#steveddie fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starryeyedjanai · 1 year ago

Text

pedal to the metal of your heart

kinktober prompt: olfactophilia | 6.5k | explicit part one here | camboy alpha steve series tags: omegaverse, alpha steve, omega eddie, camboy steve, scent kink

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Steve's freaking out.

That's the only real way to put it.

Robin is no help, as she watches him pacing a dent in the floor and listens to him talk himself in circles about what happened.

It's been days since it happened. Since he innocently opened up a package on his live stream and had it send him into a fucking pseudo-rut.

He can't explain it. He just knows he was doing a silly little thing for his followers and all of a sudden, he's knotting his fist on camera.

He quickly had to get it together enough to end the stream, but it didn't stop there. His dick remained stubbornly hard and he knotted his fist probably three more times during the next day like he was going through puberty again and knotting up during his first rut.

He was out of commission for a few days, first during his unexpected pseudo-rut - not quite as intense or as long as a regular rut, but still - and then the aftermath of being thoroughly unprepared for it. He was dehydrated and grumpy and his dick hurt and he was in a fugue state for another couple of days contemplating what happened.

In his fugue state with his brain still fuzzy, he found the package again - the garments sealed tight in a scent-proof box - and tried to see if he could find whoever sent him the package.

Because having someone's scent send you into rut, even pseudo-rut, is kind of, it's- it means something, right? It has to mean something.

So he examined the necklace he was still wearing and looked up the band on it and he thinks he found the guy, found Eddie.

He messaged him two days ago and he still hasn't heard anything and it's making him so anxious, he's biting his nails again - a habit he kicked a while ago.

"Rob, it's been too long. It's either not him or he doesn't, he doesn't want me or whatever." The thought that his - whoever Eddie is to him - the thought that he doesn't want Steve makes his heart thump loud and sad in his chest.

Robin barely looks up from the magazine they're flipping through and says, "You don't know that. He might not have even seen the message. Or he could be embarrassed that he accidentally made you knot up on camera. You don't know what he's thinking, so you should stop killing yourself over it."

He knows she's right. He knew she was right the first hundred times she's said it to him over the last couple of days, but he's so nervous. He feels like he might have found something that most people don't find, and he doesn't want to start using words like mate, but it's special still, finding someone who can evoke that kind of response in you.

He throws himself onto his bed dramatically and says, "That doesn't actually help. I know you're right, but I'm still anxious about it."

Robin looks at him and pats him on the thigh. "It's going to be okay, you know? No matter what happens, you'll be fine. Just breathe and wait it out. If he doesn't answer in another couple days, maybe it's not him. I can try to help you find whoever it was."

He nods and gets closer. She opens her arms and he buries his face in her hair as she cuddles him. "Thanks, Robbie. You're right. Maybe I was too out of it when I was searching. I was really going through it."

"Oh I know. I have the texts to prove it."

He pulls back and glares at them. "You cannot use those against me."

"I would never," she says, shoving him away. "I just came five times in a row, Rob, send help," she mocks.

He groans, burying his face in his hands this time. "It was so brutal. I never want to go through a rut alone ever again, even a pseudo one. It's never been like that before."

"Poor lil' guy," Robin says, patting his head.

"It's not little, Rob, you've seen it."

"Ough," Robin says. "Don't remind me. Never remind me."

Steve shakes his head, but still says, "Thanks, though, for sending food. The situation was dire and I could not think."

Robin preens at him. "Of course. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't?"

Eddie doesn't get back to him for another couple of days and by then Steve thinks it's a lost cause. The guy either isn't the right person, or he's gun shy about all of this. Steve can't even blame him, really. A lot of people are weird about things like this. Some people don't believe mates exist, so maybe this guy thinks Steve's reaction was fabricated for the views.

He doesn't want to dwell on it, but it sucks. He thinks he maybe found- it doesn't matter, he tells himself.

It'll all be fine. He'll be fine, either way this turns out.

Of course, all of that is utter bullshit because the relief he feels when he sees that Eddie messaged him back is palpable. It's gut deep, like he hasn't been able to relax since he hit send and suddenly all of his muscles are able to relax and stop clenching.

He's in class, bored out of his mind, when he compulsively checks and has to stop himself from outwardly showing a reaction to it. He can't read it in class. He feels like if it's a rejection, Eddie probably wouldn't have even bothered, but if it is, he doesn't want to be in class when it happens.

He immediately gathers up his stuff and leaves the room ten minutes before the lecture ends and makes a beeline for his car. He can read it there. At least then, he'll be able to decide if he needs to go home and wallow or if he needs to treat Robin to lunch to celebrate.

He drops his bag on the passenger seat and pulls out his phone again, surprised he was actually able to hold off on reading it until now.

He takes a deep breath before opening the message.

Hi Stevie, It was my package. I've been kind of freaking out about it since it happened and didn't check to see if I had any messages here. Sorry for taking so long to get back to you. If you need, I can send proof that it's me? I'd love to talk if you still want to. You can message me here or we can take it offline. I promise to check my messages sooner than last time now that I know you'll be messaging me. Hope to talk to you soon, x Eddie

Okay.

Okay, so. So it's him. Probably. It's got to be him because he offered to send proof. He'll probably ask to see the proof anyway because one can never be too sure, but he thinks it's him.

Steve doesn't know what to do next.

He's freaking out too and they haven't even really talked yet. He wants to know everything about him. He wants to know who Eddie is and see him and talk to him and he's absolutely getting ahead of himself, but he can't help it. He's wanted to have this since he was a kid, since he first learned about mates and what they meant. Someone who won't leave.

He wants it so bad he can taste it.

He remembers Eddie's smell, has smelled it probably everyday since, opening up the second scent-proof package that had his shirt in it and smelling it, scenting it in his bed, rubbing his face over the soft material, breathing in Eddie's scent.

He needs to calm down, he realizes, and he loosens the death grip he has on his phone.

He texts Robin, tells them that his- that Eddie sent him a message and that he's freaking out a little bit.

She texts back and talking to her helps calm him down.

He does end up treating them to lunch off campus at a fancy little Italian restaurant.

"You absolutely need to see proof it's him," she tells him when he reads her the message.

"I know. He's got to have pictures with his band logo or something. I'll get proof," he says. "This feels so surreal."

"I bet. Lemme know if you need help crafting a message to him. I know you're going to be spiraling either way, but if I can help-" she says.

"I know, Rob. I'll be fine, I think. I'll let you know."

"Good. And I want to meet this guy. If you're gonna be talking to him or video chatting, I want to vet him."

"You cannot scare him away," he says, looking at her seriously.

She puts her hands up. "I won't! But if he's not good enough for you, I don't give a damn about mates. No one gets to talk to my best friend any kind of way."

His expression softens. They're so protective of him.

"If he's really my mate, he won't just be 'talking to me any kind of way'. He'll be kind," he says, hoping it's the truth.

She hums and they both stop talking as their food arrives.

Later that afternoon, laying on his bed, he crafts a message back to Eddie, asking for a picture of him with his band logo as proof.

He's seen pictures of the band in his quest to find him, but he doesn't know which one is him because he didn't let himself look for too long once he found them.

He asks Eddie to send a picture to his email since the site messaging doesn't allow pictures and his phone dings with an email notification not five minutes later.

He opens up the image and it's a picture of the guy from the band with the long hair, wearing a Corroded Coffin shirt, same logo and everything.

He's cute.

He's really fucking cute.

He breathes out a breath of relief that it's actually him and emails him back with his phone number so they can text. Well, he sends him his Google phone number because Robin's right - he needs to be sure this guy isn't a complete asshole before giving him his real phone number. As much as he wants to jump in feet first, he needs to slow down a little.

Eddie texts him almost immediately after he hits send, just a tentative hi, it's eddie and Steve is hitting the call button before he realizes what he's doing. So much for taking it slow.

"Hello?" Eddie's voice says down the line and Steve tries so hard not to roll over and start kicking his feet.

"Hi Eddie," he breathes out.

"Hi Stevie," Eddie says back and Steve is so fucking glad he was stupid and used his real government name on his Only Fans account if it means he gets to have Eddie saying his name like that.

"So I kind of hit call before I knew what I was going to say. Full disclosure," he says because he doesn't have a plan for how this is going to go.

Eddie laughs. "I figured, considering you called me like thirty seconds after I sent you a text."

Steve pouts a little. "Yeah, that kind of gave it away, didn't it?"

"It's fine. Seeing my picture and then my very unoriginal little hi it's me text and still wanting to talk to me right away is kind of doing something for my ego," Eddie says and Steve just knows he's grinning as he says it.

"I mean, you did send me that text like thirty seconds after I emailed you back, so."

"So we're both a little excited," he says.

Steve sighs. "Yeah, tell me about it. Your scent sent me into pseudo-rut, you know?"

He hears the breath that Eddie sucks in. He says, "Yeah? I- I wasn't sure if it was just the, you know, knot-popping on camera."

"Yeah, that plus some. It was kind of intense," he says, breathing out deeply.

"I bet," Eddie says and Steve shivers a little.

His dick is not going to get hard because of Eddie's voice. It's not.

After talking to him for another handful of minutes, asking first date kind of questions and answering Eddie's question in return, Eddie unfortunately has to get back to work because Steve messaged him during his break and he spent the last twenty minutes of it finding a picture to send and then talking to him.

Steve's heart flutters in his chest as they hang up, with promises to talk again soon.

He wants to text him again already, ask to facetime him and see him as soon as he gets off work. He wants to see his mannerisms as he talks - hearing his voice wasn't enough. He wants- he just wants.

But he doesn't want to scare him off by asking for too much too soon.

He wants to know Eddie on his own terms. He doesn't want to make him feel like Steve is pressuring him or moving too fast.

For someone who chronically goes all in too soon in every aspect of his life, that's going to be a challenge.

They talk a few more times over the phone and they text a lot. Like a lot.

They exchange snapchats and Steve gets little glimpses into what Eddie's life is like. He sends back similar things - his coffee cup showing off what he typically orders, his lunches from the caf, his dinners out with Robin, the drinks he gets him and Robin when they go out on the weekend.

Steve gets all these feelings in his chest when he sees Eddie's name pop up on his phone screen and he's trying so hard not to be too much, to text too much or call too much.

Eddie tunes in when he streams and he feels butterflies in his stomach when he sees his username pop up, just a bunch of heart eyes emojis whenever Steve does something that he particularly likes. (If he tries to isolate what those things are and replicate them so that he sees Eddie's username more, that's his business.)

They've been talking for over three weeks when he suggests what he's been wanting to suggest since the first time they talked.

They've been chatting on the phone a few times a week, usually later at night when Eddie's out of band practice or off work.

Steve's yawning towards the end of their call that night and knows he has to hang up soon if he wants to wake up on time for his class tomorrow, but the idea is in his head again and won't leave.

So he says, "I had an idea. I could send you something of mine, maybe? So we'd know if we're- if it was a fluke, when I went into pseudo-rut." He bites his lip nervously. He doesn't want it to be a fluke, he wants it to have meant something.

He hears Eddie breathe out and he says quietly, "Yeah, Stevie, I think they would be fine. I'll send you my address."

Steve sighs in relief and after they say their goodbyes, he thinks about what he's going to send to Eddie. He already bought the scent-proof bag to send to Eddie - after their first fucking conversation because he's incapable of being chill - so he just needs to pick what he wants to send.

Immediately, his cock starts aching. Thinking about spreading his come on the now, frankly, disgusting pair of panties Eddie sent him and sending it back to him all packaged up and scent-proofed so that when Eddie opens it, he's hit with the smell of their scents tangling together.

The way Steve has been hit with the scent every time he lifts the shirt Eddie sent along with it up to his face when he's getting himself off, their scents mingling in his nose, making him whine and cry out and want.

Is that too much?

Maybe that's too much. Maybe he should just send his own pair of underwear, smothered in his scent, to Eddie. He feels like that would be a little bit less unhinged of him. He doesn't want to come on too strong. He already feels like he wants too much from someone he barely knows.

But his skin buzzes at the prospect of Eddie opening the package from him and having it send him into a pseudo-heat like it did with Steve's pseudo-rut.

God, he needs to find something to come on so that he can jerk off and then send it covered in his come to Eddie.

He finds a clean pair of panties and then wonders if it might be better to just come into the underwear he's been wearing today. They'd smell more like him than laundry detergent. He contemplates for a minute because the underwear he put on today aren't anything special, just black briefs, but he thinks Eddie might appreciate it more if he can smell Steve's scent fully - the smell of his come mixed with the scent he naturally radiates.

He says, "Fuck it," and lays back on his bed and starts stroking himself through his briefs. He'll send Eddie a shirt too, one that he wears often, maybe his sleep shirt, so he can get the full experience.

He lets himself think about it again, about Eddie opening his package and groaning, burying his face in the very briefs he's touching himself through right now. He thinks about Eddie leaking slick, needing to pull out his toys because he needs something inside him after he smells Steve's scent.

He thinks about his slick hole, needing to be filled, over and over until it hurts almost. He thinks about Eddie's undoubtedly pretty cock and how he'd tug on it desperately. He'd come so many times with Steve's briefs pressed up under his nose just like Steve had.

Steve pulls his cock out of his underwear and strokes himself in earnest, twisting his wrist to stimulate the head on every other stroke. He thumbs at the sensitive head and thinks about burying his cock in Eddie's wet hole, thinks about how snug and warm it would be.

He'd fuck Eddie until neither of them could move, exhausted and spent and dripping. He'd fall asleep with his cock still inside Eddie's hole because neither of them could bear to part. He'd love it, waking up hard and still inside him.

He'd take it slow in the morning because they'd be worn out and sore from the day before. He'd fuck him so good and slow, feel his hole spasm around him as he came again, his cock barely spitting out any come. He'd fill him up, press his cock deep inside him and leave him feeling sated and sticky and like he could melt into the bed.

He wants to take care of him, he thinks, speeding up his hand. He wants to worship him, wants to do whatever Eddie wants him to do. He wants Eddie to take what he wants from him, wants him to hold Steve right where he wants him and take his pleasure any way he wants.

He wants Eddie on top of him, pinning him down as he sinks down on his cock. He wants Eddie to whisper in his ear exactly what he's going to do to Steve and how he's going to do it. He wants to feel taken care of, wants to feel held down and caught, weighed down by Eddie's weight on top of him.

His hips hitch up and he knows he's going to come soon, thinking about Eddie telling him what he wants and then taking it.

He shoves his cock back into his briefs so he can come all over the inside of them. He shudders through it, whining because he wants so many things with Eddie. He has to be his mate, he has to be, right? Steve wouldn't want him this much if he wasn't. He has to be.

He comes down slowly, breath evening out. He feels so sticky and gross. He peels his underwear down and immediately puts them in the scent-proof bag he bought.

He lays back down feeling kind of vulnerable. He wants this so bad, probably more than he's wanted most things. Because he's never had a relationship turn out good and he just wants something to be right for the first time.

So if he's found his, his mate - his true mate or perfect match or whatever people are calling it nowadays - he wants to know, so bad.

The anticipation is going to kill him, he thinks.

He sends the package out in the mail the next morning and tries not to think about doing something crazy like driving the three hours it would take to get from Chicago to Indianapolis. That'd be weird, right? Him showing up at the address Eddie sent to him, at noon on a Monday. That would definitely be too much, too soon.

He knows he's in deep when the rationale for not doing it that wins him over is that Eddie might be working and might not be at home in the middle of a work day.

He facepalms and tries to keep it together.

He goes to his classes and ignores the looks Robin gives him when they meet him in the library after class.

It's fine. Everything is fine.

Eddie will get the package in a few days and they'll probably know if it was a fluke or not. (Steve already knows it wasn't a fluke. He knows it like he knows he's an alpha, it's in his bones, deep. He's never sure about anything, but he feels sure about this. He feels something when he texts Eddie, when he hears his voice. That can't be a fluke.)

He just needs to chill out and not scare Eddie away before they confirm it.

He just always wants a lot and usually too fast. So he's trying to slow down, now that this could be the real deal. The big one, the one everyone's always waiting for and writing songs about and yearning for. He doesn't want to scare him away before he even gets to know him.

How embarrassing would that be? He can't imagine having to tell Robin that his mate, his actual mate, wants nothing to do with him because he's too overbearing.

So he can't be overbearing. He won't be. He'll keep it together and he won't do anything weird. Should be easy, right?

He texts Eddie that he mailed the package to him and sends him the tracking number.

The morning of his first midterm, Eddie texts him that the package is arriving later today and Steve somehow manages to find enough focus to not completely bomb his midterm.

He's buzzing with anticipation the entire day, waiting for Eddie to text or call and say that he has the package.

It's still light out when Eddie's name flashes on his screen.

Got it is all it says and Steve frowns.

He hits the call button.

Eddie picks up after a couple rings and says, "Hi, Steve," but he sounds weird. Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. It's not- they're not. Are they not-?

He swallows and tries to hold back the anxiety that's seeping into his body.

"Hi Eddie," he says back, trying not to freak out.

"I got the package," Eddie says, which doesn't give him anything to go off of.

"Yeah, I got your text. Did you open it?" he asks impatiently.

"Not yet," Eddie says, voice smaller than usual. "I'm kind of nervous to open it. I- maybe it's a weird thing to say, but I want this so badly. Like, I want it to send me into pseudo-heat. I want the whole mate thing to be true for us."

Some of the tension evaporates from his body. Oh.

"I want that too," he says, breathlessly.

"You do?" Eddie asks, hope in his voice, and maybe Steve hasn't been letting on just how much he's been anticipating this moment - for fear of being too much.

"Yes!" he says. "I've been tearing my hair out over here waiting for your text. I could barely focus on my midterm this morning."

"Oh fuck, you did say you had midterms this week. Should we wait-?"

"No!" he says, cutting him off. "I will literally die if we wait any longer. I've been waiting for this and hoping for so long now."

Eddie laughs. "Okay, okay! I'll open it. Do you want to maybe FaceTime while I open it?"

They haven't video chatted at all since they started talking. The only time Eddie's seen him has been on his streams and in the snapchats he sends him. Steve hasn't seen Eddie at all apart from the sleepy snapchats he sometimes sends him when he wakes up.

"Yeah, we should- uh. If it sends you into pseudo-heat, we could stay on the line if you want," he says, his cheeks heating up at the thought of seeing Eddie like that, desperate to come, desperate for something inside him. "Do you have supplies ready? You shouldn't open it if you aren't prepared."

"Oh trust me, big boy, I am plenty prepared. I've got a case of water and some snacks to get me through it," Eddie says and Steve's phone vibrates in his hand.

He pulls it away from his ear and accepts the FaceTime request.

"Hi," Eddie says.

"Hi," Steve says back shyly, looking at Eddie's pretty face.

"So I don't have a tripod or anything, so this'll have to do," Eddie says, holding his phone out to show Steve the package in his lap.

"Yeah, that's fine. I wasn't expecting, like, a show or anything. This is more than fine," he says, moving to his bedroom. He sits down on his bed with his back against the headboard and watches as Eddie one-handedly tears into the package.

It would be much easier to just put the phone down and open the package with two hands, but watching Eddie struggle is kind of cute, so he doesn't say anything.

Eddie gets the package open and pulls out the scent-proof bags Steve put his folded shirt and come stained briefs in.

The thoughts he's been trying to push out of his mind since he mailed the package come rushing back to the surface. Eddie's about to scent him and his dick is twitching about it.

His heart is beating so fucking fast.

"So, uh, this is it, I guess. The moment of truth," Eddie says, lifting the bag up to his mouth and using his teeth to tear through it.

There's something so unbearably hot about him literally tearing the package open with his teeth that Steve almost misses the quiet sound Eddie makes when the bag rips open.

It's this little punched out noise that's barely anything at all, but Steve knows that noise - he knows it because he made almost the exact same noise when he first got a whiff of Eddie's scent.

He looks at Eddie, as he takes out the briefs Steve came onto just days ago and buries his nose in them.

His cock twitches in his pants and he rushes to get them open.

"Talk to me, Eddie," he says, watching Eddie's face go a little slack, his eyes hazy as he opens them.

"It's- I. I feel like I'm going into heat," Eddie says, tilting his phone down so Steve can see his hard dick in his shorts. Fuck. Fuck.

"Yeah?" he asks, tilting his phone down too, so Eddie can see how hard he is too.

"Fuck, Stevie, want that in me," Eddie whines, falling back onto his bed. The phone in his hand is pointing up so all Steve sees is the ceiling as Eddie moans.

"Show me what you're doing?" he asks, desperate to see him again.

Eddie's kicked off his shorts in the two seconds his camera was pointed away apparently because the next thing Steve sees is his dripping cock. And-

Jesus christ. He's big. His cock- wow.

Steve takes his own cock in his hand and strokes it, watching Eddie's cock twitch as he smells Steve's scent.

"I need something inside me," Eddie says, dropping the phone onto the bed and Steve whines.

He wants to see him, but the phone is face down on his bed so Steve sees nothing. He hears Eddie rummaging around and stops his hand on himself because he only wants to touch when Eddie can see him.

He waits for another few moments as Eddie gets what he needs and then picks up the phone again.

"Steve, I'm so fucking hot right now," Eddie says, his face flushed. He's sweating a little already and Steve wants to bury his face in Eddie's neck, scent him right from the source.

Instead he grabs Eddie's shirt from under his pillow - the scent is so faint now, but it's still lingering. Steve shucks the shirt he was wearing off and tugs Eddie's shirt on.

He hears Eddie groan and he looks at his phone. Eddie's looking back at him, his eyes wild.

"You're wearing my shirt," he says, his eyes wide as he looks at him.

"I keep it under my pillow," Steve confesses. "It's losing its scent, but it still smells like you a little."

Eddie does something outside of the camera frame that makes him moan, and Steve sorely wishes Eddie did have a tripod or something so he could see all of him, could see how he's making himself feel good.

Eddie says, "I'll send you another one. This one." He tugs at the shirt he's wearing, fumbling as he takes it off.

With his clothes off now, he sets his phone on his bedside table, pointed at him. The angle is a little wonky, but Steve can see him, see what he's doing.

He squeezes his cock as Eddie kneels on the bed facing his phone and reaches back to grip the dildo inside him and pull it out a little. Fuck, when had he even gotten that inside him?

He grabs Steve's briefs and brings them up to his nose again, his moan long and drawn out as he sinks down onto the dildo with Steve's scent in his nose again.

He holds the dildo steady with one hand as he bounces up and down on it and Steve can't stop himself from planting his feet on his bed and fucking up into his fist at the same speed, wishing he was there, wishing he was sinking into Eddie's hole instead of his fist.

Eddie's dick bounces on every thrust down and Steve wants it in his mouth.

Steve moans, thinking of Eddie's hands in his hair, holding his head still as he fucks his face with his unfairly big cock. He doesn't know any other omega with a cock that big, jesus christ. He wants to swallow it, wants to choke on it, wants to taste Eddie's come on his tongue. He wants Eddie to come in his mouth and then make Steve eat him out, rub his wet hole all over Steve's face. He wants it, he wants it, he wants it.

And he says it, less afraid of admitting everything he wants now that Eddie seems to have had a similar reaction to his scent.

He tells him he wants to choke on his cock and taste him and listens as Eddie's moans get louder and louder.

It spurs him on.

He says, "I want to bury my cock in you. Wanna come inside you and lick it out. Please. Would you let me?"

Eddie shivers and nods as he fucks himself on the dildo. He says, "I would ride you into the goddamn bed. Make you knot up inside him and then when it goes down, sit on your face as your come drips out of me."

Steve wants to knot him so bad. He's- oh fuck. He's gonna knot his fist again.

This shouldn't be happening. Eddie's scent only had that initial reaction because of the newness of it - he's been smelling his shirt every night and hasn't knotted apart from the pseudo-rut. His knot shouldn't be forming right now.

"I'm gonna knot, holy shit. I'm-" he groans as his cock pulses in his grip, his knot expanding as he squeezes it. He tilts his phone down so Eddie can see it, see him knotting up for him again.

The look on Eddie's face as he comes is something Steve isn't going to ever forget. He trembles as he sinks down on the dildo, pressing the button on the base of the dildo to expand the knot.

Steve watches with rapt attention as Eddie's cock starts to spurt, untouched. His come arcs out of him, splattering the bed and his thighs with come as he grinds down onto the knotted dildo.

Steve grips his knot tight and he comes, looking at Eddie shuddering through the waves of it, his hole probably like a vice on that knotting dildo. It should be him.

Fuck.

He squeezes his hand tighter around his knot, dropping his phone on his chest to stroke himself through his orgasm. He whimpers as the come floods out of him, his knot aching.

"Stevie, fuck. Wanna see you," Eddie says, so Steve pulls his hand away and grabs his phone again. Fuck, he's so messy right now.

He brings his phone back up and the first thing he sees is Eddie stroking his still hard cock with Steve's briefs and Steve's eyes roll back, his cock kicking out another glob of come.

God, the way Eddie's room must smell right now. Like the two of them, the way Steve's room smelled for days after his pseudo-rut. He could barely go back into his room without his dick getting hard about it. He wants him so intensely that he fucking knotted his fist without meaning to.

"You look so fucking good in my shirt, Steve. Want you to smell like me," Eddie says, which does nothing to sate the way he wants so viscerally to be with him right now.

He's still stroking himself with Steve's briefs and it's making Steve's dick twitch, his knot hot in his fist.

"Can't believe you knotted for me," Eddie says, jerking himself faster, like the heat that waned when he came is back with a vengeance.

"You gonna come again?" Steve asks, his voice shaky.

"Yeah," Eddie moans. "Gonna come all over your fucking underwear. Make it smell like us."

Steve whines. Eddie seems to have his number already, knows exactly what to say to make his knot pulse in his grip, more come dribbling out of the slit of his cock.

Eddie curses and groans again, shaking as he comes again, his come shooting out onto the fabric of Steve's briefs.

How the hell is Steve gonna survive meeting him in person if he can't even control himself at the thought of their scents mingling in person?

"You'll survive, sweetheart," Eddie says and Steve was completely unaware he'd even said anything out loud, so completely out of it apparently.

"I'm not so sure about that," he says, squeezing his knot.

Eddie hums and grabs the phone from the nightstand, collapsing back onto the bed. "I think you'll be fine once you get your knot in me."

"Fuck, Eddie. You can't just say that," he groans.

"Why not?" he asks, grinning.

"Because my knots not gonna go down and I'm gonna die."

"You're even more dramatic than me. I love it," Eddie says, sitting up and grabbing a water bottle to drink from.

"I'm not that dramatic, Mr. Dungeon Master," he says with a pout.

"Ooh, call me master again and I might come," Eddie says, leering at him.

Steve rolls his eyes.

The chatter stops momentarily as Eddie drinks from his water bottle and curls back up in bed.

Steve watches as he wraps himself up in his blankets and once again wishes he was there.

He says, "You look so cozy right now."

Eddie grins at him again. "I am. My bed is very comfy. You should come see for yourself."

"I wish I could," he says, honestly.

"I don't think I could do a real heat right now though, unfortunately," Eddie says with a groan. "This pseudo-heat is gonna wear me out, I can already tell, and I've got shows to do with my band and work and stuff. But I'd love to meet up with you in a few weeks. Or maybe once the semester is over?"

Steve smiles at him. "Yeah, I'd like that. We can figure out when later. It's probably better to let this marinate a little anyway. Not everything all at once." See? He can take it slow.

The thought of getting to see him in person, getting to know him in person, real and in front of him, is making Steve's heart race.

"Yeah, I typically dive head first into things, so taking a breather is probably a good idea," Eddie says. He looks at Steve through the camera and says, "But that doesn't mean I want to stop talking, got it? I still want to text and I want you to call."

Steve appreciates the clarity. "I'm glad. I don't want to stop talking either."

"Good. Just making sure," Eddie says, reaching over and grabbing the shirt Steve sent from the package and pillowing it under his head.

That reminds him. "I think if you sent me another shirt, it would help tide me over until we meet, though," he says and Eddie laughs. Steve aches again, wanting to- just wanting him.

Eddie says, "I can do that. I'll have to swing an extra shift to cover the shipping though."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Literally give me your Venmo. I'm the one asking for it, so I should be the one to pay for it."

Eddie looks like he's going to protest, but he says. "Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. I want to scent you so bad right now."

"Me too," Eddie says. "You smell nice, by the way. Like, your shirt smells amazing." He buries his face in Steve's shirt, breathing deeply.

"So do you. Earthy. It's nice," he says. He loosens his grip on himself, his knot starting to go down. "How many more rounds do you think you'll have to do tonight?"

Eddie thinks for a second, then says, "At least another few orgasms before I get ready for bed. I have to eat dinner at some point, I guess. I'll probably wake up a few times during the night and need to be knotted again."

"I'll stay on the line however long it takes," he says.

Eddie brightens up and says, "Yeah? You sure you wanna babysit me into the wee hours of the morning?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "I wanna take care of you. I can't be there in person, but I can be here, you know?"

Eddie looks a little taken aback at the sincerity, but he smiles at him shyly. "In that case, I'm looking forward to it."

Yeah, so is Steve.

#steddie #stranger things #omegaverse #eddie munson #steve harrington #st fic #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steveddie #steddie fanfic #janai.doc

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scruppofficial · 10 months ago

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Shout out to caramelcoffeexo on AO3 for these ✨iconic✨ end notes 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

The fic is beneath the milky twilight by caramelcoffeexo on AO3

If they have a tumblr account I don't know it, but if you do then tag them! They deserve credit for a good fic!

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cchapsticck · 1 year ago

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A couple things:

The first album he ever owned that he got to choose on his own was Master of Reality when Wayne handed him 5 bucks at the used record store after he picked him up from foster. And he’s pretty sure Children of the Grave changed his brain chemistry. Like something in him got hard re-wired and soldered in place. Like there’s no unfixing that fix.

The first song he ever learned to play on Wayne’s old beater acoustic was Here Comes The Sun, but if anyone asks he says it was Smoke on the Water, which was actually second but the truth is possibly humiliating, considering his curated reputation.

He cannot read music. Which is funny, considering he’s had a “band” since 7th grade. He just kind of picks at shit by ear. Which he’s pretty good at, thank you very much. It's why he likes shit with solos, he can pick out a riff better than he can pick out a chord progression.

Said band did not lock down members with any kind of permanence until 10th and no one had any kind of electrified instrument until 11th because Jeff and Phil and Gareth might be better off than he is - drug money notwithstanding - but tuns out parents aren’t keen to just drop that kind of money so one’s kid can fuck around in another kid’s garage every couple weekends for that kind of price tag

Metal shows are few and far between in Roane County, considering all the ways it is. But the couple no-name bands that have breezed through town at the dive-iest of bars the county has to offer well - he doesn’t want to say, changed his life but - but he’s never been so glad to have been elbowed in the face because everyone’s having a good fucking time and without the accompanying “faggot” attached to the act, which he’s had a repeat performance of just. Generally. In his life outside of the shittest bars in Indiana.

He’s not saying Zepplin II made him gay but Robert Plant’s face pasted onto that German soldier’s body made him feel some kind of way at a formative age and that’s maybe just something he’s going to take to the grave even if apparently the shittiest of shitheads just decided that was a true thing about him on their own.

Steve Harrington has been hot since, like, junior high. Which is horseshit. Because like, first of all. He sucks. Like, he’s a douche. But Barb Holland died and he ended up in the hospital because apparently those two things are related events and rumor has it he got kicked out of his house and he shaved his head about it and there are a shocking number of scars hidden under that disco hair and that, unfortunately, does not make him less hot or less of a douche.

Another thing: Dustin Henderson is fucking annoying. Like annoying in the unremarkable way all nerds are annoying that he’s a little dead to (like sometimes he catches himself mid-tirade and thinks ‘damn, I’d kick my ass too’) so he gets it but also. He’s fucking annoying. He’s fucking annoying about Steve Harrington in particular which like. Hilarious. Go figure.

And he’s got a lot of annoying ammunition in that particular annoying gun, because apparently Harrington’s been living in his basement. So the kicked out thing is probably true. A lot of what he’s got to say is anecdotal. Lives in the basement. Pays rent. Makes dinner for Henderson’s mom. Drives him to school. Owns a bat with nails in it? Which. Alright? That makes about as much sense as anything else going on. The weirdly dense law enforcement presence in the wake of the Holland murder (and those are feds, like, he knows cops, he grew up around a lot of cops - thanks Dad - these are not cops) and the ever evolving whatever-this-is of Steve Harrington which he is for sure paying a normal amount of attention to and not unloading his guts at Gareth and Jeff who for sure don’t want to kick his ass about it because are we all seeing this shit? It's been like 5 years of high school and this is a puzzle he is no closer to solving, as he is no closer to graduating. And it's not because he’s being a dipshit about Harrington’s gradual transformation no matter what Gareth keeps insisting. (he’s being a dipshit about graduating because he’s a dipshit - separate problem)

But like, something is for sure going on with Steve Harrington. And fuck him dead because he is desperate to pick it apart. It's got nothing to do with the horny goblin in his brain barking about the, shall we say, aesthetic realignment here (which maybe, like, is coming for the integrity of his own genre cred but like. Come on, man.) and it's got everything to do with someone like Steve Fucking Harrington willfully abdicating the throne to throw himself amongst the Maligned With Problems The World Will Make Your Fault. Like he had to have known the flavor of hell people like him and Hagan and every other one of those silver spoon fucks made of his life. And not just his, just like, anyone remotely adjacent in the social order.

There’s this kind of unspoken truth at shows. Like metal, hardcore, whatever, any genre within a genre that fills up bars like this, like he’s pretty sure the punks even have this rule, this remains true: the more normal the guy looks the more fucked in the head he is. That guy is dangerous. That guy is working through some shit you cannot even begin to conceive of and this is only outlet he’s got. Like that guy will straight murder you if you come at him wrong in a pit and everyone knows it. You do not fuck with that guy. You do not make eye contact with that guy. So Steve Harrington in his tightass Levi’s and bright white fresh out the 3-pack t-shirt hugging the back wall of the Hideout on a Thursday night sure is a red flag. But red’s always been his favorite color, so-

So he buries his shoulder blades in the wall right next to him and hits him with a of all the gin joints and Steve just squints at him like he’s got no fucking clue what he’s talking about. Figures. Harrington always seemed like a philistine. Steve just runs his hand over his shaved short head, and Eddie swears he can hear the rasp of Steve’s palm over the noise of the bar.

“You come here often?” And it's not not a come on and he’s a little prepared to get decked but it's also a genuine question.

“It’s work.” Steve says, not unkindly but not really looking at him either. Like he’s not really interested in the conversation or Eddie at all.

“It’s work?”

And that gets Steve looking and he does not look impressed. It's cute. Which probably says more about Eddie’s ability to turn disdain into some semblance of private affection but we’re not going to unpack that bag we’re just going to throw the whole suitcase out.

“Well, I can’t work the bar so I just pull people out of the pit. Work the door sometimes.” Steve says over the noise of the bar, by way of explanation.

“How about that?” he says with no small amount of genuine awe. “Mall work not cutting it for you, then?”

Steve just kind of one shoulder shrugs. Not cutting it in the sense that the mall like, fuckin’ burned down but. Y’know. Speaking in kind of a general hypothetical kind of way. Looking for a new career path kind of way. Less about the mall directly. Or at all.

“Yes and no. I got punched less by skinheads at the mall.” and that almost sounds like a joke, like Harrington isn’t totally hating this conversation. Delightful.

“And you’d willingly go into this line of work when Henderson says you can’t win a fight?” he says it like he means it, like he’s actually surprised. Because he is. Because getting laid out at a show is just some shit that happens sometimes. Assholes with something to prove, the wrong guy took an elbow at the wrong time, a drunk got in the pit and doesn’t know the difference between a good time and a fight, like, shit happens.

Steve’s scrunched up face of repulsion and offense is additionally cute.

“Yeah well, Henderson says a lot of shit about you too.”

He may have been operating on the assumption that Steve actually had no idea who he was. And was just some weird guy who, for some reason, had a lot of personal information about him that was in no way reciprocated. Just kind of figured he would have been beneath Harrington’s notice in a big picture kind of way.

Fuck you, Henderson, how dare you.

“Only glowing reviews, I’m sure.”

“More or less.”

Alright he’ll take back point two, then. You’re on thin ice, Henderson.

“Is that where the uh-” and he kind of gestures limply at the pit and then towards the thick, formerly stapled up scarring in Steve’s hairline. Like he’s come home from a show with a bloody nose or a black eye or two but nothing like that.

“No.”

It's the finality in his tone, when he says it that makes him suspect he’s fucked this up and the conversation is over.

And it is.

So he hangs around the bar for the set and then he leaves and its not really all that interesting.

But he thinks about that for a while, that something rattled Steve Harrington’s cage so hard he’s this now. Somewhere in the realm of quietly fucked up, and on the edges of good sensibility and good taste because its more comfortable out of a spotlight. Even if the dark on the edge of that pool of light is more than a little dangerous, but at least there’s a place to hide.

And then Chrissy Cunningham dies on his ceiling and he has to keep hiding.

#i wrote this thing like a billion years ago when punk!steve was going around and this was the closest i could get to it #while still feeling authentic #character wise anyway idk #i think i had other plans for it but i don't remember them now #so i cleaned it up and here it is yall can have it now #prompts #steddie #steddie fanfiction #steveddie #steddie fic #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #punk!steve #steddie au #stranger things fic #steve x eddie #steddie fics #i've been trying other creative outlets and just getting mad so i decided to clean up wips i figure would never see the light of day

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fanfics-fan · 2 years ago

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Ok, but Eddie cuts his hair because he is insecure and thinks Steve is only dating him because he has long hair "as a girl " and thinks Steve is missing to date girls.

When in the reality Steve is deeply in love with Eddie and got worried when he saw that Eddie cut his hair.

Hurt/comfort/fluff

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bendeddicksssss · 9 months ago

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The Ghost of Family Video

The first chapter of one of my fanfics on ao3 just to give a little sneak peak.

Summary in the shortest amount of words: Steve died after the events of Starcourt, and Eddie is a psychic who can see ghosts. I think you can guess what the fic is about ;)

Chapter 1: Steve Harrington is Dead

Robin Buckley started working at Scoops Ahoy for the same reason every other teen gets a job; she wanted money. Her parents were never the type to ask her to help with the bills, nor did they ever ask her to get a job, but she enjoyed having money stored up for college and emergencies. It was cushioning for both her and her parents if they ever needed it, and, with her brother at college, they needed all the help they could get. She had a job before–started working the ticket stand at Hawkins old theater when she was 15. She was 17, however, when she started working at Scoops Ahoy—working with Steve Harrington.

Robin never had a job that didn’t include a coworker, but Steve was an entirely different concept. He didn’t feel like a coworker, even if they did work together. He felt like an entity more elusive than Bigfoot. She hated Steve, but she didn’t hate him in a normal sense. She hated him because he made her heart grow heavy with comfort, despite the fact that he was a homophobic, dick-bag of a jock. At least, that’s what Robin assumed when they started working together. Steve proved her assumptions wrong within the first week of working together. He brought back coffee whenever he went on his break. He offered his extra breaks to Robin if she looked tired. He insisted on taking in all the heavy stock, and he never let Robin pay for her own dinner or lunch if she forgot to pack one. Even then, she hated him.

She hated him like the ocean hates the beach. They were stuck in a constant battle of one metaphorically crashing into the other, but, in a strange way, it worked. Each crash of a wave chipped at the other person’s sandy shore, letting out pieces of shells and hidden creatures in the tide pools. Each wave was a new discovery about who the other person really was. They were the ocean against the beach. Waves in the sand. Forever connected. Steve and Robin.

That feeling within their “friendship” was even before all hell broke loose and before Robin knew Russian spies hid beneath the mall and monsters worse than the ones under her bed were real. Even with their mutual teasing and stormy beaches, no one could deny that Steve and Robin were connected. No one could deny that they were, at least, friends. Robin tried to deny it. If anyone asked, she’d tell them that Steve was just another schmuck she was stuck slinging ice cream with. A rich kid who was forced into a job by his snooty parents. He was nothing to her, but she was only lying when she said that. Steve wasn’t nothing. He wasn’t nothing at all.

Steve was a walking puzzle missing half the pieces and the guiding picture, yet Robin tried her hardest to figure him out. It was impossible. He was a mystery confusing enough to stump Sherlock. He flinched at flickering lights and dissociated in the cold freezer where they stored ice cream. He kept a baseball bat in the trunk of his car that Robin had only ever seen the handle of, which had a small brown stain on it—one that looked suspiciously like blood. In an expected fashion, he teased Robin about still being in high school, calling her “Freshman” with every other sentence despite the fact that she was on her way to her senior year. Strangest of all, he refused to let Robin ride her bike home after the closing shift; she rode with him nearly every day with her bike in the backseat of his car. Eventually, he started picking her up to be taken to work too. It wasn’t even a conversation between them; he just showed up while Robin was dragging her bike down her driveway. She didn’t try to argue, seeing the dark bags under his eyes and the silent begging within them—a look built more of fear than desperation. She couldn’t have said no even if she tried. Besides, who was she to turn down a free ride?

Steve also had a pack of kids who followed him like ducklings to their imprinted mother. “I babysit them.” He always used it as an excuse, but that never made sense to Robin. To start off, she knew for a fact that Scoops was Steve’s first job. He never mentioned being a babysitter until they started showing up. She also knew that most of the kids have older siblings. Growing up with an older brother, Robin knew that older siblings are usually stuck with the babysitting job. Max Mayfield, Will Byers, Mike Wheeler–they all had older siblings. Why would their parents waste the money in hiring Steve? Moreso, why, out of all the high school students in Hawkins, would they choose Steve to babysit? He was a jock known for getting drunk at parties and flirting with everything with boobs. He didn’t exactly scream babysitting material.

Outside of his role as “Mama Duck”, Steve was also friends with Jonathan Byers, even though the man was known around school for stealing ‘King Steve’s’ girlfriend. In fact, Steve’s face lit up like a Christmas tree the few times Jon came into shop, even when the boy was there without his younger brother or any of the other children.

Despite her initial shock, Robin could handle these discoveries and odd traits. She could handle Steve being friends with a few kids and with Jonathan Byers, but there was a fact about Steve Harrington that stood out above the rest. The most surprising thing about Steve was that he wasn’t, at all, what Robin thought he’d be. He wasn’t a douchebag. He wasn’t a ‘womanizer’, like her friend, Kate, would always call him. Sure, Steve flirted with everything and anyone that breathed, but he was always respectful. He made eye contact and complemented their hair or their smile. He was even nicer with the customers without boobs, complimenting them even if he wasn’t trying to get laid. Steve Harrington wasn’t Steve Harrington. He was just… Steve. Her coworker. Her friend. Her puzzle that she spent the first half of that summer trying to figure out.

It wasn’t until she saw a monster bigger than her house that she discovered all the missing pieces of Steve. Why he flinched at flickering lights and why the cold always bothered him. She figured why he prefers cats and smaller dogs to bigger ones. She figured out he was smarter than he let on, having intelligence in things besides books and school. She figured out he was selfless. He threw himself headfirst into danger to try and save a couple of kids, one of whom she was pretty sure he hated because Erica Sinclair was an asshole of a child, but he saved them. He tried to save Robin too, but Scoop's captains stick together, right? She wasn’t gonna leave him alone, and that idea scared her more than anything. Just one traumatic experience together and she was already codependent of a man whose head was more hairspray than brains.

She doesn’t know how long they were in the bunker for. All she knew was that Steve was nice to talk to. He listened, and he asked questions. She would try and urge him to talk, and he would, but she could tell he was holding back. Sure, she had all the pieces to the puzzle of Steve, but she still needed the bigger picture.

“You think they’d buy it if I pretended I could only speak French?” Robin asked when they were left alone. The guard's voices were muffled just outside the door, so she talked to drown out the few Russian words she understood– “The boy… blue… spies… bleed.”

“What?” Steve asked a few seconds after her statement.

Robin shrugged, her shoulders brushing against Steve’s, “I don’t know; it could work. I am fluent in French!” she sighed dejectedly, “I’m sorry. I’m just talking to not freak myself out. I’ll shut up.” she cleared her throat and looked to the ground, deciding that it probably wasn’t the best time to make jokes.

“Talk.” Steve suddenly urged. She looked at him. This was before they were tied back-to-back, so she could still look at him. “You don’t have to talk about them. Talk about anything… you’re gonna be a senior, right?” Robin nodded. “You want to go to college?”

Robin tilted her head. This wasn’t the first time they had talked about college, but it was the first time the focus was on Robin. In past conversations, talks about school was usually Steve making fun of Robin being in high school and Robin making fun about Steve for not going to college. “I want to go to Chicago.” Robin answered.

“The university?” Robin nodded.

“I always wanted to live in a big city; Chicago is at the top of my list.” In all honesty, ever since Robin was young, she dreamed about living in a city, but she dreamed about going west to California–Hollywood. She wanted to be a director or a writer, but Chicago seemed like an easier option. A steppingstone to get to her dream. “Honestly, I don’t want to go to college, but I think a degree would be nice to fall back on.”

“What do you want to do?”

Robin smiled, “I want to write.”

“Books? Articles?”

“Movies.” she corrected. Steve went on to ask about what kind of movies, and she talked about a few ideas she had for a romantic period piece (leaving out the sapphic details) until the door burst open. Robin had almost forgotten she was in a nightmare. She was grateful for his distraction.

When they got separated, it was like time stood still. It could’ve been hours–days–weeks–minutes–seconds, and all Robin experienced was an empty mind and a racing heart. There were no clocks and no windows. Just her tied to a chair, and Steve… Steve being tortured. Robin heard Steve’s screams from all the way down the hall. She tried humming Blondie or Queen to drown them out but each one was louder than the last. Robin liked horror movies, sure. She watched thrillers with friends and would challenge herself to not chicken out, but the actors in those films never even came close to the screams Steve was making. They were blood curdling and garbling, as he begged for his life. For a break from the pain. Robin wished she could rip her ears off. Worst of all, she felt useless! Robin heard punches and Russian voices shouting at her friend, and all she could do was listen and hope that he was still breathing. Her parents never really forced any specific religion growing up. She wasn’t sure how prayers were supposed to work, but she tried her best: Please, God, let Steve be alive. I know I don’t believe in you. You probably hate me right now, but please let this scream not be his last. Please bring him back.

Steve came back bruised and bloodied and unconscious, and Robin tried to feel for a pulse, screaming at the guards for answers. What happened? Fuck… She couldn’t find his heartbeat. Robin always sucked in anatomy class—got too grossed out by the dissections, but she knew it was somewhere on his neck… maybe the wrist? She just had to loosen her binds enough to feel for his heartbeat. She tried to reassure herself that she just had to keep looking, but she couldn’t find it! She couldn’t find his pulse and the guards were watching them, and she knew that she would be next in their sadistic crusade. They tied them back-to-back all while Robin was still panicking. When Steve took a gasp of air, she nearly added her own punch into the mix for scaring her, but the Russian guards were already moving on to the next form of torture. But, hey, Steve was alive. She wasn’t alone.

Later, they sat beside a once-empty toilet. The stench and taste of vomit lingered in Robin’s nose and throat. The Starcourt bathroom tiles were sticky and covered in a thin layer of dirt and dust. The custodians must’ve not cleaned yet, as the theater was still open and, thus, the mall was open. Her heart stopped when she heard silence coming from Steve’s stall, but he was only thinking and resting. They’d been awake for nearly 48 hours now, and Robin was just waiting for the right moment to pass out.

Coming out to Steve was almost as terrifying as the entirety of the Russian base. He had just told her he found someone for himself (implied it was her), and she told him she liked girls. It was the truth, but you can’t just tell people that! Sure, Steve was miraculously not a douchebag, but straight guys don’t always take rejection well, and people, in general, don’t always take queer people well. But she was high and scared, and she wanted someone to know before she died. Robin should’ve learned by that point to not underestimate Steve Harrington. She should’ve figured out that Steve was as far from a bad person as someone could be. Steve Harrington wasn’t a bad person at all, though his Kermit impression was kind of shit.

“I’m like you.” He told her when they had another chance alone. It was when they were driving back to the mall to help their friends, leaving Dustin and Erica on the hill.

“What?” she asked.

“When I said I found someone better for me—better than Nancy; I was talking about…” he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I was talking about a guy. His name’s Eddie.”

Robin smiled, “Oh…”

Steve’s face regained its color, and he laughed. “Yeah,” he snorted, “oh…”

Yeah, Steve wasn’t a bad person in the slightest…

He held her hand when they were hiding from the guards. He reached his arm out to hold her when he crashed into Billy Hargrove, so she wouldn’t hit the dashboard. He gave her his last firework to throw at the Flayer. He gave her a stick of gum he found hiding in his pocket when she complained about still tasting vomit. He gave her his shock blanket when she was still shaking beneath hers. He denied medical treatment and insisted they check on Robin and Dustin first. He snuck a few Band-Aids and an ice pack from the ambulance to take care of himself; Robin saw him do it, but she just assumed he had already been checked and was just grabbing extra supplies. Afterall, he told everyone that he was already checked on, “Go help someone else; I’m fine.” he insisted anytime a paramedic asked him. Ever the selfless hero… Steve.

After they were all debriefed and lightly threatened by the US government to keep their mouths shut and sign NDAs, Steve asked Jonathan if he’d be willing to drive them. “My head just hurts.” and Jonathan said sure. On the drive home, Steve was fighting off sleep in the backseat, leaning his head against Robin’s. No one could even fathom resting. Their bodies were still in fight or flight mode, ready to fight a monster that was already dead or guards that were buried beneath tons of dirt, ash, and debris. No one really questioned Steve’s exhaustion, though. They didn’t know the full story, but they knew Steve, Robin, Dustin, and Erica were trapped in that bunker for nearly days. No food. No water. No rest. Dustin and Erica passed out, afterall. Steve wasn’t the odd one out. If anything, Robin was, but she didn’t want to sleep. She just let Steve use her as a pillow.

Perhaps, she should’ve known something was wrong by him fighting off sleep so much. Robin’s not an idiot; she knows the signs of head trauma, but she was so tired. Perhaps, if she had been stronger and fought harder against the guards, she wouldn’t have gotten drugged. She would have had the mental clarity to notice one of Steve’s pupils was bigger than the other. She would’ve noticed him squinting and flinching at every light, flickering or not, and limping. Would’ve noticed he had to lean against the wall at every other step. Granted, she didn’t know if any of those things happened, but there must have been something she could’ve noticed! Something Robin could’ve seen, so she would know Steve needed help, but the man’s stubbornness was bigger than his hair, so, of course, she didn’t know.

Steve died not long after they left the mall. They had all gone to his house afterwards. No one wanted to be alone, and he had the most available space for everyone in the party. He also had a stockpile of extra clothes, blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags. Apparently, Steve really was a babysitter, or, at the very least, the kids’ honorary mother. After helping everyone find some supplies to go to sleep and some PJ’s, he went to bed early, saying he had a headache and was just going to take some Tylenol. Robin tried to go with him, but he insisted she stay and hang out with everyone. They were watching The Fox and the Hound because it was the only animated ("comforting") movie Steve had. “I know it’s for kids, but it’s one of my favorites.” He explained with a shrug, leaning against the railing for support.

“Are you sure you’re, okay?” Robin asked. “Did the paramedics give you all clear?”

Steve only laughed, “Yeah, Rob. I’ll be fine. Go watch the movie. I’ll see you in the morning.” He insisted, waving a dismissive hand.

Steve’s voice broke when he said that sentence and, after watching him hopelessly lie to impress girls, Robin knew Steve’s voice broke when he lied. Yet, she didn’t say anything. She just assumed it was because he was tired. Surely, Steve wouldn’t turn down medical help. Surely, he wasn’t that careless about himself. Robin wished she knew this would be their last conversation, so she could think of something better to say.

“Okay. Love you, dingus.” She would’ve said, if she knew he wouldn’t actually see her in the morning.

Steve would’ve rolled his eyes. “Love you too, freshman.” She would punch his arm, making him wince and call her an ass. That’s how she likes to imagine their last conversation, but that’s not at all what they said. He still dismissed her and lied about his own health, but she didn’t tell him she loved him like she wishes she did. No, instead she said, “I’m surprised they could hurt your head so much beneath all that hairspray.” She stuck her tongue out between her teeth teasingly, “It’s like your own helmet, Harrington.”

“Ha, ha.” Steve blanched while rolling his eyes. “You’re just jealous that I came prepared with protection.” he ran a hand through his hair for emphasis, making the sweat coated streaks fall around his forehead. Robin laughed and sent him off to bed with a promise that they’d spend all of tomorrow together, just to talk and heal.

Nobody knows the exact time of death, as everyone was asleep, but the doctors believe it was shortly after their conversation—a bit past midnight. As it turns out, Steve went to sleep with one of those head injuries you’re not supposed to sleep with. Something got hit too hard beneath all that hair, and Steve simply stopped breathing. “It can happen in patients who have suffered from concussions or untreated head traumas. It’s common in those who have experienced a hemorrhage or aneurysm of some kind.” Nancy had explained, but, truly, there were a number of other variables that could’ve caused that. A bad reaction to that Russian drug, his concussion, a hole in his lung, internal bleeding, or even a really bad fever. In any case, Robin should’ve never let him go to bed alone.

Another thing she wishes she could change is something she’ll forever be guilty for. Robin wishes more than anything that it was her who found the body. She wishes she wasn’t dealing with a hangover from that weird drug Steve and her were given and that coffee wasn’t the most important thing in the world. Coffee wasn’t the most important thing, but, at that moment, Robin would’ve traded her soul for a mug. Ms. Byers had made breakfast for everyone, and Steve was thought to be sleeping in, even though he was the first one to go to sleep. “I’ll get him.” Dustin volunteered, rolling his eyes and groaning like it was a chore.

The boy walked up the stairs and went to Steve’s bedroom. The door was open a bit, so Dustin didn’t feel the need to knock before he walked in. The first thing he noticed was that Steve’s bed sheets were messy, like he had moved around a lot in his sleep. The next thing he noticed was a Tylenol bottle on the floor; the cap was off, and the contents were spilled across the carpet. Dustin figured Steve had a nightmare and knocked the bottle and his sheets over, knowing nightmares were common for everyone in the party. Hell, there were quite a few nightmares during that night. Dustin had one. It was about Steve not making it back from the bunker. It was about Steve dead on a concrete floor.

At least, a bed is more comfortable than concrete.

“Hey, Steve, wake up.” Dustin nudged Steve’s foot, which was covered by his blanket. He was still wearing his Scoops uniform, being too tired to take it off, Robin supposed, or he passed out. “Steve, come on.” Dustin spoke louder and nudged him harder.

Dustin moved forward and clapped his hands above Steve’s body. “Steve!” He nearly shouted. He reached forward to grab Steve’s arm with a roll of his eyes, and gasped when he felt how cold it was. His heart jumped to his throat and choked him like a noose. “S-Steve…?” his voice was shaking. Steve’s house always had great air conditioning. He was just cold from the AC; that was what Dustin told himself. It was cold in the house, and all of Steve's blankets fell off of him in the night, so he was cold. “Steve, this isn’t funny!” Dustin grabbed Steve’s arm and shook it. Steve felt stiff, like he was a mannequin and not a person. “Steve!” Dustin screamed this time. His voice echoed out into the hallway and downstairs, alerting the others. “Steve! Please, you gotta wake up!” He grabbed both shoulders, shaking him vigorously. “Steve!”

Robin was the first person up the stairs despite her headache and poor coordination. The blinds were closed, and the room was gray, so she flicked on the overheads to find a man just as gray as before the lights were turned on. He was pale and his eyes were shut. His lips looked blue, and his veins were prominent beneath ghostly skin. “Steve…?” Robin didn’t scream like Dustin, but her voice cracked. She didn’t run to his side or shake him. She merely stepped out of the way as Joyce and Jonathan ran into the room. “Steve…” she couldn’t tell if she was breathing. Dreaming or having a nightmare. Awake or asleep. Dead or alive. In that moment, there was no difference.

“Steve—get off of me!” Dustin elbowed at Jonathan, as the boy tried to pry Dustin away from his friend. “Steve! Wake up!” Robin felt tears streaming down her face, but she was confused why they were flowing. She wasn’t there. Her mind was still at Scoops. She was still watching Steve being a dingus and badly flirting with girls. She was in the backroom with him listening to a Russian code. She was tied to his back, and they were laying on the ground talking about where they would be if they became friends earlier. Steve would be in college, and Robin wouldn’t be in a Russian bunker. She was in the mall bathroom talking with him about Tammy Thompson’s bad singing voice. They were in the “Todd-father” discussing the possibilities of going to gay bars in Indianapolis. They were standing on the stairs wishing each other goodnight. They weren’t… he wasn’t… This couldn’t be happening! Steve… Steve was just here.

Dustin screamed and kicked when Murray entered the scene and picked the boy up from beneath his arms. “Let go of me! — Steve!” Dustin screamed. It was the kind of scream that vibrated the walls and shook Robin to her core. A kind of scream she’s only ever heard come out of movies. The boy was pushing at Murray’s arms, trying his best to escape and return to his friend’s side. Tears were streaming down Dustin’s face, and Robin glanced into the hallway at the sound of a thud. Max had reached the top of the stairs, having had to fight her way through a now sobbing Lucas. She was sitting on her knees with her hands covering her mouth. Robin could tell she was screaming, based on her stretched jaw and narrowed eyes, but she couldn’t hear it. Everything was suddenly muffled. Her headache from that hangover switched into a stabbing pain, and the ringing in her ears drowned everything out. “Steve!” Dustin shouted—barely heard. Murray set the boy down besides Max and blocked them both from the room. Max threw herself into Lucas’s arms. Robin looked on as Jonathan started doing chest compressions. She glanced over the balcony to see Mike with his hands cradling the back of his head, covering his ears. His hands were clenched so tightly, that Robin was sure his nails were digging into his scalp. Will was hugging Jane, who was sobbing and clinging to him, shaking her head in denial.

Joyce suddenly walked out of the room. She was gasping and choking on her own tears. “Ms. Byers…?” Robin didn’t know what she was going to say or ask. She just needed confirmation that this wasn’t real. That this was just a Russian drug-induced dream. That this was all some sick nightmare or cruel joke from the universe, and she was gonna wake up to Steve sitting at the kitchen counter with an ice pack to his swollen eye and a coffee mug in hand. “’Bout time you woke up, Buckley.” He’d say with a smile despite the split in his lip, because Steve had the best smile, and he loved to show it. He smiled in the Russian bunker and smiled through tears. He smiled in every picture no matter the context, and Robin used to say he was too happy. He’d just shrug and say, “Better than being miserable.”

“I’m so sorry, honey.” Joyce whispered instead of disproving reality. She wrapped her arms around Robin’s shoulders. It was then that the younger girl felt her knees buckle, like she was made of broken glass and poorly glued back together, and all it took was Ms. Byer’s touch to make her break once more. A scream wrenched its way from her throat, loud and painful. It vibrated the walls and left her vocal cords burning. Joyce caught her as she fell, but Robin collapsed to the ground anyway. Joyce came with her, never releasing Robin from her arms.

Downstairs, Nancy had called 911. In Steve’s room, Jonathan was still desperately doing CPR, singing Bee Gees beneath his breath and looking at his friend through a teary, blurred vision. Jonathan didn’t tell anyone what happened until after the autopsy had shown that Steve had a broken sternum and broken ribs. Jonathan explained that he heard and felt the man’s chest crack and cave, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He couldn’t let Steve die. “I can’t get Stayin’ Alive out of my head…” he joked with a wet laugh, but everyone knew it wasn’t a joke. Everyone knew he now hated that song more than anything else.

It was Joyce that had read them the autopsy report. She was friends with the doctor who ran them. It was her that read from the doctor’s note that it was strange Steve died. It was that doctor who predicted that Steve had lied and hadn’t seen any of the paramedics, because even a first-day trainee would’ve seen the obvious head trauma from a mile away.

“That’s ridiculous!” Mike had scoffed, “Why would anyone refuse help from paramedics?”

“Because he didn’t want any.” Max answered. The way they talked about Steve’s death changed after that. No longer was it talking of a friend who died. They were talking about a friend who committed suicide. At least, that’s how Robin interpreted it—the change in everyone’s tone and the anger shown at the funeral. If a friend dies, they get mourned. If a friend kills themselves, especially one as important and relied upon as Steve, they get yelled at.

They had Chief Hopper’s funeral on Tuesday, Billy Hargrove’s was on Thursday, and Steve’s was on Monday. They tried to postpone Steve’s funeral until August for when his parents would be back, but, when Joyce called the Harringtons, they forwarded money and told her to go on with the funeral without them. Joyce ended up breaking that phone after giving Steve’s mother a piece of her mind, which mostly contained curse words and heavy insults. The plastic shattered in her hands after she slammed the phone on the hook repeatedly, cursing Steve’s parents and sobbing about a son that wasn’t really hers.

At Hopper’s funeral, nearly the whole town showed up. There were a lot of funerals the following weeks for a lot of Hawkins citizens, but Hopper was the chief and considered the hero of the fire, so it made sense that he had the biggest crowd to show up. It was so crowded that Robin was forced to stay in the outskirts of the pack with Erica and Lucas beside her. She ended up leaving early. She didn’t know the man that well, anyway.

Billy’s funeral wasn’t as crowded, but a few people from school showed up, including some from the old basketball and swim team. Billy’s dad left early, muttering something about “a waste.” Mrs. Wheeler was there, and she was crying, which Robin found strange. Sure, the woman could’ve been there because Nancy and Mike were, but that didn’t excuse her crying. Max was standing by the lowering casket with her arms crossed, refusing to cry, but she did. Her jaw clenched and her hands turned to fists, as if she was angry at herself for tearing up. Robin was just observant enough to notice these things, and she placed a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. Max leaned into her touch without a word. In fact, they didn’t speak at all that day. Robin wonders if she should’ve said something—anything—to comfort the girl more than a touch could, but Steve’s funeral was coming up. Robin couldn’t be bothered to comfort anyone past a touch. How could she when she, herself, was ripping at the seams?

Steve’s funeral had the least amount of people to show up. Tommy and Carol showed up to the ceremony, but they left before the burial. There was exactly 13 in attendance at the burial once the preacher and the graveyard men left. There was Robin, Dustin, his mom, Lucas and Erica, Mrs. Sinclair, Mike and Nancy, the Byers, Jane, and Max, who caught a ride from Lucas’s mom because her mom was working that day.

Steve’s gravestone was tall but simple, with little flowers carved into the border and floral vases at the sides. Everyone pitched in to add to the stone what Steve’s parents weren’t willing to pay for.

Steve Harrington

April 12th, 1967 — July 5th, 1985

Beloved Friend, Hero, Babysitter

“Anyone want to say a few words?” Joyce asked once the dirt was place over their friend. The woman’s face was red, and tissues were clenched in her fists. Thinking back, Robin realized that Joyce hadn’t cried at a single funeral, not really. At Hopper’s, she teared up, but she was so busy comforting Jane that she didn’t allow herself the breakdown she probably needed. At Billy’s, she comforted Max, taking over for Robin when the older girl had to leave early. At Steve’s funeral, Joyce Byers didn’t cry, because she had to be there for the kids, but it proved difficult. The tissues in her hand had little splotches of blood from her nails digging into her palms. It took Robin a long time to figure out why Ms. Byers was torturing herself, but the answer hit her like a train. Joyce is a mom; moms can’t cry. Never in front of the kids. They keep themselves together and cry when the lights in the house are off and the work for the day is finally finished. They let their tears build up inside of them until they explode. Robin wonders if any dishes were broken in the Byers’ household that week. No one, not even Joyce Byers, could survive that long with that many bottled tears without breaking some glass.

Robin liked Joyce, but she was too busy staring down at the patch of dirt that was once her friend to really hear Ms. Byer’s question. The small crowd stayed silent when it was asked, save for a few sobs, sniffs, and gasps for air. Max stepped forward, staring down at Steve’s grave with a red face and swollen lips. “Fuck you.” She gasped through a sob. Robin was surprised she didn’t bite her bottom lip clean off when she used it as a method to stop her tears.

Max then leaned down to drop a bracelet on the grave. It’s one of those braided ones, made with string, beads, and yarn. “El and I made you this at our sleepover. We were gonna give it to you, but I didn’t have it with me at Starcourt. I-I guess it’s useless now. What kind of friend are you? Y-you fucking asshole.” She spoke only after her sobs were subsided into small cries. She wiped her eyes and looked at the rest of her friends before walking off. She went and sat at her brother’s grave, and everyone knew it wasn’t because she loved Billy more. It was because she hated people seeing her cry, so they looked away once her shoulders began to shake, and her hand flew to her mouth to deafen the sobs and gasps. Her hair was pulled over her as a curtain to hide her own disgust—her emotions. Robin leaned over to look at the bracelet. “#1 Babysitter” it read in those little lettered beads. The string was blue and yellow–Steve’s favorite colors. The colors were recently poisoned for Robin.

Mike went up next. “I, uh, still think you’re a dumb jock, but you’re a good person. Y-you saved our lives more times than I can count. You saved my life more times than I can count. Thank you…” Mike stepped back and stared at the sky, anywhere but the ground. “I wish you were still here, so you could tell Dustin to stop being an asshole. You were always the one to keep his ego in check.” Mike laughed wetly, “He’s gonna be awful to deal with now that you’re… now that you’re gone…” Mike took another step back, like Steve’s grave was suddenly a demodog ready to pounce instead of a mound of dirt and stone. “Why’d you have to leave us, man? You were supposed to lead us—teach us about surviving high school and dealing with other dumb jocks. You—you’re a fucking jerk, you know that!?” Nancy grabbed his arm before he could storm forward. Mike leaned against his sister and turned his eyes away from Steve’s grave completely. Perhaps, he believed that, as long as he didn’t see the newly dug dirt, it wouldn’t be real. Nancy wrapped her arms around her brother, as he hid his crying face in her black dress. To Robin’s surprise, the girl owned three, and she wore a different one to each funeral. This dress was Robin’s personal favorite, as it was mostly tool with a tight waistline and a small shawl, like a 50’s prom dress. Steve would’ve liked it.

“He was supposed to teach me basketball.” Lucas spoke so quietly that Robin was sure only she heard it, as she was the only one to look his way. “We were supposed to practice all Summer, man. You still haven’t taught me how to properly do a lay-up.” He laughed until he cried, and then he laughed some more, “I promise you; I’ll get on the team. Hell, I’ll make it to varsity—the big leagues, the NBA. I don’t care if they don’t let freshmen on V; I’ll find a way. I’ll practice every day, and I’m getting your old jersey number, okay? You better come to my games. I’ll be looking out for you, got it?” he was smiling through his tears, and Robin had to look away. Lucas was always the type to put on a brave face, but Robin saw the way his smile cracked his façade. It was too forced; it was disturbing to watch. She could hear the slow transition of his laugh turning into painful sobs. She closed her eyes and waited until she heard a noise other than a sob.

Lucas dropped something on Steve’s grave, and she looked down to see his old jersey folded and placed neatly on the dirt. Lucas wiped at his eyes and glanced around at his friends. He clenched his jaw and tried to stop the tears from falling, but they wouldn’t stop. “I-I’m sorry.” he walked away to join Max, stopping at his mom to grab tissues from her purse. The mothers, besides Joyce, were sitting far away on a bench to give everyone space to say goodbye. Robin realized as she watched Lucas walk over to them, that, technically speaking, only 11 people attended Steve Harrington’s burial. They were just bystanders.

Lucas approached Max like a wild animal, but she merely patted the ground beside her. It made sense. They had matching wounds. Both lost a brother, and Robin is not including Billy in that statement.

“You saved us.” Erica spoke next. “I was so scared, and you protected us, like a knight. You’re an idiot for doing it, but you did it. And now you…” Erica furrowed her brow before reaching into her skirt’s pocket. She pulled out a My Little Pony figurine. Robin didn’t know which one it was, but it must’ve meant a lot to Erica. The girl sobbed as she placed it beside Max’s bracelet. “You better not lose this. It’s my favorite, okay?” she pointed to the grave like she was giving Steve a lecture. Robin couldn’t help but smile at the gesture.

“What pony is that?” It was Will who asked, talking for the first time since they lowered Steve's casket.

“Twilight Sparkle.” Erica answered quietly, embarrassingly. It wouldn’t be for another three months that Erica would explain why she chose Twilight Sparkle. It was when the girl had wandered into Family Video to rent The Last Unicorn. Robin asked why she chose that character, and she told the older teen that it was because Twilight was a leader who valued friendship and loyalty. Robin sobbed after Erica left the store. She sobbed so hard that she nearly threw up her lunch and had to go home early. She doesn’t know why she cried so hard. Steve talked about being forced to watch My Little Pony with Erica, so she knew that Steve knew who Twilight Sparkle is. She laughs at the thought, because he would surely insist, he was a different character, but Erica’s right. Steve was a leader. He loved his friends, and he was as loyal as a dog to its owner.

Erica and Lucas left after that, bringing Max along because she didn’t want to stay, even if she was supposed to ride home with Nancy. Nancy dropped a teddy bear and a rose off at Steve’s grave. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” She sobbed through a tight mouth. Steve used to say that Nancy would call him an idiot the same way Robin calls him a dingus. “It’s affectionate.” he said, but Nancy’s tone was dripping with venom. The girl walked away, shaking her head and clenching her fists. Mike and she left, and she peeled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. Anger fueled the vehicle more than gasoline, in that instance.

“When it rains, this will be destroyed, but you’re a real barbarian, Steve. Even if you don’t know what that is.” Will placed a drawing of Steve in a suit of leather armor that looked suspiciously like a Scoops Ahoy uniform. His weapon was a spiked bat, and he was smiling and looking at the sun. The next day, Robin stole that drawing to make a copy at the library’s printer. She returned the drawing the same day, but she had the copy hanging up in her room next to a polaroid Jonathan took of the ‘Scoops Troop’, as Dustin called them: Steve’s bloody yet smiling face, Erica’s tired eyes, Dustin’s bright smile, and Robin in her vomit and blood-stained uniform.

“I forgive you, Steve.” Jonathan said next. “I know I told you that a long time ago, but I don’t think you ever stopped blaming yourself for what you did. You’re not a bad person. You never were. I don’t hate you. I would never hate you. You’re… you’re my best friend.” His voice was shaking with his hands. He had nothing to give but a small photo of him, Steve, and Nancy on the Byers’ couch. Steve’s face was bloody and bruised (not from the Russians—apparently Jonathan throws a powerful punch), but he was smiling the brightest. Always the optimist, Robin supposed.

Joyce didn’t say anything. She was too busy comforting Jane, who kept trying to speak but came up short every time. The Byers and Jane left, leaving Dustin and Robin.

“I thought he was asleep…” Dustin whispered. He removed his ‘Camp Knowhere’ cap and placed it on the corner of Steve’s grave. “Sorry, it’s not Farrah Fawcett, but I don’t think they let hair spray into the afterlife.” Dustin joked. He laughed before he suddenly broke into sobs. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “You…” his voice broke, and he bit his quivering lip. “I hate… I hate you so, so much, Steve.” He shook his head. “Our deal was you die, I die. Not you die, I keep on living without you. What made you think I could do this without you?! Why would you leave me like this?! All you had to do was let them look at you! They were going to get to all of us eventually! They were paramedics Steve. It was their job to help you, and you sent them away! You insisted you were fine, you, fucking asshole. Why was it so hard to let someone else take care of you for once?! Why are you such a “hero” that you couldn’t… you…” his voice cracked, “you may think that was selfless, but this is the worst thing you’ve ever done. You weren’t helping us; you fucking killed yourself, and now I’m alone, Steve! Who’s going to drive me around? Who’s going to teach me how to talk to girls and do my hair? Who–Who’s supposed to be my dad now? Did you hear that? You were my dad, Steve. You weren’t my brother. You weren’t my babysitter or mom, Steve; you were my dad, and now you’ve gone up and left me too. You should’ve—you should’ve let them look at you! How hard was it to get help, you, fucking asshole!” Robin rushed forward to stop Dustin from kicking the dirt, grabbing his arms and yanking him back. “Let go of me!” Dustin shouted, shoving Robin away.

“Dustin, this isn’t what Steve would’ve wanted— “

“Don’t tell me what he wanted!” Dustin snapped. “You knew him, for what? A few months?!” He pushed forward, gesturing to himself. “I’ve known him for years, Buckley. He saved my life more times than I can count. We have been through hell together; you don’t get to tell me what he would or wouldn’t want!” He pointed an accusing finger to Robin, who held her hands up in surrender. “You didn’t even know him.”

“Dustin, I— “

“Just forget it.” He spat. He left before Robin could say another word. She watched him storm past his mom, who offered a comforting hand, but he just ignored her and shoved his way past. He marched to her car and yanked at the door to get in. They drove off with nothing but a sparing, apologetic glance at Robin from Ms. Henderson. She smiled back and waved.

Robin turned back to Steve’s grave and sighed. “Hey, Dingus…” she greeted with an awkward smile, “I hate wearing dresses, you know.” She looked down at the black dress her mom forced her into, as dad’s suit was just on the side of too big. She looked back up at Steve… Steve’s grave. “I tried to convince them to let me write Dingus on your grave, but they weren’t having it. They said something about insulting the dead, but they don’t understand what it means to us.” She licked her lips. “I’m surprised Tammy Thompson didn’t show up. I bet her singing would have woken you right up.” Robin snapped her fingers and began singing a “Kermit'' rendition of ‘Candle in the Wind’. She laughed and snorted, before she frowned and paused. “I should’ve woken you up. I shouldn't have let you sleep. Fuck, I—I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” She took a shuddering inhale. “I fucking hate The Fox and the Hound, Steve! You call that shit comforting? That movie’s your favorite? It’s depressing as shit, Dingus, and it makes me cry every time I watch it! A-A-And we were both scared. I should’ve forced you to sleep on the couch or-or gone with you. We should’ve been there for each other! I should’ve…” Robin interrupted herself with a gasp, like she was in pain. Then again, she was in pain. The kind of pain where there’s a stab in your chest from a knife that you can’t get out. No matter how much you claw at your skin and rip away your clothing, that knife stays. It’s not heartbreak. It’s not jealousy. It’s not rage. It’s guilt. It starts in your chest, and it spreads to the rest of your body like a slow building wildfire. And similar to a slow wildfire, you don’t notice it until the trees are all burning and there’s more smoke than clouds in the sky. “I should’ve saved you.” she glanced at the word ‘hero’ carved into his stone. “It should’ve been me.”

Robin went home after talking to Steve’s grave for another hour. She talked until the faucets in her eyes went dry and the numbness felt like a lump of burning coal in her throat. “I’m not hungry.” She muttered to her mom on the way to the bathroom. They had one bathroom in the house, but Robin didn’t give a shit. She spent nearly three hours there, staring at the mirror. Staring at her bruises. Staring at the dark circles and large, purple mark on her neck from where they pressed that needle into her skin. Staring at someone living. Someone who didn’t deserve to be.

In movies, it always rains at funerals. It didn’t rain. Of course, it didn’t. Steve hated the rain. “It ruins my hair, and it’s miserable and gray.” Instead, it was a cloudless day and hotter than the fireworks that burned the Mind Flayer. Robin was left sweating in her funeral outfit, so she got into the shower sometime during hour two of crying. She sat down in the tub instead of standing and cried with the water. Turns out, she hadn’t run dry, she just ran out of excuses to cry at Steve’s grave instead of going home where her parents would do nothing but pity her and care for her. She didn’t want pity; she wanted Steve. “I wish you were here, Steve.” She whimpered, calling out to her lost friend.

Her friend, who was sitting outside the bathroom door. Steve, who was still in his Scoops uniform and wishing he changed his clothes before he went to sleep. Steve, who had his elbows resting on either knee as he held his head in his hands. Steve, who was sobbing and crying along with Robin. “I’m right here…” he repeated. He lost how many times he had said the sentiment, but he was sure it was in the thousands by now.

“I’m right here.”

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