#stobin nonsense

[little-annie]

Bet you didn't know how Eddie found out Steve was Bi.

It was at a club in Indianapolis of all places. He and Steve, along with Robin and Vicki, had made their way to the city for a weekend of fun.

And some recognizance apparently.

Steve was convinced Vicki was into boobies, and at some point had made it his mission to prove such information to Robin. His location of choice? One of the biggest gay clubs in Indiana.

How Steve knew of the place made no sense to Eddie. Well at least not right away. Now though, now he knew Steve was…

Steve was:

A little fruity.

A friend of Dorothy.

A real cocksucker.

Steve Harrington was all of the above apparently.

To Eddie's utter bafflement.

And outstanding joy.

But sitting at the bar with the man in question by his side, Eddie hadn't known that yet. He was helplessly pining over a friend he thought he'd never have the faintest of a chance with. Watching from the side lines, imagining himself as the hot brunette in Steve's strong arms when the man would occasionally make his way to the dance floor.

They were having a good time. They were drinking, the girls were dancing like a couple of dorks out beneath the shining lights. Everything was going great.

But Eddie could still see from even across the dance floor the longing look in Robin's eyes as she watched Vicki do the sprinkler of all dance moves.

They really were perfect for each other.

“How's mission besties to boobies going? You think you'll have Robbie sucking on a tit by the end of the night?”

Sitting on the bar stool next to him, Steve snorts into his drink, choking on a laugh as he turns to admonish Eddie, “Jesus man.” He coughs around the fruity drink clogging his throat. “Robin would punch you in the jugular if she heard you say that.”

Eddie smiles to himself, just happy that he made Steve laugh. “Well good thing she's out there with Vicki then. Really though, any closer to helping them figure their shit out?”

Just as Steve's about to answer, both of their eyes watching the girls, they watch as some tall blonde jock approaches Vicki.

In the same instant they catch Robin's expression crumble.

“Mother fucker.” Steve huffs before he turns back to the bar and orders Robin's favourite drink. A Blue Hawaiin topped with more fruit than Eddie's eaten in the last year. Bright and flashy, decorated with a tiny purple umbrella.

Robin joins them not a minute later, sweat damp hair sticking to her forehead as she sighs sadly and falls face first with a groan into Steve's chest.

Eddie would be jealous if he didn't feel so bad for Robin.

The poor girl is nearly at her wits end.

For months her and Vicki have been going through a will they won't they type of thing.

Christ, they even kissed at one of Steve's little parties. Under the guise of spin the bottle, but it still happened and lasted way too long for Vicki to not have enjoyed it.

But then the next day, Eddie remembers Vicki talking about Dan. Her on - off boyfriend who apparently, judging by Steve's seething and Robin's near blubbering is the guy with his arms around a very annoyed looking Vicki's shoulders.

Robin's pulled herself from between Steve's beautiful beasts and is now leaning against the man, standing between his legs as he hugs her and she solemnly nibbles at her skewered fruit with her chin hooked over Steve's shoulder.

He's saying something to her that Eddie doesn't catch, but he notices how it makes Robin smile.

Albeit a little sadly.

Turning his attention away, Eddie takes a sip of his drink, stares daggers into Dan's soul on Robin's behalf and lets the Wonder Twins have their moment.

Amidst wishing Dan to drop dead, through the blaring music Eddie eventually hears Steve's determined tone.

“I'll do it, Rob.”

Curious, Eddie tunes in.

“You're not doing anything.”

“Mmmmh nope. I'm gonna do it.” Eddie nearly hears Steve's nod of resolution as he keeps his eyes on the gyrating crowd before them. He sounds determined. Surly staring his own form of ill will into Dan's soul, Steve continues, “He keeps dragging her on, which means she's dragging you on. And I can't let that happen.”

Robin sighs, “Steve.”

“Robin.”

Eddie can damn well hear them staring one another down.

It's rather loud.

As is the blatant telepathic convention they're having now.

After a moment of lord only knows what they've communicated to each other through a series of complicated facial expressions, Robin sighs again, apparently having accepted defeat, “You're a bitch.”

“You love me.”

“I hope you get Crabs.”

Eddie snorts to himself as he finally turns to take in the two next to him. Robin's now occupying Steve's previous bar stool and Mr. Great Tits and Tight Levi's himself is standing with the bitchiest expression known to man, staring Robin down, who sips her drink and appears unfazed.

And then Steve smirks.

“I literally watched you shave your chin hair with the razor I use on my balls. If I get Crabs you're coming down with me.”

Robin hardly looks bothered as she bites a hunk of pineapple from her skewer, seeming in a much better mood than when she'd arrived.

“You whore. Course you shave your balls.” She mumbles around the fruit in her mouth.

“Not everyone likes to have a jungle bush, Robin.”

Their continued nattering is lost to Eddie as he remains hung up on the idea of Steve's balls. Are they clean shaved, trimmed, artfully maintained?

He's pathetic. Eddie's well aware. Daydreaming of Steve's Adonis like body isn't new in the slightest.

He apparently wonders for so long that when he tunes back to reality, Steve and his decidedly trimmed balls are gone.

He looks to Robin who downing the remainder of her drink.

She shrugs, as if that explains anything.

Then he sees Steve at the other end of the bar talking to Vicki's maybe boyfriend.

It looks heated.

God, is Steve going to fight this guy? Fuck. Eddie's scrappy but he's never had a great track record with Jocks and he knows Steve and all of his monster fighting abilities means nothing when it comes to fighting people. He remembers the guy getting his ass handed to him by Byers. And Hargrove. Like he gets Billy, the guy was fucking insane. But Johnathan? Steve doesn't stand a chance against this guy. He's got at least twenty pounds on Steve.

Steve's going to get his ass kicked and Eddie's not going to be any help. Sure he'll try, throw a punch, maybe play dirty and move his rings over to his other hand so it hurts more, but otherwise he's got nothing.

All bark, no bite.

Fuck, what if the guy has friends here?

Eddie looks back to Robin who's now leaning back against the bar, watching as Vicki dances in the distance, giggling to herself as she waves at Robin then proceeds to do that shopping cart.

The sweet, ginger haired little dork.

Again, their perfect for each other.

“Steve's not really going to fight that guy is he?”

Robin snorts.

“Yeah, with his dick maybe.”

What?

“What?”

Robin waves him off with a limp wrist and plunks her empty glass onto the bar top behind her with a dull thud.

And then she's off.

Leaving Eddie with that tidbit of information.

She was joking, right? Right?

She had to be joking.

“Robin?!”

His voice is either lost to the music or she's ignoring him.

Probably the latter.

By the time Eddie turns his attention back to the end of the bar, he catches Steve giving Dan a playful tug to the belt loops and an expression Eddie can only describe as a smoulder.

Then Steve's pulling this guy by the hand to the men's bathroom.

What the fuck did he miss?

Jesus H Christ.

—

Twenty minutes and one tequila shot later, Eddie watches as Dan goes scurrying by from the bathroom to the exit, still tucking his fucking polo into his pants.

Lucky bastard.

A moment later, Steve returns.

Hair messy, pupils blown, shirt untucked and …

No.

It's that?

There's a small dot of milky white on Steve's chin.

Fucking hell.

Steve plops down in his chair, steals Eddie's beer and downs the remaining half, finishing it with a content sigh.

For the longest time Eddie's speechless.

Staring at Steve and the fucking splatter of come left on his chin.

What the actual fuck?

“What?”

Steve must've noticed.

Christ and it's not like Eddie can let the guy go walking around with that.

“You've got, uh, something on your chin…”

And like he knew it was there, knew exactly where it was, Steve wipes the evidence of his earlier rendezvous away.

Eddie can't help but continue to stare.

And like an idiot he decides to open his mouth. “Did you just…?”

And like it's nothing, Steve answers.

“Suck off Vicki's ex then threaten him with bodily harm if he ever bothers her or Robin again? Yeah. And?”

And?

And?!

Since when did Steve suck dick?!

Eddie's careening towards a level two gay fucking melt down when Steve decides to continue, sounding every bit offended and confused. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

“No!” Eddie answers immediately, hands up in defence. Steve's expression softens just a touch. “No. No, fuck, Steve. No, not at all. It's just-” well he didn't know and he and Steve are good enough friends Eddie figured something that important to Steve's person, he'd know. “I just didn't know.”

Steve's nose scrunches in that cute way that always makes Eddie feel like dropping dead, and then almost sounding like he's surprised, Steve laughs, “You- hah- Eddie! You didn't know!?”

“No!”

“No wonder,” Steve more so says to himself before ordering both him and Eddie another drink.

He doesn't continue until he's had a sip of whatever fruity monstrosity he's drinking now. “I've been flirting with you for months, Ed.”

“Yeah well I thought you were straight.” Eddie grumbles, feeling like a fucking idiot. Had Steve really been flirting with him? Had all of the lingering touches and seemingly longing stares all been intentional.

Jesus. Fucking. Fuck.

Steve had asked him if he wanted to fool around a couple weeks ago and Eddie thought he was joking.

Shit.

“What?” Steve says, halfass sounding offended, “Like it would have made a difference. Dude you've made it obvious you're not interested.”

“I- what?”

Steve shrugs, “Yeah. No hard feelings man. I get it. I'm not your type.”

“Not- not my type!? Steve! My beautiful beautiful boy, I am so interested. I'm painfully interested. I'm so interested I jack off to the idea every night, interested.”

He's just going to ignore the fact he said that aloud.

It's worth it for the blush that rises to Steve's cheeks anyways. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“So you wanna?”

“Absolutely annihilate each other in the men's bathroom?” Eddie asks confidently, truly hyping himself up so he doesn't freak out, downing his drink and standing to offer Steve his hand, “ Yes please.”

But not taking his hand and running to the bathroom to hopefully suck each other off, Steve stays sitting, staring at Eddie's offered hand. And just when Eddie starts to think he's fucked this all up before it's even started, Steve stutters his response

“ I- well- I was thinking more like a- a movie and milkshakes, or something?”

Oh.

Oh this isn't just sex to Steve.

Thank God.

Eddie wasn't entirely sure how his heart would have handled the alternative.

Did Steve Harrington just ask him on a date?

“Yeah.” Eddie answers, a little breathless, a little bashful.

“We can do your thing to if this is just-”

“No. No, Steve. It's really not. I feel like a fucking schoolgirl, man. All giddy and shit. I just never thought-”

“You're kinda hard not to want Eddie.” Steve interrupts him.

And isn't that a fucking line.

Maybe…

“Both?” Eddie asks, only for Steve to raise a brow

“What about both?”

“Oh!” Steve shouts, catching the attention of a few people, one of which being Robin who was wandering hand in hand with Vicki to the bar, “Yeah. Fuck yeah.” He downs his drink just as Eddie had and finally takes Eddie's offered hand.

On their near sprint to the men's bathroom, Eddie's sure, through the buzz of his own brain and the blare of music he hears Robin's raspy voice shout, “Enjoy my besties bald balls, Munson!”

---

Give my tittle ideas babes. I wanna post this insanity on Ao3.

[steddieasitgoes]

Robin: I have a crush on Carol now that she ditched Tommy.

Steve: Perkins? Jesus, she's going to eat you alive

Robin: I mean... that's the goal right

It takes Steve far too long to catch on to what Robin is saying because he's too busy giving her advice on how to go about wooing her.

Sadly, things don't work out with Carol.

Fast forward a year and...

Robin: I think I have a crush on Nancy

Steve: Robin! Can't you pick a girl I haven't seen naked?

Robin: And who would that be, Mr. Former King?

Steve can't argue with that so he promises to drive her out of Hawkins and into the city the following weekend to try to find someone new for her to crush on that Steve doesn't have ties to.

Of course, they run into Heidi.

Robin: You really were a slut, Steve

[findafight]

Why are some of y'all making Robin be so mean to Steve and having them friend break up or their relationship irreversibly damaged for the sake of romo ships why would you do that to them what the hellllll literally biggest case of She Would Not Do That ever.

Sure Robin will rag on Steve but it's friendly! It's as friends! Steve does the same to her! He literally immediately dragged her crush as soon as she came out to him! Their bickering is mutual! They want to combine!! Into one!! Being!! They care so much about each other Steve wants Robin to be happy Robin worries over Steve's injuries.

Why are you making her ignore him or not realize something is wrong with him? Stop trying to replace her with other teens or a romantic interest for Steve! If your (usually whump) fic cannot function with Robin actually being Steve's friend and him talking to her then like. Send her away to visit an old sick relative or something and unable to actually be there and help him. The stobin angst can come from her being unable to actually do anything besides talk him through it to help, being so far away. You don't! Need! To make!! Her mean!! To Steve!! Sure they can have conflict but that conflict should come from a place of deep care, not apathy!! What the fuck!!!

[stellarspecter]

STWG daily prompt 6/11/24: aromantic (+ 6/5/24: asexual)

platonic stobin and mario kart shenanigans! (divider by thecutestgrotto)

read on ao3

“I'm aro,” Steve starts.

“And I'm ace!” Robin finishes. The two of them grin, arms slung around each other's shoulders.

Eddie chokes on a laugh. “Did you rehearse that?”

Steve pouts unfairly cutely. “...No.”

Eddie snorts. “You so did.”

From the other side of the couch, Argyle shoots them a thumbs-up. “That's awesome, brochachos. You're like two halves of one whole spectrum. Radical.“

Eddie rolls his eyes, but Robin gasps like Argyle is dispensing real wisdom and not just perpetually high and saying words. “You know, I've always thought that!”

Argyle nods sagely. Steve leans into Robin and she supports his weight surprisingly well for someone who probably weighs half as much as him. “Me and Robbie were separated at birth,” he sighs. “After she took all the romantic attraction in the womb.”

Robin giggles and shoves him. “Okay, horndog, don't act like you didn't also take all the sexual attraction.”

Steve laughs and straightens up, just leaving his elbow propped up on her shoulder. She's not even that much shorter than him, so it doesn't look that comfortable, but she doesn't seem to care enough to stop him. “What if we just... combined. Would we be aroace or alloallo?”

“What, like Steven Universe?” She asks.

“Clearly, you'd split into two people, one who's completely aroace and one who's a bisexual lesbian,” Eddie adds dryly.

Robin gasps and turns to Steve. “Babe! We'd be so controversial!”

Steve takes her hands in both of his. “Robs... if we were fictional characters in Steven Universe, I'd be honored to start discourse with you.”

“Aw, Stevie...” Robin looks genuinely touched.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Sorry to interrupt this touching moment. And sorry for encouraging it. Can we get back to Mario Kart?” He gestures towards the TV, still stuck on the character selection screen. “I've still gotta beat your asses on Rainbow Road.”

Steve and Robin grumble, but sit back down where they left their controllers. “As long as we can all agree that Daisy is the hottest character.”

“What about Rosalina?” Argyle muses from his corner. “I like that she's from the stars.”

“She has blonde emo bangs. Pass,” Robin says.

Eddie cracks up at that, bending over and clutching the controller in his hand so hard that he accidentally presses the button to start the next round. “No, wait! No! I didn't mean to --” He stares mournfully up at the screen displaying his new character: Baby Mario.

Robin cackles as her Daisy sets up on her bike. “That's what you get, Munson.”

“For what?” He cries.

Steve just shrugs as he sends Peach careening down the track. “You don't even believe that we're twins separated at birth.”

Eddie splutters. “What — Of course I don't!” He's trying to catch up, but he missed the boost at the start and he's stuck miserably in twelfth place.

“You gotta believe in them, Edster,” Argyle adds, gracefully piloting Yoshi to a solid third place. “They're literally drift compatible.”

Robin makes a noise like she would agree loudly and point at him if she wasn't completely absorbed in the race. Eddie sighs. “If I got to be Waluigi I would be kicking your asses right now,” he mutters. “Just you wait.”

“Don't be aphobic, Eddie,” Steve peacefully retorts as he leaves a banana peel for him to slip on.

“I'm literally not — okay. I'm not talking to you until I win.”

Steve and Robin shoot each other triumphant smirks. “Have fun being silent for the rest of your life, then,” she snarks back.

“You mean for the next two minutes?”

“Is that talking? Is someone talking to me?”

Eddie gets the message and quiets down, laser focused on the TV.

A couple minutes later, he slumps in defeat as Argyle swoops first place and he languishes in a measly fifth.

“How does it feel, Edward?” Robin taunts.

He crosses his arms stubbornly. “I'm not talking to you.”

“Oh, Steve, did you hear something? Was that — a reply?”

“You know, I think I did hear something,” Steve replies, smirking before he even drops the punchline. “The sound of losing.”

Eddie throws his head back and groans. His friends just laugh at him and start another race.

“No, wait, don't leave me as Baby Mario —! Motherfuckers —“

[fairysteve]

stobin getting matching tattoos

[eskawrites]

looking at the lyrics for the last chapter of the celebrity fake dating au and getting all sentimental about what could’ve been so, for my own indulgence and maybe like 2 other people’s curiosity, here are some scrapped lyrics that never made it in but are very near and dear to my heart and to the story anyway

Caution by The Killers

Tonight the winds of change are blowin' wild and free / If I don't get out / Out of this town / I just might be the one who finally burns it down

(there was a point earlyyyyy on, before Robin and Nancy got so soft with each other, that their affair would’ve been a lot messier and a lot more reckless than it turned out to be, and this def would’ve been on one of those chapters)

Chicago - Sufjan Stevens (The Staves cover)

If I was crying / In the van, with my friends / It was for freedom / From myself, and for the land / I made a lot of mistakes

(i mean there are a lot of places this could’ve gone, particularly in the late 80s/early 90s chapters. and yes, the Staves cover part is important, their version is just hauntingly gorgeous)

Snow on the Beach - Taylor Swift (feat. Lana Del Rey)

Now it's like snow at the beach / Weird, but fuckin' beautiful / Flying in a dream Stars by the pocketful / You wanting me / Tonight feels impossible / But it's comin' down / No sound, it's all around

(this was so close to being the lyrics for the Golden Globes chapter. it was so freaking close. but i changed that chapter’s lyrics to Lover of Mine because it fit Robin’s uncertainty better. but damn, the first time i listened to Midnights i was like !!! cfdau!!)

Dear Reader - Taylor Swift

Dear reader / the greatest of luxuries is your secrets

(yes there are multiple Taylor Swift songs here. i’m sorry/you’re welcome. anyway this would’ve gone in the chapter after Steve’s affair got out. but that also happens to be the chapter where ronance finally kisses so their song (killing me by ofelia k) won out)

Keep Me - Novo Amor

Keep me honest, keep me kind / Keep me as your finish line / Keep me, keep me on fire

(i kept holding onto this for quiet moments with robin and nancy, particularly their balcony chats through the years, but it never ended up going in. still soft tho, and another one from the album that i listened to on repeat while i wrote those early chapters <3)

You’re On Your Own, Kid - Taylor Swift

'Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned / Everything you lose is a step you take

(it would’ve worked so well for the second to last chapter, but Maya Hawke’s ‘Over’ won out because of course it did. that was the first chapter i put lyrics on (aside from the actual first chapter, since that’s the song the fic is named after)

Backup Plan - Maya Hawke

Your favorite game, your secrеt shame, your eyesorе / I wanna be anything you've lost that you might be lookin' for

(i mean....this is a fic about affairs. it would’ve gone so well during robin and nancy’s relationship or even in the months leading up to it when they’re both pining. this is another one that i just kept putting off so it never went in, but also ‘Over’ is my absolute favorite Maya Hawke song, and I kind of wanted to give it a place of privilege as her only song in the fic, or something silly like that)

On Board - Alana Henderson, Joshua Burnside

So you should get on board / With someone whose course is steadier than mine / You should get on board / With someone whose eyes are on the horizon / Not on the skies

(this is kinda a stobin song for this fic, and also a ronance song at some points, and i really couldn’t decide where it worked best but i really do love it as a robin pov song no matter what so maybe i’ll throw it in another fic at some point)

3 Rounds and a Sound - Blind Pilot

Now I see you, 'til kingdom come / You're the one I want / To see me for all / The stupid shit I've done

(listen this is just a very sweet, slow dancing in the kitchen kinda love song, but ‘you’re the one i want to see me for all the stupid shit i’ve done’ like?? that’s so good for robin and nancy? but i actually heard this for the first time pretty late in the process so it didn’t show up in time to make the cut)

Crow’s Feet - The Accidentals

Sometimes I will lose all I have just to see what remains / Sometimes it's like living a / Car crash, hot flash / It takes someone bleeding to get you believing / A record spinning / Obsessed with the end when it's just the beginning

(if i could i would paste this entire song into the beginning of this fic, or at the end, because it’s just such a good anthem about life and pain and the experience of years. it fits incredibly well with the last few chapters. but hey, maybe it’ll also show up in the future, maybe in some nancy pov or something)

[devondespresso]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[green-fifteen]

Boomerang

tags: stobin, stobin child, OC, teenager problems idk, not!fic

word count: 795

@stobinmonth prompt: school

I'm thinking about Steve as a middle school teacher only because it's my favorite level to teach. How innocent they are! How evil they can be! And what a nightmare when his own kid shows up in class.

And, okay, Jules would want me to tell you that Steve is NOT her father, he just raised her with her mom and has been there every single day since she was born. It's an IMPORTANT distinction when the man in question is contractually obligated to teach her peers about condoms.

Right after the D.A.R.E. convocation the first week of school (a totally sexless function!), Kelly Nesbit made a button in Home Ec. that read, "JUST SAY YES TO MR. HARRINGTON" with wobbly little hearts in the O's. So you can imagine the kind of thing she is dealing with, here.

She sat her parents down the weekend before 6th grade to let them know the situation.

"Dad, you're not my father."

"I'm not?"

"You're very important to me, but we both agree that I am not related to you."

Robin cut in. "Okay so who am I? By your logic."

"You can be my mother, it's fine. It's on all the paperwork, you enrolled me."

"You do know my signature is on your birth certificate, right?" Steve reminds her.

"Unimportant. I won't be bringing my birth certificate to school and showing it off to my friends. If we're careful, we should be able to pull this off."

Robin and Steve shared a wary glance.

"And what are we pulling off, exactly?"

"Convincing the school that I am not related to a teacher." She gestured at Steve with a offensive amount of dismay. Robin made a mental note to have that 'terrible role model' talk with Erica that she'd been putting off.

Steve was eventually manipulated into agreeing when Jules said something like, "Aunt Nancy was right. She said you'd never agree because you're overly attached to me."

(Which I'm sure you can guess Nancy did not say. Her actual words were like, "If you ask him to pretend he doesn't love you at school, he might actually start crying in the hallways.")

So they don't speak to each other at school outside of 4th period, when Steve is careful to only call on her as much as he would any other student. No one suspects a thing for just over a month, at which point Jules manages to step all over her own careful plan.

It's something like this: it's 4th period. The bell is about to ring and Steve is handing back module one tests from the week before. Jules gets hers and just stares at it for a solid minute. He took off two points for that? FOUR points for THAT? And you see, Julia Buckley is something of a whiz and a perfectionist. A sense of indignation begins to build as she looks over the rest of the marks Steve left on her paper. And sure, she did get some things wrong. But what's the point of your dad being your teacher if he doesn't even let the small stuff slide? It's outrageous.

When she sees the little note at the bottom of the paper, a scribbled nonsensical little Good work, Bluejay! her frustration boils over.

"Dad!"

She yells into the quiet classroom. Everyone turns to look at her and then at Mr. Harrington, who is frozen with his handmade "BEST DAD" mug an inch from his lips. He looks like a raccoon caught in a floodlight.

"Do you think I don't know what peer pressure is? I wrote you a very clear definition. Do you even have a rubric? I want to see it."

Someone laughs or she notices the looks on their faces and realizes she's really done it now. She only has two choices. She can either insist she called the teacher Dad by mistake in the most humiliating way possible and endure the shame of hearing her classmates giggle and spread it all over the school for the rest of the week. Or, she can own up and buy herself a much longer, slower mortification. One that doesn't let up until graduation.

Steve eventually clears his throat. "No rubric-- just the answer sheet, Miss Buckley. If you have a problem with your grade, please see me after class."

And she decides right there, 'Bluejay' in his messy scrawl and 'Miss Buckley' in that strained tone of voice.

"Why bother?" She rolls her eyes and tries to sound casual. "I'll just see you at home."

She doesn't stay to appreciate the wide, surprised look he gives her or the astonished little whispers of her peers. The bell rings like a sign from God and she high-tails it right out of there.

[xenon-demon]

After my original musings on the Streamers!Stobin & Deranged Fic Author!Eddie AU (post linked here), here are some more thoughts, Ronance Edition:

In this universe Nancy is also a streamer who uses Nancy Keene as her professional name (in reference to the pseudonym used by the authors of the Nancy Drew books, Carolyn Keene), except her content revolves around political commentary and reporting on whatever major news is breaking on the internet. She focuses on correcting misinformation and providing reputable sources for things, since we all love purposefully spreading misinformation on the internet (surely we all know the meme I’m referencing), mainly so that when she issues or accepts a challenge to publicly debate someone she knows she’ll aboslutely wipe the floor with them. Her political commentary is pretty iron-clad as well, to the point where it just makes the conservatives look bad when they say she doesn’t know what she’s talking about because not only is it obvious she does, but she probably wrote the book that everyone else learns about it from.

So Nancy Wheeler is usually very no-nonsense in her content. The most casual her streams ever get is when she’s doing a Q&A stream and might deign to answer a couple of questions about her personal life, as opposed to her political leanings or thoughts on journalism-related topics.

This is why no one really knows how to handle it when she pops up as a special guest on BirdBox_’s twitch stream. What’s more, they’re playing Minecraft together, and Robin is busy building their base and making it look all pretty while Nancy goes charging into the mines for resources.

Neither of them address it for the entire two hour stream, just acting like it’s totally normal and common for them to collaborate together like this - and from the way they’re interacting, they’re clearly close. There’s a few moments that come across as awkward, where Nancy makes a joke that Robin laughs just a bit too hard at, or Robin rambles on about something the way she does and Nancy’s response comes in too late, her webcam showing she’d just zoned out and stared at her screen. These moments are outnumbered by the number of times they genuinely thrive in conversation, such as bouncing off each other and one-upping a joke until they both get killed by a creeper because they got distracted laughing. (Nancy was so mad about that one, she had 10 diamonds in her inventory that just got lost forever.)

Seeing how well they get on, and how much they’re both clearly enjoying it, both Nancy and Robin’s fans decide to just roll with it. There’s a healthy subset of Nancy’s fans who have wanted to get to know her a bit beyond her professional persona and hope she doesn’t feel pressured to only make that kind of content, and Robin’s fans are enjoying seeing a different side of her to the one that comes out with Steve. It’s a win-win-win; the fans get some great content, and Nancy and Robin get to spend some quality time together and get paid to do so. Fantastic.

Afterwards, Robin is an absolute mess, obsessively watching and rewatching the VOD and bemoaning how obviously smitten she looks. She won’t stop on her own, so Steve has to hide her laptop in the one place she’ll never look for it - the drawer in his bedroom containing his sex paraphernalia. (Which is really not as exciting as that makes it sound; Steve wishes he was having sex even a fraction as wild as some of the stuff his fans imagined him doing, but then just getting laid at all would be a good place to start. It’s hard out here for the hopeless romantics who want to get laid but are sick of it not meaning anything.)

Meanwhile Nancy, nearly a thousand miles away in Boston, has her sights set on a brand new mystery to solve; is Robin Buckley an appreciator of women? Does she by any chance kiss girls? How does she feel about the colors orange and pink, especially when there’s a white stripe in between them? Or the colors pink purple and blue for that matter, but Nancy’s already bringing those ones to the table. She’s absolutely not letting herself entertain any thoughts of what might happen if Robin is gay, since that would just be setting herself up for disappointment if she’s not. The internet seems convinced she’s dating her roommate-and-best-friend-and-business-partner, but Nancy’s never trusted the internet’s popular opinion before and she’s not about to start now.

Robin and Nancy keep streaming together. The ones on Robin’s channel are them playing games like Overcooked, Animal Crossing, a tonne of Minecraft (which Steve joins in on eventually and keeps building the ugliest houses ever), and on a few notable occasions It Takes Two. The streams on Nancy’s channel are less frequent, and usually consist of Robin popping in for a Q&A stream, but there’s been a few times where they’ll bounce back and forth off of each other in one of Nancy’s political commentary streams.

Before long people start shipping them. It’s mainly Robin’s fans, since Nancy’s fans are not the fandom type of people, but with all these new streams Nancy’s been doing with Robin she’s starting to build that sort of audience for herself as well. Robin is equal parts thrilled and mortified, because oh my god they think I should date my crush and are writing stories about me doing just that this is the best day of my life, but also oh my GOD poor Nancy must hate this and is never going to stream with me again. She doesn’t calm down about it until Nancy is asked about it on stream a couple of weeks after the shipping started to get really out of control - and that was all thanks to someone deciding to @ Robin and Nancy on twitter under a thread where someone had written an absolutely deranged fanfiction about them through the medium of fake social media screenshots.

(Nancy takes a long sip from her cup of tea before reading out the next question from her chat window. “Dear Nancy, how do you feel about being shipped with BirdBox_? Or people writing about you? Because BirdBox_ gets that sort of thing a lot but you haven’t had to state any boundaries about it before.”

Nancy hums to herself. “That’s a good question. You’re right, I haven’t had this kind of audience before - not that I mind, I love Robin’s fans and I’m so thrilled you’ve all seemed to welcome me in to your space.” Nancy leans back in her chair and looks off into the middle distance, her foot absentmindedly spinning her chair a little as she thinks. “I would say... it’s ultimately up to Robin. As you said, she has experience with this, and I trust her. Whatever she says her boundaries are, I have the same ones.”

Nancy looks back at the camera and smiles, pleased with her answer. After a moment, however, her eyes widen and she rushes to add, “And don’t make sexually explicit or inflammatory content about me, but I would hope that’s obvious enough that you wouldn’t do it anyway. And I would hope Robin’s told you not to do that too.”)

If Nancy’s quietly thrilled that people think she should date Robin, and is using this as a way to put the ball in Robin’s court about how she feels about dating another woman (maybe even dating Nancy specifically?), then that’s Nancy’s business and Nancy’s business alone.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am not from the US, I know nothing about the country except what I learned from having a hyperfixation on Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance, all I know is according to google Emerson has a Boston campus so badda bing badda boom that’s where Nancy is. Stobin meanwhile live in Chicago, and I haven’t decided where Eddie is yet but my gut says Indianapolis. Actually yeah after thinking about this for five seconds I’ve decided, Eddie & the CC boys are from Indianapolis and grew up there.

Also for context, the gang (Steve, Robin, Nancy, the Party, basically everyone but Eddie and the CC boys) did still go to high school together in Hawkins only for the older teens to move away for college/to live their lives away from the shackles of rural midwest America. Upon finding out they all became streamers/internet content creators, Nancy reached out to Robin and Steve to say “hey, I don’t know if you remember me from high school, but I remember you!” and things snowballed from there until they became friends. (I haven’t decided if Steve and Nancy just never dated in this AU, or if they did and it was significantly less of a big deal due to the lack of Upside Down trauma. Plus I’m imagining them in their early-to-mid twenties here so even if they did date they’ve had longer to get over it.)

[sidekickjoey]

You're On Your Own, Kid (You Can Face This)

Graphics & writing by: @sidekickjoey Beta: @steddieasitgoes Art by: @ja0netholmes/@bittlebarnes and @danadaria Part of @steddiebang 2023

Read on Ao3

It's Stobin sleepover time, aka time for Steve to reveal the contents of her college letter and what he's chosen to deliver as his "big news." Revelations, and more questions, ensue.

Chapter 4 - I Dream of Getting Out (preview under the cut)

“For your information, I was about to come find you and kick your fluffy-haired ass into next week.”

“Hello to you too, Robin.”

The mist in the Hawkins air that night has transformed into something of a downpour by the time Steve makes it over to Robin’s place. It had pelted his polo with little remorse along his entire journey to her front door, and it had continued to decorate his once-voluminous hair with hundreds of tiny water droplets in the seconds spent waiting for Robin to open up. When she finally did, the two of them had entered something much like a standoff. In reality, it looked more like one of those staring contests kids play in middle school when they want to feed off of each other’s boredom, only with a bit more bite to it. And then, Robin gave him her ever-so-warm greeting. With such a pleasant start and the day’s track record hanging over him, the universe can't blame him for being a little less than enthusiastic to go inside. 

Robin folds her arms across her chest.

“Do you have any idea what time it is right now, dingus? Any clue at all?”

Steve shakes his head. He also checks his wrist, but both he and Robin know there is nor ever will be a watch there, especially not after all the Vecna nonsense. It just makes her frown grow.

“I’m sorry. I can explain, if you’ll still have me.”

“Oh don’t worry, you’re gonna’ explain,” she grumbles, pointing behind her. “You’re gonna’ explain why I shouldn’t be pissed that you’re over three hours late for my letter reveal, Harrington. And you’re lucky my parents are staying over with my Aunt Carol tonight, because otherwise I’d be making you explain to them why on Earth you’re here so late, too. In full detail!”

Well, at least the universe has dealt him one victory today.

[stvharrngton]

Grading parties with teacher!Steve 😫

ok but he would say it’s a party but it’s actually just you two and robin 😭 (robin is also in this au as a music teacher because stobin always have to work together i don’t make the rules!!!) but she would totally leave like half way through bc she’s sick of you two being oblivious pining idiots and she refuses to be the third wheel 😪 and you get hardly any grading done bc steeb keeps distracting u and talking about some utter nonsense but he doesn’t care because as long as he’s with you he’s happy 🥺🫶

[steddieasitgoes]

Pin The Tail On The Donkey

written for @steddiemicrofic March prompt: pin and to celebrate the wonderful @stevesbipanic birthday! Sorry it's so short B, I forgot you're a day ahead of me and planned to write tomorrow lol

wc: 388 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: established relationship, roommate Robin Buckley, It's Steve's Birthday, fluff, both boys are menaces, platonic stobin

“Is this really necessary?” 

Balloons of various sizes litter their living room floor (“Blowing them up is harder than it looks, okay!” Robin had defended when he pointed out the small, barely blown-up pile in the mix). A small pile of haphazardly wrapped gifts takes over their coffee table (“I couldn’t find the scissors,” Eddie pouts when Steve zeroes in on the jumbled mess that is, no doubt, Eddie’s present). 

The piece of resistance, and the bane of Steve’s existence though, is the childish party games prepped and ready to go. Every chair in the house is arranged in a circle near Robin’s boombox lying in wait until the rest of the party guests arrive. An overflowing pinata sits amongst the mix, and a stupid, tail-less donkey picture crookedly hangs on the wall. Eddie and Robin are standing beside it — Eddie holding the blindfold and Robin with the sticker tale, both waiting for Steve to indulge their childish whims. 

“It’s absolutely necessary. Dire even,” Eddie says, stalking over to where Steve sits stubbornly on the couch. “No boyfriend of mine is going to go another year without knowing what it’s like to pin the tail on the donkey.”  

Steve shoots Robin a ‘help me’ glance, but all he gets is a shrug in return. 

“Nope! I told you when you started dating him I was not getting involved in your guys’ nonsense.” 

“You literally helped him set this whole thing up!” 

“Well, yeah. It is your birthday.” 

“Come on, Stevie,” Eddie whines, jutting his lip out and giving Steve those irresistible puppy dog eyes. “Just one time. I’ll even help you put the blindfold on.” 

Realization dawns on Steve in an instant. “So that’s what this is really about,” Steve smirks up at his conniving boyfriend before pushing himself off the couch. He takes two steps forward, closing the distance between them before lowering his lips to the shell of Eddie’s ear. “Baby, if you wanted me to wear a blindfold all you had to do was ask.” 

Robin gasps from across the room, dropping the sticker tail. “You tricked me!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Eddie says, shooting Robin an apologetic look over Steve’s shoulder, before focusing on the man in front of him. “But I’m definitely not complaining at the change in plans.” 

“Neither am I.”  

[findafight]

People who use stobin to prop up romantic ships are missing the point and doing it wrong. You have to use Romo ships as a vehicle for stobin nonsense. Their shenanigans. Steve is out here making elaborate "get Robin and Vickie dating" schemes and dragging Robin along on little adventures to plot and plan. There's probably a whiteboard with arrows involved. Do you see? The Rockie is secondary to the stobin silliness. It's there as an excuse to have them be completely abnormal about each other.

[stellarspecter]

Vampires and Werewolves and Demons, Oh My!

@stevieweek Day 3: Girls Night + Dice Roll: 9. Monsterfucking

Rating: T | Words: 803 | platonic stobin, pre-steddie and pre-rovickie

just some silly girls night banter! wrote this in like an hour, bon appetit (and thank you stevieweek for making dividers for us!)

read on AO3

“Listen, I’m not saying I wanna fuck a werewolf,” Stevie says, “I’m just saying I maybe wouldn’t necessarily be against it.”

“Sounds like a werewolf fucker to me,” Robin dryly comments.

“No!” Stevie exclaims, yanking her hands away from Argyle’s surprisingly talented manicure so she can gesture suitably. “I just said I wouldn’t be against it! Like, if I met one and they were hot and they asked me to, I would, but I wouldn’t, like, seek it out.”

Nancy hums, considering, then nods. “Yeah, I can see it.” She rises from where she was hunched over Robin’s hands and caps her bottle of nail polish. “Besides, with how much you liked getting hickeys, you’d be more into vampires anyway.”

Stevie gapes at her, betrayed. Robin’s cackling joins Argyle’s stoned chuckles. “You —! I trusted you! What happened to ‘being exes doesn’t matter, we can just be friends?!’”

Nancy just laughs. “That doesn’t mean I don’t remember what you were like when we dated.”

Argyle nods sagely. “Using insider info for an accurate monsterfucking profile. I dig it.” He offers her a fist bump, which she carefully accepts. 

Stevie snorts. “Fuckin’ ‘monsterfucking profile.’ What are you even talking about.”

“Like, a video game character with different attributes,” Robin adds, hands spreading wide in front of her so as to not smudge her wet nail polish. “High score in werewolves, but you’ve maxed out your vampire stat.”

Stevie gives her an unimpressed look. “You sound like one of the nerds.”

“Oh, you mean I sound like Eddie, your best friend Eddie?” Her demeanor changes on a dime to a new simpering character, looking up at Stevie with wide eyes.

Stevie scoffs. “You’re my best friend, dingus, you know that.”

Nancy doesn’t hesitate to jump on the bait. “Oh, he’s not your best friend, he’s something else? Like, say, a crush?”

Stevie groans and falls back onto the pillow-covered floor from their earlier movie marathon. “For the last time, I do not have a crush on Eddie.”

“Are you into devils and shit too?” Argyle asks nonsensically. Stevie stares at him. “You know, like —” He mimics Eddie’s horns pose, tongue out. It looks a lot more silly when he does it. “Cause he does have vampire vibes but I think he sees himself as more of a devil/demon type creature.”

“Argyle,” Stevie starts calmly, although she doesn’t feel anything close to it. “Are you asking me. In real life. If seeing our mutual friend Eddie Munson do his stupid little devil horns. Gets me hot and bothered?”

Argyle shrugs in that unbothered way of his. Stevie doesn’t know how he does it. “Whatever greases your wheels, amigo.”

“Oh my god no it doesn’t fucking —” Stevie takes a deep breath. “I do not have a crush on Eddie. And if I did,” she sends a warning glance around the room. “It wouldn’t be because I want to fuck him as a vampire or a demon or whatever the fuck. Okay?”

Her statement seems to pacify Nancy and Argyle, but Robin will not be swayed. Typical. “Sure, Stevie,” she says with an exaggerated wink.

Stevie sighs frustratedly and crosses her arms. “Alright, do you want us to talk about monsterfucking your crush? You seem to like Vickie playing in band, I bet you want her to be a siren and lure you into dangerous waters or some shit.”

Robin splutters, and Stevie grins. Finally some satisfying payback. “I never said tha—”

“I bet you’d sail your ship into the rocks just to get a taste of fish pussy.”

“How do you know these words!” Robin’s arms flail, trying to disperse the laughter now filling the room at her bright red face.

Nancy parrots, “Monsterfucking her crush? So you do agree Eddie’s your crush?”

Stevie puts her hands over her face in a fit of despair. “Why am I being literally cross-examined about Eddie fucking Munson right now,” she moans.

“It’s Girls Night, Stevie,” Robin tells her. “This is what we do. I thought you wanted to be included?”

“I did,” Stevie says, guarded. “But that was when I thought it was just watching chick flicks and painting our nails. Also, why’s Argyle here if it’s Girls Night?”

They all turn to him.

“It’s my luscious locks, brochacho,” he explains. “And I give good relationship advice.”

“Really?” Stevie says, intrigued despite herself. “What’s your advice right now?”

“About you and Eddie?” He looks up at the ceiling, contemplative. “You should probably tell him how you really feel,” he says. “You’re doing a really bad job keeping it a secret.”

All Stevie can do in the face of such great betrayal is throw a pillow at his head. Good thing it turns out no Girls Night is complete with a pointless-argument induced pillow fight by the end of it.

[superblysubpar]

FUCKING FUUUUCCCKKKKK

Amanda.

This is so good I'm speechless, and yet I cannot stop talking. WHY ISN'T IT A SHOW. IM SCREAMING AT MY PHONE FOR THE NEXT EPISODE. (lovingly, patiently, I'd wait all of eternity for it)

Like seriously, this is phenomenal. There's like actual addictive stimulants in this fic. Idk how you did that but I feel insane. I wanna devour this for the first time again already. I wanna write till my fingers bleed and I've come up with something a fraction as good.

I feel crazy. I am crazy. You did this!!

Just so I don't spoil things - CAUSE HEY YOU, WHOEVER SEES THIS: READ IT READ IT READ IT

Listen listen LISTEN

I already told you about this photography nonsense and I simply CANNOT.

And just, the train...UGGGGGGGHHHHHHH IM A PUDDLE.

AND THE ELDERLY COUPLE?!

“Amazing,” you sighed, the delight on your face swooping at his stomach. 

This line. Thiiiisssss linnnneeee

“No press, just freelance,” you said from across the metal threshold. You wore a well-loved leather jacket, softened and faded with time and an expression that toed the line between compliance and try me.

Steve swallowed, shook the stars from his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sorry, this is a camera-free zone.”

Shook the stars from his eyes from our tough little act I will SMOOCH him

He kept your SD card. He didn’t even tell Robin that it rested on the corner of his dresser next to a picture of Dustin on his graduation day. 

“Okay, okay,” her connection stuttered in and out, face pixelated as she ducked out of frame and back. “So you’re going to be alone forever. That’s not so bad.” 

“At least I have you.” Steve nodded, mouth full of squishy sweet banana. 

ALL OF THE ROBIN AND STOBIN I LOVE HER AND THEMMMMMM

He’d never been to your house, and when he walked over the threshold, he was overpowered by how you it felt. The whole place smelled of you, of your shampoo and the perfume you spritz on special nights. Your little kitchen table was scattered with stacks of old mail and rolls of film. A laptop sat open on a squishy futon sofa. Beneath your television were a handful of films he knew you loved. 

Okay, like, listen, idk how you did it but it's like Steve's seeing the apartment for the first time and explaining it to us for the first time but like I feel like I know it already? Like I do in fact live there because I am reader? Like this passage just made me feel like it is in fact mine? And what sort of witchcraft is that?

Steve: What do we think of Front Desk Becky

Robin: You leave that sweet girl out of this. 

The emotional whiplash I felt from this moment to him catching us in the apartment all wrapped around EDDIE when STEVE IS RIGHT THERE

I can't with you

✋️✋️✋️✋️✋️

Eddie’s bedroom door was open, satin sheets crumpled and pillows stacked to accommodate one. Upon quick glance, the ceiling mirror reveled the room to be empty. 

Booooo you whore Eddie!! A mirror!! But also hey cutie smartie big bodyguard Steve using his skills to use that slutty mirror to clear rooms, I see you babe 💛

He cleared his throat and looked down at your hand in his. He brushed the back of it again with his thumb. His throat was tight, voice raw. “I just want to keep you safe.”

When I tell you, the breath I was holding during this whole lips zipped Steve moment...SO FUCKING CUTE YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. And the tension of this little bubble of touching each other but not...FUCK. I could hear him, his voice cracking saying this.

“No pickles?” You frowned, peeking into the mostly empty paper sack.

Same, girl.

But also!!! The fear!! I had!! While Steve!! Was across the street!! And the little moments like reaching into the jacket!! I felt his fear!!

Halfway down the hallway, you answered your phone, sweet nothings murmured for someone else.

Hell Hound • Part One

Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 10, 712

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *This chapter also contains allusions of voyeurism, sex, drinking, recreational drug use, religious elements

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two [Coming soon]

The interior of the L never looked that beautiful, at least not through Steve’s eyes. Every experience he’d had was tainted by Bears fans or teenagers filming videos on their phone, or God, don’t remind him about St. Patty’s Day. No, the seats were too small for his shoulders, the windows too short, and the whole thing smelled like plastic bags.

Your perspective was vastly different. You were just the right height to catch the sunlight as it filled the train car with that golden glow. The city whirred by, a kaleidoscope of bright lights and reflections off the glass. You positioned poles and handholds just so with satisfying symmetry.

No, the city had never looked as beautiful to him as it had through your lens. 

Steve said that to Robin once, and she wretched over the line and made him promise he’d never repeat it to you. He hadn’t, but he’d also never let one of your photos go un-complimented.

He enjoyed the roll of your eyes, the sink of your teeth into your bottom lip as you soaked in the praise and pretended to be shy, to be embarrassed, that you hated your craft. 

He’d seen that look dozens of times tonight, timid gratitude that poured out of you and onto every surface in this little gallery space. You’d caught his gaze a handful of times, reassured him with a smile that you were okay, great even, oozing with sheepish pride. He’d just nod and go back to admiring another of your photos.

“You know, we used to live in that apartment…” An elderly woman told you, bony hand clung to your forearm. 

“Really? Which one?” You humored her.

“That one, just there, our first year of marriage,” the woman nodded. “Fifth floor.” 

“Fourth floor!” Her husband corrected from your other side.

“It was the fifth floor, now don’t argue with me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the man winked at you, and your eyes lit with mischievous delight. You nodded along, conspiratorially while the woman rambled on about the neighbors’ cat meowing and another neighbor practicing saxophone into the wee hours. 

“It was so romantic,” she clutched your hand to her chest.

“It was so annoying,” the husband grinned back at you.

Fed up with her husband’s antics, the woman shot him a rueful look. Then, she patted your hand and told you how lovely your work was before asking for the powder room. 

When she’d been properly directed, her husband leaned to your ear and asked how much for the photo. 

Steve lingered nearby, waiting for the transactional handshake before he stepped in. “Mind if I inquire about this piece?” 

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth and sidled up beside him. His bicep tingled where your skin brushed. “What questions do you have about this one?” 

“Where was it taken?”

You shot him a look, and he tried not to let the smile split his face. The photo you were currently staring at was a portrait of a mom and daughter looking at their reflection in The Bean.

“How’s it going?” He elbowed you, glancing once more around the room at the patrons to your first gallery showing. He’d agreed to come run point for your opening, soft-pitching the idea for Munson to hit out of the park.

“Amazing,” you sighed, the delight on your face swooping at his stomach. 

“Told you.” He grinned, and you swatted his arm and told him to shut up. He really could watch you for hours, the micro-expressions on your face prettier than any photo you could take, though your talent came up a close second. 

“I thought he couldn’t make it,” you gasped, staring just past Steve’s shoulder and out the gallery’s front window.

Steve blinked once, twice. The rapid flash of headlights cast your cheekbones in shadow. He spun on his heel to find his employer and friend, Eddie Munson, slipping out of the backseat of a tinted-windowed SUV. He cursed under his breath and excused himself, shouldering through a confused crowd to meet the rockstar at the door. 

“Harrington,” Eddie pushed his sunglasses through his curls, pupils blown, and flashed a wolfish grin.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” Steve responded, glancing down alleyways for any paparazzi. He knew once Eddie was spotted in public, they’d come in droves. 

“And miss this? Nah, wouldn’t dream of it, Sugar.” 

You’d followed Steve out into the rain, slipping through party guests to greet Eddie. The rockstar wrapped studded-leather arms around your slender waist and greeted you with something salacious whispered into your ear. Steve knew because of the shocked look stretched over beautiful features, and the way you’d swatted at Eddie’s shoulder as if he’d said something bad enough to curl your toes. 

“We should get inside,” Steve grit his teeth. “Don’t want to alert the paps.” 

“Come on, Sugar,” Eddie dipped into a low bow to let you enter first. “Give me the grand tour.” 

—

“I think I’ll buy all the ones left,” Munson quipped with a lazy arm tugging you back into his chest. 

You snorted, and shook your head. “Then no one else will be able to buy them, which is kind of the point of a gallery.” You gestured around at the carefully placed frames on carefully designed walls. 

“Well, good. Maybe I want you all to myself.” 

Steve’s eyes ached to roll. He collected plastic flutes and discarded trays of half-eaten vegetables and tossed them into large, black garbage sacks. 

“Are you coming over tonight?” 

“I just had my gallery opening,” you barked a laugh, pulling away to help Steve with the table you were leaning on. “I need to sleep.”

“You need to celebrate,” Eddie rationed, tugging you back into him. You yelped, your thumb going into a rogue slice of cake. With waggled brows, Eddie pulled your thumb into his mouth, licking it clean.

Steve thought he might be sick. He turned his back and held open the bag in front of him, just in case. Unfortunately, he could still make out your reflection in the windows out front. Your meticulously picked-out slacks hugged your curves, and Munson’s ringed fingers slipped over the breadth of your backside to squeeze you closer to him. 

“Anything else you need help with?” Steve’s voice tasted awkward, a little too loud, too scratchy. 

You separated from Eddie and dumped your haul into Steve’s bag. “I think that’s it. Thank you for everything, Steve. Really. And I’m serious about paying you.” 

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” He said, twisting the bag closed with a knot. 

You shot him another look and said, “Eddie, tell Steve to let me pay him.” 

“You don’t take money from her, you don’t take money from me, pal.” 

Steve did roll his eyes this time, and glared over your shoulder at the rockstar zipping and unzipping his leather jacket. “Yeah, we have a contract, dumb ass.” 

“I’ll have my lawyer sue your lawyer.” 

“Your lawyer is my lawyer.” 

Eddie grinned. “He’s got me there, Sug.” 

You scoffed and snatched the bag from Steve’s hand. “Fine, I’ll have to come up with some other way to repay you.” 

Steve was thankful for mood lighting and the late hour. His face heated another twenty or so degrees, and he scratched at the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. “Eds, you need me to call you a car?” 

“Would you mind, Stevie-dearest? Sugar, I gotta take a piss. Care to show me the can in this place?” Eddie stood up and adjusted the crotch of his tight jeans for show. 

“You’re a class act, Eddie Munson. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” You gripped the hefty garbage bag in one hand and took Eddie’s hand in your other as you led him back into the office space of the warehouse. Before the heavy door closed, both of you made eyes at Steve, one friendly, the other randy.

Steve’s stomach churned, and he pulled out his phone to call a car. 

Working with Eddie had been tedious, but simple. Call him a car, shield him from paparazzi and groping fans alike, bring him his hangover cure breakfast, ask beautiful women to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement before his plethora of one-night stands. 

You were the toughest pill to swallow, a beautiful girl at a hometown gig. 

Hometown gigs meant rowdy afterparties, venue-catered alcohol and executive-catered drugs. It meant too-lax security checkpoints and easily-bribed security detail, and after months on the road, Steve wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s bullshit. So he posted himself at the Green Room door, one eye on the metal detector, one eye on the front man who’d hired him, and prayed the ache between his shoulders would go away soon. Eight more hours and he’d be at home in bed for a long awaited and much needed vacation.

Eddie was two water bottles in, and his hand still trembled when he introduced himself to some recording mogul.

Steve snapped his fingers at some kid and told him quickly to hand Munson another bottle of water and get him a towel. 

When the items had been delivered to a thankful rockstar, Steve turned back to the collection of items being tossed into plastic trays on the outside of the metal detector: a cell phone, keys with a neon carabiner, a leather wallet, a DSLR.

“Whoa, whoa,” he stopped the attendant from picking up the camera. “There’s no press on the guest list.” 

“No press, just freelance,” you said from across the metal threshold. You wore a well-loved leather jacket, softened and faded with time and an expression that toed the line between compliance and try me.

Steve swallowed, shook the stars from his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sorry, this is a camera-free zone.”

You narrowed your eyes for a moment before stepping back over the threshold and against the current of waiting party-goers to fiddle with the camera.

“Here,” you cupped something in an outstretched hand, waiting patiently for Steve to accept whatever gift you had to offer.

With caution, he accepted the tiniest of SD cards, bright blue.

“Call it insurance?” You smiled, tongue behind your canine in a way that made him itch under the collar. “Find me before I leave and give it back?”

Munson had found you first, dragging Steve with clammy hands to meet his “dream girl”. He gave the signal for Steve to start pulling up the contract on his phone as he made his way down a long, concrete hallway.

You hadn’t flinched, just cocked a brow and signed your name on the dotted line with a, “Thanks, Steve. Have a great night.”

He kept your SD card. He didn’t even tell Robin that it rested on the corner of his dresser next to a picture of Dustin on his graduation day. 

He assumed he’d never see you again, but Munson had grown a fondness for you, and soon you were a regular part of Chicago meet-ups. Every hometown gig became a room full of you. 

Steve heard giggling from the office, that soft melodic bounce of your laugh against the bass of Eddie’s voice. This was the worst of it, catching you two in compromising positions around parties or Eddie’s ornate penthouse, and pretending like it didn’t kill him inside that it wasn’t him with his hands on you, making you laugh, smelling the warmth of your throat.

His phone buzzed in his hand. 

Robin: How was the gallery opening? Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet? We on for our FaceTime date tonight?

Steve: Eddie showed up. Yup. See you in 10 hours.

Robin: Shit. I just sent you money. Buy yourself a fifth and we’ll drink it together.

A car rolled up outside, blinding him with strong headlights.

“Munson, car’s here!” He called, praying you could both hear him.

There was the shuffle of a few things in the back, and with the clack of Eddie’s boots, you both returned. You looked a little more windswept than before, and Eddie’s sunglasses has been pulled back over his eyes, despite it being nearly midnight. 

“Steve,” you breathed, approaching him with arms outstretched for a friendly embrace. “Thanks again for all of your help tonight. You have no idea how much it means to me.” 

He gave the tightest squeeze he could under supervision and let your hand fall into his to give you one more gentle squeeze. “Anytime. It was really no problem. Do you need a ride home?” 

You shook your head, smile wedged between your teeth. “I guess Eddie wore me down.” 

“Yeah I will.” He snorted, and you shushed him. 

Steve nodded and started for the door. “Cool. Well, have fun, you two. Be safe.” 

“Thanks, man,” Eddie knocked knuckles with his friend, rings sharp against Steve’s scarred fists. “I’ll call tomorrow.” 

Steve swallowed and glanced over his shoulder to bid you one last, weak smile. 

You waggled you fingers, and he stepped out into the cool night air. 

—

“You are the most embarrassing person I know in real life.” Even Robin in lag was brutal. 

Steve sipped his coffee and rubbed at tired eyes. He hadn’t slept much. Mostly, he scrolled and wondered exactly what you and Eddie were getting up to, wondered why it wasn’t him. 

“You asked if she needed a ride home?” 

“I was being polite,” he grumbled. He took a banana off its tree and began to peel. They had all begun to brown. 

“You’re so sweet, Stevie. Like a little lost puppy dog.” 

“Oh fuck off, Robin. Remember you and that girl in Buchapest?” 

“Bucharest,” she corrected his pronunciation. “And she was merely a fleeting crush.” 

“You cried over her for like three weeks.” He shot his best friend a look over the screen. 

The lighting was horrible in her Istanbul flat, internet connection worse. Steve told her he’d pay for anything better, but she argued that he needed to quit babying her and let her live the nomadic experienced she’d always dreamed of. 

“Okay, okay,” her connection stuttered in and out, face pixelated as she ducked out of frame and back. “So you’re going to be alone forever. That’s not so bad.” 

“At least I have you.” Steve nodded, mouth full of squishy sweet banana. 

He nearly choked when his phone began to ring in his hand, your name and photo popping up on the display screen. “Robin, it’s her.” 

“What?” 

“She’s calling me.” He held his phone to the camera on his laptop to prove a point. 

“Speaker phone!” Robin squeaked. 

With a sigh, he answered, phone pressed to his ear to respect your privacy. Robin glared. 

“Hello?”

“Steve?” The worry in your voice had his heart kicking up in his throat. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Robin echoed his sentiments until he snapped his fingers and put his finger to his lips to quiet her.

“Nothing, it’s um… could you… are you busy?” 

“Nope. Not busy at all,” he said. Robin threw a silent fit on her end. “What’s going on?”

“Could you just… come down to the gallery? I need your help with something.”

“Yeah,” he frowned, walked the rest of his banana to the garbage can. “Like, later today?”

“Or right now. Could you come right now? As soon as possible?”

His stomach dropped to his feet. “Yes. Yes, I will be right there. Keep the door locked until I get there.”

“Okay. Thank you.” 

He hung up and rushed to the door to get his shoes on. His keys and wallet were in his pocket before he heard another voice echo throughout his kitchen. 

“Harrington!? Hello!? Earth to Dingus!”

“Shit,” he sidled up to his laptop. “Robin, I am so sorry.” 

She managed a knowing smirk and a laggy nod. “Yeah, you owe me, big time Harrington. Text me everything that happens.”

“I love you,” he agreed. 

“See you next week!” 

“In real life!” He hung up before she had a chance to blabber on, and he was out the door.

—

The worry etched across your beautiful features was devastating. 

Steve yearned to wrap you into his arms and promise he’d protect you, to kiss the frown lines from between your brows, to tickle at your ribs until you smiled again. 

Instead, he stood three feet away, inspecting a bouquet of three dozen red roses that had been delivered to the gallery that morning with a note attached.

Roses are Red

Beauty is You

Stay away from the Devil

Before he kills you

A printed photograph was pinned to the card, a pap photo from a gala you and Eddie had attended together a few weeks ago. Eddie’s shoulders were squeezed into a rhinestoned blazer, flash reflecting off his sunglasses. Devil horns and a tale had been crudely drawn over his features in red ball point pen. You stood beside him, hand-in-hand, curves standing out in a black silk dress. One small strap was dangling off your shoulder. The same pen was used to etch slash marks through your exposed throat, so hard it had ripped through the page.

“Is this… like Eddie wouldn’t do this, right?” Your voice shook, hand trembling against your cheekbone. You balled a tissue into your fist.

“No! God no,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, Jesus, I hope not.” He muttered under his breath. “Have you called him?”

You shrugged, nodded. “I tried, and texted. He was still asleep when I left.”

Steve cleared his throat with a nod, remembering you’d gone home with the rockstar. You probably slipped out of black silk sheets and into the black and grey marbled shower. You probably toed around in front of the massive high-rise window, searching for various garments that had been removed on every inch of the house. Maybe you’d made yourself a latte, with a splash of lavender like you like it, wearing an oversized black hoodie that smelled of weed and cigarettes and some cologne Steve couldn’t afford.

“I can try again,” you fished your phone from your back pocket and dialed.

Steve plucked the card from the roses for any indication of a delivery service or floral company, but the card was blank, ivory, high-quality. “Who delivered these?”

“Old guy, balding, green vest,” you shrugged. 

Steve nodded.

“Hey, Sugar,” Eddie’s voice rasped over speaker. “S’matter. Did you leave something here, or d’you just miss me?”

“No, um…” You changed your balance from one foot to the other. “Eds, did you send me roses?”

“Fuck, you want me to eat you out and send you roses?” The rockstar chuckled.

Steve swallowed and didn’t dare look at you directly. He felt the heat radiating off of you as you frantically turned off speaker-phone and held the device to your ear, covering your face with a hand.

“No, babe, Jesus. I got a delivery of roses today with a um…” Your voice trembled again.

Steve brushed delicate fingers to your arm and held out his hand to take the phone.

You gave it willingly.

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sighed. 

“Harrington? What is going on? Am I still asleep?”

“No, dude, she called me when she couldn’t get ahold of you. Listen, there’s this big bouquet of roses here with a death threat attached. You didn’t have anything to do with this, right? It’s not some kind of prank?”

“A death threat? What do you mean? A prank? Jesus, how shitty of a person do you think I am? Is she okay? I’m coming down there.”

Steve winced around the shuffle of bedsheets and the sound of Eddie clomping around his bedroom.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dude. Here, let me send you a picture.”

Steve took his own phone out to take and send a photo, rifling past a barrage of text messages from Robin. 

You’d propped yourself on the reception desk, eyes darting between the flowers and outside. The morning light poured in, hollowing your cheekbones and painting your walls pink. 

Steve reached for your elbow, running his thumb over the bit of skin there to pull your focus back.

You offered a sheepish smile and squeezed his wrist.

“Oh what the fuck?” Eddie yelled through the phone, startling you both. 

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Steve agreed, rubbing at tired eyes.

“Is she okay? Let me talk to her. Wait, Harrington, do you think it’s Carver?”

Steve’s blood ran cold. 

Jason Carver was a religious zealot from a small town with a vendetta for Eddie Munson and “demons like him”. Two years ago, his army of his cronies marched to a Corroded Coffin show in Milwaukee and set the place on fire. They managed to get everyone out of the bar before the roof collapsed. More Molotovs were thrown before the cops arrived.

Since Carver wasn’t in attendance and denied any involvement in inciting the riot, he received a slap on the wrist and no jail time. The band did manage an airtight restraining order, but Steve doubted that looped in contact with Munson’s hook-ups.

He cursed under his breath.

“Yeah, fuck is right. Let me talk to her. Don’t let her leave your sight. I’ll pay you triple if I have to. Twenty-four hour surveillance. You hear me?”

“Don’t worry about the cash, man,” Steve shook his head. “I won’t leave her. I’m going to call the delivery company and see if they can give me any more information on the purchase, and then I’ll call Joyce and see if she can’t get her written into the restraining order.” 

“Thank you, man. I want you to take her home to get her stuff and then bring her over here. If it is him, he can’t get to her here.”

Steve hated that he was right.

“Put her on for me. Thanks again, bro.”

With a resigned sigh, Steve slipped the phone back into your trembling hands.

He overheard Eddie’s tone slip into something softer, “Sugar, how’re you doing? Are you alright? I’m so so sorry this happened to you, my sweet girl.”

You gave Steve’s hand one more squeeze before you wandered off across the gallery for some privacy in your phone call. 

Steve opened his browser to began searching for the delivery company’s number with a pit in his stomach and an unfillable ache in his chest.

—

Robin: OMFG that’s so scary. Is she ok? Are you ok? Is Eddie ok? I’m going to be there in a week, plz don’t get murdered.

—

Your keys clicked in the lock, and you toed open the door to your little apartment. Light poured in through large windows, casting warmth on the small space that the dark hallway hid. You stepped in first, and Steve followed with trepidation. 

He’d never been to your house, and when he walked over the threshold, he was overpowered by how you it felt. The whole place smelled of you, of your shampoo and the perfume you spritz on special nights. Your little kitchen table was scattered with stacks of old mail and rolls of film. A laptop sat open on a squishy futon sofa. Beneath your television were a handful of films he knew you loved. 

“How long um… how much should I pack?” You squinted, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry,” you sighed. “This is a lot, and I don’t know how to handle it.” 

Once again, he felt the ache to pull you into him, to whisper sweet words into your hair. Instead he gestured to a bar stool. “Take a seat. Take a breath. I’m going to check the house, if that’s alright.” 

He winced as your face flooded with realization, and fear. 

“It’s probably fine. I just want to be safe.” He tried to sound nonchalant, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You swallowed, nodded, gestured for him to go ahead. “Sorry it’s a mess.” 

He waved you off with a knowing smile and started down the hallway, relieved when he turned to see you sitting as instructed. You’d been on your feet all day, making arrangements with the gallery owners to have someone take your shift for the evening and tomorrow. When you weren’t on the phone or emailing buyers, you were staring out the windows, a far-off gaze in your eye. You held that now, looking down your living room windows at the busy downtown street below.

Steve took the first door to the left and found a small bathroom. Some tiles in the corner were cracked, and the sink was scattered with the remnants of a makeup bag, a toothbrush. The bathtub’s curtain was pulled back to reveal a loofah dangling from the faucet. 

Your bedroom waited at the end of the hall. His fingertips pushed the door open, breath shallow, face warm.

Sage green linens were crumpled on your bed with three overstuffed pillows. Dirty clothes littered your floor in piles leading to and from the closet. That black satin dress topped an armchair, the strap snapped.

Steve swallowed.

A hefty dresser sat to the right of the door, the top scattered with trinkets and photographs. He was surprised to find his own image scowling back at him, arms crossed, black t-shirt on, leaning against a concrete wall. The sun hit him just so, framing his eyes like a superhero mask, the rest of him cast in shadow. God, all of the world really was better through your lens.

“All clear?” Your soft voice startled him.

He cleared his throat, cheeks warm, to find you at the doorway, hugging your arms to yourself. He smiled. “Clear. I’ll just wait in the front room.” He gestured to slip past you.

“Actually, do you mind hanging out? It’ll only take a second.” You gestured for him to sit on the bed before you scampered about your room, picking up the dirty clothes and depositing them into the hamper.

He remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed like they were in the photo. “Get enough for a couple of days if you want, but we’re going to get this figured out.”

You wore your anxiety like a jacket, hunched shoulders and furrowed brow, a shell of the vibrant woman he knew. 

He took a few steps forward, halting your frantic shoving of clothes in a backpack.

You blinked back up at him, eyes wide, hands trembling.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You laughed then, a manically sound that didn’t meet your eyes. “Steve, am I just insane? Or stupid? Am I the dumbest person in the entire world?” 

“What?” He tried not to focus on the way your hair haloed around your face, light pouring in through gossamer curtains.

“I knew the novelty of sleeping with a rockstar would wear off eventually, but I was thinking like he’d cheat on me with a super model or maybe I’d get a curable STD, but not this.” It was the most you’d spoken all day, your old self sinking back into your voice.

Steve smiled, itched at the back of his neck, shrugged. “Eddie’s a very charming man.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I mean, okay, Eddie’s good, but he’s not death-threats good.”

Steve felt a little surge of excitement at this knowledge, maybe a bit of competition sparking in him again. “Sure, but he’s a good guy. He really likes you.”

“I think he calls me ‘Sugar’ because he forgot my real name and got too embarrassed to ask.” 

Your confession had Steve’s jaw on the floor, and when you laughed, he felt light as air. This time your laugh met your eyes, met your mouth, your cheeks. You swatted at his chest.

“Steve, you were supposed to tell me that’s not true.” 

Steve snickered and merely shrugged.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You pushed past him and to the bathroom to start collecting your toiletries. The anxiety was temporarily snuffed and replaced with the ease of routine, of being in your space surrounded by your things, and Steve felt himself relax a bit knowing you were comfortable.

—

Joyce: Got it taken care of, sweetheart. Hop says he’ll file a report and to let him know if you need an extra hand. Dinner next weekend? Steak and potatoes? Take care of yourself.

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—

Munson pulled his ragged hair up into a bun with a hair tie he kept around his wrist. Steve often wondered if it was yours, or if the rockstar pulled it from the locks of some groupie on the road, long nights spent in truck stops and blues houses. The tie had lost some elasticity over the years, and tendrils managed to fall into the man’s eyes, and even still, he looked cool, casual, calm.

He was anything but calm. His knee bounced as he took a glass of water from Steve filled for him. “What did I do wrong, man?” 

Steve sighed and sat across from him, back to massive windows overlooking the city lights. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to be caught in the middle of this tiff you were having. 

“I mean, I just want to keep her safe. I’m the one that got her in this mess in the first place.” Eddie extended an inked arm toward his bedroom door. You’d been in there for over an hour now, having excused yourself to bed for the night. 

You’d made a point that you were going to bed alone.

“Should I not have told her how I feel?”

Steve pinched at this bridge of his nose, eyes tired and struggling to focus in a room of black velour upholstery and gold trim. 

The spat started when Eddie informed you he’d booked your ticket to join him in England for the next few months while Corroded Coffin records their next album. It ended when Eddie, on bended knees, hands gripping your ribcage, told you he loved you.

Steve watched the entire exchange awkwardly from the kitchen, trying to blend in with white marble countertops.

Apparently, today was a day for firsts. He’d never seen you as nervous as he had in the gallery that morning, and he’d never seen you as angry. You were the silent type, but he felt the rage radiating off of your frame, the clench of your jaw, the subtle brush of Eddie’s hands from your waist.

He caught your gaze when you exited the room, and your demeanor shifted to apologetic, embarrassed maybe. He managed a tight-lipped smile and a wave. 

“Harrington,” Eddie snapped his fingers. “Come on, you’re good with women, right? Help me out.” 

Steve snorted. He’d been good with women, sure, but not since you waltzed into his life with your SD card and that smirk.

“How do we make up?” Munson’s shoulders were hunched, face fraught with worry.

With another drawn out sigh, Steve shrugged. “Give her space, man. She had a really scary day. You remember your first death threat, right? She needs time to process and not for you to demand she be shipped off to another country for two months.” 

Eddie nodded, too much, too exuberantly. “Okay, okay. You’re right. That makes sense. I just…” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t want to lose her.” 

That emotion, Steve understood. It was a fear that prickled at the base of his neck anytime Eddie winked at another girl in the front row, anytime he had his arms looped over two women backstage, anytime his phone sat on the coffee table between them with Sugar blowing up the notifications, neglected. Didn’t Eddie know what he had in you?

“We won’t.” He shook his head. 

Eddie nodded. “You’re a good man, Steve Harrington. I’m sure going to miss you.” 

Steve frowned at that, arms crossed over his chest. “Miss me? The hell are you talking about?” 

“When I’m in England,” Eddie explained, reaching forward for the tin lunch box he kept tucked under the coffee table. The lid hid the glass with a clang, and he reached in for rolling papers, a lighter, and a ziplock bag full of weed.

“Are you firing me?” Steve wasn’t following.

Munson snorted, rolled a neat joint, licked it closed. “Harrington, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” 

Steve warmed, as he often did when someone complimented him, and frowned. “Cut the crap. What’re you talking about?”

“You’re going to stay here, with her.” He nodded your direction and lit up, flame glowing in big, brown eyes while he took a drag. He held onto it for a minute, shoulders going slack, knee stopping its bounce. He tilted his head against the back of the couch and released a large billow of smoke skyward, casting the room in a sickly sweet haze.

“She’s right, man,” he continued. “It’s not fair of me to take her from her gallery. She worked too hard for this.”

He sat up, offered the joint to his friend. Steve declined, head already starting to spin.

Eddie shrugged and took another hit. “I need you to protect her.” 

Steve nodded. That was the easiest thing his friend had ever asked him to do.

“While I’m away, think you could do me another favor?

More smoke billowed from the man’s pink lips, that familiar Munson charm tugging at the corners of his mouth until his teeth were bared in that irresistible grin he was so famous for. He leaned forward then, gesturing for Steve to meet him at the center of the coffee table.

Steve leaned forward, and then a little more when the gesturing didn’t stop, rolling his eyes. “What now?”

Eddie’s smile fell to something far more serious, concern etched in his features, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes big like a baby deer in the headlights. Steve had only seen him this scared a handful of times. “I need you to use those killer wingman skills of yours to make her fall in love with me.” 

Steve’s mouth almost fell open. He had to clench his jaw to keep from doing so, blinking across the six-inch gap at his friend. He could taste the weed on the other boy’s lips, the sweat off his brow. 

“Please, man. I can’t lose her.” 

—

Robin: You said yes!? How much do you actually hate yourself, Harrington?

Steve: You don’t want me to answer that, do you?

Robin: Was it the baby deer eyes?

Steve: Obviously.

Steve thanked Becky at the front desk with a wink, desperate the ego stroke he got every time she smiled at him like he hung the moon on a string. 

Mood boosted, he balanced the coffee order in one hand and his phone in the other and ducked into the nearest elevator that would take him to the penthouse. 

Steve: What do we think of Front Desk Becky?

Robin: You leave that sweet girl out of this. 

Sufficiently deflated by his wise best friend, Steve keyed in the code to Eddie’s penthouse and let himself back in. Your sneakers remained on the entry rug, camera bag discarded on a nearby table. 

Eddie’s bedroom door was open, satin sheets crumpled and pillows stacked to accommodate one. Upon quick glance, the ceiling mirror reveled the room to be empty. 

Steve frowned. He hoped he hadn’t woken you. 

He pressed forward down the hall and into the open living space, setting the cardboard coffee carrier on the kitchen island before turning to find you pressed against the glass, silhouetted in pink morning sunlight. Eddie’s face was buried into your neck, hands unseen, and your eyelids were heavy, pink lips bowed in ecstasy.

Steve froze. He knew he should look away, leave the room, make a noise, but his gaze lingered on the soft skin of your thigh hitched up Eddie’s leg, the curve of your calf, the point of your toe. 

He could hear his heartbeat thundering, breath held, desperate not to make a sound or to scream and run. 

Eddie dipped to his knees, mouth finding purchase lower on your chest.

Steve caught your gaze. Your eyes widened, and you shoved Eddie away from you and scrambled to cover bare skin with an oversized black hoodie. 

“Steve,” you breathed, and Jesus it was dizzying. “I’m so sorry. I thought you left.” You pulled the hoodie down in a vain attempt at covering your thighs, looking everywhere but at the bodyguard in the kitchen.

He felt his own face warm, tapping fingertips to the countertops. His throat felt tight, a loss for words. His pants felt tighter.

“I ordered us coffee, Sugar,” Munson recovered the quickest, taking your hand to help himself off the floor and lead you into the kitchen.

You resisted his pull, taking a few steps back to say, “I’m going to get ready.”

“Need help?” Eddie waggled his eyebrows, grinning like a dog. Steve tried to ignore how wet the man’s lips looked.

You shook your head, venturing a glance Steve’s direction and looking immediately away when you were caught. Then you slunk off back to the bedroom from whence you came.

When he finally heard the click of the door, Steve frowned at his employer. “Guess I should’ve knocked.” 

Eddie waggled his brows at Steve, too, taking his cup from the carrier and managing a sip. 

Steve was ready with an ice water to cool the man’s burned tongue. “Does this mean you made up?”

Eddie shook his head fervently, tonguing at his water like a dog. “Hell no. She told me she’s going to the gallery today because, and I quote, she ‘can’t be held hostage in this velvet prison forever’.”

Steve grinned over his own steaming coffee and shrugged in commiseration to his friend.

Eddie nodded, took a gentler sip of his own coffee this time. “Had to shut her up when she started telling me to ‘have fun in the UK’ and maybe I should look up some old friends while I’m there.” 

Steve swallowed and nodded. “I mean, Lizzie.” 

“Don’t make me pin you to that window, Harrington,” the rockstar warned, inked finger extended with a scowl. 

Steve followed his point to the window, wherein he could just make out the smudges of four distinct handprints, two much smaller than the others. There was also the faintest of smudges where your ass had been pressed against the glass. Steve coughed at the saliva gathering in his mouth.

“Eds?” You called upon reentry, voice echoing off concrete floors. “I’m leaving. I’ll… call you or something.” You were dressed and you had a tube of lipgloss in your hand, uncorked. 

Eddie scrambled for you, scooping you up in his arms. 

You stiffened, glancing up at the bodyguard keeping watch in the corner. 

Steve swallowed, made himself look busy. 

“Sugar, Steve’s going to keep an eye on you, just until we figure this death threat thing out, okay?” Eddie cleared the hair from your face.

Steve glanced back up to see you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need a babysitter. No offense, Steve.” You held a hand up to him. 

“He’s not a babysitter,” Eddie snapped, “and he’s going to keep you safe. I can’t lose you. You hear me?” He pulled your gaze back to him, cupping your small jaw in large hands. “I love you.” 

“Eddie,” you winced, tugging at his wrists.

The rockstar dropped his hands, shoulders hunched in defeat, and he turned to give Steve a pleading look before he turned back to you. “Alright, Sug. I’ll see you in two months. I’ll call as often as I can.” 

“Okay,” you nodded and allowed him to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

—

Your lipstick stained the lid of your lavender latte, peachy pink. Your nails were freshly manicured for the gallery opening, and you always wore that delicate gold ring on your middle finger. 

You set your cup on the countertop and didn’t look up from your laptop to say, “If you’re bored, you don’t have to stay here. I promise I’ll tell Eddie I never left your sight.” 

Steve smiled over his own cup. “I’m not bored.” To appear occupied, he settled onto the desk behind yours and pulled out his phone.

The first image on his feed was yours, something you’d managed to snap of the old woman and her husband from the opening. They stared at the portrait of their apartment building, hand-in-hand, and you’d taken it at just the right instant, when the husband was smiling down at his wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Jones • Chicago

The gallery opening was everything I’d ever hoped for. Thank you to all sponsors and patrons who attended and to everyone who helped pull this together. If you’d like to check out my work, please drop by the gallery and say hello.

Steve hummed to himself, double-tapping, and typed a comment.

sharrington: Best gallery opening I’ve been to.

“Steve,” you scolded, “quit commenting on my shit. I’m standing right here.” It was the first smile he’d seen since yesterday. 

“Oh, sorry,” he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest again to say, “Yours was the best gallery opening I’ve been to.”

That beautiful smile tugged even higher on your cheeks, despite your eye roll. “It was the only gallery opening you’ve been to.”

“You don’t know that,” he feigned offense.

You cocked a brow, bursting his facade until you were both snickering a laugh.

“Okay, but come on,” he pushed himself off the desk and strolled out into the open gallery. Egg shell white walls were naturally lit by skylights and the fourth glass wall of the small space. “This place was packed with people obsessed with your work, myself included.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, but remained behind the shelter of your desk. “Which one’s your favorite?”

A bubble of giddy excitement kicked in his chest, and he turned to face your artwork. The sunlight reflecting off the lake was good, the streak of streetlights in the rain, a collection of big, red brick buildings: all of these were his favorite. You’d managed to capture his city in unique and beautiful ways.

He pointed at each one and glanced back to see you shaking your head, eyes brightening and mouth failing to hide that smile.

Finally, he found that photo of the L he was admiring that night and wrapped his knuckles near it. “This one. You managed to capture no plastic bags.”

You rolled your eyes, but let his gesture pull you from your desk. “You can’t see it, but there was one caught around my ankle when I took the shot.”

Steve laughed. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.” 

You sucked your cheeks in a pout and glanced down the row at all of your photos, your accomplishments on display. “Steve,” you muttered. “Can I… vent for a second?”

“Of course,” he nodded, turning to face you, giving you his undivided attention.

You turned your body toward him as well, hands tucked under your arms. “It’s about Eddie.”

Steve felt his brow raise, but he nodded, miming the zip of his lips and extending you the key.

You chewed around another smile and extended your hand for him to place the invisible key into and wrapped your beautiful fingers around it. Then, you looked back at your photograph and chewed on your words.

Steve leaned forward to catch your gaze, pull your focus back on him.

You sighed, shrugged. “It’s just… Eddie’s used to having women fall at his feet and do whatever he says, isn’t he?”

Steve tried to keep his expression stoic, but it was hard when he thought of all the bras he’d kicked off of a stage, all of the groupies Eddie fingered in the wings, all of the women he’d had to call a ride share for to ensure they got home safely, too wobbly on their legs to drive.

You barked a laugh. “I know he is because I’m one of them.” You didn’t seem amused.

Steve frowned, shook his head. You deserve more credit than that. You weren’t like the others, not by a long shot.

“He came to my opening, right? He saw how important this was to me. Hell, he told you to help me run it because he had faith in me that it was going to be big.” You gestured around wildly as you spoke, frustration building in your tone. “And yet, he expects me to just pack up everything and fly to England for two months?”

Steve swallowed, chewing on his own words now.

“I know, it’s because he’s worried about me, and I do appreciate that, but it’s also like… I feel like he didn’t know what he had in me until he saw me get spooked, and now he’s trying to lock me down.” You frowned. “I can’t be broken. I’m not a horse.”

Steve nodded.

You paused a moment longer before looking into his eyes again. “If I ask you something, you promise to be honest with me?”

He nodded again, slowly. He’d do anything for you.

“Do you think he’s really in love with me?”

Steve’s heart shattered at the hope that lingered in your voice. He swallowed, remembered his promise to Eddie, and nodded.

You let out another strained laugh, as though you couldn’t believe it, and centered yourself before asking another. “Do you think he’s going to sleep with other women while he’s away?”

Again, Steve steeled himself with a deep breath, and shook his head. Eddie wouldn’t if he knew what was good for him, and what was good for him was you.

You cocked a brow, unbelieving of this answer, and toyed with another question in your mind for a moment. “Do you think I should go with him to England?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, gesturing around at your beautiful gallery. Two months with Eddie Munson wasn’t worth giving all of this up. If he was serious, and he really did love you, he’d prove it to you when he got back. 

Your lips ticked upwards at that answer. “Hey, this zipped-lip Steve thing is kind of fun. I should have made you shut up a long time ago.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and snorted at your delight.

You reached your hands out to grab his, swinging them back and forth between the two of you. Your hands were warm and and small and soft. “Hey, Steve, is there something you really, really want to tell me, but can’t? Because you can, you know.” You smirked. “This is a safe space. We’re all friends here.”

Sunlight poured in through the windows, casting your face in a golden glow. Your eyes sparkled, cheeks round, lips that soft, peachy pink.

There were so many things he wanted to say to you, he didn’t know where to start. So he caressed the backs of your hands with his thumbs and nudged you ever-closer.

The toes of your sneakers touched. Your eyelashes batted. You tilted your face skyward to look up at him. You licked your lips.

God, he wished he could kiss you. He wished he could taste the lavender of your latte and the length of your throat. He wished he could press you to the glass and let the world know you were his. He wished he could tell you every day for the rest of his life how beautiful you are, how talented you are, how perfect you are. 

The smile fell from your face. You released one of his hands to brush hair from his forehead. 

He held his breath. 

You searched his gaze for something, your own features filled with worry, and you nodded. “You’re really scared about this Jason Carver guy, huh?”

Steve blinked. He’d forgotten entirely about the roses, the death threat, the reason he’d been paid to spend time with you, to watch over you, to protect you. 

He cleared his throat and looked down at your hand in his. He brushed the back of it again with his thumb. His throat was tight, voice raw. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A bell rang, putting a few feet between you. You adjusted your hair and straightened your top before shooting him a ‘wish me luck’ look and stepping away to greet your newest buyer.

—

Hopper: No leads on that delivery. I’ve got Callahan asking around. Powell’s looking into Carver. Keep me posted on other developments.

Steve tapped nervous fingers to the deli’s glass countertops, craning his neck for a vantage on your gallery windows. 

You’d practically forced him out, insisting this was your favorite sandwich place in town and nothing else would suffice. When he offered to pay for delivery, you reminded him how uncomfortable you felt with deliverers right now and promised you’d lock the door behind him. He wished he could have convinced you to join him.

“Dude, we’re going as fast as we can,” the sandwich artist snapped, cutting pastrami into thin slices. 

Steve frowned back at him, confused for a moment, before taking his hand from the glass and shoving it into his jeans pocket. “Oh, sorry.” His foot tapped instead.

An 80s love ballad played over the speakers, and the whole place smelled of cold cuts. A small line had formed behind the counter of people going about their day-to-day. 

Steve looked at each one of them as a suspect. Though, he was pretty sure Babushka in the headscarf wasn’t eliciting death threats to beautiful girls via three dozen red roses. She felt more like the cast-a-spell type. 

He snorted and glanced back out the window just in time to see a black car pull up to the gallery. A man stepped out. 

“Forty-five?” The deli employee called out.

Steve took a few steps toward the window, squinting against the glare to see a tall man with white hair approach the glass. He wrapped two knuckles on the front door. You met him there.

“Dude, your sandwiches!” The guy behind the counter called, and Steve cursed, grabbing them with a thanks and a nod.

He glanced up just in time to see you unlocking and opening the gallery door, and he began to run your direction.

“Hey, man! You forgot your pickles! Asshole…” 

The wind whipped at his ears, and he nearly ran out in front of a moving vehicle. The driver honked and flipped him off, and Steve waited for him to pass before checking both ways and crossing to get to you again. 

He made a mental note of the black car’s license plate: GCCF and swung open the gallery door with a ring of the bell. 

The man stood beside you, tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and a haircut that hadn’t changed since the early 70s. He wore a grey suit, and a black tie, and a smile as he admired your photos.

You smiled at Steve from across the space and waved.

Relief warmed Steve’s spine, and he toed to the desktop to place the sandwich bag, careful not to make any noise so he could overhear bits of your conversation.

“That sounds like an amazing opportunity,” you said, even-keeled, though Steve knew you were bursting inside. “I’m honored for the invitation.” 

“I’m glad you agree,” the man chuckled. “Your talent really is a gift to this city, and we’ll be proud to display your work in our halls.” 

You were beaming. Steve’s stomach flipped.

“Now, our guests usually love to speak with the artists featured in the auction. Are you free Friday evening? Could I coax you to attend?” The man turned to face you now, reaching into his inside pocket for something.

Steve took two steps forward. 

The man extended you a small, white slip of paper. 

You read it over with a tight-lipped nod. Then you smiled. “I would love to go.” 

“Excellent,” the man nodded. “It is black tie. Could I give my assistant the name of a plus-one?” 

You swallowed before answering. “Sure, Steve Harrington.” 

Steve felt his face warm, and he nearly tripped over a power cord stepping back behind the desk. 

The man you were speaking to nodded with a knowing smile and glanced down at his watch. “Well, unfortunately I must be going. I have a lunch meeting to attend. Good timing too, it seems as if your lunch has arrived, and it smells delicious.” He ventured a glance Steve’s direction, and the bodyguard squared his shoulders. 

“Thank you so much for dropping by, and for your business. I look forward to the event.” You smiled, extending a hand for the stranger to shake.

He reciprocated your gesture. “Thank you for your work, my dear. It is breathtaking. Expect that deposit by end of day, and we’ll see you Friday evening. Have a great day.” 

“You too.” 

Steve watched you watch the man walk to the door and get into his car. Your chest was still, breath held until the black car was started and began to drive. 

Then, you began to jump up and down, screaming, like a teenaged girl who had just been asked to prom. 

Steve frowned, shaking his t-shirt to dry the sweat that clung to his back. “What’s going on?”

You grinned and did an adorable little skip and hop back to your desk, sliding two pieces of paper across for him to read. Then, you broke into the sandwich bag.

Steve peered down at a stark white business card with grey lettering, and a matching invitation. 

Martin Brenner

Founder and CEO

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Annual Gala and Live Auction

“So, this guy, Brenner or whatever,” you explained, peeling the parchment paper from your bread, “just came in and bought my entire playground collection. Can you believe it? All nine photos. He said he’s going to hang them in the halls of his school.” The sound that came from your lips exceeded dogs’ hearing in pitch.

Steve bit back a smile to let you continue.

You took a huge bite of your sandwich first, olive oil clinging to the corner of your lips and dripping down the back of your hand. 

Steve shook a napkin from the paper bag and handed it to you.

You thanked him, mouth full, and swallowed before mopping your face. “Then he says he wants to offer up another one of my pieces in their annual live auction.”

Steve snapped a photo of the two cards and sent them to his contacts in the police force for some background information, nodding to let you know he was listening.

“Do you own a tuxedo, by the way?” You asked, cheek chipmunked.

Steve frowned back at you. He’d been head of security for Corroded Coffin for upwards of six years. He’d been to more award shows than he could count. Of course he had a tuxedo. 

“What?” You feigned innocence, cracking into one of the sodas you’d pulled from the vending machine while you waited for Steve to return. “If you have to be my new bodyguard, I can’t go to this gala alone.”

He sighed and began to neatly unfold his own sandwich, lettuce falling every which way. “Yes, I have a tuxedo.” 

“Really?” You grinned. “I should bring my camera.” 

He shot you a look. “You going to tell me why you unlocked the door for a random stranger while I was picking up your lunch?” 

You swallowed. “He sent me an email?”

Steve maintained eye contact while he popped the tab on his own soda, shoulders squared. He felt like a dad every time he interrogated Eddie for late nights out with no correspondence. The stance didn’t translate well to Robin over text. 

“I figured I could take an old man,” you shrugged.

Steve cocked an eyebrow.

You sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Satisfied, for now, Steve took a bite into his sandwich and stared back down at the business card on the tabletop, hoping this guy didn’t have any ties to Carver or whoever it was that sent you that note.

“No pickles?” You frowned, peeking into the mostly empty paper sack.

—

1 Voicemail

Hey, kid. It’s Hopper. Brenner’s one of Chicago elites, but as far as we know he’s harmless. He runs that school for gifted kids. Real pillar of the community type. Could be mob ties, but who the hell in this city doesn’t have mob ties? 

Couldn’t find anything on the delivery company, and no florists in town filled orders that big. Something’s definitely off. Powell spoke to Carver’s assistant, but he was out of the office. Keep an eye out.

Joyce wanted me to invite you and the girl to dinner. Stay safe, kid. Let me know if anything else comes up.

Lucas: All safely on the plane and ready for take off. England won’t be the same without you, man. Take care.

Eddie: Ready for take off. Thanks for taking care of my girl, big man. See you in two months.

Robin: You’re sitting in your car watching her apartment? You’re a creep, Harrington. Please tell me you don’t know the color of her bra tonight.

Steve groaned and rubbed at tired eyes.

He hated that he knew your bra was a soft, stone grey. He’d seen the strap slip down your arm. You’d caught it and pushed it back up, mid-conversation with a browser this afternoon. 

He glanced up from the glare of his phone at your open front window. He couldn’t see anything substantial from this vantage, just the shadows cast on dimly lit ceilings as you moved around your home. 

Maybe Robin was right, maybe he should go home and rest. No more threats had been issued today, that he knew of. You seemed to be less afraid than you were the day before, and with Eddie gone, maybe you weren’t in as much harm as you had been. Still, something gnawed at him. 

Steve startled when his phone began vibrating in his hand. Your name, and a photo of you grinning back at him, filled his little car with light. He answered. “Hello?”

“I can see you.”

Steve gulped and shifted to look back up at your window. You stood there in an oversized sweatshirt, waggling your fingers.

“Come inside, please.”

“What?”

“Bring your fedora and binoculars and come on up. I’ll buzz you in.”

You met him at the door in baggy clothes with two glasses of wine in your hand. You waited for him to step out of his shoes and shrug off his jacket before handing him one glass, and then you led him to the little futon propped up into a sofa near a loved coffee table.

A few candles burned, casting everything in flickered shadows. The place smelled of lavender and honey and smoky amber. 

“So,” you raised an eyebrow, sipping from your glass. You pulled your legs up to be crossed and tilted yourself to face him. “Tell me about this Carver guy.” 

Steve frowned, stretching an arm across the back of the couch to appear comfortable.

“Well, if it’s serious enough that Eddie’s got you staking out my apartment, I need to know who I’m up against.” You frowned, taking another sip from your glass, the legs spilling from your sweet lips and back into the liquid. 

Charity events attracted a diverse crowd, metal bands and church groups converging for the greater cause, their own positive PR. Knocked elbows at the start of the night often led to knockouts once the open bar started flowing. The mob made connections and burned bridges and somehow, the world kept turning.

One such event, Steve had eyes on Munson from across the room. The rockstar was flirting with some senator-to-be or another, a good friend of the Obamas, if he remembered correctly. Sinclair had eyes on the other band members at other tables. They all seemed happy, buzzed, low-key despite studded tuxedos.

Steve clocked the approach before Eddie had. A blonde man in a white suit caught sight and B-lined from near the stage.

Steve crossed to intercept him, stopping the young man with two fingers to his chest before he could get around the final linen-covered table. “Can I help you?”

The stranger’s face split in a menacing grin that sent chills down his spine. Never in his life had Steve felt something so cold. All his instincts went on high alert, fight or flight. One fist clenched at his side.

“I was just hoping for a little tête-á-tête with Mr. Munson,” the man gestured a hand out.

Steve dropped his hand, noticing the steel tie pin in the shape of a cross. “He’s busy at the moment, but let me take down your information, and we’ll see if we could find time for you at a later function.” 

“Are you his secretary or his babysitter?” Still with the grin, dead between the eyes.

“Why? You looking for a playdate?” Steve squared his shoulders, inches taller than the other man. 

“I’m just looking to ask one question.” 

“Shoot,” Eddie approached from behind Steve, shoulders squared in the same manner as his bodyguard. 

The other man tucked his hand into white jacket, and Steve stuck his hand in front of Eddie, just in case, until Carver retrieved his business card and handed it over. Sleek, white, with grey lettering.

Reverend Jason Carver

Faithful Servant of Christ

“Do you, Mr. Munson, take responsibility for casting yourself and all of your followers to the very depths of Hell to burn for an eternity?” 

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of Carver, but he could feel Eddie’s grin growing beside him. 

“You’re damn right I do.”

Carver seemed just as pleased with this answer as the rockstar had been. He nodded, an odd twinkle in his eye, and said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Munson. I hope you and your hell hound have a lovely evening.” 

That was the one and only time Steve had met the man, and he’ll never forget the weight of his presence. 

You’d set your wine glass on the coffee table beside his, and you were curled closer now, frown creasing your sweet brow. “And then he burned that place down in Milwaukee?” 

Steve sighed, playing with a loose thread on the futon, fingertips dangerously close to your shoulder. He wished he could sweep your hair back, kiss the crease from your forehead, reassure you he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

“Well, first, he had all of the funding pulled from that almost-senator, set her up for public exposure, basically ruined her entire life. When asked to comment, he said ‘jezebels and harlots get what they deserve’. Fucking asshole.” Steve scoffed.

There was a far-off look in your eye, like you were considering the weight of those words when compared to you.

Without a second thought, Steve brushed his knuckles against your cheek, pulling your focus back to him. “Hey, you know I’ll never let anyone hurt you, right?”

You surprised him by leaning into his touch, nodding. You released a shaky laugh, your voice caught in your throat. “I was really trying to be brave.”

Steve smiled, and opened his mouth to tell you you were, to tell you you were beautiful, to tell you he’s been in love with you from the moment he met you because you were all of those things.

Your phone began ringing, loud and incessant, a vibration from the coffee table that lit up the room with a photo of Eddie’s face. 

You ducked away from Steve’s touch and patted at warmed cheeks, reaching for your phone. “I should probably get this.”

Steve nodded, cleared his throat, reached forward to take a long swig of alcohol. It went down dry. 

“I actually think I’ll go to bed.” You silenced your phone and stood up, backing slowly from the living room. “You don’t mind the futon, right? Here are some extra blankets and a pillow.” You gestured toward a little wicker basket beside the sofa. “Use whatever you’d like in the bathroom.”

Steve stood to mirror you, hoping his smile seemed more reassuring than he felt. “Sleep tight. If you need anything…”

You nodded, smiled. “Thank you. Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night.” 

Halfway down the hallway, you answered your phone, sweet nothings murmured for someone else.

---

[A/N: So yeah, this just kind of... came out of me. It's been cooking since February, but I've sat down like three times over the last week and spewed out 10k. And I got too excited to wait to post it, so here you are. Please give me all your thoughts and feelings. Is bodyguard!Steve my new favorite Steve? Is rockstar!Eddie my new favorite Eddie? Maybe so. xoxoxo]

[stregoniconiconii]

2 & 4 for the violence asks

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

Steve Harrington, you will NEVER top OR bottom.

For seriousness, I can't come up with compelling "reasons" for why Steve would only ever top or bottom because the only reason is what the character wants. And he's not real so what I want is next on the list. And I think it's hot when Steve bottoms so :shrug:

Alternatively: that moment in season 1 when Steve and Nancy were "studying". If you know, you know.

If we're coming up with compelling reasons for why Steve would only ever top? Uhh, doesn't realise he has more than one option?

4. what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

Probably a bad take about Stobin lmao I think the last person I blocked was insisting on "parallels" between stobin/mileven and it's just so incredibly boring and it fills up the stobin tag with nonsense.