and Y/N. Dustin was doing what he normally does - pretending to be okay so no one would worry about him. I checked in on him almost every day. He was getting better, especially since Max was improving.

Y/N, on the other hand, barely leaves her uncle's trailer. Every single one of us has tried to visit her, but her uncle keeps telling us she doesn't want any visitors. Y/N won't even talk to the kids.

"Hi, Steve," Eddie and Y/N's uncle sighed when he opened the door.

"Hi, Mr. Munson," I greeted. "Is Y/N here?"

He sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Look," he sighed, "I really appreciate all you kids have been trying to do for Y/N, but I think it might be best if you give her some space."

"But. . ."

"I'm sorry, Steve," he continued. "I'll let her know you stopped by."

My heart sank as he closed the door. I couldn't get myself to move as I heard Y/N's uncle saying something to her. I couldn't quite hear what he was saying but I forced myself to leave. I turned around and slowly started walking back to my car. As I drove home, I racked my brain trying to figure out what I could do for Y/N.

Just when I had lost all hope, I noticed someone pulled over to the side of the road. As I got closer, I recognized the driver as Y/N. She was looking at her engine.

I didn't hesitate to pull over. I got out of my car and started walking toward her.

"Need a hand?" I called out. I instantly cringed when she jumped. "It's just me, Y/N."

"Sorry," she stuttered.

"It's okay," I tried to say lightly. "So, you need any help?"

"This stupid thing won't start," she grumbled. "And I have no idea why. Eddie usually. . ."

My heart sank when she stopped talking. One look at her and I could see the tears building.

"He usually handled the car," she forced herself to continue as she cleared her throat.

"I could take a look," I shrugged. She looked up at me, her eyes softening.

"Really?"

"Of course."

I walked over to the front of her car and examined the engine. The longer I stared at it, the more Y/N giggled. She was laughing at me, but I didn't care. At least she was laughing.

"You don't know anything about cars, do you, Steve?" 

"That obvious?" I chuckled as I turned toward her.

"Little bit," she said, showing me how much with her fingers. She cleared her throat and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I could still help," I said quickly.

"How?" Y/N asked, her voice softening.

"I could give you a ride," I offered.

"Steve. . ."

"I don't mind," I said quickly. "I can take you home or wherever you were on your way to."

"You don't have to," she said quickly. 

"I don't mind," I tried again.

"I can call my uncle."

"Come on, Y/N. Let me help you."

She looked up at me and held my gaze. "Are you sure?" She asked, her voice soft.

"Of course," I shrugged. I held my hand out, not entirely expecting her to take it. When she did, my heart jumped into my throat. Ignoring the circus in my stomach, I led her over to my car. She smiled as I opened the door and held it for her.

"Thanks," she said as she got in. I took a shaky breath as I walked around and got in the driver's seat. I started driving to the trailer park, my nerves jumping all over the place.

"So," I cleared my throat, "how have you been doing?"

"Fine," she shrugged, looking out the window.

"Are you. . ."

"Please don't, Steve," she cut me off. She looked over at me and I could see the tears building.

I nodded before turning my attention back to the road. We went through the rest of the drive in silence. I wanted to talk to her but I wasn't sure how to start a conversation with her. Before I would've liked, we pulled in front of her uncle's trailer.

"Thanks for driving me, Steve," she said softly.

"Y/N, wait," I said as I grabbed her hand before she could get out of my car. When she looked at me, I forgot what I was going to say.

"Steve," she said softly when I didn't continue.

"I just wanted to say," I said slowly, "if you ever need anything, the group and I are here for you."

"Thanks," she said, clearing her throat. She started to get out but realized that I was still holding her hand.

"There's something else," I forced myself to say. I looked into her eyes and gathered all the courage I could before saying, "I'm sorry about Eddie."

She turned away from me but right before she did, I could see the tears building. With the hand I wasn't holding, she covered her mouth. My heart sank when I realized she was hiding her tears.

"Y/N," I whispered. I pulled on her hand and she let me bring her into my chest. As I wrapped my arms around her, she sobbed into my chest.

"I wish we could've done something," I whispered. I pulled out of our embrace and held her shoulders as I looked deeply into her eyes. "I wasn't able to keep your brother safe, but that doesn't mean I can't keep you safe."

"Steve," she said under her breath.

"I promise, Y/N, I will always be here for you," I said. "If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, all you have to do is call me. Day or night."

"Day or night?" She teased. "That's a little creepy, Steve."

"I didn't mean it like that," I stuttered. "I just meant that if you needed me, I'd. . ."

Y/N cut me off by leaning over and pressing her lips to mine. I didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss. I gently grabbed her face as our lips moved against each other. When we were both out of breath, we broke the kiss and leaned our foreheads against each other.

"You know," she whispered, "there is something you could do for me."

"Anything," I said instantly.

"I'm starving," she started. I smiled when she didn't continue.

"Y/N," I said softly. "Can I take you to dinner?"

I smirked as I leaned in and kissed her again. I felt her smile as our lips moved in sync. I broke the kiss and pressed my nose to hers.

"If it's not too much trouble," she whispered.

"Not at all."

[hairmetal666]

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.

Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.

It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.

The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).

That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.

He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.

Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.

Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.

---

He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.

"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."

Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."

"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"

"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."

"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.

"How long you in detention for?"

"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "

"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"

"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"

They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.

The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.

---

He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.

It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.

He wishes he could tell Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.

They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.

Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.

He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--

He wants

---

Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.

He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.

Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.

It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.

Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.

He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"

"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."

Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"

In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.

"You should be safe here," Eddie says.

Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"

"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."

Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"

"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to."

"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"

"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."

"You're giving me too much credit, man."

"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."

His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."

Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"

Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"

"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."

He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"

Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.

"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.

Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.

He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.

Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."

"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."

"I have a character."

"What???"

"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"

"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"

Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."

Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"

He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."

"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.

"If you're lucky." Steve beams.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve was lying on the floor of Robin's room, his back against the wall as he let Robin paint his toenails while he flipped through one of her magazines. The radio played softly in the background.

"I am totally new to having a girlfriend, and by girlfriend, I mean platonic girlfriend," Robin said.

"Well, that's one thing we got in common, I don't think I've ever had a girl who's just a friend," Steve said.

"What about Perkins?" Robin asked.

"She doesn't count, I hated her. She's the reason Tommy became such an asshole," Steve said.

"Hm, yeah," Robin said and paused. "So, how close were you and Tommy?"

"Well, we were friends since we were eight. We pretty much bonded over the fact that we both had assholes for fathers. We shared everything and told each other everything. He told me about his first crush, and I told him about my first crush. We practiced kissing, practiced having sex, and when I got first kiss, I told him immediately," Steve said.

"Woah, woah, woah! Back it up!" Robin exclaimed, and she closed the nail polish. "What the fuck do you mean you practiced kissing and having sex with Tommy Hagan?"

"Exactly what it means," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "We hadn't gotten girlfriends yet, and we wanted to get good before we did. It doesn't mean anything. We like women, so it didn't count."

"It still counts!" Robin shrieked. "Did you or did you not put your lips on Tommy's?"

"Yeah, and I also let Tommy put his dick in my ass. I was basically his pillow," Steve said as he continued to casually flip through the magazine. "It doesn't count if you're not gay, Robin."

"It doesn't work like that! Steve Harrington, the first time you had sex was with Tommy Hagan!" Robin exclaimed.

"It was not!" Steve exclaimed, throwing down the magazine.

"Was too!" She yelled.

"Was not!" Steve yelled.

"Okay! So, let's say if I kissed you right now. . .," Robin said.

"Wouldn't count as your first kiss, you're a lesbian and I'm straight," Steve said.

Robin grinned, a manic look in her eye. She pulled her hand back and slapped Steve across the face. He screamed.

"Didn't count! I'm a lesbian and you're straight!" Robin yelled.

"Okay, okay, I see your point. Jesus, did you have to hit me so hard?" Steve asked, rubbing his red cheek.

"Yeah, dingus, I did," Robin said.

"Okay, so my first kiss was with Tommy, and I lost my virginity. We're not gay, though," Steve said.

"No, just desperate and very horny teenagers, apparently," Robin rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you had gay sex before me, and you're not even gay. I bet you pictured some blond with big boobies."

"Well, no, actually," Steve shrugged.

"Hm, what do you mean?" Robin asked.

"I didn't have to picture a woman. I liked it," Steve shrugged.

"You liked it?!" Robin asked.

"Well, I am a man, Robin," Steve said.

"Uh, except not every man likes it when another man rams it up his asshole," Robin said. "Okay, I kind of wish I had been more delicate about this, but I didn't know this was you being in denial kind of situation."

"I'm straight, Robin, I like women," Steve said.

"Yeah, and did you know that you can like men and women?" Robin asked.

"What?" Steve asked.

Robin smiled and got up to pull out a box from underneath her bed. She pulled out a magazine and tossed it at Steve.

"Read it, study it, learn from it," Robin said.

Steve looked at it quizzically for a moment before opening it. He stared at it for the longest time before finally closing it.

"I am an idiot," Steve said.

"No, you're not. You just didn't know," she said softly.

"Bisexual," Steve whispered, and then he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh my god, this whole time, I thought I lost my virginity to Chrissy Cunningham."

"Chrissy Cunningham?" Robin asked.

"Uh, we used to hang out all the time before she started dating Jason Carver," Steve said. "Our parents ran in the same circles."

"Well, you know, I guess you could say you lost your guy virginity to Tommy Hagan and your girl virginity to Chrissy Cunningham," Robin said.

"Yeah, that's true," Steve grinned. "Thanks, Robin, and especially thank you for giving me that slap. I definitely needed it."

"Anytime that you want me to hit you, I'm your woman," Robin replied.

They moved towards Robin's window sill and sat on it, opening a window to get some fresh air.

"You know this means that I'm not straight," Steve said.

"Something else we have in common," she said.

"You ever wonder how many out there who are like me and who just don't know?" he asked as he looked up at the moon. "Here in Hawkins, I mean."

"Probably a lot more than we think," Robin said. "And they're out there, sitting in their closets wondering if they're ever going escape themselves or be rescued."

"Isn't crazy how we found ourselves?" Steve said.

"Maybe queer people just end up finding each other," Robin said.

"Well, maybe they'll find their way out themselves," Steve said and then he looked her, hazel eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "Seriously, Robin, thank you."

"You did that yourself, you know, you just needed a nudge. I mean, you could have told me to go fuck myself and continued to live in denial," Robin said. "You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for."

Steve smiled bashfully and glanced back at the moon. He looked at her, with tears in his eyes.

"Is it possible to be platonically in love with someone?" he asked.

"I think anything is possible," she said. "I think it's a definite because I know that I'm absolutely, platonically in love with you."

They dangled their feet out the window and leaned against each other, Steve resting his head on top of Robin's.

"I wish I'd known you sooner," he whispered.

"I wish I'd known you sooner, too," she whispered back.

They were here now, though, and absolutely nothing could get in between them.

Part Two

[passivenovember]

Steve's mattress is a jar of marshmallow fluff pressing and knotting itself into Billy's hair. The sheets will probably be silk like a coffin, the quilt draping over them until all possibility of resurrection vanishes beneath a thin layer of patchwork.

It might as well be fresh earth.

Billy's fingers dig into the bulk of it. Steve gets Billy's pants around his ankles, but they won't slip off because of his boots. Steve snorts, impatient, and says, "Why are you always wearing these fuckin' things," and the thread spores of the quilt spread like grass under Billy's fingertips.

He scratches at them. Preparing himself.

"I dunno," Billy says, swallowing. Or. Trying to swallow.

He wishes the overhead light was on. Wishes he could stare into it, as if it were the sun, until he goes blind so he won't see the pained, nervous brown that suddenly springs like calla-lilies from the earth, appearing over the edge of the mattress.

"Don't fucking look at me like that," Billy says. He thunks his head on the mattress, a little bit pissed off that it doesn't. Hurt.

"What's wrong," Steve asks quietly. He's got the laces of one boot wrapped tightly in his hand. He's trying to get the boot off. He's trying to push this forward.

"Nothing," Billy tells the ceiling. It's dark, like nightfall. Popcorn stucco sharp as the Milky Way swirling overhead.

Billy tries to take a deep breath but his lungs have closed shop, and.

A lot of pushing is about to happen. Pants down, boots off, underwear--

Billy blinks at the ceiling and wonders, distantly, if Harrington's the kind of guy who pushes fruit of the looms off or just to the side. If he's ever seen boxers on another guy, like this. Tented and blooming wet. If he's ever done this before.

Steve lets go of him all at once.

Billy doesn't like that. He pushes onto his elbows, "What's your problem, Harrington?"

Steve shrugs. "You don't seem like you're having fun."

"It's fine."

"Sex isn't supposed to be 'fine,' it's supposed to be--"

"What?" Billy spits, "Perfect? Magical? You gonna take my panties off and open me up real nice, baby? Soft and sweet until I'm begging for you?"

"Well. Yeah?" Steve's cheeks are red. They look sunburned and then he smiles, bright and barely there.

Billy hates what it does to him. "Fuck you," He says, and.

Steve chuckles brightly. "You're a brat."

"And you're a rich bitch pain in the goddamn ass--"

"Now there's an idea," Steve. Fucking grins. Like a wolf. "Let me. I think it could be fun."

Billy's stomach swoops. "Fun."

"Yeah. Special."

Billy snorts. "I'm not a virgin."

"Neither am I."

"Then you know after a couple of notches, shit stops being special and just starts being sex."

Steve falters. Grows serious. "Nobody ever treat you right before, Blondie?" When Billy doesn't say anything, doesn't even breathe, Harrington smirks. "Maybe you just bite their hands off before they can get too close."

Billy.

Lays flat on his back, throat working around that annoyingly stubborn lump that springs fresh whenever Harrington's big brown eyes are in the room.

"Please touch me," Billy says, and it feels like an exorcism. Blood letting.

Tension hangs all around. Pushing on Billy's chest. Steve hovers, skin so warm Billy can feel it through the quilt. "You're sure?"

It's achingly earnest. Sweet.

This is bullshit. Steve is bullshit--

"Yes."

Steve palms slowly up Billy's thigh, nails tugging at the hem of his boxers, and. You'd think they were connected to his dick somehow. And his heart, beyond that.

Billy hates this.

He resists the urge to bare his teeth and snarl at Steve's pretty, soft gaze. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like. You want to carry my books in the hallway and pull my chair out at lunch--"

"You could do with a little romance, Hargrove. Might make you more likeable," Steve says. There's no heat. He toys idly with the lace of Billy's left boot, palm still rubbing over his right thigh. He's looking at Billy like this means something, and this.

This is fucking ridiculous.

Billy feels ridiculous. Still trapped in his jeans at the ankle and hard as a rock and doing what he can to spoil the moment. His eyes sting. He swallows, says, "No."

Steve tsks, "No what, baby?"

Billy swallows, tugging sharply at the quilt. "Nobody's ever taken care of me."

"That's done, after tonight," Steve says firmly. His fingers are soft and warmer than Billy ever imagined they'd be when they slip into his boxers. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop right now, Billy. I swear."

Billy swallows. His throat clicks. He says, "I want you. Want. Your fingers."

Steve's fingers, they. They wrap--

Billy arches off the mattress in shock, "Ah, Steve--"

"Got nice legs, Malibu," Steve says thoughtfully, like he's never considered it before and it's a surprise. The brown of his eyes shine, somehow, in the dark. He swipes a thumb over Billy's cockhead, smearing precum as he demands, "Say it again," so softly that Billy's not sure he heard it right.

"I don't--"

"My name, baby. Say it again." Steve drops Billy's dick, fingers nudging at one thigh.

Billy spreads them, slowly, hair catching a little on the quilt underneath. "Steve--"

"I want to take care of you," Steve murmurs. It's honey-sweet and earnest.

This bullshit. So Billy groans and says, "This is bullshit. I dream about your cock for months and you finally get me in your bed and you want it to be special when you could just--"

"I want to fuck you until you can't walk right, Billy." Steve says.

His voice.

It's gravel and old whiskey. Ancient. Burning, low and intense. Contained.

Billy's done this enough times to know what's gonna come next. "My," He gulps, dizzy with need so wild that the ceiling blinks out of focus, "My boxers--"

"Gotta take your boots off first."

"So take them off, already," Billy snaps, "Thought you wanted to fuck me until I can't walk?"

Steve does as he's told, pushing and pulling until cold air hits everything south of Billy's t-shirt. It's silent and awkward, and--

"Jesus Christ," Steve's not touching him anymore.

Fear settles in Billy's bones. He tears his eyes away from the ceiling, propped on his elbows to figure out what's wrong, but.

"You," Steve tries, "You're lovely." Steve's cock trains his boxers, tenting painfully, and Billy has never seen anyone so earnest. So sweet.

His heart cracks open, "Come here," Billy says, "C'mon I want--"

"Anything," Steve says. The mattress dips under his weight. His fingers push at the hem of Billy's t-shirt.

Billy braces himself for something familiar. A warm puff of air on his neck, lips closing around the swell of his breastbone, but instead Steve grips the back of each knee and folds him in half, pushing--

Always pushing--

Until Billy's body catches up with his heart and makes room.

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain | Steve's parents are DICKS | A little foreplay action, but no real smut warnings aside from a small ass slap - oh and a there if you squint breeding kink hint for one sir steve harrington

2.7k words

A/N: I've hoped you've liked the first two little stories before this and maybe you're catching on to the theme now? There's two more after this one, and I hope they wrap up things for this little world nicely for you. This one in particular, is what started the whole idea of this collection of stories randomly? Don't tell the others, it might be my favorite. There was a very real incident with myself and green paint and my husband finding me in the state similar to reader 😳, I have @loveshotzz and @sweetsweetjellybean to love always and thank for convincing me to make it into a little fic, which obviously turned into more 💛

He sees the familiar girl sitting alone at the bar, and he weaves his way around dimly lit tables and people dressed as fancy, if not more so, than he is. He slides onto the stool next to her, resisting the urge to run his hand through his gelled hair. 

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late.” 

Leigh waves off his apology with her perfectly manicured hand as she takes a sip of the martini in front of her. Rolling her eyes big with a smile around the rim. 

Steve raises two fingers to get the bartender’s attention from the end of the rich wood counter as she swallows. 

“I just figured you decided to not go through with it, was gonna give you another half hour before I called your dad to tattle on you.”

Steve’s stomach tenses, knuckles tapping the counter as he grimaces. 

Leigh’s hand rubs his shoulder, speaking softly, “Hey I was just kidding. What’s going on in that big, Harrington brain, huh?”

The bartender lays a cocktail napkin in front of Steve, nodding as he orders, raising three fingers, “Macallan.” Before he turns to look at her. 

Kind eyes and an understanding smile he blows out his breath and quietly asks, “You really want to do this?”

Leigh shrugs, her hand slipping from his shoulder to grab the martini again, taking another large gulp. 

“I’m still down if you are?”

Steve nods, fingers swiping down the glass that’s set in front of him as he stares into the amber liquid and thinks about you. 

“You sure? Last time I saw you at that benefit thing, you talked about moving to Northern California and working for that environmental law firm. You just…don’t seem like the kind of girl that wants to work for her dad forever and do…this?” 

He sort of gestures pathetically to himself which Leigh snorts at, pressing her palms to flushed cheeks. 

Steve closes his eyes, shaking his head, “I didn’t mean, I mean I know you, we did, like five years ago, but that-”

“Steve,” Leigh interrupts, laughing. 

“Sorry.” He rubs at his eyes, fingers freezing when she sighs. 

“So, who is she?”

Steve opens his eyes to see Leigh’s all knowing gaze and smirk and he folds almost instantly telling her your name. 

“We sort of had…a date? Last weekend? Except it wasn’t a date,” he sips on his drink, finishing the story of the two of you with the most recent events while Leigh sits and listens patiently. 

He shakes his head as something in his stomach sinks at the same time his heart starts beating harder when he thinks about last weekend.

“Because, we don’t date, or she doesn't want to date, and then we had sex, and like, good sex. I’ve never had that kind of sex, sex…like emotional? But I don’t think…I can’t wait for her to…choose me? Because what if she never does, right? Isn’t that the cardinal rule of dating? Don’t think you can change someone?”

He hates how much he’s talking, how much of his guts he’s literally just spilling all over the place, but he’s needed to talk about it for a long time, and he certainly can’t tell Robin. 

Leigh sips her martini thoughtfully before she asks, “Does she know about this?” She gestures between the two of them. 

Steve shakes his head, swallowing before he quietly admits, “Nobody does, well, no, I told Robin I was dating you. Because she kept pestering me about what was going on and I…”

He trails off, at a loss for words as Leigh hums. 

“Well, that’s problem number one right there buddy. It sounds like you’re asking her to open up and you’re keeping some things heavily guarded too.”

Leigh glances at her watch and hops off the stool, smiling, “I have that dinner with a client. And I think you have a lot of thinking to do tonight Steve Harrington. I’ll see you tomorrow, whatever you decide.”

She kisses his cheek and Steve turns towards his glass, downing the last of it as he pulls out his phone and opens your contact. 

Steve: Hey could we talk tonight? We could go out? Or I could come over? You: I’m sorry, I really want to but I’m sick. 

He stares down at the text back from you the whole ride up the elevator and down his hallway. Are you actually sick? Or are you avoiding him because last weekend scared you? 

His key turns in the lock too easily and he closes his eyes as he pushes open his already unlocked front door, taking a deep breath before he steps inside. 

John Harrington frowns at the bottle of Scotch in his hands, eyes narrowed at the bar in his son’s apartment. 

“Is this all you have?”

“Hey dad, long time no see. I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”

His father rolls his eyes in an eerily familiar way and Steve turns to the cabinet above his fridge, and pulls down the bottle for his father. 

“Happy Birthday,” Steve grumbles.

John eagerly takes it, “Ah! Yes.”

Thank you son, you’re the greatest. No problem dad, glad you like it. 

His dad finally looks at him and frowns. “Is that what you wore for your drinks with Leigh?”

Steve looks down at his custom made and fitted three piece suit, tie, Italian loafers, leather belt, and cufflinks and a watch that all cost more than his college tuition. 

“I-”

“Your mom is hanging up the suit for tomorrow in your closet, why don’t you go let her pick out a better tie for din-”

Steve’s already power walking past his dad, hurriedly trying to make sure his mother is not in his closet, but it’s too late. 

The sliding door gives him an easy view of his mom, who’s holding the picture nobody really knows about. Steve looks over his shoulder and thankfully his father has sat himself down on the couch, turning on the news. 

Steve carefully and quietly closes the closet door behind him, whispering, “Mom, I can explain-”

“You went to college?” Her voice is hoarse as her fingers trail over the tassel and degree. 

He swallows, fingers curled into fists at his sides as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Yeah. I did.”

Vivian Harrington nods, and when she looks up at her son, he feels like she’s sort of seeing him for the first time in his life. 

Her eyes that match his are glassy, and her head tilts as if she’s taking in his features like she doesn’t really know him at all. Maybe she doesn’t. But it’s that look that gives him the courage to keep going.

“Can I have a rain check on dinner? There’s somewhere I need to be tonight. Someone I need to see.”

Maybe his mom sees something in his eyes, or hears it in his tone, but the way her eyes travel over his face, searching, it’s easy to see when understanding falls across her features.

“Sure, honey.” She puts the picture back down with a sad smile, her voice hesitant but forceful at the same time as she asks, “But we’ll see you tomorrow? For the brunch?”

He knows she’s not really asking and he nods.  

“Yeah, of course.”

So when it’s her name flashing across his phone when you wake him up, the guilt washes over him. He doesn’t know what to do. 

He locks his phone and closes his eyes, thinking about everything you told him last night. 

Thinking about how you said that nobody could have a love like them. That it’s a love story you witness once. How since then, you haven’t believed in it or even tried to. 

“I’m sorry, I gotta go, my parents are here and…” he sighs, touching his forehead to yours, willing you to just tell him right now. Willing himself to just take the leap. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers circle around his wrist as you whisper sleepily to him. 

He could spend his whole life waiting for you to never change your mind. 

Never really getting every part of you. Not the way he wants. 

As much as it hurts, as much it will keep hurting for a long time, he wants all of you, or nothing at all. 

Steve looks at your lips before he kisses them, trying to memorize how soft they are against his own. How it just seems to work. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll…I’ll see you at the game later. I…” 

He groans as his phone buzzes in his pocket and he kisses you so quickly, too quickly, and then he’s gone. And he’s worried he’s never going to get to kiss you again. 

Steve answers the phone as he shuts your front door. “I’m sorry, I’ll be there in-”

“Did you get it out of your system?” 

Steve stops in the hallway, gulping, “What?”

“Did you get it out of your system?”

He bangs his forehead against the wall, fingers clenching around the vest and jacket he holds. Steve’s jaw is tense, stomach tight as he blinks away the damp feeling pooling in his eyes. 

“I don’t know.”

“Steven-”

“I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up and walks to the stairwell. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do?

“Jesus fucking christ!” 

Your hand is over your heart, a brush dropped in the bucket of paint, and your boyfriend smiles from the other side of the makeshift dog gate. 

“Don’t do that!” You squeal, only half mad he almost scared you to literal death standing in the doorway all ominous, but overall you’re ecstatic to see him, your heart racing faster than it should for both reasons. You turn down the music you were blaring and singing along to loudly so he can hear you. “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be home till Monday!”

Steve’s looking at you from the other side of the gate with this intense look that makes an entire box of bouncy balls dump out inside of your stomach. 

“What?” You ask nervously, looking around the room that’s half painted and back at him as you take a few steps towards the doorway.

He seems to visibly shake a thought from his brain, his cheeks turning pink as he clears his throat. 

“Nothing, I, uh, like the color.” 

Your body fills with heat as you take a few steps closer to him, both of you staring up and down each other’s bodies a little hungry, a little impatiently. 

“Yeah?” You’d be embarrassed by how soft and girly your question comes out except Steve is clearly thinking and feeling things, his fingers curling around the doorframe a little tighter with each step you take, which only spurs you on to tack on, “I know you said the office could be whatever color, and when I was standing in front of the paint samples, this one spoke to me. Made me think about a shirt this guy I really like wears.”

“Oh?” He asks, fingers reaching forward so his thumb can brush across your cheek. It feels a little rough and you’re certain he’s tracing over paint you somehow managed to get on your face. 

You hum, stomach warm from the feeling of his skin touching yours after so long apart. Your eyes greedily take in the scruff on his jaw that he’s let grow and the deeper tan his skin has. The numerous new freckles you swear he didn’t have when he left. Your mouth waters a little bit as your eyes wander to his covered up arms and shoulders, impatient to find out how many more there are.  

“It’s kind of like the olives he hates on his pizza too.”

Steve’s fingers roam down your neck, thumb dragging on the chain hidden under his white shirt. 

“Sounds like a smart guy for hating those disgusting things,” he softly banters. 

“Mm, debatable. It’s also kind of like the green in his eyes.”

Your body leans over the gate, closer to him, fingers reaching for the collar of his shirt till your noses bump each other’s. It’s hard to breathe, when all you can smell is cedar and mint and practically taste the coffee on his lips he must have been drinking to stay awake.

“Well, he sounds like quite a guy, to inspire a whole room’s paint color.” Steve speaks slowly, one hand around the back of your neck, the other dragging down the curves of your side as you both breathe sharply, the small space between your mouths electric. 

“He’s okay,” you offer with a shrug. 

“I like the overalls,” Steve ignores you, nose running down the bridge of yours as he nudges closer.

“Thanks, they were my mom’s when she was pregnant with me.”

Steve’s eyes flash from that comment, his adams apple bobbing in a loud and harsh swallow. 

“Oh?”

You giggle, your top lip hitting his in a brief pass and it’s intoxicating. 

“Easy tiger. Not in the cards just yet.”

“But it is, someday?” He squeezes at your waist, bottom lip just barely bumping between yours, his head tilting just barely to get a better angle. 

“Sure. Play those cards right and when the time comes…”

Steve’s lips slot over yours, his hands pull at the back of your neck and waist until you’re both pressed up against the gate. 

His tongue swipes over your bottom lip lightly, teasing, as his fingers brush down your jaw and he breaks away from you, breathing heavily. 

“I missed you so much.”

“You’re never leaving for that long again.”

You both laugh into another kiss as you speak at the same time. Refusing to part your mouths as you try to climb over the gate causing it and both of you to clatter to the ground. Inigo comes racing from the bedroom where he was sleeping. 

He runs at Steve, panting happily and jumping onto his chest from your tangled pile on the ground. 

“Hey buddy, I missed you too,” Steve laughs, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to dodge the lab’s tongue. 

“Dude, he is my boyfriend. Also you’re such a traitor, you never greet me like this.”

“Are you talking to me or the dog?” Steve laughs as Inigo wiggles and yips on his stomach when you push yourself up to standing. 

“Where are you going?” He calls after you.

“To get the peanut butter kong so he’ll be busy for hou-Steve!”

He’s snaked his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest forcefully. His mouth attacks your neck and cheeks and jaw from behind. Hot and wet open mouthed kisses you giggle at which only makes him do it more. 

Steve squeezes his arms around you, holding your ass tighter against his clearly worked up lower half as you stumble towards the freezer with him behind you still. Inigo makes it all the more difficult as he races around your legs. 

“Steve, babe…” you moan as his mouth slows down, warm lips pressing right behind your ear as his fingers work on the buckles of the overalls. 

He hums, pushing you up against the counter next to the fridge a little rough, a little dirty with the way his mouth and teeth and tongue are working on your neck. Your fingers slip on the counter, searching for purchase. “I love you, so much, really-fuck.”

Inigo barks at the base of the freezer, reminding you of why you’re telling Steve to stop. 

“I love you too, why do I feel like there’s a but coming though?” He pulls at the overalls, until they’re dropping at your ankles leaving you in his white shirt and black panties that he groans at, slapping at your ass and grabbing at each cheek with both hands as his nose drags down the back of your neck. 

“You gotta go wash your face and hands before we keep going, you smell like Inigo’s breath and your fingers cannot be inside of me after-”

“I hate this dog!” He proclaims, stomping down the hallway, grumbling a shouted, “He seems a decent fellow, I hate to kill him!”

Inigo cocks his head adorably at you, tail thumping against the tile. You pull out the red overstuffed with peanut butter kong and give it to him, patting his head as you whisper. “That does seem to put a damper on your relationship, but don’t worry buddy, he loves you.”

And you race down the hallway towards Steve in your bathroom shouting, “How dare you threaten my dog Harrington. Prepare to die!”

[laundrybiscuits]

(purify our misfit ways tag | AO3)

So, Eddie goes back to Scoops. What else is he gonna do? He’s not sure if Robin's aware of it or not, but he’s not going to be saying no to her for a while; at least not until he stops feeling guilty about certain things that they’re not ever talking about again.

He looks at himself in the water-flecked bathroom mirror and says, out loud: “He’s just a guy. Just a typical…guy. You can be normal about this. Be fucking normal for once, Munson.” Then he grabs his keys and hurls himself out the front door before he can talk himself out of it.

It’s usually a twenty-minute drive, but he makes it in a tight sixteen. He thinks if he slows down enough to give himself any kind of excuse to weasel out of this, he will. Plus, the less time he spends thinking about it, the less likely he is to fuck this up for Robin somehow. Because—right, yeah, this whole thing is about Robin, and how Steve’s still the kind of asshole who won’t take no for an answer.

Actually, getting mad about that is helping Eddie get a grip on reality. It doesn’t matter how hot the guy is, if he doesn’t fucking listen when he’s told to back off. But it's not like Eddie can come roaring in like a jealous boyfriend, that’ll just make things a million times worse; he’d love to be able to follow Robin’s lead on this, but if he knows her at all, she doesn’t have any kind of plan aside from pointing at Eddie and going see? Not boyfriend material.

Which, yeah, obviously he’s not. He doubts Steve will see it that way, though—probably thinks Eddie’s a perfect freaks-and-geeks match for Robin, with her refusal to be any of the things that Hawkins High rewards. So, Eddie needs a plan, and he needs one fast, because he can't keep sitting in the parking lot like this, stewing in his own indecision.

Fuck it. He'll have to improvise, he's good at improvising. It'll be fine. It has to be fine.

He sidles into Scoops Ahoy, sees Steve and Robin bickering, and doesn't immediately tap out. That's progress.

"Robin," he says, nodding. "And…Harrington."

"Hi. Eddie." Steve looks really fucking uncomfortable, and why wouldn't he be?

The three of them stand there in a weird suspended tableau, until Robin throws her hands in the air. "Oh my god, just get over it already. Eddie got spooked last time when his high school nemesis appeared out of nowhere like a total psycho, and he was too embarrassed to come back until now. Okay? Everyone caught up yet?"

"He was not my nemesis! Christ, Robin!" Eddie sputters.

"Um, nemesis?" says Steve at the same time.

Eddie glances over at Steve, feeling a kind of kinship in the face of Hurricane Buckley.

"I wasn't…your nemesis, was I?" asks Steve. He sounds a little confused, and Eddie wonders uncharitably if he knows what the word nemesis means.

"No, Harrington, you were just generally a dick. My true nemesis is and always has been the collective insanity of Hawkins High itself. The esprit de corps, so to speak."

"God, I see why you and Robin get along so well," sighs Steve. Eddie suddenly remembers that he's here for a purpose, and he currently appears to be failing very badly at that purpose.

"Yeah, well…" he shrugs. "All I'm saying is, I'm willing to live and let live. It's a character flaw."

"So, what, we're just gonna forget high school and be friends now?"

"Whoa whoa whoa," says Eddie, alarmed. He's about to add nobody said anything about friends, but his Spidey-sense is going off. It doesn't actually take fictional-level superpowers to hear the way King Steve doesn't sound as disgusted by that prospect as he should be.

Robin had mentioned something about Steve being sort of a trainwreck, but Eddie had (unfairly, as it turns out) written that off as Robin blowing stuff out of proportion like she does sometimes. He does it too, that's why he knows not to take her at face value too much.

But it seems like maybe if anything, she was underplaying how fucked Steve's life must be right now, to have that poorly hidden thread of eagerness in his voice when he talks about being friends with Eddie "the Freak" Munson.

What the actual fuck.

All of this flashes through Eddie’s head in a jumbled rush, just quick enough to stop him from inadvertently completely crushing Steve’s spirit or whatever, so instead he just says, "I mean, forgetting high school's not so much an option for me. Buckley might not have mentioned, but you're looking at a genuine two-time total failure here, man."

Great. Real smooth move there, Munson. Never a bad idea to announce how much of a loser you are to cute boys as soon as possible. Once his obligation to Robin is discharged here, Eddie is going to move to Siberia and live in a hole in the ground. He bets it's nice and quiet there, with a minimum of indecently tight blue sailor suits that clearly have mind-altering powers.

But hey, on the bright side, he might be able to salvage his primary quest here after all. Maybe if he just leans into what a fuckup he is, Steve will stop seeing him as a viable match for Robin’s genius brain.

"You’re not—" Steve is starting to say, weakly, and good god does Eddie not want to hear how that sentence ends. He cuts Steve off by spinning around, arms outflung, only colliding a little bit with a nearby chair.

"Oh, but I am, Ser Harrington. Scourge of teachers, they call me. Object lesson to degenerate slackers everywhere. Blackboards quake and tender schoolgirl hearts break as I stalk the halls which have ensnared me lo these many years. Decades in the future, my agéd corpse will be found within the walls of Hawkins High while my spectral remains wail: run far away, lest the Munson Curse befall ye too."

Steve stares at Eddie for a second, then bursts out laughing. To Eddie’s consternation, it doesn't sound mocking or derisive at all. "Shit, you're funny, man. You remind me of—of a friend. You would like him. He's kind of a shit sometimes, but you'd like him."

"If you're telling me I remind you of Hagan, I'm gonna drown myself in the Raspberry Ripple," says Eddie, genuinely horrified.

"No! God, no. You're not anything like—no. I was thinking of my, uh, my friend Dustin."

"And…who is this friend of yours who is perchance my long-lost twin?" Eddie frowns, trying to scour his memory for any Dustins at Hawkins High.

"Not—" Steve's going suspiciously pink. He looks away in poorly feigned nonchalance. Eddie wants to dip him in chocolate and eat him with a spoon. "Friend isn’t, I guess…he's really just a kid I looked after for a while. Like as a favor, I mean. I was—it doesn’t matter. Anyway, he's a cool kid, that's all. Kinda hyper, like you."

That is…a lot to digest. Eddie doesn't really know where to start, but luckily Robin’s there to pick up his slack.

"Oh my god, are you comparing Eddie to one of the infants you let use the staff corridor last week? Is that what's happening?"

"No!" yelps Steve. "...he's not even in town right now."

"But he is in some way affiliated with those toddlers," drawls Robin, not really a question.

Eddie cocks his head. "I would like significantly more information about any alleged toddlers I may be accused of resembling, please."

"Christ, how are there two of you," groans Steve.

"Man, you keep comparing me to other people and I'm gonna start getting offended," says Eddie. "You've known me for about five minutes at this point. No," he adds, seeing Steve start to protest. "High school does not count. I will bet you a million bucks you don't remember me at all from high school."

Steve frowns. "Of course I remember you. You were kinda hard to miss."

"Fucking liar," says Eddie, rolling his eyes, but he grins so Steve knows it's not that big a deal.

"No, you were in the play, a couple years ago," says Steve. "You were…the magic guy, right? The, uh, elf king."

"Close enough," says Eddie, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels, a little dazed. Because yeah, he'd been Oberon that year, he just—really hadn't thought Steve Harrington had paid any attention to the drama nerds at all, much less remembered the specific part Eddie had played. "Shit. Guess I owe you a million bucks."

Steve smiles, bright and boyish and also kind of annoyingly smug, and leans his elbows on the counter. "Guess so. I'm willing to figure out an installment plan, if you wanna start coming around more often. Bet Robin would appreciate it."

“Right,” says Eddie. “Look. I don’t know what you think’s going on, but Buckley’s like a sister to me.”

“And Eddie’s like a sister to me too,” Robin chimes in, smiling all sweet and venomous.

“Okay,” says Steve. “You can still come visit her, can’t you? Free ice cream samples, man, you can’t turn that shit down.”

This is a trap, clearly, but Eddie can’t find it in himself to do anything but give in.

“Yeah, okay then,” he sighs. “Keep me sugared up and I’ll keep on coming around like a bad penny. You two are gonna be so sick of me by the end of the summer, that’s the Munson Guarantee.”

[rigginsstreet]

When Harrington finally snaps at Billy's pigtail pulling and puts hands on him a few inches too far from appropriate, Billy's kind of still on the assumption that the spark will only go so far. Like a lighter flame before you crack the choke.

Contained.

Fucking is just another form of fighting in Billy's world, and Harrington fights like a small-town kid who's never had more than a school yard brawl. Starts off hot and heavy, a one-punch wonder, crumbles after a few hits.

Harrington's soft, too. He's lost a good chunk of the preppy chip on his shoulder, but he'd only traded in the pastel sweaters and starched polos so far. He doesn't wear the grit and knowing the way Billy does, more like Nancy Wheeler just took his spark when she took his balls, too, but.

Point is; Billy's expecting soft. Harrington's the kind of guy who looks like he thinks reverse cowgirl is experimenting, and so he's fucking delighted when Harrington finds the strength in those noodle arms of his to flip him over, grinding his face into the Camaro's hood like he's imagining its the dirt and he's a boot heel.

Barks a laugh, kicks him in the shin just to hear him swear, because its kind of like finding out that pampered little poodle down the street can still bite. "Not gonna say a hail Mary first, King?" he taunts, and Steve says shut the fuck up and decides in the same breath that Billy's not all that known for following orders, and so he shoves two fingers down Billy's throat in prompt subsequence.

Its pretty fucking stupid. Its also a steady anchor of familiarity amongst this ocean of surprising turns of events. Harrington being smart enough to put him face down but also stupid enough to still stick his fingers between Billy's teeth anyway.

And Billy. Billy's not the kind to sit-and-stay unless there's a juicy slab of steak as motivation, but part of him wants to see how Harrington handles slapping a bridle on a bronco and part of him whispers finally into the corners of his mind. This is kind of hunger no amount of boring backend bitches could sate. The kind of rough handling Billy bites down on, rides out, goes halfway to easy for.

He nips Harrington's fingers and bucks like a wild horse when Harrington reprimands him by shoving a hand into his jeans, bypassing where he wants it to go completely to pinch and twist the soft crease of his thigh. He bites down harder and is a mixture of aroused and startled when Harrington responds in kind, sliding down his body, teeth sharp and stinging his asscheek through a layer of denim and cotton.

Soft never comes. Harrington doesn't flag, doesn't need to ride a too-short wave of adrenaline for this. He tells Billy to shut up, Barbie and calls him the warmest hole in Hawkins. Gives his cheek a pat that's two steps into a slap when he shoves the tip in, and Billy's halfway to seeing God and halfway to incensed because of course it fucking figures that Harrington is the one with what he needs.

Doesn't help he's fucking drooling for it, feels like Harrington's nudging at his teeth, tips cunt up like he's in heat when Harrington laughs at him, snide and mean. "There we go," he coos, gets a fistful of his hair, twists the curls around his fingers like a bronc rigging. "Knew all it took to put a muzzle on you was feeding your pussy."

And.

Harrington's got an arm around his throat, jugular in the curve of his elbow, just enough pressure to make him feel the air on every breath, might also actually have just up and carved Billy's guts out to make room for himself, and he's teetering on the edge as it is when Harrington pulls his hand free of his hair, rears his arm back, says, tighten it up for me, babygirl at the same time as slapping Billy's ass so hard it hits bone.

Billy cums so hard he sees the pearly gates for a hot minute. Hears holy harps and all as he ruins the Camaro's paintjob clawing at it, grinding his dick into the unforgiving hold of the metal, has enough of a braincell left to scrape together and hope to god one of them has a napkin somewhere.

Harrington leaves him that way, bent over the hood like a broken doll, puts himself back together dispassionately and fixes his hair in the Camaro's wingmiror and gives Billy a reproachful once over.

"Don't go crawling to anyone else for a fix," he says, bored, like he's telling Billy to be home for dinner. "Its sloppy enough as it is. Won't even be able to feel it if you go offering yourself around."

He has the audacity to blast Blondie as the Beemer lopes away.

This is so

MEAN STEVE SO TRUE SO TRUE 🥵 the cheek pat really did me in personally I gotta say…