#steve: threads

[rayofsunshinc]

👑 starter for @curlpower | Nancy & Steve !

❝Hey, Nancy.❞ A warm smile spreading across his face at first, but then he looked down, brows pushed together. ❝Is it cool if we talk?❞ He asked, voice low and soft.

Steve and Nancy stood there for a moment, a little awkwardly, the weight of their past hanging between them like an invisible barrier. But then Steve took a step closer. It had been a while since they had seen each other, and he couldn't help that there was a warmth that stirred in his chest. Even if they were just friends now. He didn't want things to be weird. They had been through too much together at this point.

❝You're one of the only people that I can talk to about what went down over the summer.❞ Yes, he had Dustin and his crew. He had Robin, but she was new to this and any time they talked about it, she was bombarding him with questions that he had no answers to. ❝And - and I know that before I sorta avoided talking about things, which wasn't good - but maybe - I was thinking - it might be helpful.❞ He was rambling, which was not his goal for smoothing things over for a friendship between them, so he looked back up at her hopefully.

[onespvrk]

closed starter for @desastreorcalamite (stefanie sylvana)

"what even are daddy issues? just traumatize your father back." steve threw back the rest of his beer, frustrated over the big fire he'd been at before the end of his shift "like ours was shit but we didn't try to burn down the entire town because of it! and they were proud of what they did, gloating to the guards about it." he huffed "at least the building was empty. enough about my day, how was yours stef?"

[cheer-nympho]

Demon Eddie this, Demon Eddie that…take a minute to picture Demon STEVE

Theres so much fun to be had with that. Maybe that’s how he got to the top, favours and exchanges

People come to him with requests and they don’t know how, but he always gets it done.

And then they owe him.

It becomes a thing for him to jokingly go “you owe me!” With a big smile, but they literally do. And he always cashes in, but usually just for small things he wants in the moment. Like a spare cigarette or a drink at a party.

And hey! Maybe Eddie DOES try to summon demons…

And one night, after he’s playing dress up as a satanist, he finally manages to summon one successfully.

Not that he knows that, all he knows is that Steve Harrington is knocking on his door all of a sudden.

Stupid puffy hair and goofy grin staring at him while he leans in.

“You called?”

And Eddie looks towards the phone slowly and back to Steve. Because no, no he didn’t.

He’s too tired and high to even pretend to be polite, just shutting the door in his face before leaning against it with a deep sigh.

But when he opens his eyes, Steve is stood there. In his trailer. As if Eddie didn’t just block his only way in and- okay, yeah. His eyes are fucking red.

He probably shouldn’t have used that book.

[tubesock86]

an ode to matching heart patches

[rayofsunshinc]

Steve glanced at Jonathan, noticing the subtle shift in his demeanor. Despite his own surprise that this had come up, he masked it with what he hoped was nonchalance — a shrug. ❝I could give it a shot.❞ He offered a warm smile too.

He was grappled with a mix of curiosity and nerves at the idea. He liked attention, sure, but he found that he liked the attention he was getting from Jonathan. He thought that it might have to do with the fact that Jonathan was so different from him. He was cool in a different way than Steve was, and maybe a bit mysterious. It made Steve want some kind of approval from him.

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ☪︎ . *. ⋆ HE TRIED NOT TO LET HIS surprise show at the other's admission; he always assumed steve would be interested in something like modeling, any opportunity to show himself off and get others to stroke his ego. perhaps he wasn't the same person jonathan assumed he was. maybe he was even AWKWARD behind the camera, needing some time to himself after a long, stressful day.

❝ ... i'm guessing i'm just thinking ... would you want to model for me sometime ... ? ❞ he'd been bracing himself to get this question out of his system, and the efforts were now only doubled waiting for steve's response. he's begging the lump in his throat to go down, not wanting the other to see just how APPREHENSIVE he was.

[pinkie-quinns]

(posting some old twitter threads here for posterity's sake)

Chrissy and Eddie breakup. She's a lesbian, apparently. Has finally come to terms with it. It's half a decade of Eddie's life in the dust. He... he doesn't exactly handle it well.

But Steve's there for him, offers Eddie a shoulder to cry on.

They’re drunk when Eddie says no one’s ever been in love with him. Not really. So Steve kisses him.

But Eddie’s straight.

He always has been.

He freaks the fuck out. Bolts. Lets the calls go to voicemail. He’d lost his partner and one of his best friends in the span of a week and it’s not fair and he’s pissed off beyond belief at Steve for doing it. 

But he’s also confused. And he also can’t stop thinking about it. 

He stews on it for weeks. Avoids mutual friends like the plague. The band lets people know he’s alive, apparently. Between losing Chrissy and Steve, he feels like there are chunks of him missing. So he gets drunk. Hooks up with blondes who kiss him all wrong. 

He’s five whiskeys deep and when he finds himself banging at Steve’s door. Steve answers with his hair mussed and his voice sleep-rough. And Eddie tells him he’s really fucking pissed at him. And Steve apologizes again. And it should be enough but it’s just fucking not. 

So Steve apologizes again and again and again, all blubbery and guilt-ridden. It's only making Eddie more angry. And he doesn’t know why. And he’s too drunk for this shit.

So he shoves Steve against the door and kisses him stupid. 

He wakes up in his own bed the next morning and he's sure he dreamt it. (He’s been dreaming it a lot lately.) But his lips are all stubble-scrapped and his mouth is cotton but he remembers how his friend's tongue tasted and he just.. Wants to cry.

Cause he’s not gay. He’s not. Other people are. Most of his friends are. And he’s fine with that! He’s been a good ally.

Well, maybe not to Chrissy. But only cause it broke his goddamn heart. Only cause he loved her so much. Only cause he'd never felt that way about anyone before or anyone since.

Except well— Fuck. Shit fucking fuck.

So he calls her. He’s kind of hoping it’ll ring through but she picks up straight away, lets out a soft little hey. And it breaks his heart all over again to hear her voice. But he takes a breath and says, “I kissed Steve.”

And she pauses. “You kissed Steve?"

And then he says, “Well, he kissed me first. But yeah. I got drunk. Jeez Chris, I got wasted. And then I— yeah, I kissed him.”

And she's quiet for a long time, just soft breathing and static. Then she says, “Thank you for telling me, Eddie.”

And oh. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?

So they talk about it. All of it. And he really listens to her this time. He couldn’t the last time, couldn’t hear over the sound of his heart fuckin’ shattering. Then he’s the one blubbering apologies cause his girl was going through all this shit totally alone and he is now way too familiar with how bad it sucks.

And then they talk about It. The big It. All the stuff her mama drilled into her brain since she was in diapers. All the names that got spat at him between hall shoves. Shit they couldn’t be 'cause then they’d be wrong, shit they couldn’t be 'cause then they’d be right. 

And when they’re done and the conversation turns into How’s the band? and Is Marcel still driving you crazy? Eddie feels ten pounds lighter, almost whole again. Like he was but better, all glued together in gold. Well, almost altogether.

He really needs to talk to Steve. 

He knocks on his door again that night. This time not at 1 AM, this time sober and remarkably dehydrated.

And Steve answers. This time put together, this time hair done and voice in its day pitch (Eddie kinda misses the sleep rasp). And he looks.. fuck. He looks perfect, doesn’t he?

Eddie’s spent all day mulling this conversation over. But standing here now he’s coming up blank. He mutters, “I- I was an asshole.”

Steve opens his mouth but Eddie just trucks on.

“–you were an asshole too, man. But me, uh, probably more?” 

And he ignores the way his stupid traitor eyes start to water, always do when the moment feels too big. “–Sorry about that. Sorry that I freaked, sorry that I was pissed at you for the shit I was just pissed at myself for. Sorry for, uh. Yelling at you. Sorry, um. Yeah. Sorry for kissing you. That definitely wasn’t cool. It’s been uh... a confusing month. Shit. I’m so sorry Steve.”

Steve just leans against the door. Normally he wore everything on his face. Couldn't win Texas Hold 'Em to save his life. Not now though. Now it feels like Steve could have a sleeve full of aces and Eddie wouldn’t know a thing.

But then he says “Eddie” so quiet it sounds like he hadn't even meant to. Like it just slipped onto his tongue.

Eddie can’t do anything but blink, “Yeah?”

“Let me um-” Steve swallows, “Let me get this straight. Where’d you land?”

God, this shit was humiliating, “Not that. Straight. Not straight.”

“Ok. Cool.”

“Yup.”

“And me–” Steve scratches at the back of his neck, “where did you land on me?”

Eddie feels like he’s gonna explode. But he can’t bolt. Not again. Even though every bone in his body wants to. So he plants his feet, coughs, “Well, I pretty much assaulted you, didn’t I?”

Steve rolls his eyes, snarks a laugh. “Sure. Yeah. I’ve been totally gone on you since, I dunno, forever. You were straight. You were basically married to your high school sweetheart. All it took was one of those things no longer being true for me to totally nosedive. But sure, you threw yourself at me.”

This was. It was a lot. 

“Steve–”

Steve waves a hand, stops him. “‘No one’s ever been in love with you. Not really.’ That’s what you said, dude. Meanwhile, shit, cards on the table here? Every relationship I’ve had in the last five years has been a pointless attempt to get over you. So yeah, it was weird to hear, Eddie.” 

Steve won’t look him in the eye. His neck is craned towards the ceiling.

Eddie whistles through his teeth, “Maybe, uh… maybe give me a bit more time?”

“Oh.” Steve finally glances up. His poker face is all gone. He looks like a kicked puppy. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“I’ll probably just need a week or two? I mean, fuck man, that’s a whole other, like Phylum of pornography I’ve been missing out on for the last 25 years. I gotta get myself acquainted before I can, you know–” He reaches out, rubs at Steve’s bicep with a wink, “Get myself Acquainted.”

Steve’s whole body is shaking. Eddie can feel the relief flitting out of him. “Jesus Christ, Munson.”

“Then I’ll take you out, Harrington! Show you the town.”

“Dude, will your dick even work at that point?”

“On the first date?” Eddie gasps, “Lord Harrington, how improper!”

Steve just shrugs, “Rules are different for guys.”

“What? Wait seven years and then hope you land a sexuality crisis?” Then Eddie’s leaning in, closing the space between them. Trying to ignore the pounding in his chest, thinks maybe he's never been so terrified. 

Steve smiles into the kiss. “Yeah, Munson. It's something like that.” 

[ghast1yghosts]

Eddie wakes up with a start. Sitting straight up, hairs raised on the back of his neck, soaked in a heavy layer of sweat, scars aching, and his breath uneven. Before he's even fully awake and conscious, he's already up and dialling a phone number.

It's not even one he knows by heart, Henderson, Byers, wheeler or Sinclair; it's one he has written on a post-it tucked into the side of the landline.

He finally has his breath back, but now he's panicking for a different reason, as one Steve Harrington answers at the dead world of 3:24am. He can't speak, the nightmare coming back in violent waves, but Steve knows it's him anyway. Voice slightly groggy as he asks if Eddie needs him to come over, not if he's okay, because he clearly isn't. After a beat, Steve doesn't get a reply other than ragged huffs of air; he tells him he's on his way.

"I'll be there in 5, 10 tops- and I hear your head telling you to feel guilty, but do listen to it. Okay?" the okay in reply is breathy and barely there as Steve hangs up.

Eddie's curled in on himself on top of the covers when Steve gets there, the door left unlocked. The quiet click as it latches makes him snuffle a sob that threatens to escape his throat. Steve doesn't say anything when he walks in; he just lays beside him and wraps his arms around Eddie's trembling body. Quiet whispers of reassurance fill his room as he presses his head to Steve's chest, ear over the steady thud of his heart.

They end up under the blankets, tangled together, holding each other as their breaths even out, and they peacefully sleep till noon.

[loserharrington]

steve and argyle as a duo would be so…. argyle would never be outright rude to someone but he would be LOUDLY passive aggressive and steve has no problem telling someone to their face that he’d kill himself to get them to stop talking. it’s like good cop bad cop except they’re both bad cop

[livwritesstuff]

Middle-aged Steve, Eddie, Robin, and Nancy definitely have a group chat once Apple introduces it. They actually love it because it makes it way easier to stay in touch while Robin and Nancy travel.

Steve and Eddie's three daughters are usually the main topic of conversation.

As is the case one morning in October 2013:

Steve: Which one of you got my children to call froot loops gay cheerios

His text is accompanied by a video taken in their kitchen that starts with Steve, behind the camera, asking, “Wait - what did you guys want for breakfast?”. Robbie and Hazel giggle from their seats at the counter as they respond, “Gay cheerios, please,“ and “yeah, gay cheerios.”

Steve's long sigh is cut off when the video ends.

Nancy: Not me.

Steve: I know

Eddie: definitely not me

Eddie: Apple Jacks are way gayer than froot loops

Robin: ???

Robin: in what world are Apple Jacks gayer than Froot Loops?

Steve: Okay so it was Robin

Steve: Great work team

[rayofsunshinc]

Steve continued working on scrubbing a new spot clean, and as he did, he listened to Ester's words. It was painful to listen to, almost made him uncomfortable, like he was listening to something he shouldn't have been. He pushed through it though, trying to find some words. That was normal things that people did. She shouldn't have felt guilty. ❝Don't be so hard on yourself. No one plans for this to happen.❞ Steve said. ❝I don't know Eddie like you do, but ... I think that he wouldn't really blame you for doing what you wanted. He was a free spirit, ya know? He wouldn't want you to blame yourself for something you can't change.❞ He hoped that he hadn't overstepped.

At the mention of the graffiti, Steve does manage to crack a smile. ❝Yeah, he would probably think it was cool. He'd definitely want to take a picture of it and make an album cover.❞ He glanced over at Ester, catching the sad sort of smile. He looked back at the grave, pleased with the spot that he had managed to clear. There was still work to do, but if he was helping Ester to have someone to talk to about Eddie, he would keep at it. ❝People are assholes. I know, because I've been one.❞ He confessed. He wanted to make things right, in some way.

“It’s really weird… I mean we’re twins and we were supposed to do everything together. We had our birthdays together and- well we hadn’t been doing a lot together lately. I went off to college and made other friends and did other stuff. The first year I came home all the time but after that I thought I was too cool to drive home on the long weekends.” Esther hates herself for being behind like that. Has it really been worth it? Sure she had gone to a few extra college parties and had some fun times with friends but she could have spent that time with Eddie. Every moment she wasn’t back in Hawkins had been wasted; it was more time she could have had with her brother. Why couldn’t she have just gone home more? Now they would never do anything together again now the closest she could get to him was coming to scrub graffiti off his gravestone.

She stops scrubbing and reaches out to put a hand on the gravestone. She had hoped she would feel some connection to him here but she didn’t. To her this was just some place not where she could be with her brother. “You know he actually would’ve found the graffiti and shit to be so funny. I can hear him now saying add some 666 or upside down crosses make all the normal people squirm or whatever.” She smiles a little before reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m just doing it for our Uncle. I know he visits 5 or 6 times a week and I don’t want him to see this. It isn’t fair for him to see people calling Eddie these cruel names.”

[allyricas]

i went from purposefully filtering any omegaverse stuff to...thinking up scenarios about omegaverse steddie wtf these two have control of my brain ratatouille style and instead of cooking, they make me daydream and then write silly ideas about them all the time.

anyways season 3 au where getting tortured causes steve to present as an omega but it's like the worst timing ever! thank god recently presented alpha eddie munson is around to step in. make it omegaverse fated mates protective eddie... all the good shit.

i keep imagining eddie, a guy that would absolutely would run away from danger 99 percent of the time, fighting against interdimensional monsters and billy hargrove because um, no one is going to fucking touch steve because that is his omega.

and of course, the whole time steve can barely restrain himself from crawling all over eddie. steve has never wanted someone so badly... poor eddie's fighting his urges but ...he can smell steve, smell how much steve wants him.

the second everything settles down and steve is medically cleared, he carries him away and takes care of him, tends to his wounds, helps him clean up and feeds him. then of course, they make sweet love and never leave each other's side again basically.

[rayofsunshinc]

STARTER FOR @hawkinshellraiser from Steve H.

Steve's arms were outstretched and both of his hands were resting on the steering wheel. They were still parked in front of Eddie's place though. Hanging out with Eddie Munson was something that he never would've thought he would be doing, but apparently circumstances had changed things from normal. He wasn't just hanging out with Eddie, he was practically jumping at any chance there was to be around him.

❝I'm better at avoiding problems until they just go away.❞ Steve said, glancing over at Eddie. ❝So, yeah, I haven't had any big revelations about what happens next.❞ He wasn't exactly proud of it, but for the most part, Steve had been entirely avoiding thinking too much about everything that had gone down. He pushed on, doing what he could to help still yet. It was kind what he had been doing for the past few years.

❝You okay?❞ He tried to ask casually, but as he dared to look over at Eddie, and keep his eyes on him for longer than just a brief glance, he knew that there was concern filling his features. He looked long enough to get that stirring in his chest.

[hunnybuttons]

Before the Upside Down, Steve Harrington could sleep like the dead. Once he laid his head on the checkered pattern pillow, Steve would be oblivious to anything happening in the world around him as he found solace in his dreams.

Steve would never admit it to Tommy H or Carol, but his dreams were his only safe place. In Steve's dream world, he wasn't the son to absent parents or the perfect King Steve; he was whatever version of himself that would've never been allowed around the Harringtons or the population at Hawkins High. Steve was comforted by the anonymity that was created as he slept till an alarm or the sunlight peeking through his curtains woke him.

Before the Upside Down, Eddie Munson would laugh as he told the rest of Corroded Coffin about how much he slept during the weekend. But, groan when Uncle Wayne stomped into his bedroom at 4pm wondering, "Boy, since when did you become a vampire?"

Basically, Eddie found it hilarious that he could sleep 16 hours a day and still go to bed at 9pm every night. One thing about Eddie Munson before that fated afternoon with Chrissy Cunningham, he could sleep like a corpse and never worry about sleep avoiding his clutches. Because as Uncle Wayne or a member of Corroded Coffin could tell anyone, Eddie loved to sleep and would theoretically kill anyone who tried to disrupt his slumber.

After the Upside Down, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington found solace in one another as they struggled to remember who they were before circumstances led them to emotional, mental, and physical scars. Steve could no longer find comfort in his dream world as it replayed his most traumatizing moments from the last couple of years. Eddie could no longer sleep like the dead since he actually knew what it felt like to lay limp and face death.

Eddie and Steve stare into one another's eyes as they share a pillow in Steve's massive bed. Eddie whispers to Steve about how envious he is of his past self as he dramatically recounts Uncle Wayne's stomps or Corroded Coffin's scoffs. As Eddie spoke, Steve wonders if Eddie could be trusted with his deepest secrets about who he wishes he could be.

As Eddie's giggles fade into the dark of the night, Steve clears in throat and begins to tell Eddie about the lack of safety he has felt since turning 12 and being handed bundles of money that were to be budgeted until his parents came back home from whatever business trip Jonathan Harrington needed to attend. Steve mumbles about Tommy and Carol, or anyone else, never being able to fill the hollow space that was this mausoleum of a house until Dustin Henderson hijacked Nancy's roses and forced Steve to go on a wild demo dog chase. With a smile that actually reaches Steve's eyes, he tells Eddie how he finally knew what a mutual love felt like when Robin refused to get a new job without Steve.

Eddie desperately wants to read between the lines and believe himself to be someone who brought something into Steve's life. The begging words he sends up to whatever universal force doesn't want to continue fucking his life are interrupted as Steve looks Eddie in the eyes and admits, "Eddie Munson, you brought light and noise into my life."

Steve Harrington never understood how significant it was to feel the sun on his skin until Eddie woke up from his coma after his encounter with the bats, and begged for the blinds in his hospital room to be opened. Eddie's smile changed as he adjusted to the new scars on his skin, but Steve has never seen something so beautiful in his life.

Steve flinched in noisy environments when he remembers how angry his father would get if Steve existed too loudly. But, since Eddie took Steve to the middle of nowhere and convinced him to just scream, Steve has found himself seeking out music that taught him to release his emotions instead of pushing them further and further down.

Steve Harrington finally found safety in the real world when Eddie Munson whispers, "Stevie, please let me kiss you."

[flowercrowngods]

based on an idea i had about steve getting a bad migraine from the sudden bloodloss after kas feeds from him

post-canon, steddie don't like each other, hermit kas, depressed brain injury steve, kinda gloomy, anxiety & compulsions

Steve cuts the engine with a sigh, feeling heavy and alien, like a lone survivor in a ghost town. He’s not a lone survivor, and Hawkins isn’t technically a ghost town because there’s still enough of them here to build it back up or to watch it crumble and cave in on itself, front row seats to the fourth wave of destruction. 

Maybe the real ghost is Steve, actually, floating through his days just waiting for his brain to decide it’s had enough. Just waiting for the perpetual ringing in his ears to rise in pitch and frequency and for his skull to fucking crack open from the never ending waves of the never ending buzz.

Robin asks him about it a lot, notices how he will stop and listen to his body on every inhale that feels slightly wrong, or every movement that’s just a little too fast or just a little too sudden, the blood rushing into his head or out of it, the doctor’s words ringing in tune with the tinnitus: You watch that head of yours, young man, and do not hesitate to call emergency services when the headache won’t stop after a few hours, or when anything feels off, you hear me? 

The truth is, he barely heard him then. Blood was roaring in his ears, the tinnitus still quiet, but his hearing still dull from impact and screams and shock wave after shock wave of the world sewing itself back together. 

He sighs again, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel and trying to catch his breath. Taking stock of his head, the heartbeat he can only feel in his hands right now and nowhere near his temples, and the quiet little tap tap tap of his finger nails hitting the leather, wanting to make sure he can hear it. Wanting to make sure he doesn’t imagine the sound. 

Always fucking needing to make sure. 

Soon, he breathes a little steadier, convincing himself that getting out of the car won’t be the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s so stupid, too, that fear, all that anxiety living inside him just waiting to boil and spill over until he does something stupid just to spite it.

The cool breeze hits his face, working in tandem with his calming breaths to alleviate his obsessive thought spirals, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he does nothing but breathe for a minute there. 

He’s up. He’s standing. He can walk through the forest to the vamp’s hiding place, it’s fine. It’s fine. Although standing so suddenly makes him aware that he hasn’t eaten much today, too busy hating everything about this town and helping to rebuild it anyway. 

Forgetting to eat and drink is another thing that’s new to him. There’s quite a few things he forgets a lot, but those are the worst. Robin is always on his ass about that, but at some point he stopped telling her. It feels like he’s stopped telling her a lot of things. Maybe that’s something else that comes with severe brain injury, young man. 

He feels plenty guilty about it at least — but not enough to tell her about all the horrible things that are happening to him, or the horrible things he thinks are happening to him. The Upside Down is gone, Vecna is dead. These bad thoughts, they’re all him. But knowing that doesn’t fucking help.

Pushing away from the car and turning around to lock it, Steve decides to wallow in self pity no longer and to just get on with it. As much as he hates it. As much as part of him wants to just go home and claim that he forgot about that, too. 

It’s no secret that Steve never liked Eddie. The boy’s a hypocrite, he’s loud, he’s annoying, and he just likes to shame people as publicly as possible, spitting proclamations of conformity and sticking it to the Man while at the same time turning anarchy into despotism under the guise of rebellion — and he’s the dictator. 

Or, he was. And Steve never cared about him or his larger than life attitude that was worse than any of the smiles Steve ever wore to fit in in high school. Steve mostly ever just wanted Munson to shut up and eat his lunch, stop pretending he’s better than any of them just because he liked different things.

Although it wasn’t even about liking other things, it was only ever about disliking. And shaming and denouncing. Steve always wondered what kind of a miserable life that dude must have lived, shaping himself not from what he liked but from what he hated. Creating an identity that left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth because it was so fragile and contradictory and, frankly, so fucking annoying. 

Still, he’d never wished for Munson to get involved in all of this. He’d never wished for the man to die. And then to come back only to be turned into some kind of vampire, doomed to live an even worse existence than he did as a human, hidden away in some shabby cabin. 

Steve feels a little bad for him now. For Eddie. Or Kas, as the kids like to call him because he never reacts to his name anymore, more monster than human these days, although Dustin is sure they can domesticate him into becoming his old self again. 

“Like Dart, remember?”

“Dude, don’t compare our friend to your sick little creature.” That was Lucas, affronted and annoyed. Steve could relate, although… 

“You gotta admit, he’s kind of a sick little creature himself now.” 

“Steve!” they’d both yelled, and Steve just playfully shoved their heads back before going to grab a coke from the fridge.

And Kas, because vampires are apparently a thing even after the end of the world, needs blood to survive. The forests are void of animals most of the time, like nature has decided to give Hawkins an ultimatum before returning and the day hasn’t come yet. Maybe it’s something to do with electromagnetic fields, or maybe it was something else entirely leading them all to safety while Hawkins was turned into a war zone. Either way, there is nothing for him to feed here. 

Kas can’t just stalk around the woods at night and drink up a deer or two. Nor can he go rob the blood bank at the hospital, they’re running low as it is anyway. That left them all with only one option that Mike so disgustedly pointed out back then: Kas needs their blood. And Steve feels just bad enough for him to play along. 

So now he is out here playing blood bank for the monstrous version of a guy he never even liked, and his hometown is in shambles, and his head might actually sign the fuck off at any moment now, apparently. 

Things are going great. 

Saving the world is just… really fucking isolating. 

Still he has no choice but to announce his presence with a firm knock on the door, the pattern easy but memorable. 

“This is Steve,” he adds as his hand falls to his side, waiting. 

Kas always takes a while to come out and open the door, hiding away from any noise like a feral cat. Steve can kind of relate — he and Kas don’t have the best relationship either. He has no idea how sudden vampirism works, but just like feral cats will be able to tell when someone wants to hurt them and when instincts should be kicking in, Kas seems to realise how little Steve wants to be here and help him. How little he wants to have his blood sucked out of his body leaving his limbs to feel numb and uncomfortably tingly. 

Eventually, though, the door opens with a creek, just enough for a pair of eyes — too large, too wide, too wild — blink back at him. Steve just lifts his eyebrows, really kind of not in the mood to deal with this barely human vampire and his absolute lack of learning curve about this situation.

When he’s sure Kas has blinked at him for long enough now, he pushes open the door and shoves inside rather roughly, immediately feeling bad when he hears the slight whimper. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets again and trying not to grimace at the stale, disgusting air in the cabin. “Jeez, you really gotta open a window every once in a while. Thought vamps were supposed to have heightened senses or some shit.” 

Kas growls at him, mirroring Steve’s move and shoving past him this time, his shoulder slamming into Steve’s with painful strength. Glowering at the stupid vampire, he rubs at his shoulder before crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Listen, buddy, I can just leave and have you deal with your hunger, okay? No big deal for me, I even get to keep my blood.” 

Kas snaps at him, showing his fangs and crossing his arms, too; a laughable copy of Steve’s own stance. 

“Or you could just cut the crap and get on with it so I actually can leave again without taking shit from the peanut gallery. Your choice.” 

The huff that follows is so indignant, Steve wonders if that could be what gets Kas out of Munson’s body and let the human win over the monster. Maybe indignation and annoyance is what will break the spell eventually, lift the curse just enough for Munson to get back into his old habit of monologising and spouting nonsense out of that big mouth of his. 

Steve is half tempted to try, but he really does want to just go home and lie on his large couch with no sensory input whatsoever, tuning out the world and his anxieties that might be about to turn into compulsions just for him to gain a little control over everything again. So he squares his shoulders and takes off his jacket before tilting his head to the side, allowing Kas full access to his neck. 

It’s always a little scary but still oddly fascinating, filling him with that same rush that came with witnessing all the supernatural shit over the past few years. Kas is the last remnant of all that, and somehow, buried beneath piles of rubble and trauma and the teenager he had to give up on being, Steve feels weirdly protective of that. 

Not of Eddie. Of Kas. Of the monster that lies dormant. Of the last bit of danger in his life, because he doesn’t know how to live without it anymore — so much so that he has to make it up.

Maybe it’s a symptom of his self destructive tendencies, as Robin would call it. But Steve might be as fascinated with the vampire as Robin is with fire; so she doesn’t get to have a say in this.

There is always a strange intimacy in the way Kas approaches him. Slowly, carefully. Like a hunter his prey. Steve doesn’t feel like prey, not really, but a part of him wants to. A part of him needs to be prey again, if only for those instincts that manifest with a perpetual tremor and a restless feeling in his chest to be of use again. If only so he can have a point again. Something to fight that’s outside oh his own head. 

Now, his point is standing still entirely and feeling those chapped but warm lips trail up and down his throat a little before Kas finds the right spot that won’t really hurt Steve, the right spot that will make it all go by quickly and without any hiccups. 

Still he shivers, like always, and Kas holds him close when he finally bites down. Like always. 

He stands motionless as he feels his blood flow alternating, rushing in his ears and his head, his heart thump-thump-thumping, putting up a fight against the strange intrusion. He hardly even breathes at all, focusing instead on his body and burying his finger nails in his palm for five seconds before releasing his hands and repeating the process three times before he gets it right. 

But then his head is pulsing, his heartbeat slowing down as his vision briefly blacks out in the same way it does when he gets up too quickly, and his heart falls. It’s too much. Too sudden. 

“Kas,” he says, but the vampire doesn’t hear him, drinking more and more of the blood that must be so thick with how little he’s had to drink today — something he only just remembered. “Kas,” he says again, more urgently this time; but still the vampire drinks. 

And where before Steve had a clear vision of the door in the dark room — the light of day streaming in through the cracks and framing it almost mystically —, it’s spotty now. Just slightly off. Like something is missing but his brain is working overtime to complete the picture anyway, reducing the blind spot to merely an illusion. But Steve knows what’s happening. He knows what the sudden pulsating of his head means, especially when it’s followed by his vision just going AWOL on him.

No, he thinks as the situation really settles in, and he begins to push Kas away. Not like it matters anyway now; the damage is done. No, no, no, no, fuck! 

He frantically shoves at the vampire now, blinking against the blind spot even though he’s painfully aware it won’t help. Kas breaks away from him, wiping his mouth and smearing his face and the back of his hand with Steve’s blood. If he looks just right, he can’t even fucking see it. 

Heart falling further, Steve buries his hands in his hair and pulls, hoping that by some kind of miracle he can just pull the migraine out of his head before it can really settle. It’s his only chance. He can’t drive like this, he shouldn’t walk like this, and soon he won’t be able to do anything at all. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” be hisses, hearing the edge of desperation in his own voice and caring very little about that right now. 

Kas is on him again in a second, and Steve waves him off, tries to shove him away but the vampire is stronger and persistent. 

A high keening sound builds in Kas’s chest, and Steve knows he doesn’t really speak, doesn’t really use his words, ever — maybe he doesn’t know how. But the keening sounds more like a whine, and the way he pulls at Steve to look at him is as much an indicator of worry as he’s going to get.

But Steve doesn’t want Kas’s hands on him, wants to just get out and away before the pain comes. So he takes another step back and holds up his hands, hoping that the vampire will just fucking take a hint. 

A little too quickly and a little too frantic, Steve shakes his head, his eyes flitting about the room to see if there’s still pieces of it missing or if phase two is about to start. He has about twenty minutes left before his body will be composed of nothing but skull-splitting pain that is only equal to someone ramming actual nails into his head — and even that would be preferable right noe, because at least that pain he wouldn’t need to explain. Or justify.

Another keening sound interrupts Steve's burgeoning spiral, and his eyes land on Kas, who really looks like a kicked puppy right now. 

"I gotta go," he says, voice a little unsteady with apprehension and panic, but just as he's about to rush out of the cabin, Kas crosses his path and won't let him move. 

A strong hand lands on his chest, and Steve really, really doesn't want to deal with that right now. He tries again, tries with more force to sidestep and push past him, but Kas won't let him budge. 

"Let me go." But Kas doesn't let up. "Kas. Please. You gotta let me go, I gotta get home, I—“ 

The first flash of white in his peripheral vision catches him off guard, moving his focus away from the clawed hand on his chest and toward the flickering line that cuts through the left side of his vision right now. 

Curious or worried or maybe just really fucking stupefied at having Steve act so weirdly, Kas inclines his head and ducks to catch Steve's eyes. 

"Move," Steve says again, as assertive as he can manage with his brain and body scattered between following the flickering lights that are invisible to everyone else and the pain that is about to consume him, leaving him incapacitated for several hours at least.

Instead of moving out of Steve's space and allowing him to leave, Kas shoves him backwards with that superhuman strength he has now, forcing Steve to stumble back helplessly. Fear rises in him again, and it's a different flavour this time that mixes horribly well with the anxiety and apprehension and all the waves and waves of blinding panic he feels out of nowhere almost all the time now. 

His knees buckle when they hit something rather violently, and then he's falling, landing on the worn couch with a breathless gasp, his instincts running wild. He needs to fight, he needs to run, he needs to get home and be safe and get the fuck away from this monster who won't let him go now. Steve doesn't know Kas as someone who will just take what he wants, but, well, he is Munson, in a way. So that tracks. 

But instead of attacking him, instead of going for his neck again and sucking the rest of his blood, instead of beating Steve to a pulp to keep him pliant and unmoving and turn him into some sort of personal livestock, Kas just... sits down next to him. Hands in his lap. Worried look trained on Steve, who needs to catch his breath and calm down.

"Hurt." 

It startles Steve. Kas has never spoken to him. But what’s more, Steve shouldn't be that obvious. He doesn't want to be that obvious, especially about hurting and being hurt. 

So he shakes his head, his hands coming up to press into his eyes, hoping to get rid of the flickering lights even though he knows that once they stop, the pain will come; and it will come badly. 

"'M not hurt," he says, lying through his teeth and the heel of his hand. "I just gotta go home." 

"Hurt," Kas says again, and it's more assertive this time, less of a question. Like he's telling Steve rather than asking. Like he's making him understand. 

He reminds Steve a little of Robin in that regard, and he almost has to smile. He would, too, if he wasn't so aware that it would become a horrible grimace, wavering and pale even by vampire hermit standards. 

So he sighs instead, letting his hands fall into his lap and wringing his fingers. There are about ten, maybe fifteen minutes left. Not enough to get anywhere safe on foot, and he sure as hell ain't driving when his vision is halfway through its rendition of a TV without signal, zig-zagging in white and red and green, flickering and flaring and leaving him a little disoriented even when all he's doing is sitting on that dusty old couch. 

"Hurt," Kas repeats for the third time, and Steve tenses, ready to snap at him to shut up, that he's not hurt yet but will be any minute now and that Kas should really just shut the fuck up and leave himself if he won't let Steve go anywhere. 

But looking at those wide eyes, he doesn't snap. He deflates. His shoulders fall and his eyes close, which only makes the flickers worse, he feels.

“I’m… I’m gonna have a migraine," he sighs, letting that hang in the air between them, letting the words take up the whole room and suffocate him while he knows that they won't touch Kas. That he won't understand. Nobody does. 

It's just a headache, Steve, get over it. 

They leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and he's just waiting for the huff to come. 

But it doesn't come. Instead, Kas just keeps looking at him; same worried expression, same unobtrusive posture, same everything. Right. He probably doesn't know jackshit about what that's supposed to mean. 

So Steve explains. “I, well. I kinda can't really see right now, but that'll pass. That's when the pain comes. I won't want to move. No light. No noise. No nothing. And all I can do about it is wait it out, which is why I need you to let me leave..." 

It's one of those moments where he hates that he's the only one of their group with a license; that he can't just radio with a code red and have someone come get him no questions asked. 

"I just wanna go home, man," he sighs, hating his voice for the weak whine around the edges. 

A beat passes between them, and Steve pretends like he's not counting the seconds. Like he doesn't notice that the flickering zigzag line is getting smaller and dimmer, and that agony is imminent. 

"Here," Kas says then, and somehow it's both an offer and a command. "You. Here."

Steve blinks, the words not really translating through the tired fog of his brain. 

"Huh? Sorry, uh, what?" 

"You," Kas says, shuffling closer to him, like that sort of helps him translate what it is he wants to say. 

"Me." 

Kas nods, then motions around the room and pats the couch cushion, releasing a cloud of dust from it. "Here."

“You—“ Steve frowns. "You want me to stay here?"

The nod is decisive and in another world Steve would have called it eager, with the way Kas is shuffling on the spot. 

"Kas," Steve sighs, rubbing his face, not quite sure how to make the vampire explain that it's gonna be bad. Really, really bad. The flickering shimmer is already waning, and phantom pains are already setting in, settling along his skull like little pinpricks of warning. 

A clawed hand reaches for his wrist, making Steve flinch away, but Kas doesn't hurt him. He pulls Steve’s hand away from his face almost gently, slowly, and makes sure Steve looks at him. 

"Safe." And he looks so genuine about it. He looks like he knows what that word means. "Safe." 

With a sigh, Steve accepts his fate. Kas isn't gonna let him go anytime soon, and at this point Steve really doesn't want to face the gloomy weather outside, stuck as it is somewhere between drizzle and downpour and so endlessly grey for days. 

Still he feels pathetic about it. Vulnerable. Exposed. Like a last bastion falling, the castle walls crumbling, the fragile house of cards finally falling, because suddenly this agony isn't something he keeps only to himself. 

Even if it's only Kas who witnesses it. Kas, who’s endured worse than that, Steve knows. Brainwashing, manipulation, the agony of shaping human into vampire so excruciating his mind has gone into hiding still. 

"Okay," Steve breathes at last, pretending that his voice didn't break on that single word. "Okay."

Kas hums, the sound resembling more a gurgle than anything else, and before Steve knows what's happening, cold hands are pulling him up and off the couch. 

"Jesus," he mumbles, barely catching his footing and pulling away from Kas's grasp, but following nonetheless, not even thinking about fleeing now. "I'm coming, I'm coming, man, don't touch me." 

Miraculously, Kas does stay away, walking just one step ahead of Steve, turning towards him every two steps to make sure he's still following. It reminds Steve of a mama duck herding her ducklings across the street and making sure they're all still there. It's weirdly endearing. 

"Why do you even care?" 

He doesn't get an answer, but that's no surprise, and he doesn't really mind either. It was more about wondering, about putting that question out there and letting it take up space for future contemplation. 

Kas leads him to an adjoining room, the north-facing windows all barred shut, ripped and moth-eaten curtains drawn to block out the last of the light. Right. Fitting, for a vampire's lair. 

The bed in the middle of the far wall is surprisingly large, though, and looks surprisingly soft. It's unmade, but that's just as well. There are no belongings in the room otherwis that Steve can make out, the framed pictures on the wall look as dusty as the rest of the cabin, so they can't belong to Kas. Or maybe he likes them enough to keep them, to claim them as his own now. 

It’s a heartbreaking thought. 

Stupidly and out of nowhere, Steve wonders if he could take care of this cabin. Dust it and clean it and only fill it with things Kas likes. Maybe things Munson used to like — surely the kids would know how to go about that. Or Wayne. 

He's about to ask; about the pictures, about the stuff, about Wayne — if he's been around lately, if he's still telling stories to bring back the dormant Eddie parts of his modified and manipulated mind.

But just as he's about to turn to the vampire and ask, the blinding flickers disappear from his field of vision in the dark room, and within seconds something inside his skull bursts, leaving his body awash with pain that nearly has his knees buckling. A whimper escapes him that he tries to steer into a groan, but then his hands are flying to his head and he stops caring about how he expresses this immediate agony to the world. 

Kas is on him again with a whimper, suddenly just as fucking tactile as his once-human form. 

“Don’t touch me,” Steve rasps, wrenching himself free from the gasp once more. He really wishes Kas would stop touching him. "You want me to lie down here, yeah? Take your bed?" 

Kas nods again, looking at Steve with those wide eyes that seem to glow in the dark — or maybe that's his migraine-addled mind seeing things where they aren't, making up for the blind spot and the flickering. 

Steve looks away, the motion hurting his entire face, and he closes his eyes as pins and needles are moving along the inside of his face, pricking up against the skin but never breaking through. 

"Right then," he whispers, his voice barely audible and still too loud, making his ears click and pressure collect around them, making him wonder if they're going to burst. "'M gonna lie down." 

Struggling with the heavy blanket, Steve is close to giving up and just lying on top of it, but Kas is quick to help him once he realises that Steve needs it. He pulls back the blanket, still looking so damn stricken about everything, like he's genuinely worried about Steve. It doesn't make sense. 

He doesn't have the strength for a Thanks or even a smile, but he nods just once, just barely, before sluggishly falling onto the bed and fumbling with the blanket once more. Every movement hurts. Every twitch of a muscle is too much, and just moving his pinkie is enough to douse his body in never-ending pain that travels from his skull all the way down.

Something Steve has always wondered is why migraines make his body shut down like that, leaving him in a state where all he can do is lie down and fall into a near-catatonic limbo until the pain has lifted enough to face the rest of the world again. Fighting inter-dimensional monsters and posing as a feast to demonic, modified monster bats was also agony. It also made him lose his footing and almost pass out from blood loss and pain, his back scratched open completely where the bats dragged him across rough stone. 

Migraine pains don't really compare to those, though, and it scares him. Because he knows that's all up in his brain. His fucked up, mangled, thrice-concussed fucking brain he never got cared for because the government goons never took them seriously. Never took him seriously. 

And now here he is, lying in a stranger's bed in a pitch-black room that's still somehow too bright, unmoving, too weak to even pull up the blanket, and hoping to pass out from it all. Hoping he won't hallucinate again this time. Hoping that he won't throw up this time, his body convulsing because it knows it shouldn't be feeling like this. 

Throwing up from pain. There's really nothing more fucked up than that. Or, there is. Throwing up from pain and begging an invisible man to make it stop, only to realise hours later that the most painful migraines can also make you hallucinate. 

He doesn't want that. He doesn't want any of that ever again, and certainly not in a strange, dark cabin with a vampire forged from a human he never even liked. 

Tears spring to his eyes, but they're not the kind that'll fall and bring relief. They just stay in the corners of his eyes, his only way to express the waves and flares of pain washing over him, wishing he could just pass out now. 

Kas tucks him in. Steve didn’t know he could do that. It strikes him as extremely non-vampiric even in this state he’s in. Steve doesn’t react, doesn’t so much as blink his eyes open as the pain travels up to his hairline and settles there, flaring over his forehead to his eyes and down to his cheekbones and then up again, a never-ending motion that he never stands a chance to get used to. 

“Safe,” Kas says again, and it zings through Steve’s body with violent force that doesn’t match at all with the gentle tone he’s using. 

Scrunching his forehead to stave off more words, Steve hopes that Kas will take the hint and know to shut up. 

But he has no such luck. 

“Here.” 

“Shhh.” He shakes his head minutely, shushing the vampire with a barely there noise, keeping the damage to a minimal amount. “You can go,” he slurs, trying not to speak at all. “Please.” 

A beat of blessed, blissful silence, before there’s shuffling again. Kas does walk to the door, but then stops in the doorway. Steve doesn’t want to look. 

“No.” Kas sounds surprised about it. Mystified. Like he wants to leave but can’t. 

What?

“Stay. Here.” 

Whatever you do, just please be quiet about it, Steve thinks desperately. Instead of saying any of that, he shushes him again, hoping that the thump he hears means that Kas is sitting on the floor now. Though he doesn’t understand why. 

Why do you even care? 

“Safe,” Kas says again, whispering the word into the room, and it doesn’t zing through Steve this time. 

With Kas refusing to leave and his pathetic state of existence so blatantly on display, and with waves and waves as his nerves fire signals to his overworked and tired brain, more tears sprint to his eyes. And this time they fall. Silently, and without a sob, without even a sniffle of acknowledgment. But they fall. 

And Steve just wants to go home.

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part 2 here

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to lovers | fame au p6 (final part)

p1 p2 p3 p4 p5 interlude

Steve thinks about second chances, as he walks along Greenwich Ave. He thinks about them when he tosses the wig in a garbage can that reeks of puke. 

And he thinks about them, when Eddie opens the door, eyes catching on the rip in Steve’s jeans, the liner under his eyes. When he lights up & says, “You came.”

Yeah, Steve thinks about second chances.

He offers Eddie a small smile as he walks in, can’t bring himself to acknowledge it all. The world of them. Him going. Eddie playing that song.  What that could mean, like, actually mean. Can’t do it yet.

He likes this place better than the mansion in LA. It’s messy and grungy with stupid, corny shit plastered on the walls. Feels more… Eddie.

They walk out to the balcony. It overlooks a tiny little green space, his neighbors’ homes. Eddie lights a cigarette and offers one to Steve. Steve quit years ago. Eddie knows that now. He takes it anyway. 

“Last tour I sold out Madison Square Garden and now I sell out Forest Hills.” Eddie’s chuckling, “Like I’m back at the trailer park.”

Eddie’s third album didn’t do the numbers his first two had. So they’d downsized, just a little.

Steve sighs, he didn’t fly all the way out here to coddle his ex, “It was a good show, Eddie.” 

“Yeah.” He drags, smiles to himself. “It was a really good show. I’m really glad you saw it, baby.”

Steve cringes, full body shiver. Eddie doesn’t seem to realize what he said, Steve’s sure as hell not gonna clue him in.

“How’d your meeting go?”

Steve tries to play it off. “Good. Pretty good.”

Eddie chuckles again, leans into him that way he always does, like personal space is more of a suggestion than a boundary. A hand brushes his cheek, a light, teasing tap of knuckles, “What’s pretty good, Harrington?”

Steve smiles into it. Can’t help it. “There’s uh… you know that blacklist script I mentioned last month? There’s probably a lead there for me.”

Eddie lights up again, bright and true, “Steve, that’s amazing.”

Steve snorts, “Not jealous?”

“Nah, I’m happy for you ba-” Eddie catches it this time, chokes on his drag, coughs and flounders, “Happy for you, man.” 

Steve’s not sure if he can do this, actually. Can’t face this Eddie. The one whose ego isn’t a storm cloud, who’s okay failing, who’s okay seeing him succeed. Who’s honest and sincere and wants the best for him. Eddie who would lose thousands of fans just to sing Steve’s favorite song. 

Eddie’s eyes are shiny, “But you’ve been good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Good. Keeping busy. I filmed an Amex commercial. Good money. Made my agents happy.” He’s rambling around it. He squints into the dark, drops it casually as he can muster. “I’m gonna start seeing that country singer, probably. The one with that Kansas song? Our people are setting something up.”

Eddie’s face falls, the sun out with a sentence. “What are we doing here, Harrington?”

Steve’s tone is bleary, sheepish, “What?”

“Been losing my mind this last month. Can’t stand not having you around. But you- you’re dating?”

It’s a shrug, it’s all he's got, “Sure.”

Eddie’s hunched, shoulders tight. He talks small. “You told me you loved me. Before you left.”

Steve huffs a breath. The air is cold. “C’mon. You were like, obliterating my brain with your dick. I say impulsive shit like that all the time.”

He doesn’t. They both know that. 

Eddie clicks his teeth, shakes a whisper. “Nah. You don’t.”

Steve falters, trips on his tongue. He finds his voice low and hoarse, he can barely say it, “Please don’t hold me to it.” 

Eddie won’t look him in the eye. He blinks up at the sky, “I love you. For the record. I um, I never stopped. Guess I’ve been pretty obvious about it.”

“Eddie, c’mon. Don’t do this. It’s not fair.”

“Date Dorothy.” His laugh is glacial. “I don’t mind. It won’t be real, right? Those things never fucking are.”

“I don’t know– it could be.” The ground’s falling under Steve’s feet. “Down the line, or whatever.”

Something cracks, crumples. “I had you. God fucking damnit. I had you and I–”

Steve’s not expecting the sobs until they happen. Flemmed and shaky and pathetic. Those brown eyes silver-wet like moons. 

Eddie pushes his palms into his cheeks. “Sometimes, after you leave, I just stare up at the ceiling and try to invent like, time travel or something. Just to go back and slap the shit outta myself. I was a goddamn coward. Couldn’t face it. Could talk around it, sure. Write it into my songs like that was honest. But, nah, I couldn’t look in the mirror. Definitely couldn’t look at you. I’m facing it now. I need you to know that. It won’t fix all shit I did, won’t fix the stupid fucking way I tried to fix it the first time. It’s there, it’s out, hell, it’s goddamn double platinum.” He sputters it out miserable, “But I am trying. Even if this– if we can’t. Need you to know I’m facing it now. I want to be better.”

Then Eddie looks right at him, looks at Steve like looking is enough to break his heart. “And I don’t wanna be selfish anymore cause it’s poison, Steve. But fuck. I know I don’t deserve it but if you’ll have me, I’ll– I’m there. Whatever way you’ll take me.”

“Eddie.” Steve doesn’t know why he’s here. Why he keeps digging this wound, ripping out stitches.

“Please? Can’t walk away again. Don’t have it in me.”

“Yeah.” Steve laughs. “You only do that when it’s easy.”

Eddie flinches. Shoves a ringed hand into a pocket. “Too late, huh?”

Steve scratches the back of his head and turns on his heel, “We can’t keep doing this.”

He gets as far the kitchen. Eddie quicksteps in front of the counter, blocks his out. But he’s cowering, ducking his head. “Did you um, like the song?”

It swells up all at once, that bone-deep cruelty of it. A gust turned tsunami. “Not really, Ed. Kinda broke my fucking heart.”

“Shit,” Eddie clicks. “Yeah, I, um, I’m not all that good at the grand gesture thing. Probably should have figured that out by now.”

Steve lets it all in. The red that’s been thrumming through his body since this whole thing started. Lets it possess him. He pushes into Eddie’s space, callous and cruel. “You’re really fucking me up, here. Do you know that?”

“I– I’m not trying to.” Eddie blinks. Frustratingly earnest. 

“What we’re doing– Whatever this is. It makes me feel pathetic. I’d be the dumbest asshole on the planet if I took you back.” He’s screaming now. The balcony door is still open. He doesn’t care if anyone hears. He wants them to hear.

Eddie’s lip is shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate you.” Steve murmurs. The red’s coming off in whisps, quicker than it ever had, easier than it should. 

Eddie’s smile is weak. His face is wet. “I know.”

“You ruined me.” He leans in, finds half a punch in it. Last one he’s got. 

Eddie closes his eyes, brow furrowed. “I know.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” He’s tired. Bone tired. Tired of the ache that only ever seems to go away around, well–

Eddie’s guilt is plain. It's all of him. “I’m sorry.”

Steve takes a breath. He thinks about second chances.

“You really want to be with me?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s already burrowed in. Ribs and guts and blood. “Got my priorities way out of whack for a minute there. Jesus, way too many minutes there. But yeah. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.  You’re it for me, Stevie.”

Steve groans, taps his forehead lightly against a shelf. Eddie’s hand lands steady at his arm, awkward and cautious and right. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No.” Eddie says soft. “You’re not.”

“Yeah, I am.” Steve shakes his head. Waves a finger into Eddie’s chest. “You sang Dave fucking Matthews.”

“Don’t remind me, man. They’re gonna start shattering my CDs.” He pauses, sincere as ever. ‘I, uh, wouldn’t take it back though.”

Steve groans again, presses his head into Eddie’s shoulder. “No, you don’t get it. You sang Dave Matthews and now I’m gonna have to call my team and tell them it’s not gonna happen with the country singer.”

Eddie blubbers, big Saturday morning cartoon recalibration. “You’re– what?”

Steve shrugs, catches his eye. “Now I’m gonna have to talk about my coming out journey with Angie at People and dude, she’s been on my ass about it for years. Total sore winner.”

He’s shaking his head, “Harrington… Steve. Stevie.”

But Steve keeps rattling on, “I’m gonna have to tip off the paparazzi that Dark Pines star Steve Harrington was spotted sneaking into Eddie Munson’s brownstone at midnight for a secret rendezvous. Gonna have to go for a jog around the block first thing tomorrow, with like, more hickeys than a teen who just got their first girlfriend.”

“You’ve really thought about this, huh?”

Eddie’s back pushes into the edge of the kitchen counter. And Steve thinks about that photo that forced them together again, about Eddie’s easy grin, about the soft adoration high on his cheeks, about never being so young. He thinks about fucking up and growing up and growing apart and changing. And he smiles against chapped lips that taste like cigarettes and coming home.

And he says, “Gonna have to find someone to give me the hickeys.”

And Eddie lights up like the sun, “I know a guy.”

And Steve, well, he thinks about second chances. 

[viviseawrites]

steve harrington presents as an alpha a month into his senior year of high school, when the weather is just turning crisp for fall. his parents are thrilled—his father keeps talking about the clout it brings to the harrington name and partnerships it might encourage at the office.

steve harrington presents as an alpha, and he knows it’s wrong. he feels it in his bones. when his first rut hits, it's like running into a wall. everything stops. everything hurts. he’s angry about his rut, made angrier by the hormones rushing through him.

he locks himself in his room, tears apart the soft pillows on his bed with too-sharp teeth. he does not deserve soft things, does not deserve gentleness. his rage wanes as the rut comes to an end, and in its wake, he feels empty, like it burned him from the inside out.

nancy says he smells like a forest fire. he sees the way she winces at it, sees how she sometimes raises her upper lip like she means to snarl at him, to rise to a threat. steve never wanted to be a threat.

but when the Upside Down comes back for round two, he puts himself in front of the stupidly brave pups and turns his nail-studded bat against the four-legged demogorgon babies. he plants his feet and knows his scent is billowing around him, aggressive and uncontrolled. and he fights.

after, dustin keeps telling him how cool he was in the junkyard. steve wonders, now. maybe he doesn’t have to be a threat; maybe he can be a protector instead. maybe the rancid, acrid smell of destruction he wears could be a controlled burn. useful. good, even.

he uses it to distract the russians from robin, allows himself to be seen as a more dangerous target and goads them into focusing on him instead. later, in a grimy mall bathroom, robin tells him he reminds her of winter nights spent in front of the hearth with hot chocolate in hand.

it’s warm, she says, smoky but nice and comforting when he’s calm. she says even when he smelled like he wanted to burn the world down in that bunker, she knew she was safe from it, safe because of it. she settles in at his side, all sharp evergreen, and he leans against her.

fire doesn’t have to hurt. alphas don’t have to be violent, untamed, impossible creatures like society claims. and when he comes face to face with eddie munson in a dilapidated boat house, on the wrong end of a broken bottle, he knows he doesn’t have to let his scent flare.

eddie munson smells like rain, like lightning, crisp ozone and petrichor, a storm of an alpha. in appearance, in scent, in attitude, he makes himself larger. but up close, face to face, steve sees his need for shelter, for safety, for peace, and he wants to be that.

against the cold of that encroaching, panicked downpour, steve makes himself a warm light, offers eddie a place to rest. he gives him grace and lifts his chin, bares his throat. surrenders to the deluge.

and when everything is done, after vecna dies and hawkins recovers, eddie approaches him smelling like spring, like new beginnings, soft and gentle and all steve ever wanted.