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8 ▰▱▰▱ Take Me Home (Please Stay With Me) ▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

"came back wrong" post-s4 fanfiction, featuring monster kas!eddie. pre-steddie -> steddie

minors DNI please, here be some S P I C Y thoughts, although nothing too explicit yet.

TW: Period typical use of f-slurs, the word dyke is used by a lesbian to self identify. Queer used as a self-identifier, also implied to be derogatory. Period-typical implied violence against LBGTQ+ community. Additional period-typical warnings may apply. It's the 80s, you all know the shit that happened then.

⚠️ADDITIONAL CONTENT WARNING (possible spoiler)⚠️ unreliable narrator thinks he's been forcibly outed at the end, but it's a miscommunication.

Part I┊Part II┊Part III┊Part IV┊Part V┊Part VI┊Part VII┊Part VIII (📍)

The next 72 hours pass in what feels like a few blinks, but Eddie knows time isn't actually moving at an accelerated speed. With the rapid changes his body and mind undergo with every day, it all tends to blur together into one long second rather than the actual increments it truly is. His thoughts are still a tangled mess, but the chaotic cluster steadily has become less of a tangled mass and more of a tight knot in a singular, extended line, because the more he pulls, the longer the string gets but the harder it is to disentangle entirely.

Since his resurrection and subsequent transformation into a nightmare creature like something out of the Monster Manual or the Creature Catalogue, he'd been running on instinct alone. Now that he can follow logical trains of thought, now that he’s able to separate the instinct from the rational, he’s struggling to see where the beast ends and he begins. The animal part of him doesn't believe them to be separate entities, that they're actually simply two halves of one whole, and unfortunately he’s starting to see that it may be correct. Instinct feels just as right in many instances as logical thought does, and often he finds himself rationalizing his instinctive reactions–excusing his behaviors for when he just does something that feels right at the time, even if after the fact he then has the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about whatever it is he’s done. The actions he’s most torn up about are his behaviors around Steve because the more rationale he has, the more humiliated he feels about how he's been behaving around the slightly younger man.

Instinct draws him to Steve like a planet to the sun; he’s endlessly pulled in by Steve’s gravity and doomed to orbit him until the inevitable heat death of the universe. The way he smiles so kindly at Eddie, when he simply cares for Eddie so whole-heartedly… the way he doesn’t bat an eyelash at the prolonged intimacy that Eddie’s instincts have been driving him to pursue. All of it makes Eddie want to press himself as close to Steve as possible, to mold his body against him and rub himself all over Steve until their scents intermingle; until you can’t discern where one of them ends and the other begins. He wants the man for himself. Steve’s skin is scarred, proof of his protective nature; his indomitable spirit–each mark telling a story about how the world tried to tear him down and how he refused to let it. He’d thought Steve had brown eyes before, a lighter shade than his own, but no. His eyes are hazel, streaked through with threads of gold as though Rumpelstiltskin himself made them, weaving the delicate strands between green and brown like stitches. His natural scent alone drives Eddie to distraction–sweet and spicy, like buckwheat honey and peppercorns in the back of his throat, tinged with wood-smoke and that human salt-sweat-musk–but fuck, the flavor of his blood on Eddie's tongue? It’s better than that first hit after a tolerance break.

Steve’s been very firm about making sure Eddie receives a daily dose of blood since Dustin came over, since their initial discovery of what it can do for him. He’s undergone several physical changes since then, each subsequent feeding granting him another modicum of control over his form and his own mind. Physically, his wings have shrunk to the point that he can hide them under one of Steve’s sweaters or one of the oversized sweatshirts that Steve has managed to dig out of the donation bin at the shelter. He’s lost the second set of ears perched on the top of his head, although the others have remained stubbornly elongated and pointy. His tail is shorter but no less agile and it’s much easier to wear actual pants now, even if he still has his oddly shaped legs. His fangs are still there but his lisp has gotten better as they've shrunken slightly with each feeding, and his skin is still oddly colored but it’s such a difference from where he started.

The best thing about the feedings isn't the humanizing benefits, though. Guiltily, selfishly, Eddie’s favorite part is that it gives him an excuse to crawl into Steve’s lap and drink straight from the delicious source until he’s had his fill–which is surprisingly less than they'd all expected. Being in Steve’s space with his own thighs splayed out across Steve’s thick, muscular ones and feeling the flutter of his pulse under his tongue is something borderline holy, and maybe that makes him blasphemous, call him a heathen even, but it's the only type of worship he can get behind. He's horribly embarrassed by how much he likes it, how much he craves it. Not even the blood consumption itself–that’s actually pretty metal–but the closeness, the sheer intimacy of the act. However, therein lies the problem:

Eddie’s not gay.

He’s not, despite what the rumors have always said about him: that Eddie Freak King Munson is a queer, that he’s a Faggot Freak who will suck your dick under the bleachers if you ask pretty enough. Flattery works on him, sure, but he’s not done any of that, ever. And don't get him wrong, he's got zero issue with queer folks! They're freaks in their own way, just a different flavor of his people. He’d go to bat for them any day, ‘cause freaks are meant to stick together, and solidarity is so important when you’re being marginalized. But Eddie likes girls, he's slept with girls. And he’d liked it, really enjoyed it even. The softness of curves, plush tits under his fingers, the parted pressure of glossy lips of either type, and the wet heat they create around his cock…

But you've looked at men before and wondered. Wondered what those girls you fucked felt like.

He wants to deny the little voice in the back of his mind, he wants to shout and scream and cry and run from the traitorous thought entirely, but. There’s something damning in it, because what if he is queer and just… never let himself believe it? Tricked himself into thinking he had to be a certain way? And wouldn’t that be the most ironic of all, internalizing his own conformity to the point that he’d forced a part of himself to fit a mold that was wrong. He doesn’t know, though! He doesn’t know, because he doesn’t have any basis of comparison, only his own experiences. He’s always noticed men; admired their physiques, found the shape of some guy’s jaw nice or thought some dude’s eyes particularly mesmerizing or wondered if one guy’s hair was as soft as it looked, but… isn’t that just a given? How is he supposed to know if that isn’t exactly normal? How would he know if most people don't do that? It's not like he can go around asking about it, what with still being a wanted man and also a secret from pretty much everyone he would ask, anyway.

He wishes he could just... ask Steve about this, because Eddie’s so comfortable with him now. Steve has become his safe harbor, his port in the storm. He is the Light of Eärendil's Star dispelling the darkness in Shelob’s lair. Steadfast, perpetual protector Steve; the Samwise to his Frodo–willing to carry him if it means also lessening his burdens, even for a moment. Steve’s an Aragorn, for all Eddie wishes he could possibly measure up to the Evenstar. Something in him screams that Steve would be safe to talk to about this, that he wouldn’t react poorly to Eddie asking if he’d ever had thoughts about other men the same way without getting punched in the face. But… he’s still a jock, and Eddie's refreshed memories of Jason and his band of cronies has him still wary of that type. It's- It's going to take time to lose that knee-jerk reaction, especially with the complication of layered traumas, but. He wants to, for Steve’s sake if nothing else. Steve is nothing like the other jocks, he’s proven that time and time again–protecting a merry band of nerdy kids and misfits without a thought for his own well-being. He doesn’t do it for glory, he doesn’t do it for recognition. He does it because he cares, because he loves with his whole heart, so easily sharing affection even if he does try to hide it beneath a veneer of disgruntlement.

It’s the kind of affection he hasn’t really had since before his mom died, before he was six years old. The closest it’s come to matching that feeling is when he spends time with Joyce–Ms. Byers. Steve had her come by to keep an eye on Eddie for the first two days following his first blood feeding, not wanting to leave him alone while he had to go in to work. He’d struggled with it of course, but Joyce’s presence was grounding and it kept him calm. She’s a strong woman and her nurturing nature reminds him so strongly of his mom it aches a little, deep in his chest. She has sadness in her eyes when she smiles, like she’s been hurt before and it’s so familiar to the sadness he remembers seeing so often in the eyes of Elizabeth Munson–the eyes of his mom. His memories of her are still sharp and he refuses to let them fade. As a kid, he never noticed the melancholy lurking in her gaze when goddamn Al left her behind while he fucked around on one of his shitty schemes; he only remembered the way the whole world seemed to light up when she smiled at him, dancing in their kitchen with him standing on her feet as she twirled them around to the sound of old vinyl spinning in the background. But all of that has burnt to the ground now, lost forever.

Day three had been the hardest, as he’d managed to convince Steve that he’d wanted to try sticking it out alone the night before. He hadn’t realized how empty the house would feel, devoid of life the moment Steve left for work. With Joyce there, Steve’s absence was still noticed, but it was… dampened. Less pronounced, even if he still felt it down into the marrow of his bones. But without the buffer of another person to muffle the loss of his buoyant presence, Eddie felt himself drowning. Everything felt too wide, too dark, too deep. Vacuous and unending, every room felt like it echoed and made his thoughts sound like they were screaming back at him. He couldn’t help but wonder if this is what Steve felt, spending every day like this in High School? Plastering a mask upon his face to conquer the war-torn halls of academia, wear his body down, battling his way through opponents upon the court, combat by fire, only to come back to a tomb, a- an empty mausoleum rather than the warmth of a home. Once upon a time, he’d looked at Steve with disdain, thinking ah, here’s a guy who has it all… but Steve hadn’t truly had much, had he?

Material wealth means nothing to a man who measures his riches in experiences–in his connections to his friends, his family–a man who understands that it doesn’t end with blood, but with those you choose to share your life with. A man who forges his bonds in blood drawn and skin bruised, a man who has borne battlefields unimaginable, walked into the endless abyss and still come out on the other side, all in one piece. Eddie has seen all of this in him, and he believes it, because Steve is exceptional. Steve is a paragon, a paladin of the highest order. Steve takes the world in his scarred and worn hands, turns it on its axis without force, just a gentle flip of his hair and a smile that reveals a meager ounce of his kindness. He wonders how he might ever measure up; how he could possibly hope to be able to look at himself and think he was worth the risk that Steve took in going back for him, going back for his body. Because Steve had done that–kicked down the doors of Hell, determined to retrieve that which he believed full-heartedly belonged on the other side. Yeah, that's some serious Orpheus and Eurydice parallel shit, and it’s painfully romantic, at that.

So how the fuck is Eddie supposed to be normal about that? How is anyone expected to be normal about that kind of devotion? That kind of unconditional dedication? Like, he's not gay, but Jesus H. Christ… that’s the kind of love the great Bard wrote his Sonnets about; the kind of ardor that inspired myths like Orpheus and Eurydice, like Eros and Psyche. He remembers when he’d been flustered by Paige once upon a time, caught off guard by a pretty girl actually wanting to talk to him and not immediately being turned off by the cringe-inducing lack of game he had; game he still doesn’t have. What he’d experienced then doesn't hold a candle to the feelings he struggles with now. Knowing how much Steve risked for him, how determined he was to get Eddie home makes Eddie feel all sorts of hot and bothered. No one has ever given him such attention in that way before, treated him like he’s something valued beyond his usefulness in the grand scheme of things. It rattles him, makes him go blushy and tongue-tied while his heart feels like it broke into the Chocolate Factory and drowned in fizzy lifting drinks. It’s absurd, really, but it’s a sensation he’s quickly become addicted to and he refuses to consider losing it.

The animal part of him, the instinct parts sing in response to Steve’s attentions, bandying about terms like courtship and mates and bonds as though it’s all some red-string of fate, predestined, soulmate shit. And his treacherous romantic heart so badly wants to agree with it, but god if he isn’t terrified by what it all means for him. Because it would imply things about himself he’s not… he’s not sure he’s ready to accept. Things he’s not sure he’s able to fully believe. Well, no, that’s not true. He thinks it would be… remarkably easy to let himself love Steve. Hell, he probably already does, if he just allows himself to and stops fighting the instincts that have kept him moving since his initial transformation. Steve is just so good, and for so long he’s had to convince himself that fuck-ups don’t get to have good things. But, is that really true? Or is that just some goddamn hold-over of Al Munson, corrupting any modicum of happiness he might manage to salvage? He hates it–hates how whenever he looks in the mirror he still sees his dad in his own reflection, still sees the Junior staring back at him even through monstrous eyes. How could he… how could he even consider deserving someone like Steve, even if… even if he managed to get his shit together and figure out what he wants in the first place?

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pulling his knees to his chest and curling into them, a quiet whine slipping from his throat. He can feel that the animal part of him is unhappy, lashing out in his mind and demanding his presence. Its dissatisfaction makes him nauseous, his mouth growing slick with saliva as a precursor to vomiting. He swallows it down, turning his attention inward. He’s gotten pretty good at this part–the communing, when he’d figured it out on the first day after the initial feeding. His mindscape is empty and dark, blackness as far as he can see and the ground is dark water, but it isn’t wet. He blinks into the abyss and red eyes gleam back, a rumble echoing in the space around him. The riotous part of him, the animal-him, is upset with the rational-him. That much is obvious. He exhales, his breath like vapor in the air, although he cannot feel any chill. He doesn’t need to speak here, he and his monster understand each other perfectly without words as he relays his emotional turmoil, his confusion, his fear. It gusts a sigh back at him.

He is bombarded with a rapid-fire montage of memories from a time where his rational mind was locked away, tucked safely behind a protective barrier (he still has no idea how that happened but he’s certainly not ungrateful) and fuck if it doesn’t make him fall even deeper for Steve. Because how can one man have so much- so much love and kindness in every single thing he does? If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d assume the man in the memories was a figment of his imagination, a character dreamed up to be an NPC for a future campaign, exclusively designed to weasel his way into the hearts of his players–the perfect hidden BBEG or perhaps tragic hero, a sacrificial lamb to motivate the party one way or the other. But he’s not, Steve is very real, too real, and so incredibly beautiful in so many ways. The animal part of him purrs, content at Eddie’s agreement, even if he’s still hesitant. Because it’s one thing to agree here, in this strange liminal space within his own mind, but out there? In the real world? That’s so much more terrifying. He’s still so confused about whether or not he’s actually gay, because what does it mean if it’s just Steve? Is Steve the only man he’d actually consider acting on such thoughts for? An exception rather than the rule, or were the girls a lie? Was he… was he lying to himself the whole time?

What does it matter? The bestial part of him rumbles, the past is past. He is our Stars–and you agree with us. Should that not be enough?

He doesn’t know how to explain laws to something that eschews them, the stigma that exists in society for daring to love and lay with someone of the same gender, or for having the gumption to present differently, labeled as deviant and subsequently targeted for your differences. He’s no stranger to being alternative, he’s one of the few followers of metal culture in this podunk town deep in the armpit of America after all, but what’s being suggested is a very specific brand of different. The kind of different that can get you killed.

Can I really… just let myself love him? Am I just falling into everyone’s expectations with this? Some self-fulfilling prophecy or whatever? Telling myself that his kindness translates to love in a romantic sense, deluding myself into some fucked up fantasy when there’s no chance of any feelings actually being returned?

There’s a deep snort of derision from the darkness, the gleaming red eyes rolling from where they sit within the black shadowy shape of the abyss. There is a chance, fool! He has all but accepted our courtship! Look back, tell us we can deny it!

Eddie sighs, turning the memories over slowly in his mind. And… he’s right. Steve has actually welcomed every single one of their advances, returned more than a few of them with a tenderness that has his heart jumping to his throat, hope surging unbidden in his chest. His pulse rabbits in his veins, nervous excitement swimming side by side with his self-doubt, a potent cocktail that makes his head spin. There’s… there’s no way he’s reading this wrong, right? Steve is… inviting his courtship, implying he wants Eddie in his life, in more than just a friendly way. If Steve is trying to be safe–because fuck Eddie certainly would be if he were in Steve’s shoes and self-assured in his own identity–then his roundabout language makes perfect sense, veiled as it is. The pet names, the touching. The tenderness, the devotion. The kisses, oh fuck the kisses! Eddie feels the blush as it sweeps through him like a tidal wave, rushing from the top of his head down to his toes so fast it leaves him breathless. He’s never felt this way about any of the other girls he’s been with, not even with Paige when they’d been on good terms.

Our Stars is different from those who came before. He makes up for where we are weak and we offer courage when he is lacking. We are good apart but better together.

Swallowing, he turns his gaze back to red eyes that have softened where they glow in the blackness of the space. The bestial side of himself isn’t wrong, and as much as he wants to deny it, to refute it, he can’t. Steve brings out the best in him, makes him braver than he thought he could ever be. And he wants to believe that he can bring something similar to Steve; wants to bolster him somehow merely by being by his side supporting him in every way he can. Steve is so, so strong on his own, standing tall even in the face of unfathomable threats; but when he has something to protect? He shines that much brighter, snarls that much louder, hits that much harder. He becomes something magnificent and fuck, does he want to be a part of that motivation so badly. Eddie gnaws on his lower lip with blunt human teeth–he always looks like his old self in his mindscape, divided as he is here–licking the salty blood away when it inevitably splits. He wants to be something to Steve; he wants Steve to look at him and flash that one smile he has sometimes, the one that makes his whole face soften and his eyes glow with love. He wants Steve to look at him and him alone with those stunning golden-threaded hazel eyes, his gently curving lips with so much tenderness in the plushness of his mouth, his expression as delicate as pale moonlight reflected across the quiet surface of a tranquil lake. Eddie wants that more than he’s ever wanted anything else in his life, and the realization that he wants to be more than just good friends with Steve settles into his bones with an ease that he thinks should probably come as more of a surprise. But it doesn’t. It feels easy to accept. Normal–like just another fact about himself: his hair is curly, his eyes are brown, his guitar is his Sweetheart, his favorite genre is metal and he’s definitely falling in love with Steve Harrington.

Done chasing your own tail, pup?

Eddie rolls his eyes, smiling too widely for the action to hold any real heat. His heart is racing beneath his ribs, overfull and somehow still light as air. Giddiness is making him buoyant, effervescent and lightheaded in a way that makes him want to giggle hysterically until his sides ache and his breath catches in his lungs. It’s as though something important has fallen in line, the jigsaw edges fitting together so smoothly he didn’t even feel them lock into place, taking away the anxiety and the underlying fear that the holes from the once-incomplete puzzle had created in him. He can see the whole picture now that the gaps have been filled in, and he likes the look of the mural that sprawls before him, vibrant and far-reaching. It’s still going to take getting used to, this whole loving lark, considering it’s a facet of himself he’s never really considered he would ever actually have to deal with–falling in love with and being woefully attracted to a beautiful man, that is–but he’s excited for the adventure that awaits him, the chance to embrace something new. The likelihood of Steve accepting his advances is astronomically high based on his past reactions to his bestial half’s bold courtship attempts, and for once, he can be Eddie the Courageous. That it’s Steve he’s fighting for makes him feel brave, makes him want to be brave. Steve is worth everything, invaluable and so, so precious beyond what words can say.

Steve is his real-life Aragorn, charismatic when it counts and a fumbling dork otherwise, able to rally and call to arms when all seems lost or handle the mundane with easy capability. The nail-bat Andúril he wields matches his beautiful, brutal ferocity perfectly, his dark maroon BMW a fitting stand-in for Roheryn. Eddie wants to be his Arwen; the one he returns to to rest his weary head. The one he turns to to confide in, to raise his spirits when he feels low; to serve as an inspiration and motivation when Steve feels lost or alone. It’s a tall order, but he’s determined to be good enough for him, to prove himself worthy to stand with Steve and know he belongs there, at his side. He feels more in sync with his bestial nature now, the instincts he initially shied away from easily running tandem with his rational thoughts in a way that breeds understanding he didn’t have before until he’d let go of the denial. He’d been confused by the possessive, reverent way the bestial side referred to Steve, but now it resonates in his heart and fills his stomach with butterflies–possessing and being possessed in turn making him shiver and shake with desire. He hears mate and thinks boyfriend, or if he’s truly dreamy: husband. Listens to Stars and considers Darling or Beloved. He imagines sire and pictures standing beside him, corralling a feral pack of teenagers together until they decide–as one, as Eddie-and-Steve–that it’s time to move on from Hawkins and onto bigger and better things. He cannot imagine life without Steve now, the idea is beyond comprehension, dreary and gray–meaningless and empty.

He feels lighter, accepting this part of himself. And while he’s still not sure if loving Steve makes him gay or if Steve is just an exception to the rule, or if there’s another word for what he is, he doesn’t mind so much anymore. Hell, maybe there’s a ton of resources out there he just needs to find so he can figure himself out, learn how to label himself other than apparently queer, question mark implied. People look at him and see Junior or Freak or Faggot, call him metalhead–he’s actually a multi-genre man–but the thing is, he’s not a fan of labels. He knows better than anyone that people can change, can evolve. Labels don’t always fit forever, so why bother with them in the long run when you can just be yourself? So he’ll figure out his actual sexuality later because ultimately it doesn’t matter, because the only one he wants is Steve. His bestial side purrs happily now, clearly satisfied with his firm stance on his feelings about Steve. Those red eyes curve upwards in the darkness, closed in a way that reminds Eddie of a pleased cat as the large shadowy shape that makes it up circles around his human form. He can feel its wispy edges when it gets close; cool, soft darkness brushing up against him. It tickles a little and he laughs, reaching out to trail his fingers through what feels like the softest fur he’s ever touched, the smoky blackness curling around his rings before freely dissipating into mist. His eyes close as he feels its large, plush head butt gently against his ribs, humming in response to the deep purr that reverberates into his chest.

He inhales.

Exhales.

And opens his eyes back in the Harrington house.

He can feel the beast settled comfortably in the back of his mind, clocks the way the instinct runs parallel to his thoughts as though they’ve always been there, easy as anything. He uncoils himself from where he’s curled into a ball on the couch, arching his spine as he stretches. Shrunken wings flutter slightly against his back, constrained subtly by the confines of his appropriated butter-yellow sweater that smells of Steve. He flexes inhuman toes, long sharp talons careful against the upholstery as he extends his legs out to reach the carpeted floor. Eddie feels calm, assured in a way he hasn’t felt without Steve by his side since they’d been reunited. It’s progress, major progress and he’s proud of himself for how far he’s come in such a short time. The rumble in his chest is involuntary as he pushes himself to a standing position, his tail flicking out behind him and swaying aimlessly in counter-balance. He turns his gaze to the clock on the mantle, his neck loose and lazy as he lets his head loll back to look. Judging by the time he reads there, Steve won’t be due home for another three and a half hours, which means he’ll have to amuse himself until he has company again. No hardship, not anymore. He tilts his head in the opposite direction, recognizing the hunger in his stomach, and decides to see what’s left-over in the fridge. His toe talons click against the tiles on the kitchen floor and he stares at the contents of the refrigerator in despair, a mournful crooning sound tumbling about in his chest like clothes in a laundromat washing machine. There isn’t much in the way of food–there are plenty of ingredients of course, but nothing pre-made–and he suddenly remembers Steve grumbling about food budgets this morning before he’d headed into work; something about the trust not being open yet and payday not until next week. He’s loath to just grab something at random to chow on if Steve has plans to prep dinner with what's there.

He’s hesitant to try cooking anyway. He doesn’t actually know how to work a stove, and has never cooked anything that didn't come already in a plastic tray, or doesn’t require instructions any more complicated than pushing the start button on the microwave. His kitchen skills are pathetic, totaling to: dumping cereal and milk into a bowl, putting bread into a toaster, or emptying a can of something into a bowl and tossing it into the microwave to get ‘nuked. The last thing he wants to do is burn Steve’s house down because he got cocky thinking he could work whatever fancy rich boy stove he’s got going on in the Harrington Castle kitchen, especially since he’s trying to prove himself a worthy partner and companion for Steve–he doesn’t want to give a single goddamn reason for Steve to kick him to the curb, and burning the goddamn house down is a pretty big one.

He huffs, shutting the fridge door and flopping bonelessly to the cool tile floor. He rolls onto his back, adjusting the way his wings settle against his back and shoulders and exhales deeply as he lays there, staring up at the ceiling. His clawed hands rest across his stomach, fingers interlacing. His vision is glazed, and he’s not really looking at anything, just kind of existing there on the floor of the kitchen. He can feel the way the tiles slowly warm to his slightly-cooler-than-average body temperature, creating a halo of heat difference around him that he’s sure would look metal as fuck under thermal vision. He has no idea how long he simply lies there, staring at nothing, but eventually the gnawing of his stomach becomes too much to ignore and he’s spurred into action.

With a grunt, Eddie rolls over onto his stomach and army-crawls his way over to the pantry. He hoists himself up to his knees and starts rifling through the contents, trying to find something familiar that he can toss into the rarely-used, top-of-the-line microwave Steve has wedged way back in the corner of the kitchen. Most of what he discovers in his hunting is soup stock and canned vegetables, interspersed with some concentrated soups that Eddie will eat in a pinch but he’s not exactly gonna put them at the top of his list. Cream of Chicken is for casseroles, not so much for just… eating. He grimaces at the thought and keeps looking. Thankfully, his perseverance pays off because buried way behind everything else he finds his prize: a can of Spaghetti-Os, only two months beyond its expiration date! Crowing in victory, Eddie jumps to his feet, overbalancing and twirling awkwardly around the kitchen as he tries to find a can opener amidst the many drawers. His impatience wins out when he almost brains himself on the countertop, and he gives up his hunt. Instead, he simply stabs his talons into the can, tearing it open and dumping its precious contents into a bowl he carefully pulled down from its respective cabinet. He hovers in front of the microwave as the bowl spins inside, bouncing slightly in place with excitement. He’s not sure how his stomach is going to react to his consumption of the noodle part of the Spaghetti-Os, but he doesn’t really care at this point. He hasn’t had Spaghetti-Os in forever, and he’s going to enjoy them, dammit!

The ding of the microwave has him letting out one of those squeaky chirpy sounds of excitement and he grabs at the scalding hot bowl, releasing it with a yowl when he burns his fingertips. Whining, he pinches the lip of the bowl with his talons and inches it towards him slowly and with care, glancing around for something to hold the boiling lava hot bowl with while he stuffs his face. A towel hanging by the sink will do, he supposes, and he yanks it off the rack before awkwardly shuffling the bowl on top of it, wrapping the excess around the edges like a buffer. Able to pick up his meal, he follows his instinct to hop up onto the countertop, crouched next to the sink as he cradles his bowl and blows on its contents to cool them down until they’re safe for consumption. He hums happily, swaying slightly side to side as he stirs his food with a spoon, blowing on his first bite before shoveling it into his mouth. His eyes shut in nostalgic bliss. It’s shit, but it’s shit that tastes like childhood and memories–some of them good and some of them bad, but all of them formative. He thinks of Uncle Wayne bringing him groceries when he was a shithead kid too stubborn to admit he needed help taking care of himself; thinks of his mom splitting a can with him when money was tight because Al was “between jobs” and the food stamp stipend hadn’t come in yet for the month. Thinks about sitting in the dark, alone, eating it cold straight out of the can because the power got cut since fucking Al Munson forgot to pay the bills. Again.

His eyes are shut as he hums around his spoon, licking the weirdly sweet, watery red sauce off the silvery surface and his lips and teeth, the mushy noodles disintegrating against his tongue and palate with the barest pressure. It’s gross in the best way and he loses himself to all the sensations, all the flavors that come with eating garbage food again for the first time since his return from the Upside Down. He’s been spoiled with the way Steve’s been feeding him since he’s come to stay in Hotel Harrington, and while the hospitality has been top notch–a full five stars and zero complaints–there’s something settling about eating such crap over the sink like a heathen that makes him feel closer to a normal that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. Distantly and as though in a dream, he hears the sound of the back door by the sun room open and close, recognizes the jangle of keys and the rhythm of footfalls approaching the kitchen. He’s still squatting like a gargoyle on the countertop, toe talons gripping the granite and stuffing his face with trash food while leaning over the spotless sink, but he’s so lost in the bittersweet memories dredged up by working his way through the damn can of fucking Spaghetti-Os that he dismisses what should have registered as an oddity as something irrelevant. In the three days Steve has gone in to work his shift at Family Video, every time he returns home he enters through either the front door or through the basement garage entrance, never through the sun room.

The thud of something hitting the floor is what finally yanks his attention away from his half-eaten meal, his whole body tensing as he finally recognizes someone or something has intruded into his space–Steve’s home. He whips his head in the direction of the sound, eyes wide and ears pricked and even with his cheeks bulged with Spaghetti-Os, he’s coiled to spring into action should the need arise. Instead, he meets the wide eyes of a woman he’s never seen before standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She’s dressed business casual, freckled skin of her ankles peeking out between the leather of her shoes and the dark subtle-pinstripe tapered trousers that rise up to the leather belt around her waist. A well-fitting fine-checked blazer hangs open over a delicately patterned button-front shirt, the top three undone to tease a hint of cleavage and show off the chain necklaces layered across her throat and collarbones. Her neck is long and leads to a strong, square jawline. Her face follows a slight curve with pronounced cheekbones and strong, well groomed brows. Her dark hair is impeccably styled, shot through with a streak of silver along one temple. He can’t tell how long it actually is with the way she has it coiffed, but the masculine vibes lend an air of authority, although oddly enough the authority she carries doesn’t immediately trigger the need to raise his hackles in defense. He can’t read her expression at all, her eyes are wider than what would clearly be normal, but her face is carefully blank otherwise. They stare each other down, this garbage dump creature perched like a feral animal on the counters and a woman in a position of power dressed in expensive clothes, perfect posture and excellent reaction control.

“Well,” her lower contralto voice is steady, calmer than he thinks he would have been if he were in her perfect leather shoes, “I may have slightly misunderstood what my son was trying to tell me on the phone.”

Eddie blinks rapidly, swallowing what’s in his mouth as he licks the residue of sauce from his lips.

She tilts her head at him, arching an eyebrow in a horribly familiar action and suddenly the resemblance smacks him in the face. He’s seen that square jaw before. Seen the same kind of moles across her face (just on the opposite side, like a mirror), even the same soft, kind eyes as Steve. As she smiles, he watches how the two moles on the apple of her right cheek rise as her lips curve in such a similar way, how the one up above the point of her right brow follows the arch her eyes take.

“Uhh… Mrs. Harrington?” He barely lisps on the “s” in missus and only drags out the first “a” a little bit this time, mentally patting himself on the back at the improvement.

“Please call me Arlene, but if you must use my surname, it’s actually Ellsworth since I divorced Stevie’s father.” She bends her knees as she crouches down to retrieve her fallen suitcase where it lays haphazardly on the floor. All at once, he realizes that it must have been what made the thud that alerted him to her presence in the first place. The suitcase looks more expensive than anything he’s ever owned, barring maybe his Sweetheart, but the difference between luggage and a musical instrument is jarring enough that he doesn’t even know what to think about the comparison.

“You must be Eds,” she continues speaking as she straightens, settling the suitcase upright against the wall before making eye contact again. She’s suddenly striding towards him without hesitation, abruptly right in his space and extending a manicured hand for him to shake, “Stevie told me a lot about you.”

Eddie flushes, not sure if he should get off the counter or stay where he is. He has no idea what the etiquette is here, this is so far out of his wheelhouse he’s completely floundering. He decides to trust the instincts running tandem to his chaotic and untrustworthy thoughts, clumsily setting down the bowl and hopping down from the counter with far more grace. As he straightens back to his full height, he lets out a pleased rumble when Arlene doesn’t even react to his sudden towering over her.

“I- It’s actually Eddie,” he says quietly, shyly. He takes her hand to shake, mindful of his claws and she merely arches an eyebrow, blinking in mild interest.

“Hm,” she hums, turning his hand over in her surprisingly strong grip, “I suppose this has something to do with the interesting conversation I had to have with Agent Stinson and Doctor Owens outside Hawkins town limits before they confirmed my clearance level and even let me in?”

He finds himself nodding without realizing he’s doing it at first, and she releases his hand, giving the back of it a gentle pat with a smile that shows far too many teeth. This woman is dangerous, his instincts scream at him. She’s incredibly observant, intelligent in the way a top predator is; playing with her food and giving it a false sense of security before tearing it apart in a way to prolong its torture for her own amusement. She exudes protective mother energy in a way that reminds him of Joyce, but in a far less feral manner. Arlene is controlled, all precision and subterfuge where Joyce is brute force and wild swings. Eddie is both terrified and in awe, knowing Steve has someone like her in his corner. (It also explains a little as to why he was so hung up on Nancy–he’s clearly learned to favor badasses because of his mom.) He watches cautiously as Arlene runs her gaze across the kitchen, blue-green eyes so similar to Steve’s taking in every detail. She purses her lips when she realizes what’s in his bowl and picks it up off the counter, ignoring Eddie’s squawk of protest when she scrapes the remnants unceremoniously into the trash.

“Now I know my son has been feeding you better than this atrocity,” she says casually, her tone booking no nonsense, “so I’m guessing you either don’t know how to cook on your own or are afraid to use our kitchen’s appliances.” She turns her eyes to Eddie and he feels like a butterfly pinned under glass, staring back wide-eyed at Arlene as she dumps the now-empty bowl into the sink. She breaks their stare-down first and begins to move about the kitchen with a comfortable ease, confidently pulling cooking utensils out of cabinets and ingredients out of the fridge. Her diverted attention allows him to feel like he can breathe again; she’s a horribly intimidating woman, and his instincts are scrambling to find a way to impress her; to prove to Steve’s dam that he’s a worthy suitor–a worthy mate for her only son. He wrings his hands as his nerves mount steadily.

“So,” she prompts, finally turning back to lock him in place again with her gaze, “which one is it? Can’t cook, or intimidated by the appliances?”

Eddie swallows.

“Ca- Can’t cook,” he admits with some shame, “Never learned.”

Arlene’s expression gentles, something like understanding passing through her oceanic eyes. She hums, the sound soothing in the contralto range of her voice and he finds himself rumbling quietly in response. She swings a heavy bottomed pot onto one of the front stove top burners, turning back to face him and placing her hands on her hips in a familiar pose that has Eddie's lips twitching upwards in his mirth and rising fondness. It seems Steve comes by it honestly, which is unbearably charming. His feelings bubble and flutter in his chest like effervescent butterflies.

“Alright then. My Stevie-bear likes you and trusts you, so I'm going to extend to you a one-time only offer!” She wags a finger at Eddie, a crooked smile splitting her full lips and lighting up her face in a way that makes her look just like her son, “You interested in learning the abbreviated version of the patented Chiara family bolognese recipe?”

Eddie feels his mouth water. He’s never had homemade meat sauce before, but Steve’s marinara and meatballs was a family recipe too, or so he’d said, tossing the tidbit over his shoulder with a coy little wink that had made Eddie’s monstrous little heart race beneath his ribs. If the bolognese is anything like the marinara, he’s going to be licking his plate clean, and damn the need for table manners. But there’s one thing he’s confused by.

“Chiara?”

Arlene carelessly waves a hand in the air as she sets out onions, celery, and carrots on a cutting board. “Ah, yes, that’s my side of the family. All very Italian. My aunt Maria–my mom’s younger sister–was an opera singer, although she only trains new singers now. In her prime she even performed with Pavarotti, too! Aida, I think?”

“I- I don’t know much about opera.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Stevie-bear loves it.” Arlene pulls out a strange contraption that she runs the large knife through a few times. Eddie has no idea what it is–his knowledge of kitchen utensils is rudimentary at best. “He spent a few summers in Italy with Mom and Aunt Maria as a kid, and Aunt Maria taught him quite a bit; he’s actually really talented.” Arlene says, casually dropping such a bomb that Eddie feels like he might choke on his own tongue.

He decides he needs to hear Steve sing immediately. Because from what he does know about opera–which, as he’d admitted, isn’t much at all–it’s an incredibly difficult skill to learn, and to be talented as well? It’s impressive, to say the least. He wonders if he can get Steve to teach him a little more about the genre; he’d always kind of brushed it off as some pompous rich people shit and never given it much more thought, but if his Stars loves it as much as his dam is implying he does? Well, then Eddie ought to express some genuine curiosity in his would-be-mate’s interests. He’s honestly surprised he’s never heard Steve mention it before, but maybe he just plays it close to the chest. It’s not like enjoying opera is a babe-pulling hobby, or that singing opera is going to be dropping any panties any time soon. (Although, it could potentially become boxer-dropping if he’s as talented as Arlene is implying—Jesus H. Christ fucking hell nope Eddie we’re not gonna be horny with his mom standing right next to you! Fucking hell, you–) Arlene grasps his arm and gently pulls him closer so he can watch her, jolting him out of his raunchy spiraling thoughts. He’s so grateful he might actually cry.

“So we have to chop the veggies,” she’s saying, “finely but not too fine, since they’ll cook down a lot. Watch how I do this, okay?” When she’s satisfied he’s paying attention she begins chopping, clearly at a slower pace than she usually goes, judging by how exaggerated her motions look to his eyes. She’s an old hat at this, her movements smooth and well practiced. Eddie’s reminded of the way Steve looks when he’s preparing his ingredients to cook for them, because Arlene gets a similar look on her face as she works her way through the celery and the carrot easily. He doesn’t get the same low rolling boiling feeling in his gut watching her that he does when he watches Steve, which in light of his epiphany and self-acceptance makes a hell of a lot of sense. Watching someone tackle a task with so much ease that they make it look effortless is just so inherently sexy, after all. Impeccable competency is deeply attractive to him, which is something he’d not realized he’d been partial to before Steve. Eddie’s lashes flutter as a shudder makes its way down his spine, his tail curling in imagined bliss as he dreams up Steve standing in Arlene’s place; glancing up at Eddie through his lashes while chopping away and raising an eyebrow in challenge. Tossing out an aggravatingly sexy smirk, baiting Eddie into–ahh, shit, he’s doing it again goddamnit! He shifts in place guiltily, so, so glad the denim hides what’s risen beneath the thick fabric, and thankfully Arlene has been talking and hasn’t noticed Eddie’s little foray down Lusty Lane. Her voice is soothing in his ears and he focuses on the way it rises and falls as she speaks, letting the contralto wash over him.

“–and he’s definitely brushed shoulders with some of the greats, although he probably doesn’t remember that.”

Eddie listens raptly as Arlene talks about Steve, sharing her memories of him and his childhood. The love she carries for him is plainly obvious as it spills out over every word, her exasperated fondness as she tells stories of Steve’s wild escapades as a child. They both have to pause, laughing when Arlene’s mascara starts to run from the sudden onslaught of tears the onion chopping causes. She curses her choice to eschew the waterproof option that morning, and Eddie is a dutiful son-in-law-to-be, pressing paper towels into Arlene’s hands so she can dab at her face. When the accursed onion is finally defeated, she dives right back into teaching him the next part of the recipe. He’s having fun, and she’s so patient with him when he still stumbles over some of his words, lisping around too-large teeth and struggling with his own vocal cords. He enjoys watching the way her oceanic eyes alight with memories as she recounts her son’s particularly precious memories, especially when she tells him of Steve’s mini opera debut his aunt helped him put together for their family back in Italy, the pride in her smile as she tells him about how bright and delighted his face had been when he’d reveled in his own success. Every tidbit she shares with him is a new piece of his Stars that Eddie gets to savor; a new part of the puzzle that brings him closer to the man he hopes will accept his courtship. By the time they’re done browning the meat in the bottom of the well-seasoned pot, she’s moved on to talking about how worried she’d been when her ex-husband had put the kibosh on the summer trips to Italy, basically forcing Steve to focus entirely on sports and stay in Hawkins full time.

“I- I had wondered why,” Eddie murmurs, “if he had su- such a cul- cultured childhood he fell into the jo- jockish life.”

“If I’d had my way, he’d never have gone into sports at all, unless he wanted to. Don’t get me wrong,” Arlene says, waving the wooden spoon as she speaks, “Stevie-bear is a fantastic athlete, and I’m so proud of him, but he’s a smart kid and somewhere along the way he lost his brain and decided impressing Dick of all people was his priority.”

Eddie snorts, clapping both hands over his mouth to smother his laughter. She grins wolfishly at him, and he sees so much of Steve in her expression it brings a pang to his heart.

“I know boys want to be like their dads, but honestly, Dick? Worst possible role model he could have picked.”

“My- My dad isn’t a good one either,” he says quietly. Something about Arlene makes him feel safe, like she would never judge him for who his father is. It’s probably because of how much she reminds him of Steve, but he just knows he can trust her.

“Oh? You don’t have to tell me, Eddie,” she says, laying a hand gently on his shoulder and barely avoiding his wing where it’s tucked against his back. She rubs in small circles, the action soothing, “But I’m happy to listen if you need to talk about it.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. “You- Y’know Al Munson?”

Arlene freezes.

Inhales sharply.

And Eddie’s blood turns to ice in his veins.

He’s absolutely terrified he’s somehow ruined everything, that he’d been wrong about her. Maybe he’d read something wrong, misjudged her because she reminds him so much of Steve, and Steve is everything good and kind and right in this world. But she seems angry? Disgusted? Fuck, he can’t read her! She’s too skilled at cloaking her emotions, keeping them from her body language and her face, and it’s completely messing with his rational thought and his instincts. He thinks he needs to run, because if his father makes her react like that, it must only mean bad things, and he won’t consider hurting his Stars’ dam–

“You’re Elizabeth’s boy, then?”

–huh?

“Ohhh, man, I see the resemblance now, you look a lot like her!”

Wait… what? She’s… laughing?

“Jesus Christ, this is… this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Arlene wheezes, her laughter honking out of her like a goose or like, a donkey. She doubles over, gripping the counter, cackling. He is so, so confused.

“Wha–?”

“Eddie,” she manages to gasp, “my son and I must have the exact same taste, because I swear to you I had the biggest crush on your mother when she and your dad moved to town from Tennessee.”

Eddie thinks his brain might be broken. He can tell he’s just. Gaping at her, completely stupefied by the way this entire situation has gone so sideways.

She chuckles at his likely-flabbergasted expression, laughing gamely and turning to the fridge to retrieve the white wine she’d pre-opened and re-corked earlier. “But, that’s ancient history. I was friends with your Uncle in high school before he dropped out, so I knew Al tangentially. No love lost there.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Anyway, enough about my son, I’m sure you know enough about him already.” Arlene smirks knowingly, arching an eyebrow at Eddie in a way that makes him feel seen even if he’s not sure what she means by it… they weren’t friends in high school, not even close.

He shrugs, still somewhat stunned by the direction the whole conversation has gone. “We… we only really got to know each other over spr- spring break,” he manages, only stumbling over a few of his consonants and lisping slightly over his words a little bit, “even though we were in high school together all four of his years.”

“Oh? You were in the same grade?”

Eddie flinches, “I- I failed senior year. Had to repeat.” He’s not going to tell her how many times.

Arlene makes a conciliatory noise, “Ah, that’s unfortunate. At least you’re done now, though. High School was hell, especially for someone like me.”

Eddie blinks slowly. Is she saying–

“Like you?”

“Mmhm. Like me. Someone different in a time where different meant death, so I had to hide in order to be safe. I had some friends who knew me, of course–like your Uncle, actually–but it’s not easy having to hide who you are during such a tumultuous time in our teenage lives.”

“What… what could you possibly have to hide?” He’s going to process the fact that his Uncle was friends with this woman once upon a time later, because what the fuck his brain is broken enough as it is.

“Oh, honey,” Arlene laughs but not unkindly, patting Eddie’s cheek and grinning at him, the expression boyish and charming, “how about the fact that I was a big ol’ dyke growing up in rural Indiana?”

He chokes on his own spit.

She just- She just came out and said it!?

Arlene pulls the wine cork with her teeth, spitting it into the sink with far too much grace for such a crass action, shooting him a coy little wink before going right back to explaining the next steps in her recipe. Something-something deglaze, evaporate, stir frequently. It gives him a moment to quietly freak out. Because holy shit, this woman has balls of fucking steel. Eddie thinks he might love her, just a little. It’s so obvious now where Steve gets it from, because it’s undeniably hereditary. The Harrington Charm? Nah, fuck that shit, it’s the Ellsworth Charm now because good fucking Christ on a unicycle this lady has mad game.

Something in him settles, because yeah, Arlene is safe. She knows who he is, and if she’s talked to the government goons then she knows about him and the murder allegations but she’s chosen to trust her son over all of that. She clocked his feelings for Steve, revealed her own preferences and proved herself a staunch ally and a member of a small, private community he’s only just realized he’s become a card-carrying member of. He registers the gentle rubbing of Arlene’s hand on his shoulder and he blinks down at her. She’s smiling at him, soft and kind just like her son, and Eddie feels like he might start crying. He feels accepted, and his instincts sing as his thoughts calm in the face of her genuine care. He sighs, shoulders slumping as he leans into her touch, accepting the affection she so easily offers him.

“I- I understand. Thank you fo- for trusting me.”

“Like recognizes like, Eddie,” she says, her words sure and steady, “but I can tell this is a bit new to you. When did you realize you liked my son?”

He can’t help the flush that fills his face and swims down his chest. She chuckles but it’s easy to tell she’s not laughing at him. There’s no malice in it.

“Um. Sp- Spring break, technically is when I… when I first started to realize my feelings? But… I didn’t accept them until, um. To- Today?”

Arlene’s eyes go wide, more emotion slipping through her control to show on her face than he’s seen from her so far. It’s surprising, the way her lips form an ‘o’ shape and her eyebrows hitch high on her forehead. He shrugs, embarrassed. “Always thought I was st- straight.”

“Well, it’s all a very fluid thing, sexuality. Some people are a Kinsey six, some folks are a Kinsey zero, and everyone else falls somewhere in the middle.”

“You can- You can do that?”

She nods, “I’m a Six, obviously. Men do absolutely nothing for me. They’re just people, I don’t notice anything about them unless I really look.”

Eddie blinks. If a gay person didn’t look at the opposite gender and have thoughts about them or think about what ifs, then…

“An- And it’s safe to assume st- straight people have the opposite feelings as you? Look at the sa- same gender and feel nothing?”

Arlene shrugs, “I’d guess so, if they were truly straight, a Kinsey zero.”

Eddie blinks. “Huh.”

Arlene pats his shoulder again, “Don’t stress about it, Eddie. If you think you like my son, then you like my son. It’s that simple. Whether or not it’s just my Stevie or if there are others would just determine what your proclivity towards homosexuality or heterosexuality is, which right now isn’t the important thing, right?”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? He nods, a watery smile splitting his lips as he leans into her touch. She smiles back at him, giving him a nod of her own and it feels like solidarity.

“Wanna finish up the recipe?”

He nods again, feeling a little like a deranged bobble-head, but so thankful for the distraction she’s offering him. She’s given him a lot to consider, and he’s incredibly glad she’s taken his questions seriously and not laughed at the sheer amount of ignorance he has. She’s been incredibly kind, and if Arlene sticks around he hopes she’ll turn out to be the Obi Wan to his Luke, a mentor to guide him on the path to discovering his own destiny, helping him understand his sexuality and what it all might mean for him. He listens intently as Arlene explains the importance of San Marzano tomatoes and why using anything else is absolute blasphemy, laughing when she grows heated, gesturing wildly with the sauce-covered wooden spoon and dodging the flying splatter that results. The sauce itself takes at least another two hours to simmer on low heat, she tells him, setting an egg timer on the counter in thirty minute increments so she can keep checking it and stirring so the bottom doesn’t burn. She asks if he drinks, and when he says he does, she pulls a bottle of red wine out of a glass-front cabinet he’d not really noticed before in the fancy dining room. She pours them both a generous glass, clinking rims in a wordless toast before gesturing for him to follow her out to the living room.

He hovers awkwardly in the doorway as she settles comfortably on one end of the couch, kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs up underneath her. Arlene glances back at him and frowns.

“Are you coming, Eddie?” she asks, leaning forward and patting the opposite end of the couch. He blinks, but wordlessly takes her invitation, gingerly settling in across from her. His tail coils around his waist in self-comfort and his talons clink against the glass as he tries to get comfortable under her intense oceanic gaze.

“So, Eddie,” Arlene says, swirling her wine and taking a sip, “tell me about yourself.”

She stares at him from over the rim of her glass, her wine-stained lips tilting upwards and casting a perfect illusion of a predator’s blood-smeared smirk.

He gulps.

Roll for Charisma, Eddie…

Steve hits the fob button to automatically close the door after parking his car inside the garage, letting his head drop to the steering wheel and just sitting there in the dark, breathing. Days like today test him more than all the times he’s had to battle actual monsters, combined. He’ll take Russians and Billy Hargrove concussions and flower-faced freaks with too many teeth any day over dealing with Mrs. Kissinger and her inability to understand that no, we can’t just waive your late fees, ma’am. You’re nearly a month overdue. No, we’re sorry but it’s company policy. You want to speak to our manager? Oh, Keith isn’t in at the moment, but I can take a message for him? No? Um, well, I can give you a business card and you can call back to the store tomorrow after we open? No to that too, huh… um, oh? You’ll just pay the fees then? Oh, okay–ah. Sure, all… coins. You’re paying entirely in change. That’s- that’s fine… yup. Totally fine. Mmhm, fantastic. Thank you very much, have a great day! He’d wanted to gouge his own eyeballs out and Robin had been no help, watching the entire interaction from the safety of the aisles as she pretended to restock while actually laughing at his misery the entire time.

He loves her, but he also fucking hates her sometimes. Like the annoying little sister he never asked for.

Platonic soulmates, man. Wild shit.

He exhales, straightening up in his seat and running his hands through his hair, no longer immaculately coiffed. He’s drained, but he knows he needs to make dinner for himself and Eddie still. He’s pretty sure he can throw something quick together from the ingredients in the fridge, but he’ll have to double check. It’s going to be a low effort night, that’s for damn sure. He’s exhausted, and he just wants to crawl into bed and just sleep for a year. He exits his car and unlocks the entry door, stepping inside and making his way through the unfinished basement. He feels some of his stress slip away immediately, knowing he’s home and that Eddie is waiting for him, a smile pulling at his lips unbidden. He unceremoniously drags off his Family Video vest, draping it over one forearm and stretching as he makes his way to the stairs. Halfway up, he pauses at the sound of voices. One he recognizes as Eddie’s, steadily growing stronger with every passing day and every time he feeds on Steve’s blood. (Steve looks forward to that more than he probably should, because there’s something in the way Eddie looks, blood-drunk and malleable in Steve’s lap afterwards that ignites something deep in Steve’s gut.) The other is familiar, as though there’s something about it that isn’t quite as he remembers. Anxiety churns in his veins and it spurs him to action, taking the stairs two at a time as he races towards the living room. He bursts in, ready to fight if he needs to–

“Welcome home, Stevie-bear,” his mother coos at him, “Look at him, Eddie! Ohhh, my Baby Bear is so handsome! He’s so grown up!”

Eddie giggles, and Steve’s gaze whips towards him, startled at the adorable sound and taking in his flushed cheeks and- oh my god are they drunk?

“You got him drunk!?”

“Pssht, no!” Mom waves a hand dismissively, scoffing, “Just a little buzzed!”

Eddie hiccups, giggling again as he sways where he sits criss-cross applesauce on the couch opposite Steve’s mom. Fuck he’s so cute Steve’s gonna lose his shit in a second–

“How much did you have?” Steve bemoans, both enamored with how fucking sweet Eddie looks, all flushed and giggly, and frustrated that his mom even let this happen in the first place. What the hell ever happened to drinking responsibly, huh?! “What did you even drink?”

“We just split a bottle of Cab… the ‘85 Sassicaia,” Mom says, her Italian accent more pronounced in her intoxicated state. A whole bottle is a lot of wine… what was she trying to do? Interrogate Eddie like the fucking Russians? But less violent and more drugs–or, alcohol, rather?

“St- Steeeeeeevieeeee,” Eddie croons, distracting Steve from his spiraling. His eyes are half-lidded as he shoots the sleepiest, sexiest smile Steve’s ever seen from him before in Steve’s direction. He swears he’s developing heart palpitations or something because Jesus Christ–

“Steeeeeevieeeee,” Eddie croons again, reaching out his arms and making grabby hands in Steve’s general direction, “Steeeeevieeeee I miiiiiissed you!”

“Aww, that’s so cute,” Mom gushes, turning to face Steve with a soft expression. “Eddie is the sweetest boy, Stevie-bear! I had a feeling about you on the phone; I thought that there was something between you two, and now that I’ve met him it’s obvious!”

She smirks, “How long did you think you could be sneaky about dating a boy?”

Steve stares at his mom–horrified–as the blood drains from his face.

She catches his expression, her smile and laughter disappearing in an instant as she furrows her brow. “Stevie..?”

“Mom, what- I- I don’t–” he chokes on the lie he can’t even tell to save his own skin, feeling like he’s going to be sick.

“Eddie, honey?” Mom says, softly but firmly, and not breaking eye contact with Steve. She gets an answering coo from Steve’s drunken sweetheart and continues talking. “I’ve gotta’ go talk to Stevie for a minute in the kitchen. You stay right there, okay, cutie-pie?”

“Mmkay, Arleeeene,” Eddie croons back in response, flopping face-down onto the couch and nuzzling into the throw blanket, inhaling loudly and dramatically. (Jesus, it’s the one that he and Steve always snuggle together underneath–oh fuck, he really might actually get sick–)

Mom stands up from the couch, suddenly seeming remarkably sober. She beelines for Steve, and it takes everything in him not to turn tail and flee when she reaches out and grasps his wrist as she continues moving. (She isn’t gripping him, she’s just holding, and it’s the only thing that stops him from panicking–sending him back down-down-down miles below Starcourt–) Instead, he follows her into the kitchen, and even though he’s not falling into a PTSD-induced panic spiral, it still feels like he’s attending his own funeral march. Fuck, is she gonna’ disown him? His hands tremble and he clenches them tightly, the skin across his knuckles creaking with the effort before he shoves them deep into the pockets of his jeans. He chews the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. His mom releases his wrist when they pass into the kitchen, and he comes to a stop when he’s standing a few paces from her. His stomach feels like it’s full of snakes, writhing and roiling, as he’s suddenly faced with being forced to confront the one person he’s always known has been in his corner. But- but now she knows he’s–!

“Stevie, I’m not gonna beat around the bush here,” she says, taking a deep breath and looking away from him.

Oh fuck this is going to goddamn destroy him, this is going to hurt so badly, he thinks. She’s going to reject me I’m going to be disowned how am I gonna’ be able to take care of Eds please just let me have the trust please fuck please—

“I thought the phone call you made to me about the trust fund,” his mom starts to say slowly, an awkwardly guilty look crossing her face, “was a thinly veiled attempt at coming out to me.”

He furrows his brow, confused. How the hell did she come up with that? She’s not wrong, he is bisexual–like Bowie and Elton John and Freddie Mercury–but that’s such a weird conclusion to come to, he hadn’t even been talking about queer shit! He’s about to speak, to question her but his mom holds up a hand to stop him, raising a single finger in the universal sign for hold on one moment. Pressing her other palm against her forehead, she sighs and it sounds so frustrated to his ears. He has no idea what’s happening right now. He wishes she would just hurry up and get it over with, are you disowning me or not, this is killing him–

“Which is why,” she continues, sounding exhausted all of a sudden, “I wanted to make sure you knew you were safe with me.”

She takes a deep breath, shaking her head slowly, “I thought I’d made it clear to you in that phone call that I–” she gestures to all of herself, barking out a self-deprecating laugh, “–am also queer as a two dollar bill.”

She lifts her head and her eyes lock to his. There’s no malice in her gaze, no lies in her words, just that one eyebrow raised high on her forehead, lips pursed and her hands perched on her hips in a familiar stance. She’s… challenging him, like she’s always done his entire life when he’s being obstinate. (It’s the same tactic he uses with the kids…)

Steve stares at his mom–his incredibly intelligent mom, his apparently fucking queer mom–speechless for a long, long moment, before rational thought comes barrelling back through his brain like a runaway train, slamming into him full force and blaring like a foghorn in his mind.

“Wait, you’re what?!”

(｡ಡωಡ｡) EHUEHUEHUEHUE

you know that mood when you have a specific scene that you are DYING to write but you can't just write it cause there needs to be WORDS on both sides of it? yeah. that's me with the Spaghetti-Os here. i've wanted to write that scene fOR A LONG TIME AND I FINALLY DID IT. I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW.

Also, say hi to Arlene Ellsworth! I hope everyone likes her! I kinda HC Steve's mom lookin' a lil like Angelina Jolie because same jawline forreal and the moles?! so I used her as an inspo lol

As I said before, I'm loosely basing her off my own Gramma, who came out as a lesbian in the 80s and divorced my Grampy after being married for nearly 30 years (and having like, 10 kids, shit's fucking wild, I swear.) Her story is bonkers, and she was a crazy cool lady to know while she was alive.

also catch me throwing one of my fucking steve ideas in here lmao i don't have a problem you have a problem shush.

AND THAT FUCKING ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE POST? I SAW IT AFTER I WAS ALREADY EDITING THIS SHIT. SUS AS FUCK, WHO IS READING MY MIND? WHO IS MIND MELDING WITH ME LONG DISTANCE, HUH!?! this is me squinting at you through the screen, zero trust, y'all. quit it.

Aaaaanywhosiwhatsit, I'mma try to get crackin' on part nine asap, and I was considering getting stuff up slowly on AO3 after I reach part 10 here on the tumblr dot com.

the support banners (and the content warning banners) are from here! they're beautiful, aren’t they? So in love with them. cafekitsune has made some gorgeous stuff. please check them out if you're a creator!

----------------------------------- THE PERMA-TAG LIST ----------------------------------- @almondflavoredbookworm @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @brainsteddielyrotted @cashewnutofdoom @child-of-cthulhu @croatoan-like-its-hot @dame-zoom-a-lot @dauntlessdiva @ellietheasexylibrarian @estrellami-1 @eyesofshinigami @goodolefashionedloverboi @gregre369 @grimmfitzz @gutterflower77 @himbosandhardwear @hippieg1rl420 @hornybunnybaby @insteviewetrust @kacatshi @kingelyx @lawrencebshoggoth @lunabyrd @matchingbatbites @me-and-my-sloth @moltenchocolatelavacake @monsterloverforhire @mugloversonly @numinosmoon @obliosworld @ohmeg @panicatthediaz @pansexuality-activated @prazinos @queenie-ofthe-void @rainyefflorescence @sani-86 @sergeisilence @simplebtromance @snarkfamily @steddieinthesun @steddielations @steddieonbigboy @steddiewithachance @vacantwatchers @waelkyring @warlordess @y4r3luv

The perma-list on the main post is full! But don’t worry, you can still ask to be tagged! Your name will just end up in the replies, rather than the main post. I won’t forget you, I had to make a spreadsheet to keep track of all of you, which is fucking wild to me but i’m so goddamn flustered and blushy and skfnalsghaso about it so it’s whatever i guess.

I also have a list of folks who didn’t ask specifically to be tagged for future installments, but have been extremely enthusiastic about the story from the beginning based on their reblogs and/or replies to the posts. So if you’re on that list, unless you tell me otherwise, I'll continue putting your name in the replies. You can also follow the story tag, which is #Take Me Home steddie fic where you might find my posted sneak peeks or wip updates in between the actual parts, or you can even just follow me, @hobbyistauthor for all my nonsense!

If you don’t want to be tagged or want to be taken off the tag list for any reason, just let me know either in the replies or via DM. I don't bite much.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #Arlene is a delight and I love her already #this was such a great update

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panicatthediaz · 1 month

Text

The Harrington Pattern Part 9

As you guys wanted, here's me doubling up on posting days. It will (hopefully) be twelve hours apart so that each chapter can get some love.

In this chapter we have a lot of flirting between Eddie and Steve. The Party being "meh" *shrugs shoulders* at Steve being bi. And Robin being the most soulmate a guy could ask for.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

MY TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED!!!!

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

That night they were all gathered to watch the amateur theatrical society put on Much Ado About Nothing.

Even the ones who had been reluctant to join in were doubled over in laughter at the trick the Prince pulled on Beatrice and Benedict. The way they cried when Hero was accused of cheated on Claudio. And cheered when it was resolved happily ever after.

Mike complained about it all the way to the car. “We were forced to read this play in eighth grade and I hated it. I never knew it was funny.”

Eddie put his arm around his shoulder. “That is the unfortunate side effect of the education system. They suck the joy out of all of everything.”

“Normally I’m rolling my eyes at Eddie’s rants,” Robin said, “but I’m going to have to agree with him on this one. They just want sanitized versions of everything.”

Steve nodded. “Like what’s with the jump in American history when we stop in eighth grade at the Civil War and then all the way to WWII in eleventh grade, with only a brief mention of WWI as it related to WWII. Are they really trying to tell us that nothing happened in those eighty years of note? Like the fuck?”

Mike blinked at him. “Holy shit, I never even realized.”

The kids looked around at each other in shock.

“They push math and science,” Eddie continued, “but shit on everything else, except sports.”

He winced when realized what he had said. He looked over at Steve with an apology on his lips, but Steve was nodding.

“And they have to be the right sports, too,” Steve agreed. “Wrestling, swimming, soccer...anything outside the big three baseball, football, or basketball. Trust me, I got a lot of flack on being on the swim team. It was ‘gay’.”

“What?” Will squawked. “Why?”

Eddie licked his lips. “Little, teeny, tiny uniforms.” He emphasized the point holding his fingers not that far apart.

Dustin snorted. “Can’t be any worse than the basketball shorts.”

Steve looked upwards as he chewed on the bottom of his lip.

Dustin’s eyes bulged out of his head. “How much worse are we talking about here?”

“Speedo.”

Lucas frowned. “What the fuck is a Speedo?”

Eddie was practically vibrating in his skin. “Can I tell them, Stevie? Can I please?”

Steve let out a little sigh. The sigh the Party lovingly called his mom sigh. It was the sound he made when he knew no mater what he did it was going to end badly for him, so he just...let it happen.

He waved at Eddie to go ahead.

“Instead of swim trunks, that have a leg on them,” Eddie crowed, “Speedos are swim underpants. They cover the junk, the ass, and that’s it.”

“And you deliberately wore these things?” Max asked in interest. More interest than Lucas or any of the guys were comfortable with.

“I’m good at it,” Steve said, blush creeping up his ears and down his throat from the stain on his cheeks. “The uniform wasn’t as bad Eddie’s making it out to be.”

Gareth snorted. “Nope, they really are that bad. There was a period of time where–”

Eddie slammed his hand over Gareth’s mouth. “There’s no need to tell them about that, Gare.”

Steve looked over at Brian.

“Your senior year Eddie forced all of Hellfire to watch your meets.”

“Bri!” Eddie protested.

Steve looked over at Eddie and raised an eyebrow. “You like the...what was you it called it,” he said tapping his finger on his lips, “the ‘little, teeny, tiny’ uniform, Eds?”

Eddie threw his arms in the air. “I am but a gay man in a small town, so sue me!”

“I always preferred the lifeguard uniforms at the community pool,” Steve said. “Less wedgies.”

“Babe,” Eddie scoffed, “those shorts and tank left very little to the imagination. At least with the Speedo you knew what you were getting. With the lifeguard uniform it was all fantasy.”

Steve laughed. “I bet you were the kind who faked drowning to get CPR from their favorite lifeguard.”

“I can honestly say, I’ve never done that.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked all smiles. “Can you prove that?”

Eddie got up close to him and whispered, “Yeah, darlin’. I think I would have remembered you rescuing me before the Upside Down.” He winked at him and sauntered off. The rest of the band hastily said their goodbyes and hurried after their ride home.

Steve’s face was as red as his old life guard uniform. “Right. Let’s get home, yeah?”

Dustin eye’s narrowed at him for a moment. “Steve Harrington, are you crushing on my DM?”

The remaining eight looked at Dustin in shock.

“Dude!” Will hissed. “You can’t just ask that in public! What if someone overheard you?”

Dustin looked around and waved his hand around him. “There is literally no one here. I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t think it was a safe time to ask. But I’m going home with my mom as soon as she gets here and I will not be stymied.”

Steve ducked his head. “And if I did like boys, that would be okay with everyone?”

Everyone just looked around at each other and there was this collective shrug.

“Do you still like girls?” Max asked, genuinely curious.

Steve nodded shyly.

Lucas frowned. “You can like both?”

“Like David Bowie!” El said with her serene smile. “He likes both. Freddie Mercury from Queen, too.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “Exactly like that, El!”

Her smile grew.

“It’s okay if you like Eddie that way,” Mike said softly.

All the heads snapped to look at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, okay. I have a lot to work on regarding the whole Lucas thing, but I’m not a complete ass.”

“Thank you,” El said and kissed his cheek. “You just have a lot growing up to do. We all do. We just need to give each other the chances to do so safely. Or at least that’s what Joyce keeps telling me.”

Steve gave her a hug. “Thanks, Supergirl.”

He looked out at all his friends. The people who were more his family then his own parents.

“I might have a small...” he raised his finger and thumb, “crush on a certain metalhead DM who recently joined the Party in March...”

Robin scoffed. “And by little he means huge!” She spread out her arms all the way out.

Dustin’s head snapped around to Steve. “If you two get together, he better treat you right. You deserve it.”

Steve blinked. Considering how Dustin had worded his original question, he had been sure that Dustin was going to him not to break Eddie’s heart.

He gave Dustin a hug and kissed the top of his head.

He really shouldn’t have doubted this kid.

Just then, Claudia pulled up in her station wagon and Dustin, El, Will and Mike all piled in after saying their goodbyes.

“He totally has the hots for you, by the way,” Max said dryly.

Steve blinked at her for a moment. “How do you know that? Does he spend all his days learning alt rock on his guitar or something for me?”

Max just blinked at him. “Huh. You aren’t as stupid as I thought.” And then she just started walking toward the car.

Steve scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “So to make sure I got this right, Max is saying Eddie has the hots for me because he’s been learning my favorite songs for me on his guitar?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me, man,” Lucas said with a half shrug.

“I’m with Lucas on this one,” Robin agreed. “So maybe you should do what I’ve been suggesting for the last three weeks and you know ASK HIM OUT!”

Lucas giggled.

“Shush you,” Steve admonished. “Get to the car.” He pointed at Robin. “You are spending the night with me to help plan out something cool.”

Robin saluted and Lucas just rolled his eyes and they all walked to the car to end another great night at the fair.

“Let’s play to your strengths,” Robin said, sitting cross-legged on Steve’s bed.

“Sports, sewing, and history,” Steve said, ticking them off on his fingers. “Fat lot of good that’s going to do me. It’s not as though I can whip out something overnight as a token of my affection.”

She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be something fancy. You could do something small. Like maybe use that fancy red thread you got at the weavers yesterday.”

He blushed. “I wouldn’t know where to start. Everything I know how to make is either winter stuff or something he’d never use.”

“He uses that handkerchief all the time,” Robin pointed out. “You could do something like that.”

Steve flopped dramatically on his back. “Not if he knew it was made from that fancy thread I got. He’d want to protect it.”

Robin had to give him that one. Because that would be an Eddie thing to do. And while the sentiment was sweet it would make Steve sad that he never used it.

Suddenly Steve sat up. “Oh!”

She blinked at him. “What’s ‘oh’?”

“He was telling me just last week,” he explained, “that the bag he used to hold all his dice for their game got a hole in it and it kept spilling the dice all over the inside of his backpack!”

Robin grinned. “Let’s pick out the best material to match that pretty thread.”

Steve nodded. “I just have to make a quick phone call to find out how big the bag should be and I can have this done in no time at all.”

He called Dustin and told him his idea. Dustin was ecstatic and told him everything he needed to know.

Robin and Steve then dug into his material stores and picked out a nice black felt and a satin red lining to make doubly sure Eddie wouldn’t lose the dice down the gaping maw that was his backpack.

He then showed Robin how to make patterns and cut them. Then he got to work.

Even with how easily Robin got bored, she watched the whole time with fascination. How he embroidered his pattern into what would be the front of the bag. How quickly and evenly Steve stitched the pieces of cloth together. He explained the process every step of the way and her eyes just lit up.

He turned the bag right side out and fitted it with silver draw string. He pulled it taut and held it up to Robin to see.

She reached out and gently took it from him. “That’s so cool. You do a bunch of these at work and send them to Katie as way to gauge reactions to your work, while you make bigger pieces.”

Steve licked his lips. “You really think these would sell?”

“And I think Eddie would be pleased as punch that he got the first official Harrington Pattern design.”

Steve took it back from her and smiled. “That would make it even more special, wouldn’t it?”

Robin grinned. “Yes, yes it would.”

He threw his arms around her. “You’re the best soulmate anyone could possibly ask for.”

She blushed but held him tight. “You too, Stevie.”

When Steve finally pulled back he tapped his finger on his lips. “Now what to make you.”

Robin squealed. “But you already made something awesome. The pirate costume was amazing, you don’t have to do more just because you made Eddie something.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, but I just tailored the clothes. I didn’t make them. I want to make you something.”

She scoffed. “Like the only thing I need are gloves for marching band. Since I have to have hand-me-downs, they are either too tight or way too big.”

His eyes lit up. “I’ve never made gloves before. That would be fun and interesting to try.”

“How would you even measure something like that?” Robin asked, a small amount of hope creeping into her voice.

Steve grinned. “Do you remember those ugly ass hand turkeys they made us draw in elementary school?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Just. Like. That.”

Her eyes went wide. “Wait are you serious?”

Steve just grinned.

I'm not 100% sure my history experience in school is universal in the US, but in order to bridge the gap you actually had to an elective history class called Twentieth Century. Like it was straight up bullshit. And before you ask, you can bet your ass I took that class. It was taught by my favorite teacher. Of course I took that class.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @microbiology @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss @croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv @dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter

#stranger things #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Robin Buckley

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panicatthediaz · 1 month

Text

The Harrington Pattern Part 8

We have finally got to the part that started this whole story. Steve being validated by a professional.

Robin gets a pretty dress. And Eddie gets a little jealous.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

MY TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED!!!!

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

Eddie joined them at the shop just as they were finishing up. Will used the extra ten he had to buy Steve a pretty little dagger that was mostly a letter opener, but Steve fell in love with it.

The dagger was silver with a moon in the hilt, the cross guard had moonstones on either side. It was nestled in a black velvet box that he was told he had to leave the dagger in and not pull it out while at the fair.

Steve promised he wouldn’t and turned around to nearly run right into Eddie.

“Whoa!” Eddie said, putting out his hands to steady Steve. “I didn’t realize I was that close to you.”

Steve blushed. “You get your schedule sorted for tomorrow?”

Eddie grinned. “Sure did, sweet thing. Will get his staff?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so happy,” Steve said with a smile. He jutted his thumb behind him to where Will was happily chatting with the seller.

Eddie peered around Steve to see where he was pointing and sure enough, Will was talking to the guy about magical users in DND and how they should expand it to include other types.

Will spotted Eddie and said goodbye to the seller. He rushed over to where Steve and he were talking.

He held out the staff for Eddie to look at. “What do you think?”

Eddie and Steve shared a fond smile. “It looks great. Will the Wise has finally got a staff worthy of him.”

Will blushed.

“We should put it in Eddie’s van,” Steve suggested, “so it doesn’t get stolen.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “Why my van?”

“Because it won’t fit in my car,” he replied with a blush staining his cheeks and creeping up his ears.

Eddie cackled. “Fair enough, Stevie!” He looked around and spotted Gareth with an arm full of all sorts of wares, from swords and armor, to decorative goblets and boxes that no doubt held jewelry.

“Hey Gare!” he said following an ear piercing whistle.

The younger man lit up and jogged over to the trio.

“Hey, Ed!” Gareth said with a shit eating grin. “You like my haul?”

Eddie shook his head. “Sometimes I think your parents have more money than sense, but I’m not about to begrudge a well plotted haul.”

Gareth grinned. “Oh, they absolutely have more money than sense. I just know how to use that to my advantage.”

Will and Steve laughed with them.

Eddie pulled out his keys. “Since you’re clearly in need to be relieved of your loot or grow three extra arms, you should take Will to stash your stuff for later.”

Will’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s a great idea!”

Steve just shook his head fondly as he watched the two boys walk off chatting about their prizes.

“It’s nice to see Will come out of his shell around new people,” he said to Eddie. “He really needs friends outside of the Party.”

Eddie nodded. “And it helps that I forced them to be read in with Wayne because there was no way I was going to keep a secret that big with the people who are my family.”

They began their stroll through the other stalls, stopping here and there.

Steve spotted a clothing shop and armory and he sided eyed it longingly. There was no way he would the money for anything in that shop. He chewed his bottom lip and was about to move along, when Eddie grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward a black leather cloak.

Steve was admiring the construction when he heard a voice behind him say, “That’s a neat tunic, but you do know that you’re supposed to wear a chain shirt under that specific kind, right?”

Steve turned around to see a buxom red head in a bodice and flowing red dress. Her hair was piled messily on her head, but Steve could tell it was artfully done as the structure seemed too sound to be accidental.

“Can’t afford the see the armorer,” he said with a wink and a half shrug.

She laughed. “I guess I deserved that.”

Eddie smirked.

“I like your tunic,” the red head said, looking Steve up and down. Eddie bristled next to him. “Where did you get it from?”

Steve grinned, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s elbow. “I made it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No shit. Really?”

“Yes, he did,” Eddie defended. “He’s amazing.”

Steve flushed with pleasure at his praise. “I dabble. I’ve been sewing for about a decade now.”

She walked up to him and admired the stitching on the hem on the tunic. “That’s really impressive.”

“Thanks, I was admiring your work on the construction of the cloak here,” Steve said. “Was it hand sewn?”

“Fuck no!” she said, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t have time to breathe if I did that.” She smiled to have him join in on her joke. But when Steve continued looking at her in awe. “Wait...” she said, as it slowly dawned on her. “You did all of this by hand?”

She brought the hem of his tunic up to her face. Steve blushed and Eddie batted her hand away.

“Oi! Don’t get fresh!”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think a name would be a good start before you go and get grabby,” he growled.

“Oh!” she said slapping her forehead. “Right, sorry! I’m Katie. I run Damsel in this Dress. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Steve and this is Eddie,” Steve said.

Eddie looked only slightly mollified and Steve rubbed his lower back soothingly. Eddie preened, leaning into the touch.

Steve cleared his throat. “But anyways, yeah I stitched it all by hand. My parents didn’t think a boy should ‘play’ with a sewing machine.” He put play in air quotes.

Katie’s eyes went wide and she looked back at the tunic hem in her hand. “But it’s so tight and even...”

Eddie grinned. “Isn’t he amazing?”

She looked over at him. “He do yours too?”

Steve shook his head. “No, not his.” He spotted Robin walking by. “But I see someone else’s outfit I worked on.”

“Robin!” he called out.

His soulmate came to a...well stop wouldn’t be quiet accurate as she kept in motion, flailing around a bit trying to regain her balance from her aborted step.

“Steve!” she called back and hurried over to him.

Katie looked her up and down. “You did her costume too?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow at Steve.

Robin grinned. “Hell yeah, he did! He’s awesome!”

Katie looked back and forth between them. “May I look?”

“Oh I know!” Eddie said cheerfully. “Why don’t they try on something of yours so that you can take a look at their costumes without you having to get all handsy.”

Robin raised an eyebrow at Eddie but turned gleefully to Katie. “That sounds like a great compromise.”

Katie cocked her head back and forth. “Could do, I suppose.”

Steve immediately went for the chain shirts, while Robin wandered around some.

“You’d look pretty in one of my corsets,” Katie said waiting for Steve to get out of the tunic to hand it to her.

Robin blushed. “Aren’t they like painful and gross?”

Katie laughed clear and bright. “Not really. For centuries they were the only form of support a women had. Now, there were tight lacing bodices and corsets, but that wouldn’t happen until much later.”

Robin chewed her bottom lip. She really liked the blue dress and the blue and gold corset. “Can I try on those?” She pointed to the ones she liked.

“What’s your bra size?” Katie asked pulling out the right size dress.

“Uh...” Robin said with a blush. “It’s not very...”

Katie nodded. “It’s fine. I think I’ve got the right one for you anyway, but if it’s too tight or too loose let me know and I’ll find a different size.”

Robin nodded and Steve came out of the dressing room to hand her his tunic.

Eddie let out a low whistle. “Looking good, Sir Stephen.”

Steve did a slow turn and both Eddie and Katie gave him appraising glances.

Robin peeked her head out form behind the curtain. “Um...help?”

Katie was immediately by her side. “What’s up?”

Robin walked out with the laces in her hands and corset not tied.

“Oh!” Katie said. “God, the heat must getting to my brain today. Odd’s Botkins!”

She grabbed laces and showed Robin how to lace it properly.

“How does fit?” she asked stepping back to admire her creation on Robin.

Robin grinned. “I never realized how much I slouched until just now.”

“Yeah,” Katie said with a laugh, “I hear that a lot.” She spun Robin around causing the skirt of the dress to billow out like water rippling in the breeze.

“Wow, Robbie,” Steve said in awe. “That’s gorgeous.”

Eddie hummed his agreement. “Looking good, Buckster!”

Robin squeaked and then dashed back into the dressing room. She came back out with the shirt Steve had altered for her.

Katie took the shirt and tunic and laid them both out on the counter where the cash box was.

“It’s literally seamless,” she said in awe. “And you did this by hand?”

Steve nodded. “But I’ve been doing it for years so...” He half shrugged.

“Hey, man,” Eddie huffed, “don’t diminish your awesomeness. This is hell of a job.”

Steve nodded, blush creeping back up on his cheeks again.

“What’s this?” Katie asked, tapping the embroidery on the hems of both pieces. It was a lovely little floral pattern that was off white on Robin’s shirt so that it blended in, but was a striking silver on Steve’s tunic.

Eddie leaned forward. “Oh, I never noticed that before.” He smiled widely at Steve. “It’s cute.”

Steve flushed even deeper, the red now covering his whole face. “It’s a little something I add to all of my designs. It’s a little signature if you will, so you’ll always know I made it.”

“A Harrington pattern?” Robin asked, leaning over to inspect the embroidery, too.

Steve nodded.

“Have you thought about selling your pieces?” Katie asked. “You could be making bank with these.” She lifted up the shirt to emphasize her point.

Steve shrugged. “Sure, but I wouldn’t have any idea where to sell them or who to sell them to.”

“I’ll sell them for you,” she said, “for a cut of the profits, of course. I sell at gaming and comic conventions, Ren fairs, sci-fi and fantasy conventions.”

Steve chewed on his lip. “I don’t make them very quickly. With them being all hand sewn.”

“Which makes it all the more valuable,” Katie insisted. “A hand sewn dress from a major clothing designer would be worth thousands, sweetie.”

Robin mouthed the word ‘thousand’ in shock.

Eddie pounded Steve on the shoulder. “Hell yeah! Just sell a couple of pieces every once in while and you’ll always having spending money.”

Steve thought it over and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Katie and Robin cheered while Eddie and Steve shared a warm smile between them. A smile that sent butterflies through Steve’s chest. Eddie was always there for him.

Always.

Katie pulled out a business card. “Give me a call when you’ve got pieces you want to sell. And don’t leave off that signature either. Your Harrington Pattern as your friend called it.”

Steve took the card frowning. “But won’t that make it harder to sell? Especially the male stuff?”

She shook her head. “The people that buy this sort of thing are the last people that would care about a floral design, particularly since it would make it more authentic.”

He blinked and mouthed ‘oh’. She was right. “Yeah okay.” He lifted the card. “Thanks for this. I guess Robin and I better go change out of these so you can have them back.”

Katie shook her head. “Think of them as an investment in Steve Harrington’s clothing venture.” She lit up and dashed over to the cloaks. She grabbed the leather one that Eddie had been admiring and held it out to him.

“For you too.”

Eddie blinked, he wanted to turn it down and would have, had Steve not taken it and draped it on his shoulders.

The inside had a soft almost fur like material that was a slate grey. It would be too hot to wear in the summer, but in winter he would be outright toasty in it.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was thanking her or Steve, but it didn’t really matter. He was grateful to both. He looked up at Robin.

“You’ll probably want to change out of yours, Robbie,” he said, carefully removing the cloak and draping it over his arm.

“Why’s that?” she asked with a pout.

A grin took over Eddie’s face. The mischievous one that always sent a lance of heat in Steve’s gut every time he saw it. “Because you’ll want to look rocking for the joust tomorrow.”

Katie grinned too. “That is an excellent idea, good sir!”

Robin seemed to agree because she grabbed her shirt and dashed back into the dressing room.

Steve was surprised she remembered the shirt, if he was honest.

Katie and Eddie helped him get the tunic over the chain shirt without snagging the cloth on the metal.

Robin came out mere seconds later with her prizes clutched to her chest.

“Thank you!” she squealed. “I can’t wait to wear it tomorrow!”

They all went to the parking lot to put away Eddie and Robin’s prizes. The cloak in the van, and the dress and corset in the trunk of Steve’s car.

Steve was grinning from ear to ear and couldn’t stop.

Damsel in This Dress is an actual Ren Faire staple from where I'm from.

Yup, still on my Gareth lives in Loch Nora agenda.

And while I don't ship Will/Gareth Will needs friends who aren't trauma bonded, you know?

MY TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED!!!

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1@zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss @croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv @dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter

#stranger things #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson

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panicatthediaz · 1 month

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(steddie | wc: 388 | tags: werewolf!steve, part of my ever growing werewolf!steve series, part 1 and part 2 | @steddiemicrofic prompt "pin")

Eddie was not a big fan of winter. Mostly because it seemed to go on forever, an infinite juxtaposition of cold and gloomy days.

He hadn't always disliked winter so much. As a little boy, he had loved it. The snow had provided him with endless entertainment, building snowmen or caves, playing hide-and-seek with his mom, or having snowball fights with his uncle. Wayne took Eddie with him when he went into the snowy woods for firewood, but never when he went hunting. Even then, Eddie hated the thought of hurting something innocent.

The animals of the forest were his friends, and his mother often remarked how strange it was that they seemed to trust Eddie in a way they did not other humans. Birds, rodents, and even larger species like deer would approach Eddie whenever he was alone, even eating out of his hands. It only strengthened his resolve to protect them as best he could, and his uncle had to promise to only hunt what they needed to survive.

His mother and he had spent many cold winter evenings in front of the fireplace, huddled together under the same thick blanket that Eddie had had for as long as he could remember. His mama would tell him stories, magical stories about men and women who could turn into wolves at will. He loved those stories, always begging her for more, and his mama always gave in. Sometimes even his Uncle Wayne would join in, adding his own stories, even if they sounded more factual than magical. His mama had been the storyteller, and Eddie had inherited that from her.

After his mom died, Eddie couldn't bring himself to love winter the way he once had. His uncle tried, Eddie knows, but it hadn't been the same since. Winter had become a time of death and loss, of loneliness and darkness.

Now, pinned under the heavy weight of his own magical wolf, the cold snow cushioning his fall as he was jumped during their own game of hide-and-seek, Eddie once again feels like that little boy.

Magic had come back into his life. It had hazel eyes, sharp teeth, and a soft heart.

As Steve licks his face, tail wagging, Eddie thinks maybe winter wasn't so bad as long as he had someone to share it with.

#I adore these so much #so so much #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #Kiwi Queue

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panicatthediaz · 2 months

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something they don’t tell you about being autistic is that every character you write WILL end up autistic/autistic-coded whether you like it or not

#I dunno about the autistic part #but definitely about the ace part #Kiwi Queue

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panicatthediaz · 2 months

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7 ▰▱▰▱ Take Me Home (Please Stay With Me) ▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

"came back wrong" post-s4 fanfiction, featuring monster kas!eddie. pre-steddie -> steddie

minors DNI please, Steve has some S P I C Y thoughts, although nothing too explicit yet.

Part I┊Part II┊Part III┊Part IV┊Part V┊Part VI┊Part VII (You are Here!)

Steve can’t breathe. He- He’s half-convinced he’s stuck in some sort of extremely vivid fever dream, because by god if that isn’t the voice he’s been longing to hear since it was lost to him, living only in memories already starting to fade. It’s quiet and slurred, hot breath ghosting by the shell of his ear and raising goosebumps across his skin. His hands clench hard into the meat of Eds’ thighs where they splay wide across his own, and fuck, he’s gifted with another gasp of his name–slurred out around too-large teeth and panting, heated breaths.

“...TheEve!”

Shit, but he’s never wanted to lick the echo of his own name out of someone else’s mouth like this. It sounds so incredible coming from the gorgeous creature in his arms, breathy and pitchy and needy–he’s never heard Eddie like this before, never thought he would. The music from his mouth is the sweetest symphony he’s ever had the pleasure of hearing and hell, he’ll put it on a tape and call it his Vecna song in a heartbeat; play it on repeat until the tape unravels and falls to pieces. Being able to hear him like this is something out of his darkest fantasies–the ones he pretends he doesn’t have in the light of day, only allowing himself to dive into the depraved imaginings in the dark of night when he’s safely wrapped in the sanctity of his own sheets and the privacy of his own mind, taking himself in hand with guilty desperation.

Forcing a deep breath, he manages to wrangle his incredibly inappropriate thoughts down and away–now is not the time, not with Dustin sitting right there and urgh, goddamnit, watching them with those obnoxious all-seeing eyes of his. Steve shoots him a look and jerks his head towards the kitchen, trying to get his brother-in-all-but-blood to give them a minute Jesus Christ kid–to which Dustin gets the memo, heading into the kitchen where Steve knows he’ll help himself to the snacks. Of course, being Dustin, he has to be the most dramatic shithead in the world about it, rolling his eyes so hard Steve’s half convinced he’s gonna roll his own head off his shoulders right along with them.

Once they’re alone in the living room, Steve relaxes his grip on Eds’ thighs, rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs as an apology. The keening whine that escapes the body on his lap is pitchy and soft, and Eds presses his face harder against Steve’s shoulder, burying his nose in Steve’s neck. It’s… cute, the way he’s clinging so tightly despite being so much larger than Steve is. Like a big dog thinking it can be a lapdog, unaware of its own size and simply wanting to be close to its beloved owners like it used to do as a puppy. Steve allows one of his hands to trail up from his sweet boy’s thigh to thread through the strands of his hair-fur, petting gently and soothing the trembles that have started back up again. He’d not expected such a- a profound reaction to his blood, but they’re in uncharted waters here, so Steve supposes anything is possible.

His musings come to a halt when he realizes something is off. He can feel the way his brows pull together as he considers the weight of his monster in his lap, the trembling form in his arms. A long whine drags its way out of Eds’ throat again, reedy and laced with something that he’s not sure he can put his finger on. It almost sounds like he’s in pain, but there’s a layer there in the polyphonic tones that’s heady, making him think of anything other than pain. It’s unhelpful, so he turns his consideration elsewhere. He focuses on the feeling of Eds’ breath coming fast and hot against his neck, dampening the collar of his t-shirt. Strong forearms dipped in inky-blackness tapering down to massive, trembling hands carefully grasping his biceps, ever-conscious of his sharp talons. The plush softness of his lips where they quiver in tiny, wet brushes along his skin. The hard line of his nose where it digs into the soft spot where his traps meet the tendons of his throat—

—wait. That’s- That’s not right. Steve stares into middle distance, blinking as his mind whirls into overtime well beyond the final buzzer. Eddie-monster has that cute smushed nose–the bat-like one–leaf-shaped or whatever. He’s had his face in Steve’s neck so many times over the past several days he knows what it feels like, and it’s never felt hard and bony, never dug in like this. Steve resists the sudden urge to simply fist his hand in the dark mass of curls and just yank his monster’s head back to get a look at his face, because ha! Like that would go over well, most people don’t actually enjoy being dragged around by their hair, Steve, what the fuck. Instead, he slowly brings his other hand up from where it’s remained on his monster’s other thigh, stroking the hair-fur alongside his hidden face so as not to spook him. The quiet crooning whine he receives for the attention he pays makes him smile, a crooked little thing he can feel pulling at his lips, but he has a mission. Carefully, he draws his hand away from the curls and traces down along his monster’s jawline, barely managing to avoid startling at what he feels beneath his fingertips. He bites his lip, forcing himself to breathe normally even as his heart betrays him, picking up speed beneath his ribs.

It’s smooth and angular, sharp like he’s not seen on his monster’s face, not since a time when he’d simply been Eddie Munson, King Freak and super-super senior; the greatest DM this side of Indianapolis, according to the kids. Steve’s heart is galloping in his chest now, because- because this is beyond his expectations. He’d thought maybe they’d get some slight change, something from the blood exchange if Dustin was right, but- but this is so much more. Maybe he really doesn’t need that much blood then, if it only took a single feeding? But no–Steve pauses his racing thoughts, he can’t get ahead of himself. Eds’ body still looks the same. The wings are still there, he’s still got his talons, his tail. His skin is still gray and his limbs continue to look like he’s dunked them in a vat of black ink. Suddenly bold, he drags his curious hand up from Eddie’s jaw to his lips.

It sends a bolt of heat through him when he feels the way his monster’s mouth quivers at the first touch of his fingers, the way wet, plush lips part easily for his questing fingers. He forces his hips to remain still, not wanting to startle or disturb the trembling sweetheart on his lap by drawing attention to the chub he’s sporting in his gray sweats. The fangs are still there, still large and protruding, but the way his lips curve around them feels sensual in a way it didn’t before. Steve desperately needs to see his face. God does he want to know if he’s as gorgeous as he remembers–if he’s still got some more of his monstrous features, how they’re meshing with his human ones. He remembers the proud jut of Eddie’s nose, the strong line it made on his face. He wants to see it again so badly, to know what it looks like when framed by fangs. And- And his eyes. What… What do his eyes look like?

Steve loves his monster’s eyes. The rich, hickory color that sparkles and glows with so much feeling is absolutely gorgeous. He loves how big they are, how emotive. Eddie had really pretty eyes as a human, too. Steve remembers being a bit caught off guard the first time he’d well-and-truly locked gazes with the slightly older man, getting trapped in those eyes that made him think of molten chocolate, of the richest dark earth after the rain. It had made his breath stutter in his lungs even back then, all the way in Sophomore year, but he’d been too cowardly to do anything about it–too caught up in the whole dog-and-pony show of high school hierarchy bullshit, too afraid to admit he might be one of those queers the guys spat on in the locker rooms–and pushed it to the back of his mind. He’d further forgotten about his breathtaking Bambi eyes after meeting Nancy, but being pinned in the boathouse had brought it all roaring back. Right guy, wrong time, he supposes. Of course he had to have those long forgotten feelings dragged out of the dark recesses of his mind out into the daylight during the end of the fucking world, when there were more important things to be focused on, like not dying… and of course, he’d gone and done that, too.

But now he’s here, in Steve’s lap. In Steve’s arms, saying Steve’s name like a prayer; like a plea, and god but he is a weak weak man. He brings his other hand out of the soft curls of his monster’s hair-fur, inching his fingers between Eds’ cheek and his own skin, cupping gently and slowly bringing his head back away from where it’s buried against his neck. He can feel the way his own pulse is rabbiting in his chest, can feel the way his monster is quivering beneath his palms as acutely as his own trembling heartbeat. He swallows, suddenly nervous. He’s got an idea of what he might see when he finally catches a glimpse of his monster’s face, but–there’s so much that’s unknown. He doubts he could possibly be disappointed with any sort of transformation that’s taken hold of his little riot, but he’s going to make sure nothing shows on his face that could make him think otherwise. It’s clear he’s sensitive, and whether that’s just Eddie or the animal part of him, he doesn’t know, but- but maybe if he can talk again—

—Eds lifts his head from where it was turned down and away from Steve, his curls that were curtaining his face from view falling into place like magic as he finally turns his gaze to Steve.

Fuck. He’s so gorgeous.

His face is human-shaped, with the same curves and angles Steve started to memorize during Spring Break–before his death. Steve feels like he’s been hit over the head by a two-by-four with the amount of want and awe that sweeps through him. It’s so clear his sweetheart is nervous, that he’s shy. His hands twitch where they’re gripping the sleeves of Steve’s shirt, like they want to reach up and pull the curls back in front of his face to hide behind. There’s a dusting of the prettiest pink across his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose that’s so delicate Steve can only think of soft flower petals fluttering in a gentle breeze. His eyes are still inhuman, huge and wide, but they’re slightly more proportional to the rest of his features, expressive as ever and sparkling even as he cannot meet Steve’s own gaze for long. His mouth is slightly too wide, plush lips pouting out over the curves of protruding fangs that–while still over-large and bulky–seem slightly smaller, more suited to the recovered size and shape of his jaw. Steve can’t help himself, reaching up to push some of those soft, dark curls away from his sweetheart’s face.

The tender touch makes that pretty pink blush that decorates Eds’ cheeks deepen, an embarrassed-sounding croon escaping him. Steve watches those lips part–still shiny slick and smeared with remnants of Steve’s blood–dark eyes sliding shut as he involuntarily leans into Steve’s touch with a quiet mewling sound. Eddie’s skin is cool and soft beneath his palm, warm only where the skin flushes with color. He lets his thumb press down to stroke delicate circles against the arc of Eds’ cheekbone, watching as he leans into the touch like he’s starved for it. Steve can’t tear his eyes away; Eddie is a vision in his lap and Steve’s hopelessly caught in his spell. He’s half afraid he’s going to wake up, that this will end up all an elaborate, vivid dream because having this? He’d not thought it would be possible.

“Eds,” he whispers, unable to keep the awe from his voice, “look at you, sweet thing.”

With the way Steve’s touching him, he feels the shiver that rocks through Eddie’s body even before he sees it. He watches as goosebumps raise on bare arms, listens as a soft whine escapes from a trembling chest. He cups his other hand around Eddie’s other cheek, pulling down so he can press his forehead against his sweetheart’s. He feels elated laughter burbling in his chest and he doesn't even bother trying to stop it from spilling out uncontrollably. He can feel the tears when they come, rolling heavy down his face and turning his laughter into gasping sobs. He’s so overwhelmed; he’s completely overcome by all his relief, his joy, his love colliding with the imploding force of a dying star. His eyes squeeze shut, lashes soaked with salty tears and heavy with the weight of all his emotions. Eds makes a quiet noise, and the brush of his nose against Steve’s own makes the breath stutter in his chest.

“TheEeve?”

The sound of Eddie’s actual voice is still warbling, tonal and distorted, but the quiet register and the way his breath gusts gently along Steve’s cheeks makes him tremble. God, but this is a gift; Steve doesn’t know what to do with it, he’s just feeling so much. He wants to wrap himself in the sound of Eddie’s words, words he never thought he’d be able to hear from him again outside of memories that would inevitably fade with time, or fantasies dredged up by his desperate mind.

“...TheEve okaAy?”

He opens his eyes, blinking wetly as he meets the concerned gaze of his sweetheart, charmed endlessly by the clearly involuntary crooning noises he’s making. Steve laughs, cracked and fragile as he pulls away just enough to press a shaking kiss to Eddie’s forehead. The surprised sound it punches out of Eds’ chest and the deepening of his flush delights Steve, and he feels his expression softening. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, he allows himself to simply bask in the moment, smiling warmly at the impossible creature in his lap.

“Yeah, Eds. I’m just having a lot of–um, a lot of feelings and they’re a bit much…”

He looks so human with the way his brow furrows, an oh-so-familiar expression of concern taking over his face (god, he’s missed the way his nose crinkles like that–he hadn’t even realized he’d noticed until just now but ohhh, is it adorable) as he leans back into Steve’s space. A subtle vibration passes through his chest into Steve’s, the resonance familiar and comforting. Fondness sweeps through Steve, and he knows he’s got to have the sappiest expression on his face as Eddie continues to charm him without even trying. It’s stupid how gone he is on this boy.

“I… fix..?”

Jesus H. Christ, Steve wants to kiss him so badly it’s ridiculous. Casual intimacy is fine, but… Eddie’s not his boyfriend, he’s not even all the way present yet, cognitively speaking. Steve needs to restrain himself, otherwise he could very easily be taking advantage of him when he’s not fully able to understand what Steve really, truly wants from him… what will fix the hole in his heart. He’s also not delusional enough to think he’ll be one of the lucky ones to reach such a perfect happy ending, and that’s okay. Just being able to hold Eddie like this, to be permitted to touch him, to press chaste kisses to his forehead for now is… it’s fine, it’s great, even. Steve will always want more, will want everything, but he knows that most people in Hawkins aren’t like him–straight folks dominate the population as far as he's aware. He’s in the minority, queer as he is, and that’s just something he’s had to come to terms with. He’s in good company with Robin–and Will, although that’s kind of an unspoken secret, considering the kid hasn’t come out and said anything, but it’s pretty obvious now that Steve knows what to look for.

“No, Eds,” Steve says, shaking his head with a bittersweet smile, “it’s not something that you can fix, sweetheart.”

Eddie huffs, an irritated sub-vocal grumble rattling around in his throat, his wide eyes narrowing as he scans his gaze across Steve’s face. His cheeks puff slightly in the most adorable petulant expression Steve has ever seen on him before in his life, and it takes all his willpower to not pull the little brat in by his hair and kiss him breathless.

“Di- DithagrEe… waAnt to help TheEve, want to fix!” he grumbles again, an irritated sound tumbling from his throat as he seems to struggle finding his words. “Want to make hAppy. No thaAd. Tharthz thparkle, TheEve not thparkling. Wrong. I fix.”

His voice is raspy and soft still, shaky with disuse. Eddie’s words are lisped around the over-large fangs that protrude from between his lips, encumbering his pronunciation but every word that he verbalizes carries a profound weight; an intent that Steve can feel hanging heavy in the air between them like a promise, like an oath. It’s clear that he means what he says, which fills Steve’s chest with feelings he doesn’t know what to do with, because it… it feels a lot like devotion, like commitment, and he knows he’s got to be reading into it too much. He’s plastering his hopes and wants over Eddie, not taking his words at face value and looking for deeper meaning when there is none. Eddie’s just grateful, he tells himself, that’s all. It tastes bitter, but he’s no stranger to swallowing that type of pill.

“Eds, there’s nothing to fix, sweetheart. I promise.”

“But…” the darling creature in his lap whines, bumping his forehead against Steve’s and rubbing their cheeks together with a sad-sounding croon, “TheEve thmellth thad thtill…”

He barks out a laugh. “How can I be sad when you’re talking to me, Eds?”

The question is rhetorical, because hell, it’s the truth. How can Steve possibly be sad when here he is, actually talking to Eddie? He’d never thought he’d get the chance to do this again, and although it’s stilted right now, it’s something–it’s more than he thought he’d ever have.

“I’d resigned myself to never getting the chance to just talk to you again, Eds,” he confesses, gently twining his fingers loosely through some of his sweet creature’s curls as his eyes go distant with memories, a melancholic smile pulling at his lips.

“We never got the chance to really, like, hang out before everything imploded, y’know? I- I- That bothered me, in the aftermath. Dustin was–is, really–so insistent that we would get along, that we would be friends if I would only try to get to know you, give it a chance. But, I didn’t and then it was too late. I resented it–resented myself, ‘cause I let my stupid jealousy cloud my judgment of you instead of actually trying to just, actually get to know you as you are.”

He sighs, tugging gently on a lock of hair-fur between his fingers, gaze fixed on the way Eddie’s face goes slack, hickory eyes glazed with something before he manages to snap himself out of it, refocusing his huge eyes on Steve’s face searchingly.

“I’m… overwhelmed because I have a chance to actually do that with you now. I get a chance to know you, to- to learn who you are, Eddie Munson, because you’re important to the kids, to- to me. You’re kinda’ stuck with me–with us–now, comes with the whole apocalypse package and there’s no refunds, sorry.”

Steve can feel the lopsided smile as it overtakes his lips, hoping it’s crookedly charming and not pathetic-looking and pining. The delighted chirp that comes out of the creature on his lap seems to confirm his hopes–thank god–because Eddie wiggles where he sits across Steve’s thighs, darting in close to nuzzle at Steve’s throat again. It’s a shock to feel the sharpness of a human nose against his skin, but Steve marvels at the bolt of affection that rushes through him, molten desire hot on its heels. Knowing Eds is regaining his more human appearance and his human cognizance only makes resisting even harder but he manages to quell the urges to ravish the gorgeous specimen writhing about on his lap–he won’t overstep, he won’t tread on this tentative first step into something he hopes will be a lifelong friendship before it has the chance to even sprout. Battle-worn trust and trauma bonds can form a foundation, but it’ll take work and consistent proof that Steve is worth keeping around to cultivate whatever seeds may have been sown.

And god, does he want them to take root. He doesn’t even care how they sprout, how they bloom. He just wants Eddie in his life, in whatever capacity Eddie will have Steve. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if he left at this point, and he’s adult enough to admit it. Maybe it’s some flavor of codependency, but Steve’s not well-versed enough in the whole psychology shit to really tell one way or another, so he doesn’t particularly care if it’s necessarily healthy or not. Eddie pulls back from his neck, chirruping and swaying, before bumping his forehead against Steve’s. It’s really cute, and it’s certainly not helping the way his hopeless heart is crying out for the endlessly charming asshole. He wants to be annoyed, but he can’t find it in him to muster up the effort, he’s too soft for Eddie.

“TheEve… want! Want tOo!” Eds warbles, his brow furrowed as he focuses on pronouncing the words.

“You want? Want… want what?”

“TheEve important,” he says slowly, pulling back to stare deeply into Steve’s eyes. That heavy weight is back in his words, that oath-like sincerity that raises goosebumps along his arms. “Want to learn TheEve.”

Steve rears back, blinking rapidly as he feels the heat flood his face. He hates blushing because it’s so obvious on him, spreading fast and bright across his face and down his neck, even reaching the tips of his ears. He’s grateful he’s wearing a shirt at least, because his blushes run all the way down to his chest, blotchy and red, and oh fuck now he’s thinking about being shirtless with Eddie goddamnit nope we’re not doing that right now–

“Uh, you- you want to learn me too?” he tries to keep the hope from his voice, the desperate need to be worth knowing by someone as wonderful as the magnificent being in his lap. He fights the urge to wrap his hands around Eddie’s waist, somehow still so lean despite how much larger he is in scale. Something about this waist has always driven Steve to distraction, ever since he realized how slender Eddie was under all his layers–

Eddie nods his head, curls bouncing as he coos earnestly, the charming display effectively distracting Steve from his less-than-PG thoughts, “TheEve right, tho I learn TheEve too. Learn Thtarth, for coUrtthip.”

Steve’s not quite sure what the last part of his fervently stated declaration means, but he assumes it’s tied up in the whole… animal hindbrain bits still rattling around in Eddie’s awareness. It’s a relief, though, to know that there’s some reciprocity in their feelings between the two of them. It may not be exactly the same, but that it’s there is… it’s good enough. He’d hoped that all the affection they’d been so freely able to share wouldn’t vanish when Eds gained back some of his human cognizance, and so far it seems he’s going to be able to keep it. He’s being selfish–greedy, he knows–but every scrap of affection he can get, he’ll accept with gratitude. He’s a fool, but at least he’s a fool who’s aware that he’s more than halfway in love with someone who’s galaxies out of his league. He’s under no delusions about his chances, especially not with the bombs Wayne dropped about Eddie and girls… even if the “best friend” comment gave him a flicker of hope. Better to not fan those flames any further–if the rumors are true, then it will be a magnificent thing, but based on evidence from the person closest to Eddie himself, it’s seeming like Steve’s gone and started falling head over heels for a straight boy.

It will take some time to climb his way out of the wide, deep hole he’s dug for himself, with these feelings he’s developed for a straight guy, but all things considered Steve doesn’t regret it. Eddie may not technically be the first guy he’s had feelings for, but he’s the first guy he’s had feelings for that he’s wanted to act on, and that’s a whole new exciting experience he can add to the collection of wild events that make up his life. And he’s certainly not going to distance himself from Eddie, even if his feelings are strong. He’d rather cope with his pining feelings and know nothing will come of them than not see him at all–not being able to see Eds makes his breath catch in a panicky way, brings him back to a time where he’d thought Eddie was dead, his corpse cold and rotting alone and abandoned in the Upside Down. Honestly, nothing sounds worse than not being able to see him. That’s never going to happen, no matter how badly his heart aches.

“Well, looks like we’ll both get that chance then, Eds.” Steve leans his forehead against Eddie’s gently cupping his cheek with his hand to feel just a little closer. The contented purr that rumbles out of his sweetheart’s throat and through Steve’s arm makes him smile.

“Are you two done being gross now?”

Steve groans, dropping his head back in exasperation before he rolls his neck to shoot a flat glare at the kid he’s somehow adopted as a brother standing in the doorway. It seems Eddie’s done the same, hunching his shoulders towards Steve and squinting in an annoyed manner in Dustin’s direction, his ears having flattened back as he hisses quietly.

“Seriously, Dustin? That’s what you’re going to say right now? He’s talking again and you’re focused on us being gross?” Steve scoffs, “Uh, also, how the hell are we being gross, exactly?”

Dustin makes a face–the dramatic little shit–and fake gags. “Dude, are you for real? I wanted you two to get along but this is a little more than getting along, man. Eddie’s sitting in your lap!”

Steve blinks slowly.

“So?”

Dustin flails his arms, “So? So?! Steve! This is some- some dating shit!”

“Language.”

“Ohmygod.”

“DaAting..?” Eds’ warbling voice asks, his ears having perked up vertically again, “Like coUrtthip?”

Dustin rears back, “Whoa! You’ve got polyphonics! That’s so cool! Do you think that’s because your vocal cords aren’t fully adjusted? Or is it just from disuse? Oh! Maybe it’s like you’ve got two sets right now, and you’re halfway between them! That would explain the dual tone, and the warped notes and I bet more blood would speed up the process—”

“Dustin. Breathe, man.”

Dustin inhales sharply, a surprised expression crossing his face, “Oh, shit, thanks. Guess I got kinda’ caught up again, sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize for that, Dust. You’re just passionate, nothing wrong with that.”

Eddie makes a crooning sound of agreement from his perch on Steve’s lap, squirming slightly as he shoots Dustin a soft, affectionate look. Steve feels himself warm from the inside, full to bursting with so much love for their tiny little family they’ve somehow managed to build in such a short time. He’ll never stop being grateful that Eddie seems to have imprinted on Dustin as much as Steve has, that he’s just as protective if not in a slightly different way. Watching him interact with Dustin in that field before the final battle–he’d thought it jealousy at first, but no that wasn’t it–had filled his stomach with a writhing mass of emotion, and now he can identify it as the longing he knows it to be. He wants Eddie, both to be his and for him to be there with him for Dustin. It’s not jealousy he feels any longer looking between the two of them, watching them together. It’s a sense of rightness, of peace that settles in his bones that everything is exactly as it should be.

“But seriously, you have to know how this,” Dustin makes another face, gesturing to all of Steve and Eddie where he remains perched across Steve’s thighs, “looks? Like. I’m not trying to be an asshole about it, but. This is pretty queer, man.”

“Dustin!”

“What!? It’s the truth! I don’t care if you- if you do like guys or- or if you and Eddie are- are dating or whatever! That’s- That’s fine! That’s great!”

“Dustin!!” Steve snaps again, cursing the blotchy flush that keeps getting darker the more the kid keeps rambling, “you sound like Robin! I get it! You’re great, you’re super supportive and not homophobic at all! Awesome! Only thing is, Eds and I aren’t dating!”

Dustin closes his mouth with an audible click, squinting suspiciously at Steve. Steve rolls his eyes, groaning.

“We aren’t, Dustin! I swear! I think I would know if we were dating! I told you, he’s been very affectionate and attached to me since he recognized me in the Upside Down, but that’s all.” Even if he wants to date Eds, he can’t even consider such a thing until he’s back in his right mind, completely aware and able to fully comprehend what it is Steve so desperately wants from him. Realistically, it’s more likely to end in rejection, but hope springs eternal he supposes.

“Okay,” Dustin says, dragging out his vowels, “If you say so, Steve. But… for the record? I- I wouldn’t be upset if you did date.” He looks down at his feet, shuffling awkwardly in the doorway and fiddling with his fingers, clearly unsure. Steve wants to wrap him up in blankets and reassure him that everything is okay, but he knows Dustin isn’t finished with his thoughts so he keeps his mouth shut and waits for the kid to continue talking. “Actually, it’d- It’d be pretty damn cool… you’re two of my favorite people, and I just want you both to be happy, and it would make me really happy if you were happy together, with each other, y’know?”

The bashfully shy expression on his face is enough to fill Steve’s heart with so much affection he feels like he could burst. Dustin is such a good kid–giant ego and ridiculous attitude aside–his heart and loyalty are something Steve doesn’t take for granted, and he knows he’s incredibly blessed to be able to call the younger boy “friend,” and even more so to call him “brother.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Dustin,” Steve says, smiling lopsidedly in hopes of getting the younger boy to relax. “Your heart’s in the right place and I’m glad you’re so supportive, even if this time you’re a bit off the mark.”

“Off mark. CoUrting, not dating. But yeth, goOd pup,” Eddie coos with a nod of his head that sends his curls bobbing around him in a rolling wave. A pleased rumble vibrates deep in his chest like it’s echoing his words. “Cloud of pupth very good; TheEve betht thire. Happy to take on.”

Steve blinks, completely befuddled by what Eds is saying, the words nothing but gibberish to his ears. A quick glance at Dustin makes it apparent that he must understand what Steve’s monster has just declared. At first Steve thinks maybe it’s some sort of nerdy dork reference, but he’s second guessing that almost immediately judging by the way the younger boy flushes red, almost as though he’s embarrassed by something. Dustin’s eyes are round and huge, his mouth gaping wide at Eddie as the large beast purrs happily in Steve’s lap. Steve is torn between desperately wanting to completely ignore what Eds may or may not have said, and also absolutely needing to know word for word what was stated that made Dustin look like that. He can’t help it, he’s a weak weak man and the creature in his lap is temptation incarnate.

Eddie turns his gaze to Steve, his eyes hooded and full of heat–the way they lock onto Steve’s own sets his blood aflame and he feels his body burn. Steve is viscerally reminded of exactly how weak he is, how difficult the struggle is fighting against his own impulses. He wants to claim that mouth, wrap his hand around Eds’ narrow waist and squeeze, leaving an imprint that only his own grip will match perfectly; dark bruises in the shape of his palms to last for days, telling the world who Eddie belongs to. He wants to sink his fingers into dark curls and yank until his stunning creature’s head drops back and a pretty, pleading whine tumbles out of that gorgeous exposed throat, begging for Steve’s continued attention until the pale skin is marked red, bruised–slick with his saliva and sweat. He wants to drag his teeth up his neck, to leave marks over top of his many mottled scars–to reclaim him from the horrid demobats that stole him away in the first place. He wants to darken Eddie’s flesh with his own teeth, nails, lips and tongue all anew, marking him irrevocably as Steve’s and Steve’s alone.

It’s possessive and dark and dirty as hell; he shouldn’t be having these types of thoughts with Eds in his lap sitting right above his dick god shitting fuck please don’t notice that I’m fucking hard shit fucking damn—

He tries to distract himself, yanking his thoughts around in a sharp U-turn to focus on the fact that they should probably figure out what else Steve’s blood has changed other than Eddie’s sudden ability to speak. With great reluctance, Steve pats his sweetheart’s thigh, drawing his creature’s attention. Eds tilts his head as he gazes down at Steve, his expression going soft and open as he shifts on Steve’s lap, inadvertently brushing tantalizingly close to where his cock sits hard in his sweats. The motion causes the fabric to rub against the head with the barest pressure and his eyes nearly roll back in his skull at the shiver that shoots down his spine. Steve only just barely manages to keep himself from reacting outwardly, fighting the urge to grind his pelvis up against the hips above his own, somehow miraculously avoiding giving away the fact that he’s painfully hard from thinking about how badly he wants to wreck the living temptation in his lap. A questioning sound rumbles out of Eddie’s throat, his tail flicking behind him and brushing against Steve’s legs. Steve watches as Eds’ nostrils flare and his eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating as he’s suddenly hit with the thought–oh fuck, can he smell how badly Steve wants him? Fuckity fuck shitting balls–!

“You’re gonna have to get up at some point today, bud,” Steve says, gainfully ignoring his panic and his raging hard-on, “we should probably see if my blood did anything else, just to be safe.”

Eddie jolts, his back going ramrod straight before he flushes beautifully, the color going from the tips of his ears all the way down his exposed chest like an elegant watercolor wash. (God, Steve wants to bite his way down the path it takes.) Eds squeaks, scrambling backwards off of Steve’s lap, all ungainly limbs and uncoordinated flailing. Thankfully, he manages to avoid stimulating Steve’s boner, and his immediate worry for the clumsy beast crushes whatever arousal he had brewing. Steve reaches out to try to steady him, but the goofy idiot is too busy tripping over his own tail to reach back and with a futile flap of his wings, he tumbles off the couch and lands in a sprawled heap on the floor with a startled squawk.

When it’s clear he’s not hurt, just embarrassed, Steve stifles his snorting laughter by clapping his hand over his mouth, an action which is–annoyingly enough–nearly synchronous with Dustin’s own, the kid also struggling to contain his own cackling laughter. They’re both treated to a petulant, humiliated glare that darts back and forth between them from the ungainly pile of limbs on the floor like some fucked up ping pong match, and when Steve glances over at Dustin to see if he’s fighting back the hysteria just as much as Steve is, he finds the younger boy looking back at him. It’s over when their eyes meet, both of them sputtering out wheezing, cackling, ugly laughter as they’re no longer able to hold it back. Steve doubles over, clutching the arm of the couch and slinging one arm across his ribs, laughing until he can’t breathe. It feels so good to be here like this, laughing genuinely with Dustin again, with Eddie.

Two of his favorite people, alive and well. They’re here with him, and it’s wonderful.

“Guess there’s not gonna’ be any speeches up on tabletops in your near future, huh, bud?”

“Thhut up!” Eds warbles from the floor, clambering up to all fours as has been his standard means of getting around since he’s come through the gate. Steve watches curiously when Eddie freezes once he’s up, an uncomfortable look passing across his more-human face. His monster squints, looking down at his hands and feet like he’s seeing them for the first time. He sits back on his haunches, flexing his hands and examining his rings before staring at his inhumanly-shaped feet as quiet sub-vocal sounds tumble about in his chest. His wings twitch where they sit against his back, his tail flicking in quiet agitation against the carpet behind him.

“Eds? You alright?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong, Eddie?”

Steve exchanges a concerned glance with Dustin, standing up off the couch and making to get closer to where his sweetheart sits on the floor, but the moment he takes that first step forward, Eddie’s head snaps in his direction and he’s pinned in place by hickory eyes that are sharper and more assessing than Steve’s ever seen them. He holds his monster’s gaze despite the sudden racing of his heart, the surge of fight-or-flight that blares in his mind as his veins are flooded with adrenaline. He’s reminded again that although Eddie is his sweetheart, he’s also very much so a predator, even if Steve’s own brain has a slightly screwed up response to his monster in particular. He feels that response happening again the longer he holds his monster’s gaze, that fight-or-flight shifting to something darker. Flight is out of the question because he never wants to abandon such a gorgeous beast, but fight is the wrong word. Eddie is not a creature to be fought, not in the typical sense. Steve wants to control him, to possess him–to have him prostrate at his feet, bending to his will. He can feel his own gaze growing hooded, the dark heat climbing his spine and settling across his shoulders like a mantle as his posture shifts.

He watches as Eddie’s gaze widens and he knows it’s too late to quell that sudden change in himself, that he’s let it crawl too close to the surface but–Eds’ face flushes that pretty shade of pink and he ducks his head, breaking their staredown first to expose his throat. Eds lets out a soft whine that Steve only just barely catches, the sound laced with what rings to his ears as desire, but he’s pretty sure he’s letting his own feelings color his perception. He is surprised, to say the least, that such a predator gave in so easily, but he assumes Eddie must have realized he was putting off an aggressive air because as a human he was the biggest softie Steve has ever met–the man put on a big show, a huge production acting like a tough guy, but like Wayne said, he’s a marshmallow.

“Eds, I’m coming closer.” Steve doesn’t ask but he speaks softly and calmly, approaching with purpose. He kneels down beside where Eddie sits on his haunches on the floor, watching in bemusement as his monster sways into his space almost immediately, whining again.

“Hey, what’s up, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

Eds butts his head into Steve’s space, replying with sub-vocal sounds rather than words. Steve assumes something new has upset him or confused him, which means Steve’s now got to find a way to pull him out of his own head. Thankfully, he’s gotten pretty good at that over the last few days based on the way his monster reacted when he’d tried before. He goes for his favorite method, sinking his hand into Eddie’s soft curls, digging deep and tugging gently on the grip he gets close to his monster’s scalp. A soft mewl tumbles out of Eds’ throat, hickory eyes fluttering beneath long, dark lashes, his mouth dropping open slightly. Seeing the glazed expression play out across more human features is entirely different than it had been on a more monstrous face and Steve immediately regrets everything–he’s suddenly so incredibly turned on he thinks his dick could probably cut diamonds, that little lockbox of bad-brain-pervert thoughts rattling around in the back of his mind like it's possessed.

“I’d like an answer,” he says, that calm steadiness still heavy in his tone despite the absolute tumultuous mess his brain is in, “c’mon, Eds, tell me what’s got you tangled up?”

“F-Feet…” comes the soft, wavering reply, a whine hanging on every syllable, “wrong. Feelth wrong.”

“Okay,” Steve soothes Eddie’s scalp with his fingertips, dragging his nails across it slowly as he quietly murmurs praise. “Thank you for telling me, you did a great job, little riot.”

“TheEve…”

Steve’s fingers spasm at the way his monster practically moans his name, the sound quiet enough that Dustin probably didn’t hear it but loud enough that it will definitely be featuring in so many fantasies on a fucking loop because Jesus H. Christ now all Steve can think about is getting him to do it again.

“What’s wrong with them?” Steve prompts, tangling his hand at the roots of Eddie’s curls again but not tugging, just holding. “I need you to tell me with words, little riot.”

“A- All four feelth wrong. Don’t know what to do. Confuthed. Need TheEve!”

Ohhh fuck, and doesn’t he wish he could hear Eds say that under different circumstances? Steve exhales and runs his fingers along Eddie’s scalp again, eliciting a purring sound as his monster presses into the touch. “You did try my blood today, and that gave you back your voice. Maybe you should try standing on two legs like me and Dustin instead of four. That might be why it feels wrong. Want to try?”

Eddie nods, turning his head to press his face and lips into Steve’s palm, dark lashes resting against his pale cheekbone, fluttering delicate like a butterfly’s wings. Shit, but if he isn’t fucking gorgeous… Steve pulls away from his monster just enough to stand back up, making sure to keep his hand extended down to graze against Eddie’s head so he knows Steve hasn’t left completely. He hears Dustin moving closer to them from where he was standing in the doorway and Steve quickly shoots him a glance, motioning with his other hand for Dustin to stay put. When he catches a glimpse of the kid, Steve can tell he has so many questions but it’s clear he’s taking Steve’s request to heart and for once isn’t immediately asking all ten thousand of them rapid fire.

Steve turns his attention fully back to his monster, watching carefully as Eds gets his legs under him. He keeps his hand extended, meeting Eddie’s cautious, hesitant hickory gaze with his own steady, assured one. The first grasp of those large, talon-tipped hands slotting perfectly in line with his own feels like a dream, and Steve holds tight, the muscles in his arm flexing as he stabilizes his sweet monster as the seven-foot-plus bulk of him slowly straightens up until he’s standing awkwardly on two legs. He’s hunched slightly, but he’s upright. He’s only taken this position a few times since they’d exited the Upside Down, and usually only when he’d adopted a defensive stance around Steve. Seeing him upright and not posturing is strange but not unwelcome. Steve is still awed by how much bigger Eds is like this, but somehow with those wide, wet eyes he manages to make himself seem small and like he ought to be treated like something fragile rather than the hulking behemoth he actually is. It’s adorable.

“Holy shit, he’s huge.”

Steve barks a laugh, turning his head to cast a grin at Dustin, “He is, isn’t he? It’s really obvious when he stands up like this, so if Eds is gonna be walking around on two legs more often, he’s gonna have to be careful not to knock his head against any door frames.”

Eddie still hasn’t let go of Steve’s hand, staring down at their intertwined fingers like they somehow hold all the secrets of the universe in the spaces between them. Steve squeezes gently, chuckling at the way his monster’s eyes widen and a chirrup jumps out of his throat in his surprise.

“How does this feel?” he asks, his tone soft.

Eddie tilts his head, looking down at Steve with a considering face. He doesn’t reply immediately, clearly trying to find the correct words. “Ith better. Feelth right.”

“Alright then,” Steve nods, “then that’s another thing that drinking my blood has done for you.”

“Yeah!” Dustin chimes in, finally scurrying closer and all but bouncing in place in his excitement, “a single feeding gave you back your voice, at least at a rudimentary level and apparently your whole, uh, animal versus human instinct shebang.”

With a whole body shimmy that Steve reads as self-satisfied, Eds chirps quietly in response. It’s obvious to Steve that Dustin’s statement is good news to his monster, which means it’s good news to him. He smiles. It’s going to be an adjustment getting used to Eds towering over him on two legs rather than following him like a very large, sweet shadow on all fours, but part of him is excited at the prospect. He’s just one step closer to a new normal, one step closer to being human again both in mind and body. Maybe it’s overly optimistic of him, but Steve can’t help the flickering flame of hope that burns in his chest that perhaps, that just maybe, he might have even the slightest chances once Eds is fully back to himself. He doesn’t want to nurture that flame, but he doesn’t want to smother it either. It’s a strange balance.

“Do you feel anything else? Like, are there any other aspects that feel wrong, or like you ought to modify them?” Dustin asks Eddie, wide-eyed and eager. Steve will never admit it to the kid, but he loves when Dustin gets excited about things, totally engrossed in his passion that he practically glows with it. It’s something special, because Steve doesn’t think he’s ever had anything he was that passionate about. He played sports and he was good at them; he swam and played basketball because he’d been trying to win his dad’s approval, because he likes the way his body feels when he pushes it to its limits. And sure, he guesses he can call them hobbies, but he wasn’t ever into either activity like Dustin is into his own hobbies–totally captured by all the intricate details, able to talk about them for hours. He thinks maybe as a little kid he had more hobbies; he has vague memories of doing things with mom, flickering in and tickling the edges of his awareness before jumping back just out of reach. He enjoys watching sporting events too, of course, but sometimes he wishes he had something he could be truly passionate about like Dustin is.

Eds cocks his head to the side at Dustin’s question, and Steve’s attention is immediately drawn back to his monster, watching as those eyes go distant for a brief moment before they dart down to the hand still clutching Steve’s. Eddie frowns, his lips curving out around his protruding fangs in a very appealing plush pout. Steve immediately wants to kiss it–he wants to nip at that thick lower lip until it’s swollen and red, bitten and flushed from his attention–but he knows he can’t act on such an impulse and he clears his throat quietly instead, waiting for Eddie to offer Dustin an answer.

He doesn’t get one. Instead, Steve and Dustin bear witness to Eddie raising the hand still intertwined with Steve’s, squinting at it with deep focus. Steve has no idea what his monster is doing, exchanging a confused glance with Dustin before returning his attention to the way Eds is fixated so intently on their clasped hands. He loves the way his hand feels laced together with Eddie’s, enjoys the strength hidden beneath the gentle grasp and the careful way Eddie handles his deadly talons. The contrast between the inky blackness and the tanned skin of Steve’s hand is stark, the silver of Eds’ rings standing out just like the scarring across Steve’s knuckles. He loves the way his two crooked fingers–broken during the Russian interrogation and never healed quite right–slot so nicely between Eds’ long digits, the over-large knuckles pressing against the elegant, slender fingers of his guitarist-turned-monster. Steve’s breath catches as he suddenly notices Eds’ long talons begin to retract, slowly pulling back into Eddie’s nail beds until finally they’re only about an inch and a half long rather than the impressive length they were before. A pleased rumble vibrates in Eds’ chest and Steve silently marvels as his monster proudly examines his newly shortened nails.

“Leth chance to hurt TheEve now.”

He sounds so proud of himself, his lips spread wide in a toothy grin, eyes curved upwards. Steve can’t help but reach out and reward him for his thoughtfulness, pressing a gentle caress against his jaw with the hand Eds doesn’t have in his grip. His monster leans into the touch with a soft, delighted sound, nuzzling into the skin of Steve’s palm and releasing a slew of happy purring noises from deep within his chest.

“That’s amazing!” Dustin looks like he very well may vibrate out of his skin with how excited he is, “I can’t believe you just retracted your talons like that! Like- Like a cat, but not!”

“Wath eathy,” Eds murmurs, blinking hazy eyes down at Dustin, a fond smile pulling his lips away from his over-large fangs, “felt natural.”

“Do you,” Dustin squints up at Eddie, tapping his chin with a finger and clearly considering his words, “do you know what other abilities you may have?”

A slow blink is Dustin’s immediate answer, followed by a muted croon that Steve interprets as a wordless sound of thought–a placeholder noise. Steve started recognizing those after the first day, the sounds Eddie began to make that were empty of real emotion and simply filled the silence like an “um” or an “uh” would work in human speech. Eds continues to sway into Steve’s space, unable or perhaps unwilling to break contact with Steve’s offered touch, but he turns his full attention to Dustin as his eyes clear.

“Thcreamth, Thcreechth like thpellth? Think I mo- morph? Tranthf- tranthform?” he grumbles, trying to get his pronunciation right around his warbling vocal cords and his over-large fangs. “Think thereth more but… out of reach?” His nose scrunches in his frustration, which only makes Steve want to pepper so many kisses across all the cute little wrinkles that form between his brows and across the bridge of his nose.

Dustin’s hands twitch, and from the tiny gesture Steve immediately knows that his genius kid wants to be writing everything that Eddie has been telling them down, taking extensive notes for posterity or whatever it is that he calls it. For science, Steve! It’s only scientific if I write it all down! He can practically hear the little shit’s voice screeching in his head, rambling about the sanctity of data and all that nerd crap.

“Do you know what you transform into? Mist? Bats? Or- Or is this form what you transform into and you’re talking about a more human visage?”

“Visage? Jesus, Dust, breaking out the fancy words already?”

“You understood it, it’s not that fancy, Steve,” Dustin snarks, his words heavy with attitude and rolling his eyes at Steve in that way Steve now recognizes as nothing but exasperated fondness. It makes him bite back a grin.

“Rude.”

Eds bats the bill of Dustin’s cap with his free hand–seeing as he’s still got the other one intertwined with Steve’s–and knocks it down into the kid’s eyes, earning an indignant squawk from the younger boy.

“Be nice to TheEve, pup,” he growls out, the sub-vocals rumbling deep in his chest, “he ith your thire.”

“Okay! Okay, jeez,” Dustin grumbles, fixing the hat on his head and pouting up at Eddie with the most disgruntled expression Steve’s seen on his face in a while, “who do you think you are? My dad?”

“DaAd?” Eddie warbles, making a confused face that brings out the cute crinkle on the bridge of his nose again. Steve wants to bite it.

Dustin snorts, laughter in his voice, “Yeah, sure. You’re dad, Eddie. Steve’s mom. Obviously.”

“Don’t start that mom shit again, you jackass.”

“Steve, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it’s a duck. You’re a mom, the whole Party knows it. You might as well just accept it, man.”

“Why does Eddie get to be the dad?” He pouts, only half joking, “Why can’t we both just be dads?”

Dustin blinks owlishly, clearly not having expected that response from Steve. “Uh. I mean, you can? Nobody says you can’t… is that really your biggest hang-up on the whole mom thing?”

Steve shrugs, fighting to keep his laughter from burbling out at the dumbfounded look on the kid’s face. Every time he manages to render the little shit speechless it’s the funniest shit in the world. Objectively. “Just think it’s pretty heteronormative of you, Dustybuns. What, can’t two dudes co-parent a whole pack of rowdy teenagers? Why’s one of us gotta be a mom to do that?”

Dustin blinks rapidly and shakes his head a few times like he’s trying to clear the fog from his brain, and Steve bites the inside of his lip to keep from absolutely losing it. An oof is knocked out of him, along with his breath as a weight settles heavy across his shoulders, long arms wrapping snugly around his middle. A deep purring vibrates from the chest pressed up against his back, reverberating through his whole body with a strength that leaves him feeling dizzy. Steve feels his monster bury his face into that space between his shoulder and his neck, nuzzling and unashamedly breathing Steve in. He feels the way his facial expression softens from surprise to something fond, bringing one hand up to tenderly stroke along the side of his monster’s jaw. He lifts his head away from Steve’s neck, leaning into the touch of Steve’s palm as the purring sound gets louder.

“TheEve thuch good thire… TheEve wantth me to help? TheEve… wantth to co-paArent with me?”

The words are warbling, heavy with feeling and rife with disbelief. It’s as though Eddie can’t believe Steve would consider him as a member of their little group–as though he isn’t just as important to the half-feral pack of shithead gremlins as Steve is. To think that Eddie believes he hasn’t earned a place with them, doesn’t deserve a place at their weird save-the-world table is unfathomable, completely incorrect in every possible way. Eddie is such an important person to them, for so many reasons. It breaks Steve’s heart a little that he can’t see that and he refuses to let this assumption stand.

“Of course I would, Eds. You know how much those dipshits adore you. I’d love to have you, you’re a great help.”

He’s met with heavy silence, ratcheting up the nerves brewing in his gut. When he can’t stand the suspense any further, he turns his head to get a better look at his monster’s face, hoping to glean some clarity into his thoughts or some insight on the situation. However, the awed starry-eyed expression he’s met with is enough to stop him dead and make his breath stutter in his lungs.

Eddie looks as though he’s been struck dumb, his eyes huge and wet, glittering and over-filled with rapturous wonderment that sets Steve’s nerves on fire. He looks as though he might cry with the sheer amount of emotion Steve can read in every inch of his face, in the way his plush lips tremble around his over-large fangs and with each hitching breath he can feel quavering against his shoulders and back. A low whine that seems to have been building for some time in Eds’ throat finally spills over, shaky and quiet but riddled with desperation as he buries his face back in Steve’s neck, nuzzling so deeply it’s as though he’s trying to hide away from the world in the comforting familiarity of Steve’s skin. A wetness almost immediately begins to form against Steve’s neck and involuntarily Steve finds himself making soft sounds of comfort out loud, responding to his monster’s distress as he clings tightly to Steve, those newly-shortened talons sinking into the fabric of his shirt but not getting anywhere near his skin. Even emotional, Eddie still holds him so tenderly and Steve’s heart is so full of love he fears he might burst.

“Really..?”

His voice is trembling, quiet and desperate for reassurance. Steve doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course, sweetheart. You’re one of my favorite people, Eddie Munson. I always want you with me.”

The quiet whine he receives to his soft words makes his chest hurt, fondness spilling over as he rocks back and forth slightly, soothing the quivering behemoth clinging to him like Steve is the only thing keeping him afloat. He knows that the more blood Eddie gets from him, the less he’s probably going to need these comforts from Steve; so for now, he savors them with his whole heart. He’s falling in love with a boy so kind, so incredible–a true opposites attract scenario that’s like something straight out of one of those trashy romance novels you buy at the airport–that he feels as though it’s nothing but a dream. If it is, he doesn’t want to wake up.

“So… not to burst your little not-dating bubble, guys, but uh. How exactly is keeping Eddie here going to go? ‘Cause it’s obvious he can’t fully look after himself yet, and he probably doesn’t want to be alone, right?” Dustin’s voice wrenches Steve back to reality, and the cold-hard slap of it settles into his bones with a healthy supply of dread.

“Shit, yeah. I can’t keep calling off of work, and a bunch of you guys still have school… shit, I had hoped I could get him settled before this became an issue, but...”

“Who else knows about Eddie again?”

“Um, Nance and Robin, but they’re both still in school. Ms. Byers and Hop, too, but he’s busy with the suits and lassoing the police force—”

Dustin is cackling. “Lassoing? What the hell, Steve? He’s not a cowboy!”

“—Jesus, kick rocks, asshole! You know what I mean! He’s probably gonna step down as chief of police soon, anyway. He said he didn’t want the position back even though Powell basically threw the hat and the badge at him after the whole… spring break disaster.”

“I dunno, Chief Hopper might tough it out; El seems to think he’s got more in him. Oh! Maybe Ms. Byers can help us?”

Steve frowns thoughtfully. Eds did like Ms. Byers, and she’d charmed him very quickly, too. It couldn’t hurt to ask… if she’s available, of course. “Is she still working the telemarketer job? She can do that from home, so she could technically do it from here if she’s still with the company.”

“I can ask Will?”

Steve cringes, “I mean, be subtle about it? They all promised to keep their mouths shut about Eds–I know Hop’s still working on clearing his name with the Feds and I’m not about to put his life at risk.”

“Fair enough.” Dustin nods, tapping at his chin as he considers, “I’ll ask but I’ll be cool about it. Say you need a favor, or something.”

Steve shrugs, “I mean I guess that works, if Will really needs to know what’s going on he can always call or just show up like you do, I guess.” He rolls his eyes, “It’s not like I’m gonna’ turn away Baby Byers if he turns up on my doorstep looking like a wet cat left out in the cold.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“Screw you dude, don’t you dare! He’ll fucking cry! And then I’ll get punched by Jonathan for making him cry! Dustin! Dustin!! Hey!! Oh, get back here you little shit–!”

The rest of the day is spent goofing off, Eddie clinging tightly to Steve’s side as he basks in Dustin and Steve’s banter. Steve cooks enough dinner for four, packaging up the final portion for Claudia when she swings by to pick up Dustin. He watches fondly from the doorway as they drive off, hoping she gets some rest after what was undoubtedly a long, exhausting shift at Hawkins General.

“Dustin gone?”

“Mmhm,” Steve replies, leaning back into the solid presence that comes up behind him as he shuts the door. Long, strong arms wrap around his torso, clawed hands pressing tenderly against his chest, over his heart. A rumbling purr vibrates through the hard body behind him, soothing in its familiarity and he sighs in contentment. Eddie’s chin tucks against his shoulder, his nose butting up against Steve’s neck, breathing him in.

“Couch? Cuddle?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he says, smiling as he strokes the side of Eddie’s face. “That sounds great.”

He’ll worry about everything else tomorrow. For now, he’s not going to let anything stop him from enjoying the time spent being held tenderly and so, so safe in the arms of his monster–the sweet, wonderful boy he’s falling fast and hard in love with. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to keep this–this tenderness, this intimacy–but he’s going to treasure it for as long as he can. It’s so unbearably precious, more valuable than all the riches of the world, and he’ll never take it for granted.

HE HAS HIS VOICE BACK Y'ALL!

*bangs pots and pans*

AND YET THEY STILL CAN'T COMMUNICATE

put me out of my misery i can't with these two morons anymore

Anyway, welcome to the next era of STEVE IS A FUCKING UNRELIABLE NARRATOR and EDDIE HEARTEYES MUNSON IS INTO GODDAMN HIMBOS.

please help me i am so trapped by these fucking clowns.

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THE PERMA-TAG LIST

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As of this update, the perma-list on the main post is full!

Don’t worry, you can still ask to be tagged! Your name will just end up in the replies, rather than the main post. I won’t forget you, I had to make a spreadsheet to keep track of all of you, which is fucking wild to me but i’m so goddamn flustered and blushy and skfnalsghaso about it so it’s whatever i guess.

If you don’t want to be tagged or want to be taken off the tag list for any reason, just let me know either in the replies or via DM. I don't bite much.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #monster eddie is adorable #tho I do wonder how human eddie is feeling under all of THAT

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