#(I’m sorry Steve’s not in this fic!)

[a-little-unsteddie]

cw: child abuse mentioned, child neglect

Steve, who was never allowed to play in the snow as a child because it was ‘too messy’. Steve, who stared longingly outside as he watched other kids play in the snow. Steve, wanting to build a snowman, or an igloo, or have a snowball fight, but was denied each and every time by his parents. “It’s uncouth, Steven.” “It’s dirty, Steven.” “You’ll just whine that you’re cold, Steven.” “No.” “No.” “No.” Until he stopped asking altogether, even as he stared out his bedroom window at the other kids playing. Steve who loves the snow but was never allowed to play. The one time he snuck out, he was brought inside being dragged by his ear and spanked until he cried.

And then some for crying at all.

Steve goes shopping with his mom and sees a snow globe and all but cries for her to get it for him. If he can’t have the snow outside, he wants to have a snow globe to have it inside. She lets him get it, but not without commenting ‘at least it’s not going outside’.

Thus starts a collection, of sorts. Whenever he sees a new snow globe, he makes his mom buy him it and because he never asks to go outside to play in the snow if she buys one, she keeps buying them for him.

He has around 10 or 15 snow globes by the time he’s a teenager and left alone more than he isn’t. He still doesn’t go out to play in the snow, even if he silently yearns to, because now he’s ‘too old’ to play out in the snow. Tommy doesn’t like being cold, so he never goes out, and Carol won’t do something if Tommy’s not there, so Steve doesn’t bother asking her to go outside.

Steve becomes friends with Dustin and the rest of the party, and he still doesn’t let himself play with them, even when Dustin begs him to. He passes on the same excuses to him as his mom told him, and the words feel like ash in his mouth, but he doesn’t just play in the snow like he’s aching to. It’s too cold, he’ll be wet and miserable later, he doesn’t want to get water all over the house.

Mostly, they’re excuses because he’s kind of worried he doesn’t know how to play in the snow. That somehow he’ll be bad at it.

Eventually, when he and Robin become friends and their first winter together happens, he tells her this secret fear. It’s right after the kids go out to play, and it’s just them, and he whispers to her.

“I don’t think I’ll be any good at it.”

Robin is confused, of course, because how can you be ‘bad’ at playing in the snow? He elaborates to her that he’s never played and she’s less confused but more angry at his parents, which he thinks is an over reaction and she insists he’s having an under reaction, whatever that means, and the moment passes. Steve is relieved to have revealed that much to her. He still doesn’t go outside, and Robin gets cold easily, so she doesn’t want to go outside, so they stay inside together.

He still collects snow globes, when he sees them. He buys one in front of the kids and brushes it off as a white elephant gift for a family thing, but displays it in the unused guest bedroom with the rest of the snow globes. It’s on the other side of the house from where every other guest bed is, so usually no one takes it, and so he knows his collection is safe.

Even if he keeps it secret, and plans to keep it secret forever, until the following winter, after the spring break from hell and after the grueling summer and cool fall brings the snow again and Eddie Munson is a menace in his life. He’s by far the most energetic person that he’s ever been friends with, all touches and open affection, it’s almost too easy to fall for him.

Eddie is nosy as hell and of course it’s him that finds the collection of snow globes.

“What’s this?” Eddie’s voice echoes from down the hall and it takes Steve a few seconds to process where his voice is coming from before he’s rushing down the hall and into the unused guest room.

Along the left wall, there’s a shelf that stretches from wall-to-wall filled with snow globes.

Embarrassment shoots through him, and he shrugs. “…snow globes.” he explains badly, wincing when Eddie turns towards him with an unimpressed look. It quickly morphs into concern because for some reason, Steve’s started tearing up and once the tears start they don’t stop.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Eddie soothes, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, sweet thing.”

And the thing is, Steve does want to explain. Suddenly overcome with the urge to spill everything, in fact. So he does. He tells Eddie about his mom and dad refusing to let him play in the snow, the one time he got caught and got spanked for it, the snow globes, the fear of being bad at playing in the snow, still desperately wanting to despite it.

Through it all, Eddie holds him and listens. He hums occasionally to acknowledge what Steve is saying, but never interrupts him, for which Steve is glad because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to continue if he was stopped for any reason.

At the end of it, when Steve’s tears have dried, and they’re curled up in a pile of blankets on the couch, Eddie vows to teach him out to play in the snow. How to make a snow angel, a snowman, an igloo, a snowball — everything. He whispers these promises and plans into his ear, their hands intertwined where they lay on Steve’s lap.

And he follows through. With everything.

And the next time the kids beg him to play, he plays his part and says no, because he’s still anxious he’s going to do it wrong, Eddie throws a snowball at his back while he’s busy arguing with Dustin. And silence falls over everyone, waiting for Steve’s next move. Because he’s never given in, and no one’s ever pushed their luck like that.

Steve turns towards Eddie, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Oh, it’s on, Munson.”

The kids cheer and then it’s chaos of snowballs being lobbed at one another.

Later, when everyone is warming up with hot cocoa, and Steve is curled into Eddie’s side with a blanket tossed over their laps, Steve knows he’s never been happier to have met Eddie, who taught him how to play in the snow.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers to Eddie, who hums curiously, lazily looking at him from the corner of his eye. “For teaching me how to play in the snow.”

“Always, Stevie. I’ll always help you.”

And it sounds like a promise.

#is this anything? #idk #i wrote this on a whim #without rereading it #so if it doesn’t make sense i’m sorry #christmasish fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #cw child abuse #cw child neglect #steddie #stobin briefly #unsteddie writing

[eldritch-thrumming]

what, like it’s hard?, pt. one

“it’s just that… if i want to win a seat in congress by the time i’m thirty, i need to find someone who’s serious about my career. not some little elementary school teacher that cares more about his students than what he’s wearing on my campaign stops,” tommy tells steve, as they’re sitting in quite possibly the fanciest restaurant steve’s ever step foot in. the menu hadn’t even included any prices.

“but… i’m seriously in love with you.” steve feels like his whole world is falling apart. just last week he’d been so sure that tommy was getting ready to propose. he’d introduced steve to his family—they’d spent a week out on martha’s vineyard for a family reunion at which steve had met tommy’s great-grandmother, hands laden with rings as she’d winked when tommy had asked for a private conversation. steve had been so sure that conversation was about the family ring.

“and i love you too, baby, but look. you don’t want to have to leave your students for half the year to come on the campaign trail with me, do you?” tommy asks, not even really looking at steve. he continues to just eat his stupid dinner as if he’s not ripping steve’s heart out at this very moment.

and steve can’t help but think how silly this all is, because it’s not like tommy’s actually running for anything right now. steve doesn’t even teach yet, beyond the two days a week he does his student teaching. they’re only 22, they haven’t even graduated northwestern with their bachelors degrees! but tommy’s saying these things as if they’re all real, right now.

“and i’m off to harvard next fall. it’s not like we’ll stay together while i’m there and you’re still here, right?”

and the thing is, steve had actually thought he’d be going with tommy to boston. they’re both set to graduate in the spring, steve with his degree in education and tommy with a dual major in pre-law and political science. they hadn’t really ever talked about it, but they’d been together since the beginning of their sophomore year. so yes, steve had thought they’d still be together when tommy started at harvard law.

but now steve’s starting to feel extra stupid.

“so… what? you’re breaking up with me?” steve starts to feel his chest tightening, like he might cry. he can’t believe that two hours ago he thought he’d been getting ready for a proposal.

“don’t think of it as a breakup, stevie… think of it as a conscious uncoupling. we’re just moving in two different directions. i’ll be at harvard law next semester and you’ll be…” tommy gives him a look of slight disdain—steve has never seen tommy look at him like that. waitstaff? sure. his driver? absolutely. but it’s never been directed at steve before. “well, you’ll be teaching snot-nosed six year olds. we’re on different paths.”

and that’s what truly makes steve’s blood boil. his passion for teaching and education is one of his greatest qualities and he’d thought that had been part of the reason tommy loved him. he didn’t realize that tommy loved him in spite of that. he’s not gonna let some asshole like tommy montgomery hagan iii tell him he’s no good.

so he doesn’t respond. he just takes the linen napkin off his lap and throws it on his half-eaten steak dinner and marches out of the restaurant.

tommy doesn’t even follow him out.

~*~

“oh steve… i’m sorry,” robin says to him about an hour later while steve lays his head in her lap on their dingy couch.

“it’s not even that he broke up with me,” he explains through tears. “it’s that he basically said i was worthless. like i couldn’t do anything better than teaching. as if teaching isn’t even an admirable profession! where would he be without his teachers, huh? isn’t this all about going to stupid harvard? what does he think the professors there actually do? knit?”

“is this a bad time to tell you that i always kind of hated him?” robin says, maybe trying to get him to laugh. but it kind of surprises steve. he sits up, knocking her hands from where they’ve been carding through his hair in the process.

“you did?! no, you didn’t.” he searches robin’s face for a moment and then sighs. “why didn’t you say anything? you could’ve saved me a whole lot of wasted time.”

“babe, you were so gooey-eyed for that guy, nothing i said was gonna change that. a crowbar couldn’t have pried you away from him. but you have to know he was an asshole.” when steve stares at her blankly, she huffs. “steve, he used to offer to cover the whole tab when we went out. how often did he ever actually pay, even for his own drinks? he made poor jonathan cry the last time we were all here for game night, just because jonathan asked for clarification on the rules for pictionary.” steve is still staring at her. “he tried to stiff argyle by offering him a flight on his dad’s private jet instead of paying for his weed and we all know he doesn’t even have access to the jet. dude was cheap as fuck and not even nice about it.”

steve thinks about it. it was kind of true. tommy was a horrible tipper—steve usually laid down a couple of twenties when they went to dinner together when tommy wasn’t looking. he can remember more than a few times where the guy had sent their food back even though it had looked perfectly wonderful to steve. so… okay, maybe robin had a point.

steve tells her as much, then adds, “but he was always nice to me.”

robin snorts. “are you kidding? he’s stood you up so many times i can’t even remember all of them. remember that time he said his first impression of you was that you weren’t as hot as your pictures? who says that to the person they’re dating?”

steve groans and lays his head back down in her lap.

“okay, so maybe you have a point about that too. but i was gonna marry him, rob. what do i do now?” he knows he’s whining, but he feels just a little bit entitled to it right now.

“i don’t know, babe. get over it, i guess. welcome to the world of us singles. it sucks out here.” steve can hear the fondness in robin’s voice as she says it, but still. it does sting just a little.

they sit there in silence for a while, with robin running her hands through his hair again. it’s so soothing that he almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks again.

“hey, you know what would be super funny?” she’s laughing a little as she says it.

“what?” steve had been dozing just a little and his voice sounds muffled by fatigue.

“if you got into harvard and just showed up on the first day. imagine the look on his face.”

steve laughs at how ridiculous that sounds. like he could get into harvard. plus, he’s got teaching to think about. he doesn’t have a place yet, but he knows he’ll get one soon.

but as he sits there with robin’s hands stroking through his hair, he begins to daydream about how shocked tommy would be. about how he’d have no choice but to eat his words when steve proves himself by getting into one of the most competitive programs in the country. about how good it would feel to prove the bastard wrong.

“robin?” she hums in response. “you’re a goddamn genius.”

~*~

“dingus, are you sure you want to do this?”

the spring semester starts in three days. it’s their last semester at northwestern and there’s nothing but great big darkness on the horizon of steve’s future. he hasn’t slept in two days, busy studying, thick workbooks piled around around him at the kitchen table. he knows what he must look like, over-caffeinated with bruises under his eyes.

“i’m sure.” steve has his lsat exam in one week. “i have to take the exam this week. apps are due by march first.”

“no, steve, i don’t mean taking the test. i mean applying at all. it’s clearly more stress than it’s worth. do you even want to go to law school?” robin sounds concerned and normally steve would think it’s very sweet, but currently it does nothing but irritate him.

“i could,” he responds grumpily.

robin sighs. “i just mean… is this worth it?”

steve looks up then and sees her biting her lip, clearly worried about him. he puts his pencil down and stops the timer on his phone, giving her his full attention.

“this isn’t just about tommy.” robin gives him a skeptical look and it’s his turn to sigh. “it’s really not. maybe it started out that way, maybe it was just a stupid joke to get revenge on the asshole, but now it’s more than that. it’s proving that i can do something unexpected of me.” he swallows. “no one even believed i would get into college. i was just some stupid jock in high school who’d never amount to anything. and then i got in to northwestern and i was so shocked and happy. but i found out that my dad had actually pulled a bunch of strings. so i hadn’t gotten in on my own merits. he didn’t think i could. but now…” he runs a hand through his hair nervously. he’s never said any of this out loud before. “he’s not around now. there’s no one to help me. no safety net. if i can do this, it’ll prove something to me. something that maybe i don’t really believe yet.”

he expects robin to say something about external validation being a corrupting force and identity built on academic achievement being solely a losing game, but she doesn’t. instead, she sits down across the table from him and picks up a workbook.

“okay,” she says. “what do we have to do?”

~*~

“mail here?” steve calls out when he hears the front door close behind robin.

there’s a moment that feels like a pause. “yeah, it’s here.”

steve practically sprints from his bedroom to his living room. robin holds a single white envelope in her hand. steve all but snatches it from her.

his fingers move to rip it open, but then he hesitates. he thrusts it back towards robin. “i can’t,” he tells her. “you do it.”

her eyebrows shoot up. “you’re sure?” steve nods. he watches her rip the envelope open, bouncing on his feet. she scans the page and then she’s smiling.

steve grabs the paper from her. “oh my god?!” he yells. “oh my god!”

robin practically jumps into his arms. “179, baby! harvard law here we come.”

~*~

even after such a successful run at the lsats, there’s still the little matter of actually getting in to the school. steve’s only experience with the academic application process was with undergrad and it appears that applying for anything beyond a bachelors degree is an entirely different ball game. he’s so out of his depth that he’s forced to turn to grad school message boards for advice and tips of how to get in. it seems like everyone else is applying to a hundred different schools while steve’s only applying to one. he learns this is a terrible strategy for planning one’s future, but that doesn’t really matter to steve. for him, it’s harvard or nothing.

there are so many different parts of the application that it makes steve’s head spin. there’s the statement of purpose and the personal statement—the difference between those two requires robin’s careful and slow explanation about three separate times. then there’s the writing sample and the application and the recommendations and the transcripts and and and

but with robin’s help, steve completes each component and successfully sends his materials by the day of the deadline.

steve’s never been a patient person. no one on earth would accuse him of that, so even he can tell that he’s getting on robin’s nerves every day as he practically pounces on her when she returns from collecting the mail.

and then one day, finally, at the end of april, she comes through the front door and clutched in her hand is a big, thick white envelope emblazoned with the words ‘harvard law’ in bold, beautiful crimson red.

~*~

“last chance to back out,” robin says smiling as she swings herself up into the passengers seat of their rented u-haul.

“nah.” steve returns her smile as he slides his sunglasses from his hair onto his face. “let’s get out of this dump.”

and with that, they leave their first apartment behind, headed to the coast.

[wanted to finish this completely before posting but my benadryls kicking in and i have no self control. eventual steddie, promise! no tag list for this one, sorry!! it’s giving me anxiety on the other one lol absolutely not edited, if u see a typo no u don’t. i wrote this on my phone in a feverish frenzy. also, i originally invented someone for the role of warner but then i was like ‘IDIOT!!!!! why would u not choose tommy?????’ so if there’s a name in here that shouldn’t be, no there isn’t.]

#the not as hot as ur pictures thing is a real thing my ex said to me after we’d been together for like six months lol called me ugly 😭 #legally blonde au #steddie #steddie fic #steddie legally blonde au #this will EVENTUALLY be steddie if i write more lol #robin buckley #steve harrington #platonic stobin #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #i’m setting it up!!!!! #eddie will be a bartender not a law guy sorry!!!! lawyer!eddie just don’t feel right to me #steddie fanfiction #steddie blurb #guess what i watched tonight #well i also watched mean girls lol #here have this half finished thing #i wanted to finish it before posting but

[wynnyfryd]

Steve comes into the kitchen fresh from the shower, finds Eddie with his head in the sink, scrubbing his soaked curls over the basin.

“Uh,” Steve says.

Eddie flips upright, sending a spray of water across the backsplash. He shakes his head out like a dog. “Morning!”

“Were you just shampooing your hair in the sink?”

“Yeah.”

“…Why?”

“Water was still warm from the dishes,” he shrugs, as if that explains a damn thing. “You want coffee?”

Steve stares at him, horrified. “Eddie… for the love of God, please tell me you did not just wash your hair with dirty dish water.”

“Ew! What??”

“You just said the water was still warm from the dishes!”

“The water from the tap was still warm,” Eddie gestures emphatically at the tap in question, at the empty and sparkling stainless steel basin, “from where I scrubbed the sink clean after draining the dishwater. Jesus Christ, Harrington, what kinda man do you take me for?”

“I don’t know! The kind who washes his hair in the sink??”

Eddie cackles at that, swings himself around the kitchen island into Steve’s space, his movements free and loose with amusement.

“It was clean water, baby, honest,” he swears as he squeezes Steve’s face between his hands and peppers him with kisses until his deeply offended frown eases into an only slightly put-out pout.

Steve does his best to maintain his glare. “Did you even use conditioner?” he asks.

“It was two-in-one?” Eddie tries.

“Okay, nope! No. Absolutely not, get your ass back upstairs, Munson, we’re doing this properly.” He drags Eddie from the kitchen by his wrist, muttering angrily under his breath as he stomps up the stairs. “Two-in-one. Of all the stupid fucking…”

Later, when they’re lying sated in bed (Steve on his back with an arm under his head; Eddie sat up and purring like a cat as Steve’s blunt nails scratch down his spine), after Eddie’s hair has been combed through and set into pretty little ringlets with no less than five different products, Steve props himself up on his elbows and levels Eddie with a suspicious look. “…Was this all a ploy to get me to do your hair for you again?”

Eddie doesn’t even bother trying to hide his grin as he lets his head flop over his shoulder to look at Steve. “And also to get you to fuck me in the shower first, yeah.”

“You little shit!” Steve laughs, kicking at Eddie’s back. Eddie yelps and scrambles off the bed, safely out of attack distance.

“You still want that coffee?” he offers.

Steve chucks a pillow at his head, and Eddie dodges. “Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“Mmhm,” Eddie agrees, “But you looo-ove me.”

Steve does, is the thing. He really, really does.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie fluff #my writing #this is very silly i’m sorry or you’re welcome

[pizzaqueen]

A snippet from a future fic I'll probably never write, where Steve is a widower with two teenage kids, and he and Eddie randomly meet up, rekindling their old flame. This is when they've been together a while:

“Thank you,” Steve says, coming up behind Eddie at the bathroom sink.

Eddie pauses, catching Steve's eye in the mirror. “What for?” he asks, mouth foamy with toothpaste.

Steve slips his hands along Eddie's hips, hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder. “For loving my kids.”

“You don't—” Toothpaste dribbles down Eddie's chin and he stoops to spit what's left in his mouth into the sink, gathering his hair to one side. He rinses his mouth out, wipes his face with a towel, then turns to Steve. “You don't have to thank me for that. Of course I love them.”

“Not everyone I've dated has.”

“They're idiots.” Eddie grabs the hem of Steve's shirt, pulling him close. “I mean, first of all, they're part of you, and I don't think I could love you and not love them. But...” He trails off, a small smile tilting his lips. “They're amazing kids.”

Pride swells in Steve's chest; he slides his arms around Eddie's waist and says, “They are.”

“And I'm pretty damn honored I get to be part of their lives,” Eddie says, “so thank you,” and he butts his head gently against Steve's.

Steve huffs and slides his hands up Eddie's back, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I love you.” He presses a kiss to Eddie's neck.

“I love you too.”

“And they both love you as well.”

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. Steve knows how nervous Eddie was, when they started dating, that he wouldn't be welcomed, but it's almost like he's always been part of their family now. “Good to know,"”Eddie says.

Steve holds Eddie a little tighter. All those years ago, back in Hawkins, when they ended things, Steve thought he'd never see Eddie again. But here they are, together—a family—and Steve's never letting him go this time.

#Steddie #Steve x eddie #Steddie fic #Steddie fanfic #this is soooooo sappy I’m sorry 😫 #anyway I don’t have names for Steve’s kids yet lol #but his son is bi too #his daughter is more like him otherwise though #also Steve takes a while to accept his sexuality so he’s only just come out to his kids because I like stories like that #even though I know some ppl in this fandom have found them offensive?? #but yeah when he comes out his son gets upset because he then feels like he can’t come out without it being weird haha #and Steve is like what??? no??? when he eventually tells him #(I watched a lot of soap operas growing up :P sometimes it comes out in my writing lol) #that’s why I’ll probably never write this fic but it’s fun to dabble in the verse #pizzaqueenfic #pizzaqueenwrites #tsofverse

[folklorefairyy]

of glasses and grins - s.h

summary - in which steve really needs glasses but has a lifetime of insecurities that has him hiding them. lucky for him, his girlfriend knows just how to make him smile.

warnings - mentions of violence (punches), mentions of bullying (taunts/nicknames from other kids), insecurities, fem!reader, kissing and general relationship touching (nothing sexual), reader sits on steve’s lap

word count - 1.4k

authors note - this is inspired by a request from the lovely vic <3 which you can find here!

i know there’s a lot of headcanons about steve needing glasses due to his head injuries and that inspired his need to wear them more here! i remember seeing this months and months ago so if anyone knows any specific people that was big on that, i’d love to give credit!!

Steve Harrington had taken one too many blows to the head. On the receiving end of fists far too often it’s safe to say his body had felt their toll. His eyesight wasn't the best to begin with, having reading glasses in middle school. After receiving enough ‘geek’ or ‘four-eyes’ jokes he eventually put them to rest in the back of the drawer of his bedside table.

As ‘King Steve’ he ignored his need to squint when chatting in the back of class, or the migraine’s he’d endure, because he’d finally built an image he didn't want to tarnish. His reputation was fragile, and he'd much rather take a physical blow than one to his ego. Until he started getting hit, a lot, and suddenly the incessant migraines became more than a dull ache and the blurinnes was more than a smudge.

You had started dating Steve after highschool, not aware of past comments or cohorts, nor the journey that has led to your boyfriend constantly rubbing his eyes and having a few close calls with rogue tree branches when driving.

It was one movie night, snuggled on the sofa with your legs scrunched onto his lap, his strong arm pressing into your back and thumb smoothing over the exposed skin of your shoulder, that you finally voiced your concerns.

For the past half hour Steve had been watching the movie through one half-closed eye, trying desperately to get it to focus. Everytime you peered up at his face he simply looked down at you and winked, or stuck his tongue out, or did practically any adorably dorky facial expression you could name in order to distract you.

Raising your hand to thumb at his cheek, you whisper a ‘Baby,’ receiving a hum from him as he turns his attention to you. Steve thinks he could hear just about every pet name fall from your lips and never get enough of it; his heart feeling warm at the thought of being your anything.

‘Are your eyes bugging you?’ you prod softly. He shuts them with a sigh, head leaning into your palm which has spread across his cheek. He half-heartedly shakes his head no, more of a tilt than anything. Prompting again you plead, ‘Stevie, please don’t lie to me.’ Your voice is filled with such sweetness he feels guilty for all of his hiding, wondering how he could ever deny the honey in your voice.

‘A little,’ he finally confesses, voice more a whisper of breath than an actual sound. He feels a little silly, keeping his eyes shut to avoid his truth - that his eyes have been bugging him long before you got together. ‘They always hurt to be honest, usually just ignore it.’

His confession tugs at your heart, your sweet boy hiding a pain you can’t magically fix with the kisses and soft words you’d usually resort to.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ you ask feeling slightly wounded, like you’ve failed as a girlfriend for not knowing sooner. You move your thumb back and forth on his cheek, reassuring him you weren’t mad but concerned.

He peers up at you through heavy eyes, lips pulled between teeth in an anxious tell. ‘I knew you’d make me wear my glasses if I told you about them.’

You tut softly and lean to kiss between his brows, ‘Oh honey, what’s wrong with your glasses?’ The revelation shocked you momentarily, the prospect of your boyfriend in glasses a welcome image but an unexpected one.

He looks away from you again, old taunts swimming in his head. ‘I’d look stupid,’ he mutters. ‘You’d find me ugly or weird and wouldn’t want me anymore.’

You could sob at the confession, firstly for the inaccuracy but secondly because you can’t believe he’s been harbouring such insecurities. Moving to grasp his face in both hands you press a kiss to his lips this time, so sweet love itself bloomed between them. ‘Honey, if you need them to see you need them.’ Another meeting of lips to reassure him. ‘Plus I think you’d look handsome in just about any get-up.’ you whispered against his lips, brushing them with a soft smile.

The comment almost pulls Steve’s mouth into a smile of his own, but his past tugs them back down. ‘That’s real sweet baby, but no one else thought so and I wouldn't blame you either.’

At this point your desperation to have Steve rid himself of such thoughts takes over and you don’t think before you’re imbing onto his lap and squishing him to the sofa, face to face, chest to chest, trying very hard to make your point, as though the physical contact would make your opinion replace the one in his brain.

Eyes staring into his, but with an incredible softness that he always elicits, you try your best to convince him otherwise. ‘Firstly, Steve Harrington, glasses are a completely normal thing to have and so many people wear them. Whoever taught you otherwise can go suck it, and I’m sorry they made you uncomfortable wearing them.’

Your sudden brashness and the random full naming of him had his heart feeling a little lighter. You, however, were not done. ‘And secondly, my boyfriend is beautiful, and I know damn straight he is going to look so pretty in his glasses. If the mental images I’m seeing are anywhere near the real deal then I’m in trouble.’ A kiss to the freckles on his nose, your silent sign of ‘I love you.’ ‘I’m gonna have to fight off a lot of people when they get a look at you, trust me.’

At this he lets out a low chuckle, lips finally pulling into that grin you so love, the urge to kiss it only slightly overpowered by your pride in removing some of his sadness.

He leans up slowly and kisses your nose back, the smile still painting his lips as he pulls away. ‘Wow, sweetheart, you really do love me huh? Thinking I’d be wooing everyone and wanting to fight for me?’

Hands smoothing his hair back, you move nose to nose, their tips kissing, and whisper upon his growing grin, ‘Oh handsome, I’d go to war for you.’

At your confession, he pulls your body down to lay on the sofa, arms wrapping around your waist, and presses his weight into you, peppering kisses into your hair and your cheeks, until he finally reaches your lips. You’re both giggling, giddy with love and a connection between you that can't be described but only felt, for it’s uniquely yours.

He looks like an angel above you, hair curtaining his face, the halo of light from the lamp illuminating him in a honeyed glow. Hand returning to his cheek, it’s favourite spot to be, you press another kiss to his lips. ‘Can you please go get your glasses? I want to work out how many people I’ve got to plan on fighting.’

He presses another kiss back, ‘Oh my tough girl, how could I ever leave you unprepared.’ Steve pulls himself off you, not without reluctance and another peck, before running upstairs to venture in the spot of his drawer he always thought he’d leave untouched, trying to wish the taunts away but never quite succeeding.

As he crept back down the stairs that anxiety of being judged bloomed in his chest and he faltered on the last step. But then he spots the back of your head, perched on the sofa so patiently, knee bobbing up and down as your enthusiasm seeped through, and he knows, that you are the one person who could see past the glasses, who would love him regardless, and so he took the final step.

The creaking of the staircase grabs your attention as your eager head whips round so fast Steve swears you’ve given yourself whiplash. The biggest smile blooming on your face at the sight of Steve, a nervous smile on his own, decorated so beautifully with a pair of wide-lensed, silver glasses.

You rush from your seat, too gleeful to wait for him to come to you. Hands to face once again, cocooning it in that warm cage he so loved, you dote a hundred kisses to his cheeks, give or take, before leaning back to whisper softly, ‘Oh my beautiful boy, I am going to have to work on my punches.’

Steve let out a loud laugh, fresh with adoration, and pressed what was not to be the last kiss that evening to your lips. You were just so precious, true sweetness in your intentions. He may have thought he’d never wear them again, but he now thinks he won’t ever take them off, just to see that spark in your eyes reflected in the glass of his once hated frames.

#i’m back writing ahh!! #sorry it’s been so long my loves <3 #steve <3 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x female!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington scenario

[nburkhardt]

Robin watches from Steve’s car, sitting on the hood and wishing she was a tiny bit closer to hear what’s happening. She knows the plan; had him repeat it twice before deciding he’s ready and sent him off.

Steve walks closer to the school and waits for Hellfire to get out. He’s nervous, despite Robin’s pep talk.

The door is still firmly shut and no sigh of movement yet, he wipes his hands against his legs and holds back the absolute need to run them through his hair. Looks back towards Robin and gets a thumbs up before looking back at the still closed door.

He hears laughter before the door finally opens and there’s the group he’s been waiting for. Dustin somehow manages to smile wider, while Mike rolls his eyes and Lucas waves at him. The older members, eye him and he holds his breath as he meets eyes with the one he’s really here to see.

Eddie Munson has been the center of Steve’s head and heart for a while now. It wasn’t much of a surprise to him, not really, at least.

Taking a deep breath he makes his way over and pats Dustin on the shoulder as he passes him, stopping right in front of Eddie.

Eddie’s smile is gone and Steve wishes it would come back already. Hoping he can put it back, actually. Clearing his throat, he opens his mouth and-

“Dinner?”

Immediately shutting his eyes, cursing his brain for being dumb when a pretty boy is looking at him. Turning around he feels his face get hot as he moves at a reasonable pace - definitely not running.

“So?”

Steve looks at Robin, not daring to look towards Eddie, “the plan,” he sighed, “did not go as planned.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “You dumb fuck, Dingus. What happened?”

Groaning, he drops his head against the car and counts to three. Hopes she won’t laugh at him, but knows better. Knows she’ll definitely laugh and when they get back to work tomorrow, that he’ll see her giggling and adding yet another tally mark to the whiteboard.

“I lost all my words and just said dinner to him then ran away. Because he was looking at me!” He doesn’t whine, at least he hope it’s not whining.

Just as he knew already, Robin immediately starts laughing and patting his back, “oh you poor, poor soul. What am I going to do with you?”

I’ll be honest I started writing this in October and lost all the words ever made and couldn’t finish it. So now it’s just a small piece on how Steve doesn’t have any game when it comes to pretty boys 😇

If anyone would like, you’re welcomed to contribute either a follow up OR Eddie’s point of view of this. If you do, please tag me!

Permanent tag list under the cut!

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @strangersteddierthings

#platonic stobin #pre-steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things #fic #nburkhardt writes #Steve has no game I’m sorry you’re finding out like this #and it’s not stated in this whatsoever but Eddie ALSO has no game #I can just imagine the kids also making fun of Steve when they find out what that whole thing was #Eddie’s friends laugh at EDDIE when they realize

[flowercrowngods]

🤍 also on ao3

It’s just past 3am when Steve finally caves and reaches for the phone on his night stand. His fingers are trembling slightly as he dials Eddie’s number — he knows it by heart even though he never called before. Eddie gave it to him a few weeks ago, making him promise that he’d call if he ever needed to talk.

“Any time of day or night, alright, Harrington? Call me whenever.”

And so that’s what he’s doing now, feeling strangely vulnerable about it. There’s no way Eddie’s gonna pick up. He’s gonna wake him. He’s gonna keep him from his sleep, possibly even interrupting one of the few nightmare-less nights he has.

Steve feels guilty the very second the dial tone meets the silence of his room, his chest heavy, eyes closed. Part of him hopes that Eddie won’t pick up the phone, that he’s in deep enough sleep to miss the call, that he’ll come into Family Video tomorrow and smile at Steve like he always does, none the wiser.

But, miraculously, amazingly, unfortunately, Eddie does pick up the phone. Rather immediately, at that.

“Yeah?” He sounds sleepy, and Steve’s heart falls immediately. He can’t get his mouth to work, only holding the phone to his ear, soaking up Eddie’s sleepy voice and trying to replace the guilt, the weakness, the heaviness of another sleepless night. “Hello?”

Steve remains silent. Can’t quite get the words to work. Fucking figures.

“Stevie? It’s you, isn’t it?”

He nods, stupidly, before saying, “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Hey now, what the hell do you have to be sorry for?” There’s shuffling on the other side and Steve imagines that Eddie is sitting up now, settling in to listen to the sob story of the nightmare Steve had without even falling asleep first. He does that sometimes. Doctor Owens has a fancy term for it, but Steve doesn’t want a label for his insanity. Because if there’s a label, that means it’s nothing special — and that’s kinda the only thing he has left.

But he doesn’t tell Eddie anything about that. Maybe one day. If he sticks around. Gods, but Steve hopes he does.

“If you’re sorry for calling me,” Eddie continues, his voice impossibly soft, “you don’t gotta be that. It’s fine. It’s why you have this number, alright? I’m here.” There’s more silence for a moment, but it’s the kind of silence that leaves him room to breathe. Eddie is good at that kind of silence, despite the fact that he talks so much all the time.

Maybe it’s the constant talking that makes the silences all the more significant.

“What do you need, Stevie?” Eddie asks then, and Steve hides under his blanket, the phone pressed to his ear. “I could come over. Or you could come over, I don’t really care either way.”

“No. Don’t wanna move. And…” No company, he wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat. Sometimes company and kindness make the bad times worse. They make it more real, and what Steve needs is for everything to be a little less real. Maybe that’s why he’s calling Eddie. There’s no way that boy with his doe eyes and his wide smiles and his gentle voice in the middle of the night is real.

“Alright, I got it.” Eddie breathes deeply on the other end and Steve remembers that that’s a good idea actually, so he follows Eddie’s breath for a while.

“Can we just…” He trails off. Gives up on finding words, cringing at himself, glad that Eddie can’t see him like this.

“Can we what, hm?”

Steve shakes his head and remains silent, knows that his voice will sound anything but strong when he opens his mouth, and every second Eddie doesn’t hear what a mess he is, is important.

“I’m bad at this,” is what he settles on, closing his eyes against the world inside and outside his blanket.

“At what? Sleep? Words?”

Yes, and yes. But it’s not what he means. “Asking for things. I’m not good at that.”

“Hey, neither am I,” Eddie says and it sounds like he’s smiling. Steve imagines it and he hopes, oh he hopes that Eddie is smiling. “Y’know how I told you to call me whenever? That was essentially me just asking for you to call me. To know that… that I’m here.”

“I do,” Steve says quietly, and his body is sort of trembling with the confession. “I do know that.”

“Good,” Eddie breathes. “So what do you need?”

Steve sighs and pretends he’s somewhere else, pretends he’s in a world where asking is easy, where being known comes naturally and not with shaking voice and trembling hands. Pretends Eddie knows him already.

“Can we just… Fall asleep like this? Talking, I mean, though I don’t even know if I have things to say. The silence is more important anyway. You’re good at those, did you know?”

A light chuckle comes from Eddie, and Steve smiles along with it. “I’m good at silences? Me, Eddie Munson? You sure you don’t have the wrong number?”

“Very.” It’s all Steve says, and then it’s Eddie who’s quiet— as if to prove his point.

“Yeah, Stevie,” he says after a beat, his voice making Steve shiver. “We can fall asleep like this. Do you need me to talk to you, or…?”

He considers briefly, but he already knows the answer. He doesn’t need Eddie to talk. Just needs him to be there.

“Nah. Just… Just be there?”

There’s a hum now — the same kind of hum that Eddie always does right before giving him that secret smile of his, when he’s about to touch Steve or give him a new pet name. Sometimes, when the door to Family Video falls shut behind Eddie and Steve is left to deal with his fluttering heart, he likes to believe that this him has been placed into the universe with his name to it.

He wonders if Eddie knows. If the hum tastes like his name, if it makes Eddie’s heart flutter just as much.

“Hey Stevie?” Eddie interrupts their silence after a while and Steve can’t fight the smile on his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Did you know that otters hold hands at night so they don’t drift away from each other in their sleep?” He waits for a moment, allowing for a reaction, leaving another silence for him to claim. He does, but only with a smile as he grips the phone tighter, imagining it to be Eddie’s hand. “This sorta feels like that.”

The trembling that hasn’t really stopped is back now, the air heavy with implications and possibilities. Steve swallows.

“You keeping me from drifting away, Munson?”

“I hope so.”

It’s whispered words across the lines, crossing lines and blurring them. It’s taking his breath away, replacing it with something else, something new, something he has only felt when they were alone, but never this intense. He fills his lungs with it.

“Hey Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

More whispers, more greedy lungfuls of this something new.

“Is it bad that I kinda wanna hold your hand now?”

A beat, a sigh, a careful breath. It makes Steve think that the air in Eddie’s room is sizzling too, heavy and light at the same time. Maybe it’s just as addictive.

“Only if it’s bad that I’m kinda imagining yours in mine right now.”

Steve shakes his head again and doesn’t feel stupid about it now. “I don’t think that’s bad,” he whispers.

“Good.”

Maybe whispers are their new language. Maybe everything else is too harsh for this fragile thing, maybe the world outside Steve’s blanket isn’t ready to see the smile on his face or hear the rapid beat of his heart. He doesn’t mind.

“Tomorrow. Can I hold your hand tomorrow?”

“What do you mean, Stevie, you’re already holding it.” And there’s that smile again that makes Steve huff out the softest of chuckles, hiding his face in his pillow to ground himself against this heady feeling. “Yeah, you can hold it tomorrow, but only if I can hold yours, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds perfect, Eds,” Steve says, just louder than a whisper, and he waits with bated breath if anyone out there in the universe heard, if their bubble would burst.

But it doesn’t. Eddie only murmurs a sweet, soft, “Can’t wait.” And then there’s only silence because they’re both smiling, hearts racing, hands trembling around the phantom touch of warm fingers. They fall asleep like that soon after.

#steddie #steddie fluff #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #oh look dio wrote another story between 3 and 4am :) #but it’s fluff this time!!! real fluff!!! i’m evolving yall #dio words #i can’t even check the word count because i wrote this all in the tumblr app sorry #okay so apparently it’s 1.4k words so let’s all just keep in mind i wrote this in just under an hour at the asscrack of void hours so. yeah

[rowanswriting]

Eddie, taking Steve to all his doctors appointments

Eddie, learning sign language when Steve can no longer hear

Eddie, showing Steve old pictures/videos when he starts forgetting

Eddie, breaking down when the doctors tell him steve doesn’t have much longer, but still putting on a brave face for steve.

Eddie & Robin, making sure every day that steve has left is amazing by either taking him out or simply just spending time with him

Eddie, holding steve as he falls asleep, not realizing that he’ll pass in his sleep.

Eddie….. falling asleep one night after Steve’s passing…. Waking up to see Steve leaning over him smiling, no hearing aid, no wrinkles, no grey hair, just Steve as he was the first time Eddie saw him.

Eddie & Steve, spending the rest of eternity together….

#older steddie #older!steve #older!eddie #eddie munson blurb #steve harrington blurb #steddie blurb #steddie fluff #steddie angst #Steve Harrington #Eddie munson #Steve x Eddie #Eddie x steve #eddie munson headcanons #steve harrington headcanon #coven writes #I’m sorry idk why I did this #angst #fluff #fic writers #steddie headcanon #steddie #Eddie #Steve #Joseph Quinn #eddie and steve #Steve and Eddie #fluff blurbs #stranger things #stobin #steve x robin

[bigboysteveharrington]

Eddie lowkey outing himself by accident but Robin’s the only one that’s even certain that’s what’s happening

Eddie’s finally graduated and he’s having a celebratory bonfire with the Hellfire Club and Steve and Nancy and Robin at it. They’re out by Skull Rock so that they won’t get shit or noise complaints from other people in the trailer park. They’ve already ceremonially burned 6 years worth of Eddie’s notes and homework and failed tests by the time Eddie goes off on his own

Which later, he’ll realize wasn’t a great choice. But it’s supposed to be safe in Hawkins with all the gates closed now and in the moment, he just knows that his bladder has caught up to all the drinking and he really needs to take a leak. And okay, maybe he goes a little further away from everyone than is strictly necessary, but he has a shy bladder

And it’s fine at first. He takes a piss and zips his pants back up and goes to head back to where everyone else is but then he gets cut off by the latest kind of demo-monster to be on the loose in Hawkins and he has nothing on him but his wallet, his lighter, and a pack of cigarettes so he is certain that he’s really dead meat this time

He stumbles backwards in his rush to get away from the demo-thing and ends up falling over a broken branch and landing on his ass. The things still moving closer and they’re not supposed to like fire, so he pulls his lighter out and holds the pathetic little flame at arm’s length and yells at it to keep back as if that’s going to do anything. He shouts at it as loud as he can, but he’s the one that brought the boombox and set the volume at the highest so he’s not holding out a lot of hope about being heard and he doesn’t know that it would really help if any of them heard him anyway. So mostly he just thinks he’s dragging out his own death by making the thing come after him slightly more hesitantly because of the fire

But Steve notices Eddie sneak off on his own and it hasn’t been that long, but he thought he’d be back by now, so he’s already contemplating going to check that he’s fine when he hears something off in the direction Eddie went over the shitty music

And clearly Nancy heard it too because she’s already rushing off in that direction and while Robin and the kids rush after her to see what’s going on and Eddie’s out of the loop friends look at each other confused about what’s going on, Steve grabs a big ass stick off the ground and pours the last of his drink over the end and dunks it in the fire and then grabs a big ass bottle of vodka for good measure because even though he couldn’t totally hear what Eddie called out and even though this might just be Eddie up to his usual dramatics on the way back, Steve knows there’s a very real chance that it’s not and that once again the nightmare with the Upside Down isn’t really over like they thought it was and there’s no way he’s risking rushing in as weaponless as everyone else and putting them all in danger. He’ll be the weird guy that chased Eddie with a flaming tree branch to his Hellfire friends if he has to be because he’ll take that over risking anything happening to anyone there

Eddie’s lying on his back on the ground with the full body weight of the demo-thing on him and he’s got his eyes clenched shut and he’s holding on tight to his lighter with his hands up with to protect his face as if that’s going to do anything to stop this thing from ripping him to shreds, but then suddenly there’s a squelching thwack and then an awful ear-splitting screeching and there’s nothing holding Eddie down anymore. He opens his eyes and sees Steve beating the thing with a flaming tree branch and Nancy grabbing an equally large not flaming stick to join in while everyone else rushes over to check that Eddie’s okay. And then Steve warns Nancy to back up and throws the vodka bottle at the demo-thing and lights it fully on fire

It takes a bit for it to burn and Eddie to remember how to stand back up, but by the time he does, Eddie’s adrenaline is still running wild and he’s floating on the natural high that comes with narrowly escaping death. He tells the kids he’s fine and gets up and then turns to Steve and starts heading toward him while he laughs and gushes, “That was incredible. I was sure I was sure I was a goner and then there you were just casually pulling off the most badass move I’ve ever seen out of anyone. Seriously dude. That was awesome. I swear I could kiss you right now.” Which he emphasizes by grabbing Steve’s face in both hands and then planting a quick dramatic kiss on him and he only really realizes what he’s done in front of everyone after he’s already let go of his face so he quickly rushes to add, “Seriously, I could kiss all of you right now” but then nope, that’s not a good cover either and he realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth, so he quickly adds, “I mean not any of you kids because that’d be weird, but” and thankfully Robin chimes in with “I’m good without” and Nancy quickly adds that she is too so Eddie doesn’t have to start kissing all of his friends near his age just to try to cover for the whole heat of the moment kissing Steve before thinking it through thing. And Steve hasn’t hit him, so that’s a good sign that he might get out of this with people just assuming this is another one of his eccentricities and nothing serious

The kids and Nancy just assume that the kiss was just an extension of his dramatics and that he thought it would be funny. Robin is onto Eddie, but not about to say anything about it. Steve’s too busy with his internal huh, okay… apparently I like that to even start considering Eddie’s motives until long after the kiss has actually happened

#Gareth and Jeff after learning monsters are real and watching their friend kiss King Steve on the lips out of nowhere all in under 1 minute #like 🧍🏼‍♂️🧍🏾‍♂️ #This week’s mood is well I’m not going to get to writing any of these in fic form any time soon but I’m thinking about them again so may as #well make a post about them in the meantime #I am so sorry but I am once again night posting and not rereading for mistakes and just accepting I’ll be sad about them being there later #lmao why did autocorrect change me mistyping closed into the gates fliers #This is what I get for no rereading at the time #Steddie #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #ST4 #ST #Stranger Things #Mine

[ahhrenata]

a little more steddie Star Trek au! Most of these are scenes from @sparklyslug’s amazing fic t’hy’la !! (although ones technically a redraw- I wanted to spruce it up a bit) and the last one is an extra doodle of them about to sneak a kiss :)

#the ones with a heart on the corner are from the fic! #I was a little lazy to give Eddie tattoos lol so I used a lightning bolt brush #sorry about the awkward cropping.. my brain isn’t working today #I did shorten Eddie’s hair #I’m in the habit of it at the moment #harrington you have the conn #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanart #steddie Star Trek au #stranger things au #I’m going to draw another steve with the kirk window lol another idea just popped in my head

[munsonkitten]

Steve gets Eddie out of the Upside Down. He doesn’t know how he does it, but he does. He holds his organs in with his own body, carrying him pressed front to front, one arm cradled under his thighs and the other wrapped around his back, Eddie’s head lolling on his shoulder. He has Eddie’s face on his bad side. If Eddie were to say anything to him, it would be lost to the constant ringing in that ear, but he hopes it’s nothing too important — Steve understands the situation. Either Eddie’s going to survive, or he isn’t and nothing he tells Steve now will be any help without a hospital.

All he cares about is keeping Eddie awake and keeping him alive. 

Each heavy footstep as Steve runs jostles Eddie back into wakefulness, thank god. Steve doesn’t know what he would do to keep Eddie awake otherwise, seeing as his own voice is gone, unable to make its way through his throat because how the fuck could anyone talk after seeing the shit he’s seen? 

They can’t get through the gate in the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer like this, that much was obvious from the moment Steve found Dustin cradling Eddie’s limp body to his chest.

Steve gets him out. He doesn’t really remember how. He doesn’t really remember what gate they went through. He just remembers running. He just remembers Eddie in his arms, weak and dying. 

He doesn’t really know how he managed to carry him that long or that far with injuries of his own. 

They get him into a car, Nancy behind the wheel because Steve won’t let go of Eddie in the backseat, cradling him to his chest. They get him to a hospital, they see an ambulance unloading a mangled, broken body with a shock of fiery red hair. 

Max. It’s Max. Max is hurt — bad. 

They take Eddie away from him. They take Max away. 

Steve fights off nurses that try to help him, too. He’s fine. He needs to get to his kids. He needs to get to Lucas who is fighting his way over into the hectic emergency room, to Erica who keeps a hand gripping the back of her brother’s shirt so she doesn’t lose him. 

He wraps the kids up in his arms, pulling them close, not caring that he’s getting blood all over their clothes. Nancy and Robin help a limping Dustin over to a seat. He gets taken back to get looked at. Steve can’t go with him despite his protests. That’s my kid! he thinks he screams. His ears are ringing so bad at this point, and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the constant buzz he usually hears. His head feels like it’s full of static as he watches Dustin get taken away. That’s my fucking kid! he screams again, and now his voice is hoarse and he has no idea how long he’s been yelling, but he gets pulled into a chair and his head is pulled into Robin’s lap as he lays down, shaking and sobbing into her stomach. 

Steve is woken up by a firm hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized he fell asleep, really. Not this time. He’s been so in and out for what feels like days (but was more like hours), that it’s hard to tell when he’s awake or not. 

He looks up to see an older man standing in front of him. He’s balding, and has a gray goatee. He looks like he has permanent worry etched into his features, like something has been going wrong for every day of his entire life. His eyes are soft, though, in such a familiar way. 

“Mr. Munson?” Steve croaks. His throat is dry, his neck hurts from sleeping sitting up, and he’s still covered in blood and gore. 

“You must be the Harrington boy,” the man says without answering. His voice is gruff, and he has a Southern accent, but Steve wouldn’t be able to place where. He still looks at Steve with those kind eyes, though, despite the shortness of his words. 

“Yeah. Yes, sir,” Steve nods, standing up. He immediately regrets that, feeling a wave of lightheadedness was from the blood loss he’s experienced in the last several days— several years, really. He holds out his hand to shake, but draws it back when he sees the red stain covering the entirety of it. “Steve Harrington.”

“You saved my boy,” Mr Munson says. He pulls Steve into a bone-crushing hug and releases a sob. “You saved my Eddie. Thank you. And call me Wayne.” 

“H-have you heard anything?” Steve asks him. “They won’t tell me.”

“He’s stable,” Wayne says, pulling away. “He’s… he’s in a lot of trouble. They think he did it; they have him strapped down and cuffed to the bed, but there's a good chance he’s going to make it.”

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. He has no idea how they’re going to get Eddie out of this mess, but fuck, it’s better than him being gone. Steve was really scared there for a while. 

“I don’t know what the state of your home is, but considering you’ve been here instead of going home and washing all that shit off you, I figure… I have a motel room outside of town,” Wayne says after a minute. “Unaffected by the earthquake. I can take you there if you want to get cleaned up and get some rest. Ed will still be here when you get back.”

Steve finds himself agreeing. 

The water pressure in the motel sucks, and Steve finds himself washing blood away for what feels like hours. The water just won’t run clean no matter how much he scrubs and scrubs. He thinks his wounds might have reopened, but he won’t remove the bandages on his own. He doesn’t think he can stomach it. Plus, he didn’t want to rip open the wounds when peeling them off, so he figured soaking them would be the best option. 

So much for not reopening the wounds, he thinks as blood continues to pour down the drain, and he feels less and less like he’s going to stay standing. 

Feeling defeated and not at all clean, he steps out and grabs a towel from the rack. The white towel turns pink in an instant, then saturates deeper and deeper as more blood soaks into it. 

A soft knock at the door nearly makes Steve slip in his haste to cover himself up. He opens the door to see Wayne standing on the other side with a pile of clothes in his hands. 

“These are Ed’s. I grabbed them when I left home just in case he found me, but… Well, anyway, they should fit you,” Wayne says. He pushes them into Steve’s hands and stands there awkwardly. It seems like both of them have been feeling a bit awkward. They don’t know each other. Steve barely knows Eddie. But they’re in this together now, it seems, so they’re both trying. 

Steve nods, looking down at the soft shirt and sweatpants in his hands. There’s a small hole in the neckline of the shirt, clearly worn and well-loved by Eddie. 

“I don’t mean to overstep,” Wayne says. “But those bandages need to be changed.”

“Y-yeah,” Steve stutters. “Yeah, but I don’t have extras and I can’t r-really do it myself.”

“Alright,” Wayne says. He walks back into the main room, leaving Steve in the bathroom doorway. He picks up his car keys and his wallet from a table, shoving his wallet into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve ends up sitting on the bed in nothing but the underwear Wayne had given him. He doesn’t think too hard about it being Eddie’s. There’s a towel beneath him, catching the blood that runs down his torso and his back. There are a few chunks taken out of his thighs that he didn’t notice before, too caught up in, well, everything to really care. 

Wayne comes back not too much later, a bag full of gauze and bandages and antiseptic and Tylenol. He begins laying everything out on the bed beside Steve. 

He works in silence, disinfecting Steve’s wounds and bandaging them up. Steve, on the other hand, makes a myriad of embarrassing noises, laced with pain. 

“Eddie’s come home beaten up more than once,” Wayne says as he finishes up bandaging Steve’s thighs. “I’ve had to fix that boy up plenty of times.”

Steve can tell, too. Wayne is gentle and practiced in the way he does this, like it’s definitely happened way too many times to count. He doesn’t even think between each step, just does them carefully without speaking a word or hesitating. 

“I don’t… I don’t know if Eddie’s ever told you about me,” Steve says, swallowing down the guilt rising in his throat. “But if he has… Thank you for helping me, anyway.”

“Oh, sure,” Wayne shrugs. “Not that Eddie didn’t come home crying, saying Steve Harrington called him a queer and tripped him so he fell into a locker and busted his nose, or anything.” 

“No, yeah, I — I know,” Steve whispers. “I’m sorry, and… I’m going to make it up to him, I promise.”

“You saved him, Steve,” Wayne says. He starts packing up the supplies and shoves the bottle of Tylenol into Steve’s hands. “And last year, I asked if you were still giving him any trouble, and he said you weren’t friends with that Hagan boy anymore and you were leaving him alone, even if the other boys weren’t. He said you’d changed and I’ll be honest, I didn’t believe him, but I see it now.”

“He said that?” Steve asks. 

“Uh huh,” Wayne nods. “And that Henderson boy would come around to talking with Ed about that game they play. He always had good things to say about you… Never quite understood why. It’s like he was trying to set you two up on a date, or something.” 

“What?” Steve asks. 

Wayne just chuckles in response, and says, “Don’t worry about it, kid.”

Steve ends up falling asleep on one side of the bed, warm in one of Eddie’s sweatshirts and a pair of pajama pants. He wakes up at some point, sweating and feverish. He rips the sweatshirt off, kicks off his blankets. Wayne is there a minute later with a cold washcloth that he places on Steve’s forehead. 

He falls back asleep, but it’s fitful. He knows he should probably see a doctor about his injuries, he knows he’s fighting off an infection as he sleeps. He’s just so tired. He just wants to keep sleeping. 

Wayne leaves a few times, comes back, forces water and pills down Steve’s throat, replaces the washcloth, checks his bandages. He doesn’t think his own parents ever cared this much for him when he was sick. He has no idea why a man he barely knows is showing him so much kindness. 

Steve wakes up to the shrill sound of the hotel room phone ringing. It’s just a few short rings, a swear from Wayne, and then the ringing stops. Steve thinks about falling back to sleep when he sees tears fill Wayne’s eyes, and hears a very quiet, ‘Thank you.’

He assumes the worst with the way Wayne gets emotional, but then he hangs up and breaks out into a huge smile. 

“We can visit him, kid,” Wayne tells him. He goes over to a duffel bag in the corner of the room — Steve knows it’s the one full of Eddie’s clothes. He digs through it until he finds something, and tosses it over to Steve, who, in his fevered state, can’t even think about doing anything besides letting them hit him in the face.

In the end, Wayne has to help Steve get dressed, and it’s awkward, and the pants don’t quite fit right and the outfit is nothing Steve would wear in a million years — Black jeans with holes in the knees, a black shirt with the sleeves cut off and ‘Iron Maiden’ emblazoned on it in red. Wayne picks up Eddie’s vest from the chair Steve carefully laid it down on. He had been wearing it under his jacket that he wore into the Upside Down. Eddie hadn’t asked for it back. 

“You know something?” Wayne says, holding the vest in his hands. 

Steve just shakes his head. 

“He wears this every single day. Won’t leave the damn house without it,” Wayne smiles. He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over a fraying edge of the back patch. “This patch on the back here was a t-shirt at one point. I took him to St Louis to see Dio in ‘84… It was supposed to be a graduation present, but I couldn’t take it back when he didn’t graduate, not when I saw how excited he was. Anyway, I bought him a shirt because I had saved up as much as I could to go all out for this. It was his favorite shirt, wore it every day until the neckline was falling apart and the sleeves were just about coming off. He asked me one day if it would be okay to turn it into a patch, you know. He knows it cost money, so he thought he’d ask. I just laughed and told him he better before it’s completely ruined.”

Steve finds himself smiling as Wayne tells him. 

“Anyway,” Wayne says, passing the vest over to Steve. “For him to give this to you — I don’t know if you know what that means. He’s put hours into sewing these patches on, he made some of these pins by himself, you know. Made the design, pressed it with one of those button presses the school has, or whatever, he spent his own money on others. It’s all the things he likes most… What I’m saying is that this vest is Eddie. It’s everything he is. You better keep that safe and understand how much trust he has in you. That’s why I’ve been helping you, even knowing you were a dick to him in school.”

Steve feels like he’s going to burst into tears. He hugs the vest to his chest, and then quickly slips it on to wrap himself up in it. It’s covered in blood, it smells, but it’s Eddie’s. 

Eddie isn’t strapped down to the bed when they walk into his room. He isn’t cuffed. There are no police officers sitting guard outside his room, stopping everyone but hospital personnel from going in. Steve is just about to ask how when the answer walks into the room. 

“Hey, kid.”

Steve turns around and can’t believe what he’s seeing. Jim Hopper is standing there, his head shaved, his clothes hanging loosely off his body, deep bags under his eyes. But alive. He’s alive and standing right in front of Steve, and he’s the reason Eddie isn’t being carted away to prison while he’s still in a coma. Eleven steps into the room behind him, and her head is shaved again, too. She’s taller now, her face is so much older. Like she’s aged five years in the eight months since Starcourt. Steve imagines she’s seeing the same thing when she looks back at him. 

She walks right in and wraps Steve up in her arms, her head pressed into his chest. She lifts her head and presses in close to his good ear before speaking again, and Steve — well, Steve figures of course El would know. She has always been far too observant. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

“For what?” Steve asks, returning the embrace. 

“You have kept my friends alive,” El whispers. “You have taken care of everyone. Dustin says they would have had no chance if you did not drive them around.”

Steve laughs. That’s true, but he doesn’t feel like he’s all that important in the grand scheme of things. 

Hopper pulls him into a hug next, and it’s weird because Hopper and Steve were never all that close, but it’s nice, too because Steve still mourned Hopper, and now he’s here. He’s here and he’s likely the reason Eddie isn’t cuffed to his bed rails, and he’s going to make all of the Upside Down bullshit better because he isn’t afraid to go in headfirst to anything. 

“What are you wearing?” Hopper asks, taking a step back to look at him. 

Steve feels even more heat rush into his face, even when he’s already feverish. “They’re not mine.”

Hopper barks out a laugh, then grabs Steve’s arm to pull him into the hallway. 

“You need to get fixed up, kid,” Hopper says with no room for argument. “I got Eddie’s charges dropped, and now you’re going to do this for me, alright?”

“Or what?” Steve asks. “You’re going to re-arrest him?”

“I just might,” Hopper says, amused. 

There’s a doctor at the end of the hallway that Hopper passes Steve off to, and he spends the next few hours being sewn up and pumped full of antibiotics. He spends that time worrying and wondering if Eddie is going to wake up anytime soon. He’s worried that he won’t be there when he does. 

Steve doesn’t really know why that matters so much to him.

Read more on AO3

#this is chapter 1 so go ahead onto chapter 2! #mind the tags #sorry i’m just trying to promo all my recent fics bear with me #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #my fics #steve/eddie #wayne munson

[eldritch-thrumming]

When witches turn eighteen years old, it’s customary for them to be sent out into the world, to practice their magic and find their calling. So when Eddie Munson’s birthday passes in July, he packs a suitcase, says goodbye to his Uncle Wayne—the best garden witch in the tri-county area, ask anyone!—zips his cat into the neck of his leather jacket (whom he’d cleverly named Kitty when he was six years old), climbs on his broom, and sets off for the city on the coast.

Once he gets there, Eddie’s not entirely sure where to go. He’s never actually been to the city before, but he’d heard so many stories—from classmates and friends, from travelers passing through his small town who’d come searching for Wayne’s recipes, from the witches who returned after their year-long apprenticeships—that he’d known since he was thirteen that he had to see it for himself. He wanders the cobblestone streets with his broom and his bag and marvels at the crowds. He watches a magician perform on the street—doesn’t miss it when he slips a card up his sleeve or shifts a coin through his fingers, but it still makes him smile—before he stumbles onto a ‘help wanted’ sign in a shop window. Kitty lets out a tiny meow from where she’s tucked under Eddie’s chin, like she’s trying to get his attention. Eddie glances down at her and she shifts her gaze from his face to the sign and back again.

“Alright, I hear ya,” Eddie murmurs, grinning and cupping a hand over her head for a quick pet.

A tiny bell jingles overhead as Eddie pushes open the front door. Immediately, he’s met with the smell of baking bread and sugary frosting. He breathes deep, giving Kitty another pat on her head. He stands at the counter for a moment before a boy around his age appears from the back room.

“Hi, welcome to The Bakery. What can I help you with?” The boy is grinning wide, wiping his flour-covered hands on his apron. He’s got soft brown hair and eyes to match. Eddie meets his gaze and feels himself blush.

“Um, you have a ‘help wanted’ sign in your window?” Eddie hooks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the sign.

“Oh! Yeah, we just put that up today actually. We’re looking for a delivery person,” the boy is still grinning, eyeing Eddie’s broom. “I’m Steve.” He holds out his hand over the counter for Eddie to shake.

“Eddie.” Steve’s hand is surprisingly soft when Eddie shakes it.

“The job comes with a room over the bakery, our hours are from 6am to 5pm every day but Thursday, and we’d like you to start immediately.”

“Oh, um. Just like that?”

Steve grins again. “I may not be smart, but even I know not to turn away a witch when one comes knocking.” He knocks his knuckles against the wooden counter and Eddie returns his smile. “Come on, I’ll show you the room.” Steve turns to head back the way he came and Eddie takes a moment to look down at Kitty. She blinks at him, all-knowing, and it makes Eddie blush again. He rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at her before following behind Steve.

He follows Steve out the bakery’s back door and up a set of wooden stairs that lead from the garden to a small deck, where Steve pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks one of the two doors. He gestures for Eddie to step through the doorway before following behind him.

“The room is furnished, there’s a small stove there in the corner with a sink and a washroom just over there,” Steve gestures to a door on the opposite wall from the tiny bed. “My apartment’s the next door over and I have a full kitchen, which you’re welcome to use if you need to. Here’s your key,” Steve drops the warm piece of metal into Eddie’s palm, “and I’ll have the spare key to my place and the bakery for you tomorrow. Make yourself at home and head down to the bakery tomorrow morning.” Steve pats him on the shoulder before heading back out of the tiny room and down into the bakery.

Eddie is left to do nothing but blink at the empty space Steve had left behind. He’s not entirely sure what just happened, but he’s pretty sure he’s landed both a job and a place to stay. Not bad for his first day in the city.

~*~

A year passes and Eddie is happy. He writes to Wayne and tells him all about Steve and the recipes he tries out in the bakery. Tells Wayne that he suspects that Steve might have some witch blood he doesn’t know about; the things he can do with buttercream are pure magic. Eddie visits Wayne once for his birthday—it’s a long way by broom—weighed down by pastries and cakes that Steve insists he take home with him.

Eddie starts to learn the landscape of the city, learns when to fly over the coastline and when to keep tight to the city streets. He makes his own posters, starts to do some deliveries after hours too, which leads him to meet all sorts of interesting people. He meets artists and performers, writers and teachers, even the man who services the big clock at the center of the city (which Eddie finds particularly impressive).

He spends time with Steve. Steve is funny and smart, despite what he’d said the first day Eddie had met him. He can cook, not just bake, and he insists that Eddie joins him for dinner at least three nights a week. At first, Eddie had tried to say no to Steve’s invitations, thinking that Steve was just being polite, but Steve had insisted and Eddie realized that Steve was actually pretty lonely. He wasn’t from the city and he didn’t have much family; he’d come here when his parents had died. He’d apprenticed with an older woman named Claudia, who’d left the bakery to him when she’d retired not too long ago. Steve’s eyes go soft whenever he mentions her. Her son, Dustin, still helps them around the bakery three days a week, counting down the days until he leaves for university (he only ever relays the amount of days and Eddie’s pretty bad at math, but by his count, Dustin’s still got about three years to go).

Steve also talks about his best friend, Robin, who’s away at art school. Steve is hoping when she comes back in the spring, she’ll work at the bakery decorating the cakes. Eddie’s surprised to learn that Robin is also a witch; he hadn’t known many witches to go to art school.

The year passes in dinners and picnics, in deliveries and odd jobs, and when spring is finally turning over into summer again, Robin arrives home to the bakery.

“Stevie!” A voice calls from the front of the shop, scratchy and warm, drowning out the jingle of the bell. Eddie is sat on the counter in the back room, completely entranced by the way Steve’s arm muscles jump under his skin as he kneads bread dough. He’s barely listening to some story Steve’s telling about something Dustin had done the other day.

Eddie watches as Steve stops what he’s doing completely. “Robbie?” A smile spreads across Steve’s face, quick and involuntary. He doesn’t even pause to wipe his hands before he’s rushing into the front of the shop. Eddie watches through the door as a pretty girl with short blond hair throws her arms around Steve’s neck. He lifts her off the ground, spinning her around, leaving flour fingerprints across the back of her navy t-shirt.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?” Steve asks when he’s finally returned her to an upright position on her own two feet.

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, dingus.” She pokes a finger into his ribs and he half-heartedly tries to shove her away.

Watching them, Eddie feels something tighten in his chest that he can’t quite explain. He knows this is Robin—he’s seen pictures of her before—knows she’s Steve’s best friend, but this is more than mere friendship. This is something else entirely. Something magic. Eddie’s a good witch. He knows true love when he sees it.

“You have to meet Eddie,” Steve says before calling through the doorway, “Eddie, come meet Robin!”

Eddie hops off the counter and does as he’s told.

~*~

A few weeks later, Eddie wakes with a pounding headache. There’s a breeze coming through his window off the coast and it makes him shiver. He coughs and looks around for Kitty, but she isn’t curled in her usual spot on his pillow. Eddie sniffles.

He pulls himself from his bed and feels dizzy. He washes his face and drinks some orange juice before he heads down to the bakery.

“Wow, you look awful,” Robin says by way of greeting. She grimaces as he comes through the doorway.

“Gee thanks,” Eddie grumbles half-heartedly in her direction. His voice sounds heavy and hoarse.

Steve crosses the room from where he stands in front of the ovens and presses the back of his hand to Eddie’s forehead. “Eddie, you’re burning up. You should go back to bed. I’ll bring you soup later.” He pushes Eddie in the direction of the back door.

“But the deliveries,” Eddie mumbles, eyes already half closing as he dreams of getting back into his sleep-warm bed.

Steve smiles softly. “Don’t worry. Robin and Dustin can handle it.” Eddie glances behind Steve at Robin, who nods at Eddie reassuringly.

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice is a whisper and then he’s stumbling back up the stairs and falling into his bed. He wonders again where Kitty’s run off to.

~*~

Eddie is in and out of consciousness for three days. He has strange dreams, some of them nightmares where monsters chase after him as he tries to fly away on his broom; others are about Steve and Robin and even Dustin, good dreams of the life he’s made here for himself.

Steve keeps his promise and brings him soup every day, helping Eddie sit up against his pillows and even helping Eddie spoon the broth into his mouth. Eddie thinks he maybe should be a little embarrassed about it, but it’s so nice and comforting that he can’t. It reminds him of home, of recipes from Wayne’s garden.

Robin comes to sit with him on the second night, stroking his hair and humming lullabies while he drifts off.

On the third day, when Eddie is starting to feel better, Kitty finally reappears. Eddie asks her where she’d run off to, but she doesn’t answer. She’s been keeping secrets lately.

~*~

After three days, Eddie finally returns to work. Steve gives him the first delivery, tells him Dustin and Robin can continue to help out, just for a few days, so Eddie doesn’t overexert himself. Eddie nods.

He ties the tiny pastry box to the handle of his broom and mounts it on the sidewalk outside. He kicks off from the cobblestones. Nothing happens. Flying had always come easily to Eddie. It was second nature to him, something he never really had to think about. Not all witches could fly, but Eddie can’t really remember a time when he couldn’t.

He tries to kick off from the sidewalk again. Again, nothing happens. Eddie can feel the panic rise in his chest. He swallows, tries again. Still nothing.

He hears himself let out a small whimper and he’s glad Steve’s gone back inside and can’t hear him. He glances through the shop window and sees Robin’s clever eyes watching him. She meets his gaze. He can see the naked concern there. He swallows again.

He climbs off the broom and unties the package. He carries both as he re-enters the bakery.

“Something’s wrong,” he says to Robin and Steve.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks coming out of the back room again.

“Dunno,” Eddie replies. “Broom’s broken or something. Can’t fly.” He shakes the broom in his hand.

“Does that happen?” Steve’s brow furrows. Eddie shrugs.

“Maybe you’re still sick,” Robin says. “You should go back to bed. Try again in a few days.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Eddie looks down at his feet. He passes the box to Robin and then decides she’s right. Decides he should go back to bed.

“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Steve says, reassuringly. “It’ll pass. Robin and Dustin can keep doing the deliveries for a little while.”

~*~

Eddie’s magic doesn’t come back. It’s not just the flying either. Kitty stays away longer. Eddie finds himself misunderstanding her more often than not. He keeps messing up simple cleaning spells and the easy home remedies he’s been brewing since before he can remember.

He takes his broom out every night and under the cover of darkness tries and tries and tries again. Sometimes he feels eyes watching him from Steve’s apartment, but when he glances up, all he can see is the flutter of curtains.

~*~

After three weeks of a miserable, magic-less existence, Robin knocks on the door of Eddie’s small room.

“Wanna talk?” She asks from the doorway.

Eddie considers saying no. Instead he nods and gestures toward his small kitchen table. She sits.

“I saw you practicing,” she says, diving right in.

“Yeah.” Eddie doesn’t try to deny it or even play dumb and ask what she means. She’s a witch. She’ll know. “Flying used to be like breathing. I didn’t even notice I was doing it half the time. Think I learned to fly before I could even walk. Now it’s all I think about. Feels like something’s missing now, like my lungs or, like, a part of my heart or something.”

Robin nods, knowing. “That happened to me, you know. Lost my magic. Felt like I lost an arm.”

Eddie swallows. “What helped get it back?”

“I met Steve,” she says softly, a fond smile playing around the corners of her lips. “I left home earlier than other witches. I never really fit in. I wanted to go to school. Didn’t know if I even wanted to practice my magic at all. My parents said if I stuck it out, I could leave when I was fourteen. So I did. I waited and counted the days and finally it was time. Spent a year in the city. I loved it. But then, one of my friends… something happened to her.” Robin looks sad and twists her fingers together, fidgeting. “She had to leave the city. When she left, I got really sick. Couldn’t do magic for almost a year.”

“A year?” Eddie asks, mouth hanging open. “I can’t not fly for a whole year.”

Robin hums. “You figure it out. You have to. Some days it’s more noticeable than others.”

“But you met Steve. And you got your magic back?” Eddie prompts.

“Yeah. It’s like that saying, you know the one? ‘True love makes the best magic.’” She says it like she’s said it a hundred thousand times before.

Eddie grumbles. “Don’t think I’m gonna fall in love and magically fix my flying problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t say anything about falling in love.” Robin smiles again, big and bright this time. “There’s more than one kind of true love.”

~*~

Eddie thinks about what Robin had said to him for days. He turns it over in his mind again and again and again.

He starts laying out treats for Kitty. He misses her. Even before he got sick and lost his magic, he’d started to leave her behind more and more on his deliveries. He’d realized he could fly faster without worrying about her falling from inside his jacket.

She’s hesitant, but she starts coming back more. When they sleep, she returns to her place on Eddie’s pillow and Eddie feels good with the soft, warm weight of her next to his head as he slowly drifts into sleep.

Before he’d gotten sick, he’d taken on too many deliveries. He’d stopped having time to chat with the customers, to hear the little stories of their lives, of cleaning the clock tower at the center of town or a new plot point one of the writers had just figured out. He’d missed hearing the explanations of what celebrations he was delivering cupcakes or tarts or heart-shaped cakes for. Delivering on foot gave him a lot more time to stop and watch the street performers, to help tourists with directions. On foot, Eddie began to appreciate the city again, like he had before, when he’d first gotten here. When it felt like he’d been dropped right into the center of a dream realized.

He starts having more dinners with Robin and Steve. He’d stopped doing it so much, not wanting to feel like a wonky third wheel. But they slot him in right next to them, right in the middle. They fill him in on inside jokes and old stories. Sometimes Dustin joins them and Eddie tells stories of Wayne and the strange people who used to appear on their doorstep in search of some of his magic.

Eddie starts to feel happy again.

~*~

A week after he talked to Robin, Eddie brings his broom out into the center of the street. It’s close to dusk, the sun low in the sky, and the bakery is closed for the day. Steve, Robin, and Dustin stand shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, waiting.

Eddie breathes deep. He swallows. Breathes again. And then he mounts his broom like he has a million times before. He grips the polished handle. He feels it thrum beneath his fingertips. He takes another deep breath, closes his eyes, and kicks off from the cobblestones.

There’s a strange sort of hush to the street. Eddie can’t tell if he’s in the air. He squints an eye open and sees Steve, Robin, and Dustin waving up at him. He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He lets out a shout.

He does a few circles around, just above their heads, while they all scream and clap for him. Eddie can’t help but laugh. He’d missed this.

When he finally lands, they all rush to hug him. Dustin lets go first and then Steve.

Robin’s arms are still around him when she whispers into his ear, low enough so only he can hear it. “See? True love magic.” Eddie smiles again and gives her one last tight squeeze before letting go.

Dustin and Robin head back inside, leaving Steve and Eddie to stare at each other in the empty street. Steve is still grinning, his hands in his pocket.

“How’s it feel?” Steve nods toward the broom.

“Feels like breathing,” Eddie tells him, closing the space between them. Steve’s cheeks flush and Eddie doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick from Eddie’s gaze down to his lips and back again. Steve licks his own lips. “Feels like home.”

Steve is breathing a little harder now as Eddie continues to slowly close the distance between them.

“Feels like magic,” Eddie whispers, before he brushes his lips against Steve’s. He pulls back slightly. “Feels like love.” Steve’s hand comes up to curl around the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling Eddie in close for a real and proper kiss, right there in the empty street, under the setting sun.

now on ao3 :)

(For @outpastthebrakers for commenting on the post where I mentioned this!!!! Warning: this was fully written under the influence of a sleeping pill in abt an hour and a half. Don’t hold that against me :P)

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #stobin #platonic stobin #Eddie munson is a witch #Robin buckley is a witch #Robin buckley #Kiki’s delivery service au #steddie au #steddie fluff #sorry abt not putting a read more I still can’t figure it out on mobile despite 3000 of you trying to explain. it to me #I’m too exhausted to fix it rn literally abt to pass out as we speak

[kennahjune]

PART 3 OF S3 STEDDIE!!

(Hopefully the last part)

Tag list: @nuggies4life @waelkyring @goodolefashionedloverboi @forest-fogg @cometsandstardust @bird-with-pencils @y4r3luv @xxsky-shockxx @lil-gremlin-things @giopandaonice @hippieg1rl420 @yoyokiss97 @stucksolangelo (I love ur user) @pizazzmcjazz @samsoble @mugloversonly @how-about-nah-honey @newmoonydude @the-alpha-ursae-minoris @r0binscript @queenie-ofthe-void @myguiltyartpleasure @geekymagicalpotato @b-e-e-b-o-i @shunna @slitherynchiken @sweetheartprincess28 @tinyplanet95 @enoki-mushrooms @wrenisflying @pending-dope-username @gaelicblue @maya-custodios-dionach

Welcome to Part 3!!

…

Eddie watched Steve talk to Jonathan through the window of his car, checking to make sure he would be ok with Billy coming by. Apparently, from what they told Eddie, last time Billy came to pick up Max from the Byers’, he threatened to kill Lucas and gave Steve one of his worst concussions.

So fun.

When they finally drove off, Eddie and Steve stood side by side for a good minute, neither moving or even looking at each other, just standing. Until Steve made the first move to the bikes and Eddie followed.

They stayed in silence while they loaded everything into the back of the van. Mike’s bike first, then Lucas’. Then when Eddie closed the door, Steve finally spoke.

“I really am sorry about them.”

Eddie hummed and looked at him, but Steve was looking down and was biting his nails. Eddie hoped he realized it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

“No it’s fine— really, man. They weren’t doin’ any harm.” Eddie tried to reassure. Steve looked up at him skeptically, still chewing at his nails. Eddie really wanted to stop him. To pull his hands away from his mouth and hold them in his own instead. He bets Steve has soft hands.

“They really didn’t bother you? Like actually? Because I know they can all seem really pushy— even Will, in his own way— but I promise they don’t mean any harm.”

Eddie sighed, watching Steve’s eyes flit back and forth between his own. “Steve. I promise, they weren’t pushy or overwhelming or anything that might be going through that pretty little head of yours.” Steve paused and Eddie reveled in the pink that rose to his face. He smirked lightly. “If anything, it was sweet. They care about you a lot.”

Steve scoffed and turned away, walking around the van to get in, but he could see the smile on his face. Eddie chuckled and followed him over to the passenger side. When Steve hopped up and got in Eddie held the door open and leaned closely.

“What? Don’t believe me?” he smirked. The pink on Steve’s face darkened and he desperately held back a smile. “They were all over me, sweetheart. Asking questions about why I wanted to help, how I knew you, how we went to school together.” Eddie listed.

Steve scoffed again and turned away. “Get in the van, Munson.”

“Oh so I’m Munson now?”

“I swear to god—“

Eddie cackled and ran over to his side. Steve closed the door while Eddie jumped in.

…

The ride was really fun. Eddie expected it to be somewhat awkward and quiet but Steve was quite the talker. Eddie was content to listen while Steve went on and on about the kids; one in particular named Dustin, who was apparently at a summer camp.

They dropped off Mike’s bike first, Steve stopping in to say hi to the Lady Wheelers before popping back out and into the van. This time with a sticker or two on his face.

“Holly,” he said, as if that explained it all.

“Ah,” he responded, and started driving.

Lucas’ was next, Steve being greeted outside by Mrs. Sinclair and apparently Lucas’ little sister Erica.

Mrs. Sinclair took the bike while Steve argued with Erica about something or other, Eddie wasn’t really paying attention to anything other than how hot Steve was when he had his hands on his hips. Those shorts did wonders for his ass, Eddie had to admit.

When Steve finally got back in the car after a hug goodbye from Mrs. Sinclair Eddie was smoking a cigarette out the window. Steve eyed his curiously. “You alright?”

Eddie finished his last drag and nodded, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray he had in his cup holder.

As Steve buckled up and Eddie pulled out he asked “Where to now, baby?”

When Steve didn’t answer for a good couple of seconds, Eddie looked over.

Steve was red in the face. Like— really red. His eyes were wide and Eddie could see a bit of green mixed with the hazel, exposed by the dying sunlight. “You alright?” he asked skeptically.

Steve nodded slowly and swallowed. He turned his head to look out the window and brought his feet up on the seat to fold against his chest. He mumbled “Your place for my car” before he folded one arm against his chest and the other against the window to pillow his head. Eddie smiled giddily and started to the trailer.

…

“Baby”. The only thing that was going through Steve’s head right now.

When was the last time he’d been called any sort of pet name? Let alone something so intimate? Short answer: never. Steve was always using the pet names in relationships— both platonic and romantic. So hearing Eddie Munson, in his western accent and deep, rumbly voice, call him “baby” had sent him spiraling off kilter.

Steve closed in on himself best he could while being confined to the van. He could suddenly feel everything on him; where his shorts slightly rode up, how his shirt brushed against his shoulders oddly, how the stickers on his face from Holly stabbed slightly at his skin, everything. It was a little overwhelming.

He didn’t even notice when they pulled onto the street of Eddie’s trailer, or when the van pulled into the driveway, or when the van stopped. He jumped and nearly hit himself in the face when a hand landed on his thigh.

“Sorry!” came the rushed apology from Eddie, who quickly retracted his touch. Steve mourned the loss the of the warmth. “We’re here. You were hella zoned out so I didn’t think you noticed,” Eddie hastily explained.

With a moments pause Steve studied Eddie carefully. He studied the rosy blush on his cheeks, his ruffled hair, his dark eyes, his pretty pink lips. Steve cleared his throat and thanked him before jumping out of the van.

“Hey, man,” Eddie called to him before Steve could reach his own car. “You wanna come in for a bit? It’s only 3 and you look like you could use a nice beer.”

“Oh— I don’t want to intrude—“

“The King? Scared of intruding on a simple peasants home? How the times have changed!” Eddie placed a hand over his heart dramatically while smirking at Steve.

Steve watched him for a moment, smiled so wide his face hurt, and finally accepted. “Fuck it. Sure, I could use a beer.”

And that’s where they were now, sitting in Eddie’s room, drinking their beers and sharing their silence. Steve didn’t think it was awkward, but the more beer he drank the more he felt the urge to fill the silence that settled comfortably between them. He always was a talkative drunk.

“Hey, Eddie.” Steve placed his beer on the crowded bedside table and rolled over on his stomach. “Thanks.”

Eddie eyed him oddly and took another swig of his own beer before reaching over Steve to place it down. Steve preened at the closeness of Eddie reaching over him and rolled back into his back. When Eddie sat back down he asked

“Thanks for what?”

Steve exhaled silently. “Thanks for helping me yesterday. Most people would’ve just left. Hey— I also need to thank your friends. Jeff and Gareth right?”

Eddie paused and looked at Steve. Steve swallowed and felt his breathing pick up slightly. Beer makes it hard for him to conceal emotions. Not that there was anything he was hiding.

Eddie smirked. “You can tell them yourselves tomorrow. I planned on stopping by the store for a bit to get the ice cream I never got yesterday.”

Steve scoffed and smacked Eddie’s leg. They’ve never really spoken to each other before this. Fleeting looks in the halls, catching each other’s eyes in the cafeteria, but never speaking. If they spoke during high school then they threatened to break whatever spell was over them.

But this; this is different. This isn’t them being scared to interact. This is them taking every risk, every threat, and hitting it head on. This was Steve leaving his comfort zone to find something better.

But there wasn’t anything else to it.

(Who is he lying to?)

A sudden thought hit Steve. “Hey, do you still have that club? That DND one?”

Eddie startled a little too hard and coughed. Steve panicked and sat up, patting him on the back and yelling to “fucking breathe”.

“Holy shit.” Eddie coughed/laughed out. “His highness is acquainted with the farmer boy’s game.” He smirked.

Steve huffed and folded his arms, leaning on the headboard. “I’ve never played it myself. But the kids are all really obsessed.”

“Even Max?”

“No, just the boys.”

“Ah. And you brought up Hellfire, why?”

“Because I was wondering if you could take them in next year. They’re starting their freshman year and I want them to be as comfortable as they can. Hellfire will do that for them.”

Eddie regarded him closely, and Steve felt himself go stiff under his gaze; his shoulders rose and his arms tightened against his chest.

“You really care about those kids, huh Harrington?”

Steve exhaled. “Yeah.” his response came out barely above a whisper.

It was near 4 now, according to the clock on Eddie’s dresser. Steve really should be going. The kids would blow up his walkie if he took any longer.

But he didn’t want to move. Steve was caught in Eddie’s gaze; wonderment, curiosity, hunger. It was endearing and Steve didn’t want it to end. When was the last time someone looked at him like that? He doesn’t think Nancy ever looked at him like— even before everything went to shit.

He took in a deep breath when Eddie’s eyes flickered to his eyes and then his lips. His eyes then his lips. His eyes then his lips.

Steve sat up slowly, not knowing what else to do.

“Um—“ his voice cracked and Eddie smirked. “I have to— I have to— um, uh—“

“You have to leave?” Eddie supplied, raising an eyebrow.

Steve nodded vigorously. Gods he could feel the heat in his face while Eddie continued to smirk.

He had a lot to think about as Eddie guided him to the front door, talking lowly as to not disturb the quietness they’ve contained for the past hour. Eddie also had a hand on the small of Steve’s back, guiding him down the hall and through the living room. Steve chose not to say anything; he liked the warmth of Eddie’s hand on his back.

Eddie sees him to his car and all the while he’s talking very quietly, the cadence of his voice soothing and calming. Steve loved the way it reverberated through his skull in a soft thrum.

Steve doesn’t remember much about driving to the Byers’, he remembers pulling out of the trailer and turning on the radio, Take On Me playing quietly in the background as if letting his thoughts take front stage. He didn’t know how to feel about anything. But he knew he needed to get to the Byers’ before Max left.

Only when he blinked into reality did he notice the blue eyes in the blue Camaro staring at him intensely. Steve gulped. He couldn’t deal with this, not after such a bad migraine. Not after what happened last year.

But to Steve’s confusion, when Billy got out of his car and Steve did the same, there were no words exchanged. No death threats. No “I’ll kick your ass”. Nothing. In fact— Billy seemed headstand around Steve. And with a fluttering sensation in his gut and a small pick-up in his heartbeat, Steve thought for a moment that maybe Eddie said something to Billy yesterday to make him back off.

He disregarded this thought almost immediately.

Now he and Billy stood side by side on the Byers’ porch. Steve stood idly by, not wanting to get too close to Billy and risk having bad attitude rubbed off on him.

“Well?” Billy snapped after a moment. Steve loathed the way he jumped in his skin. “I’m not fucking knocking.”

“I didn’t know you knew what the hell that was,” Steve uttered while giving four sharp knocks to the door. Billy growled. Call animal control, Steve thought silently to himself.

“Clam it, Harrington. Just cause you have Munson on your side doesn’t do shit to save you. I’ll have your ass down and folded in seconds if I really wanted to.”

On his side?

“Talk all you want Billy, you’re all bark no bite. You scream and you talk and you say shit and yet when was the last time you followed through with something, huh? Does the new King find himself in a pickle? Or did everyone finally leave the damn kingdom.”

Billy looked ready to murder and probably would have had Jonathan not opened the door right at that moment. Billy eyed him cautiously, less in fear and more in “you know things you shouldn’t”. You know, the way Jonathan’s typically eyed.

“Steve, hey. Hargrove.” Jonathan nodded to them.

“Hey, Jon.” Steve smiled. Billy tutted and huffed, his arms crossed.

“Just get the girl already. Neil’s gonna have my ass if she doesn’t he out here already.”

Jonathan eyed Billy silently. Everyone seemed to be eyeing each other today. He nodded and went back into the house. When Billy noticed that Steve had made no moves to go inside as well, he raised an eyebrow and seemed to close in on himself even more.

“The hell are you waiting for, Harrington? You going in or not?”

Steve shrugged. He really wasn’t going anywhere until he saw Max and Billy drive away. He knew Billy wouldn’t try anything if he knew Steve was watching, and Steve was determined to keep Max as safe as possible— even if for a few seconds.

“I’m waiting for the boys. I’m dropping them off.” Which wasn’t an entire lie, really.

“Whatever.”

Max emerged from the house at that moment, eyeing Billy warily, as if he might shatter in a moments notice. Steve huffed a barely audible laugh. Max’s hair was sticking up in every-which-way; she must’ve taken a nap.

Billy stalked off the porch without a word. Jonathan was in the doorway now as well, watching Max step up to Steve and hug him before running off to the car.

“Stay safe, Red!” Steve called after her.

Max waved and called back “I will!”

Steve waved to her the entire way down the street until she and the car were gone. When he turned back to Jonathan, the latter was smiling at him. Steve blushed to the tip of his ears.

“What?”

Jonathan snickered. “Nothin, man. Get the hell in here.”

…

Mike and Lucas were hounding him the moment he stepped into the living room. Will clearly had something to say as well but kept his distance. To Steve’s pleasant surprise, El and Hopper were there as well.

Steve told them how they dropped the bikes off and explained the star and smiley stickers on his face. But he kept everything else to himself.

Hopper huffed and put his cigarette out. “Watch yourself around him, kid. Munson’s trouble.”

Steve scoffed. “Eddie couldn’t hurt a fly. He’d run in the opposite direction. You’re just wary cause he’s Hawkins’ best dealer.”

Hopper huffed and rapped his knuckles on the coffee table. “That’s exactly it. I don’t none of you kids getting involved in that shit.”

“And we won’t, you old man,” exclaimed Mike from where he sat between Will and El. “No one here is interested in that shit and I doubt he’d sell to any of us.”

Lucas and Will nodded. El had no idea what they were talking about.

Steve snorted and shared a look with Jonathan and Joyce.

“Anyway,” Steve interrupted before Hopper and Mike could chew each other’s heads off. “I better get Mike and Lucas home soon.”

Everyone groaned, including El.

“Why not have a sleepover?” El asked slowly, piecing together the sentence.

Steve shrugged. “I have no objections. But you’d all be going home early cause I have work.”

“Why couldn’t we go to work with you?” asked Mike. Lucas and Will nodded while El looked at him and Hopper expectantly.

“Um—“ Steve looked at Hopper.

“Steve, El. Kitchen please.” Hopper stood up and walked off, expecting them to follow. Steve gulped and followed with El. Oh what the fuck?

…

Eddie was positively floating the next day. He was convinced he actually had a chance Steve Harrington of all people. And no one was telling him otherwise.

As promised to Steve the previous day, Eddie was back at Scoops Ahoy. He was tagged along with Jeff and Gareth just as yesterday— but with the new addition Brian finally joining them.

(Idk if I gave him a name in the other parts so he’s Brian now.)

Just as Eddie opened the door to walk in, it burst open and he was surrounded by four familiar kids. There was a new face who lingered towards the back and Eddie waved at her. She waved back, but didn’t smile. It kind of threw Eddie off.

But Steve was inside the shop with Robin, talking animatedly to Jonathan, and Eddie felt right at home.

Man, when did that happen?

…

OK OK IM SORRY ILL MAKE A PART 4 😭😭

#stranger things #steve harrington #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #eddie munson #robin buckley #will byers #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #el hopper #steddie thoughts #steddie hcs #steddie fics #steve harrington gets killer migraines #but he has his emotional support metalhead to help #this is part 3 #i’m sorry #I’ll make a spare 4

[stvharrngton]

Are you still doing requests from the smut prompt? If so here’s one

“i wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it”

anon i’m so sorry i got a little carried away with this one oops i hope you enjoy! thank you to @sweetiestevie for giving me a lil inspo for this ily 🥺💖

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, softdom!steve, oral (f receiving), choking, a sprinkle of exhibitionism 🤌

prompt: “i wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it” from this list (x)

Steve loved to spoil you at every chance he got. Small gifts and trinkets that reminded him of you, a bouquet of roses here and there. He never let you pay for a single date, ever.

So when he proposed a weekend getaway to the big city, fancy hotel, fancy dinner, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. The trusty BMW taking you out of Hawkins, Indiana to the bright lights that seemed like a dream.

He’d been all over you all day, clingier, more affectionate than usual and that was saying something. His hand only leaving your thigh to handle the gear shift. He’d lean over to press his lips to yours at every stop light, smiling into every kiss.

Steve’s hands never left your waist as you walked into the hotel lobby, a palm on the small of your back ushering you into the elevator ride to one of the top floors. His lips pressing chaste kisses to your neck and shoulder, your eyelids fluttering closed at the feeling.

The piercing chime of the elevator signaled you were at your floor, your fingers lacing with Steve’s to pull him down the hallway to your room. He fumbled for the room key, turning the metal in the lock before pulling you inside.

You both collapsed on the bed, you straddling Steve’s lap, knees either side of his thighs. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you into him, his lips pressed to yours in a heavy make out session, a slow roll of your hips over his own. Nothing more, nothing less.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, your breath hitched in your throat as you pulled yourself off the boy. Giggling as he chased your lips with his own.

“Steve,” you chuckled.

“Just a few more minutes honey, come on,” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips pressing wet kisses there.

“Steve,” you tried again, “we have a reservation!” Freeing yourself from his grip, you stood making your way towards the bathroom.

He sighed, body collapsing back against the plush pillows and you couldn’t help but laugh at him, “What?” you pouted, “You don’t wanna take me to dinner in a pretty little dress, Stevie?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, baby, I swear.”

But he didn’t stop there. Fingers twirling in your hair, hands massaging your shoulders as you sat in front of the vanity. Arms snaking around your waist as Steve rested his chin on your shoulder, watching for your reaction in the mirror.

You peeled your boyfriend off you and locked yourself in the bathroom to change your clothes. You knew there was no way in hell you’d be leaving this hotel room if you didn’t.

When you re-emerged into the room, you caught a glimpse of Steve adjusting his tie in the mirror, you smirked to yourself when you saw him stare at you. You made your way over to the bed, perching on the edge to put your shoes on, strappy heels in tow.

As you positioned your foot in the first shoe Steve came barrelling over, “Woah, let me? Baby, please?”

You rolled your eyes at his gesture but let him anyway, palms gripping the edge of the bed as you watched him buckle up the straps of your shoe, a kiss pressed to each ankle once he was done.

Steve’s warm palms wrapped around your calves, hands rubbing up and down until they reached your thighs. He squeezed them gently, lips pressing soft kisses to your knees. His fingers ventured a little higher under the hem of your dress, skimming up and down the slit that was situated at the thigh.

His breath hitched in his throat when his fingers brushed over the skin where the hem of your panties would usually sit, cheeks flushing a little pink, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I think you’re forgetting something, pretty” he hushed, lips kissing up your thigh, fingers pushing your dress further up your legs not-so-subtly.

Steve’s lips followed his fingers, inching ever closer to your bare core. Your skin shivered under his touch, eyes a little hazy as they glanced over at the clock once more.

You sighed, bringing your foot up to his shoulder, pushing him back gently until he sat on his knees, “We’re gonna be late.” is all you said.

Steve didn’t let up at dinner either, touches still teasing, words still filthy. He sat the same side of the table as you now, insisting it was so he could share your dessert.

But his fingers were on you once more discreetly under the table, tracing circles on the inside of your thigh, lips against your ear whispering sweet nothings, “My pretty girl, look so beautiful tonight, baby.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you shifted under his touch, Steve’s fingers dangerously close to your pussy under the table, a whimper escaping your lips as his thumb brushed over your clit.

Steve smirked into your cheek, nose pressing into your skin, “You wanna be a little show off, hm? Not wearing any panties to a fancy restaurant,” he tsked, “I’ll show you off, baby, if you want me to,” his lips pressed to that spot behind your ear now, “fuck you in front of the whole damn city.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at how calm his voice was despite what he was saying to you. Thumb pressing harshly into your clit, your shaky hand reaching for the half full glass of champagne.

You held the glass to your lips as Steve whispered, “You wanna get outta here?”

You nodded gingerly, Steve’s fingers reaching for your glass, setting it back down on the table. He pinched your chin between his thumb and finger, spinning your jaw so he could press his lips to yours. The kiss was hot and heavy, a little more than the people dining in the restaurant needed to see.

It was a miracle you made it back to your hotel room with all your clothes still on. Steve’s hands were all over you, his lips a whirlwind, pressing wet kisses to any exposed skin he could find.

Letting the door shut behind him with a click, you pulled the boy back down to you by his tie. Fingers curling around the black material as your lips crashed together. Steve grasped your waist, kissing you harder, deeper as he walked you back to the bed.

You felt the sheets hit the back of your knees as Steve pulled away from you, “Turn around, sweet girl,” pressing a kiss to your cheek, “hands and knees.”

Anticipation coursed through your body as you obliged, crawling onto the bed, knees planted firmly into the mattress, hands spread on the sheets as you arched your back.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, hands gripping your thighs as he pushed your dress up your body so it sat around your waist. Your cunt in full view.

His long fingers teased your folds, gathering up your slick and spreading it over your pussy, the pads of his fingers brushing over your swollen clit.

“Such a pretty pussy, baby,” he groaned, pointer finger teasing your entrance, “bet you’ve been dripping this whole time, hm?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you whined, “all for you, Steve.”

Steve chuckled behind you, palms grabbing your ass, pushing and pulling the flesh. Watching with hazy eyes as your pussy fluttered before him. Steve licked a flat stripe from your clit to your hole, tip of his tongue teasing your entrance.

You mewled at the sensation of his tongue on you, moans muffled by the sheets your face was pressed into. Steve kept his hands on your ass, fingers digging into your skin with a bruising grip.

The boy ate your pussy like a man starved, puffy pink lips mouthing at your cunt, tongue licking and swirling. Steve was groaning into your folds; a mix of your slick and his spit covering his mouth and chin.

He slipped his pointer finger into your pussy, curling and stretching you just right, his lips sucking on your clit harshly. You clenched around his finger, the coil in your lower stomach tightening and twisting.

Steve added a second finger, your walls sucking him in. He pulled his mouth from you for a second, “That feel good baby? Taste so sweet.” he cooed.

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure, both at his ministrations and his words. You moaned into the sheets, hips trying to rut back against Steve’s mouth, “Yeah, Stevie, yes,” you cried, “feels so good, love your tongue.”

Steve hummed at your response, palm slapping your ass as you tried to grind your cunt on him, “Doing so good baby, such a good girl f’me.” His fingers continuing to pump in and out of you.

His hips rut against the bed at your soft moans and sweet whines, cock hard and aching beneath the confines of his pants. Steve replaced his fingers with his tongue now, the muscle lapping at your hole, fingers switching to your clit again.

He moaned into your pussy, rubbing sloppy circles on your clit, eyes squeezed shut at the pleasure he was giving you.

“‘M so close, Stevie,” you whimpered, “please, wanna cum.”

Steve groaned, “Come on, angel, lemme hear it,” fingers rubbing faster on your clit now, “sound so pretty when you cum.”

White hot pleasure rolled through your body as your thighs shook, chants of Steve’s name spilling past your lips as you fisted the white sheets. Your back arched deliciously as Steve continued to lick at you, coaxing you through your orgasm.

His mouth stayed on your pussy, tongue still softly licking at your juices, the sensation causing you to writhe on the bed, the burn becoming too hot, “Steve, s’too much.” you yelped.

Steve chuckled softly, hands coming to soothe the skin of your ass as he pulled off you. Your body collapsed on the bed, rolling on your back as Steve crawled over you, nestling between your thighs.

He cupped your cheek sweetly, lips brushing against your own, tasting yourself on his kiss. Your hands were braced on his shoulders, traveling down to rest on his biceps, squeezing lightly.

Steve pulled off you for a moment, fingers working to loosen his tie and yours fumbled to open his button up, working fast and eagerly. Once he was able to rid himself of his shirt and tie, Steve was back on you in a flash.

Large palms skimming up and down your waist. Mouth and tongue kissing and licking from your neck to your collarbones, fingertips caressing your tits over the material of your dress.

“Fuck,” Steve breathed, “you’re beautiful,” he pressed his lips to yours once more in a sweet kiss, fingers finding your clit again.

You keened beneath him at the stimulation, the remnants of your first orgasm still rolling through your body, mouth parting to sigh into Steve’s mouth.

“Steve,” you whined.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he hushed, lips pressing wet kisses all over your face as his fingers continued to rub at your clit.

“Want you,” you muttered, eyelashes fluttering against your hot cheeks. The coil in your stomach twisting again, “need your cock, baby, please.”

Steve smirked against your skin, lips upturning against your cheek. He stood back now looking at your figure on the bed.

You looked so fucked out, lips wet and cheeks red, hair splayed out against the sheets. The straps of your dress pulled down your shoulders as your legs were still spread wide, pussy dripping onto the sheets.

“C’mere,” Steve held his hand out for you and you took it, standing on wobbly legs in the boy’s arms. His fingers worked the zipper of your dress down your body, pushing the satin material down until it pooled at your feet.

You stepped out of it carefully, your fingers raking through Steve’s hair as your lips crashed together once more. Lips melding together perfectly, swallowing each other’s sighs. Steve fumbled with his belt, the clink of the metal sounding throughout the room. Hands shoving his pants down his legs.

Steve hissed as the cool air hit his aching cock, vein throbbing and tip a pretty pink, pre-cum leaking from the slit. His hand wrapped around his length, pumping himself a few times, letting a throaty groan tumble past his lips.

You watched with hazy glassy eyes as Steve touched himself, swallowing thickly. His hands moved to the back of your thighs, urging you to jump. Your legs wrapped around your waist as you slung your arms over his shoulders.

Steve kept you close with his hands on your ass, the tip of his nose brushing along the bridge of your own as he lowered his lips to yours, tongue licking into you all pretty.

Your eyes fluttered shut into the kiss as Steve walked you over to somewhere else in the room. A squeal slipping past your lips as your back hit the cool of the large hotel room window.

Eyes shooting open, Steve lined his cock up with your entrance, his tip sliding through your folds. He chuckled at your reaction,

“I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it.”

You whimpered at his admission as he pushed past your entrance, your walls wrapping tightly around him. You both moaned into the quiet of the room at the feeling of Steve stretching you out. Fingernails digging into the skin of his broad shoulders, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck.

Steve started the slow roll of his hips into your own, his cock pumping in and out of you sweetly. His lips pressing wet kisses into the skin of your neck, whines blubbering past your lips at how deep he was sat inside you.

“Feel so good baby, wrapped around my cock,” Steve groaned, hips moving a little faster now as the glass began to steam up from the warmth of your body.

Moaning, your fingers tugged at Steve’s locks, “Fuck, feel so deep, Stevie,” teeth taking your bottom lip in, “so full of your cock.”

Your words spurred him on, as if he wanted to go deeper, to fill you up even more. Even buried inside you, Steve yearned to be impossibly closer to you.

His hips slammed into your cunt, his skin hitting the backs of your thighs deliciously, he groaned, “Wanna turn around for me, pretty girl?”

Your body tingled at the thought of being pressed against the window for everyone to see as Steve fucked into you from behind. You nodded timidly as Steve pulled out, a needy whine from your lips at the loss of him inside you.

Setting you back on the ground Steve spun you, hands braced on the thick glass as your chest pressed against it. The cool of the window against your nipples only adding to the slick pooling between your thighs.

Steve brushed your hair from your shoulder, pressing chaste kisses into your neck as he whispered, “Want everyone to see how good I fuck you,” his hands danced over your bare body, “see what a good girl you are for me, hm?”

“Steve,” you moaned, a desperate, needy sound keening from your lips. You wiggled your hips, ass rutting back against his thick cock.

He chuckled from behind you, fingers gripping your flesh, “That’s my girl.”

You were flush against the glass, ass sticking out a little as Steve lined himself up again. Tip gliding through your arousal before pushing into you right to the hilt.

His hips were flush against your ass as he pulled you back into him, pulling out almost completely before going back in again, watching as your pussy swallowed his cock, walls clenching around him.

Steve rocked his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he let out the most delicious moan behind you. You watched his bleary reflection from the window, coil tightening from the sight.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips thrusting faster now, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the hotel room, “take my cock so well, baby, so fucking good, Christ.”

You mewled at his words, hot breath fanning against the glass as your hand snaked down your body so your fingers could rub at your clit. Steve groaned at the sight, his cock bullying it’s way in and out of your cunt.

He snaked his arm around your middle, pulling your back flush against his chest, fucking you deeper, harder. His soft lips kissed at the skin below your ear as his hips were unrelenting. His hand traveled up your chest, palm groping at your tits and toying with your nipples.

Steve’s hand kept going until his fingers were curled around your throat, squeezing lightly. Your eyes rolled back as tears began to creep into your lash line, mouth parting letting out a sweet little rasp.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, “you like that? Like when I choke you a little?” He felt you nod and he smirked, lips kissing on your neck, “Doing so good f’me pretty, taking this cock like a fucking champ.”

You felt the familiar creep of your orgasm coming around again, “Yeah, Stevie,” you whined, your fingers rubbing faster at your clit now, “‘m gonna cum, please can I cum?”

He sucked gently on your shoulder, a groan rumbling from his chest, “Again? Shit, you dirty little thing,” he moved both hands to your hips now, pulling you back into his cock, “go ‘head, baby, want you to cum.”

And just like that your tether snapped, your vision bleary as white hot pleasure washed over your shaking body. You whined yesyesyes over and over as Steve continued to fuck into you, his own fingers replacing your own on your clit.

“Shit,” he groaned, “good girl, good fucking girl.” Hands stroking all over your body soothingly as you rode out your high, chest heaving as your breath fanned against the glass.

You winced and moaned incoherently as Steve’s cock continued to pound into you from behind, his tip stroking that pretty spot deep inside you with every thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, white hot and burning.

“Sh,” he cooed, “I know, baby, I know,” thumbs stroking in circles over your hips, “‘m almost there.”

Steve bucked his hips, thrusts becoming mismatched and sloppy, his own orgasm right about the corner. His thighs clenched as he pulled your back to his chest, the scratch of his chest hair making you whine.

“Fucking hell,” he whined, a high pitch moan spilling past his lips, “can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, “gonna fuck this little pussy ‘till I cum, gonna stuff you full, baby.”

You whimpered, “Please, baby, please,” tears rolling down your cheeks at the sensation in your stomach, “want your cum.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut as you begged for him, thrusts quickening as he chased his high. Abs and stomach contorting as he was on the edge of release, your walls clenching around his thick cock pushing him over the line.

“Oh, fu-uck,” he groaned, moans stringing out fast and mumbled as he fucked his cum into you. Face buried in the crook of your neck as his hips slowed to a stop. His chest sweaty and panting, pressed flush to your back.

He hissed as he pulled out from you, fingers coming to push his cum back into your pussy. You whimpered are the overstimulation, your cunt raw from his cock.

Steve spun you around to face him. His strong arms cradling your wrecked body to his, lips pressed sweet butterfly kisses all over your face.

“Think we should have a nice warm bath, hm? That sound good, baby?” he whispered, hands petting your hair softly.

You nodded, voice not able to string any words together still.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #k.fic #request #i went a little crazy i’m sorry

[nburkhardt]

😇 🎄

With winter coming up that means holidays and that means, he’s going to be alone for a long period of time and truthfully?

He’s not ready.

He’s not ready to be at a house that isn’t a home, that his go-to escapes are busy with their families and traditions.

Busy going away to visit family and enjoying the warm of homes.

Steve’s been dreading this month, not just for the bad memories from the upside down. But because since the age of fourteen, he’s been on his own. Before fourteen, it was being shipped off to grandparents and as a child he loved it.

Holidays with his grandparents was fun and loud, full of life. He’d get new toys, shoes and even a bike! Then his parents decided he was old enough to be alone, that they didn’t need to spend money to ship him off to another state and back.

Now at nineteen, he could technically travel by himself. With his own money even. But every time he thinks of buying a ticket or starting to pack an overnight bag, his hands shake and there’s a whisper about how it’ll all come back the minute he’s gone.

So, he stops and continues to move around a lifeless house and pull a smile on his face around his friends. Lies to their faces about how his family will come by and not to worry about him.

But as he waves Robin off, he realizes maybe he should’ve figured out something else. Because now, now with his soulmate going out of state for the holidays, he’s actually alone now.

Oops my bad, had some thoughts and this popped out 😇

A fluffy and sappy follow up

Permanent tag list under the cut

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @strangersteddierthings

#angst #steve harrington #steve needs a hug #stranger things #fic #nburkhardt writes #hurt/no comfort #I’m sorry a little bit #maybe I could write a follow up #if someone asks 😇

[flowercrowngods]

Suggesting/Requesting Eddie having a crush on the valiant knight Steve Dustin goes on about, not realizing it's Steve "the Hair" Harrington and the way he reacts when he realizes they're the same dude. Cue adjustment period.

hi! first of all thank you for the prompt 🥰 i slipped and kinda decided to take your ‘valiant knight Steve’ quite literally and made this a medieval/regency au with knight steve and bard eddie, kinda enemies to lovers. it totally got out of hand, so this is part 1, with all my apologies to your original prompt 🤍🌷

Eddie smiles as the fields and forest that surround Hawkins come into view, kissed by the early afternoon sun with more affection and richness than the city probably deserves. It looks different this time of year, the green seems deeper than he left it, and nostalgia paints him a picture of glory and welcome that would make any traveller linger at the sight. 

He knows it’s only the magic of coming home, the thrill of having been gone so long that he needs to learn his town a-new, and the curiosity of a poet that makes his heart beat faster; but it’s his life’s blood to embrace all of that. So he spurs on his trusty horse to make it home even just a minute sooner. 

The people’s reactions to his arrival come in multitudes, though Eddie can respect the healthy dose of mistrust with which they regard him. He has made a name for himself after all, a bard more than a jester these days, but most people don’t tend to forget the pretty face they chased out of the city on multiple occasions. 

He lifts his head in greeting as he passes the elderly Wheelers as they’re tending to the flowers lining their windows, and grins with glee at both the disapproving scoff and the wary nod he gets in return. 

He’s in good spirits. Great spirits, in fact, the sun shining down on him, welcoming him and lighting familiar paths for him to tread again after years of absence. Hawkins will see his glory, his success, his victory, and it will pale in jealousy and regret. They cannot chase him away this time, not with the title of royal bard and winner of the bardic competition three years in a row. 

If his travels have taught him anything, it’s that he is pettiness acts as a wonderful motivation.

Of course, he shall also see his friends again. One of his saddlebags is half full with their letters that have accumulated over the years, all of which Eddie has kept for reasons of muse and a heart entirely too soft for his own good.

Most of all, though, even more than proving his worth and success to his city and its people, it is curiosity that brings him home. 

Dustin and his friends have been mentioning a most valiant knight, waxing poetic about his glorious deeds and his kinder heart — or, as poetic as they get, which is hardly at all. Which consequently made Eddie write no less than five ballads about the stories they told him, three of which have made it into songs yet, one of which he was made to play in every tavern on his long journey back to Hawkins and to Princess Nancy herself on more than one occasion.

The Knightmærs, as he calls his little collection of poeterey, his pride and joy about a man he has yet to meet. Tales about maidens saved and brothers defeated, hearts stolen and retrieved with the gentlest gestures, and children protected against the evils of night, expecting naught but friendship. And friendship he got. 

If Eddie’s heart picks up yet another notch at the thought of meeting this knight as the familiar city walls tower before him, he allows it for a second before announcing himself to the guards. They looked wary upon his approach and blanch now as they hear his name; Eddie does not hide his laughter this time and preens as he is told to ride on. 

“Oh, Hawkins, old friend,” he mutters under his breath, not even bothering to hide his smile. “You and I shall have so much fun, shan’t we?” 

~*~

He barely makes it to the home he has been sharing with his uncle since the ripe age of twelve with minimal fuss, unsaddling his horse and guiding her to the trough, when he hears it. 

“Eddie!”

Halting in his motions the currycomb, he looks up from the rusty brown that shines red like embers in the sun and spots Dustin racing down the street towards him. 

He lowers the comb and steps around his horse, grinning at his rapidly approaching friend. 

“Why, good day to you, young traveller, what brings you to my humble abode?” 

Dustin doesn’t falter in his approach, doesn’t even slow down, and Eddie braces himself for impact. Years of experience have made him quite practiced in handling tackle-hugs, but Dustin has grown quite a bit since he last saw him, and they both stumble backwards when Dustin’s arms wrap around Eddie in a way that seems to press all air out of his lungs. Eddie laughs as he hugs his friend back with as much ferocity. 

“I’ve missed you! I was writing to you this morning when I remembered you said you’d come this week. I didn’t think it would be today!” 

“I came as soon as I could. Such is the Munson way, or did you forget?” 

Dustin shakes his head and finally lets go, though Eddie yearns for another hug. It’s been too long. The boy has grown. He’s hardly a boy anymore, though he shall always remain as such in Eddie’s heart. He smiles and ruffles Dustin’s locks, realising with a pang that they’re almost of a height now. 

An ache like homesickness settles in his gut and wears on his heart heavily. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, smoothing out the curls he’s put in disarray. “It’s just been too long. And I’ve missed you, too. You’ve grown quite a bit since last we talked.” 

“I have!” And he looks so proud of it, too, preening a little under Eddie’s faux scrutiny, and it’s what makes him pull Dustin against his chest again. 

Eddie continues taking care of his horse, feeding her, combing through her mane, making sure she has as much comfort as he can provide after their long days of travel. Dustin sits on the fence and watches him tend to her, feeding her the occasional apple when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. He hides his smile and pretends not to see. 

God, but he has missed his friend. 

Their twosomeness is rudely and entirely too quickly interrupted by Lord Harrington of all people, who hurries down the street in search of Dustin. 

Eddie never did like the lord and his pompous appearance coupled with his rude personality. He always acted like a prince among men, subject to many a jest in Eddie’s younger days. On one memorable occasion, Eddie managed to steal the lord’s clothes and swap them with his own, making him walk about in linen rags and torn-up trousers. 

Days later, all of his lute strings ripped just as he was getting ready to play at the tavern, and he never messed with Harrington again — even though there was a parcel three days later with new lute strings and his old clothes he had made the lord wear. No note attached to it, because Lords didn’t stoop down to converse with lowly peasants even for revenge. 

So, seeing Harrington now on the very first day of his being back, it sours Eddie’s face and his humour. 

“Why, Lord Harrington,” he speaks before the man can get a word in. “To what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you here? Have you suffered a fall from grace yet, or was it a hit in the head that left you disoriented, bringing you to my humble abode?” 

Harrington frowns at him, though Eddie deems to detect confusion more than distaste. 

And then he has the audacity of not even answering to Eddie’s ruse, simply ignoring him and instead turning around to Dustin. 

“Dustin, Master Clarke is expecting you. I will not cover for you once more.” 

“But—“ 

“Spare me,” Harrington says, hands on his hips now, and Eddie is starting to feel defensive over Dustin. How dare his lordship come and steal his best friend away when he hasn’t even been home for an hour yet? 

Before he can get so much as a word in, however, Dustin is already jumping from his perch on the fence and trudging towards Harrington, rounding the man and leading the way up the hill towards the castle. 

“I’ll come back later, Eddie,” Dustin says over his shoulder, and then he is gone, rounded the corner, out of his sight. 

Harrington, however, lingers. Eddie raises his eyebrows in question and challenge, and the Lord scoffs a little. It’s like he wants to say something — but what could it be? What could Lord Harrington have to say to him, years after they last saw each other? 

He does look stunning, Eddie has to admit with a grudge against his self and his integrity. The golden light of the afternoon sun catches in his hair, likening it to strands of gold that kings and queens pay alchemists across the world to procure. Eddie, for a moment, feels like he has found it in Lord Harrington’s hair and the skin of his face, but he quickly snaps out of it, cutting off that particular train of thought before it can run away form him. 

“I hear you are a bard of great renown these days.” 

The words catch him off his guard, for Eddie was sure that the Lord would not attempt to converse. Yet it seems that propriety still has a tight grip on him. 

Does Harrington like his ballads, his plays, his poetry and sonnets? Has he heard them? Or has he heard of them? Has word travelled across the countries, telling of Eddie the Bard and his brave-hearted muse his soul yearns for and his quill bleeds for?

Eddie is not sure which option thrills him more, but whichever one it is, it makes him smile, feeling quite bashful and yet proud. 

“So you hear,” he says, approaching the stiff Lord. “What exactly is it that you hear, my Lord?” 

He swallows, following Eddie’s steps with his eyes, turning his head when the bard circles him slowly. “I hear you sing of beasts slain and brothers banished, a knight at the heart of your ballads.” Eddie smiles at that, knowing that Harrington has at least heard of two of his Knightmærs. I hear it sounds like mockery, the knight but an object of your hyperbolic fascination and flowery imagination, his pain and bravery nothing to you.” 

He stops dead in his tracks, his feet planted right before Harrington. The Lord looks like he is taking personal offence to his works, and it irritates the bard. 

“And what, Lord Harrington, would you know of fascination, pain and bravery? I cannot imagine you have faced a lot of hardship in your life, and the only acts of bravery you had to chance upon were mislead in the name of false honour.” 

“False honour,” Harrington repeats, his words like poison, sharp and dangerous as the sword’s blade at his hip. “You would know something about that, I imagine, telling stories of which you have no idea. Immortalising glory where there should be sympathy.” 

Eddie studies him, the frown between his brows, the hard line of his jaw, set and calmed to keep more words from spilling. Imposing, this Lord is. A sight for sore eyes even in his  purely misplaced anger. 

Eddie huffs, his eyes travelling between the Lord’s where they are standing so impossibly close. 

“Sympathy,” he repeats. “Nobody, my Lord, wants a ballad of sympathy. It is glory that the people seek!” He steps back from Harrington, gesturing with his arms as he dramatically recounts the lessons he has learned over the years, passionate for his craft. “Glory, heroism, heartbreak and love! Yearning and longing and deeds of an aching heart, that is what the people want to hear. That is what deserves to be immortalised in art, in poetry, in song! I shall forgive you for being so painfully unaware of this, my Lord, but I shall not stand to be in your company much longer, calling my work lacking or a mockery when it is borne out of nothing but loyalty, fascination and love.” 

They are close again, because Harrington did not step back when Eddie approached him once more, his feet planted like a tree, fierce and strong and unbudging. 

It is intoxicating, though Eddie blames half of it on the passion and the rage, on the bravery that possessed him to send the Lord away, or the fierceness with which he came to his muse’s defence. 

Harrington swallows again, his eyes wandering over Eddie’s face once more, lingering at his lips, both their jaws set in determination and perhaps a sudden tension.  

“Forgive me for insulting you with my company,” he speaks at last, his voice nothing but a rasp. “You will find there is an irony to your words soon. I shall not rob you of that discovery. I ask you do not take it out on our mutual friends when you do, Munson.” 

And with one last glance, Harrington turns on his heel and hurries up the hill, too, leaving Eddie puzzled and quite dazed upon the lingering warmth of their close proximity. 

When did Harrington become so handsome? There was a fire in his eyes that Eddie got to witness for just the blink of an eye, but he wonders where that comes from, what it means, and what other secrets he holds. 

Perhaps, if he cannot meet his muse, the knight Dustin has only ever referred to as Steve, Harrington might serve to inspire a ballad or two himself.

~*~

Harrington catches his eyes on more than one occasion over the next days. Eddie is invited to the castle to play for Princess Chrissy, though she greets him like an old friend and makes him sit close to her at the banquet. Right beside Harrington, who merely nods at Eddie, his fists clenched as Chrissy asks the bard about one of his ballads — the one about the valiant knight slaying a horde of monsters to keep the kingdom’s children safe. 

The Lord must really hate Eddie’s work. It fills him with spiteful glee, for some reason, and he makes sure to play and recite all of his Knightmærs that night. Harrington excuses himself when Eddie hasn’t even made it halfway through his songs, and he doesn’t return that night. 

He takes personal offence now and vows to make the Lord’s life as difficult as he can. 

But still there is no sign of Steve. 

Eddie is starting to get frustrated. 

He was supposed to be here, stand tall and proud with a smile on his face upon seeing Eddie, sweep him off his feet, make him swoon, dare Eddie to fall in love with the face long after the name. 

His mood is sour, and only sours further when Harrington rounds the corner and stumbles upon Eddie who is tuning his lute for tonight’s banquet. The annual royal tournament is set for the next morning, so everyone is in a good mood. 

Well, everyone except Eddie. And Lord Harrington, by the look on his face. 

“Munson,” he says, straightening before he bows his head in greeting. “Forgive me, I was looking for some quiet. I shall look somewhere else.” 

And, somehow, that is enough to snap his patience that was already wearing thin. “Why can you not stand being in my presence, sir?” he asks, rising from his seat. “Does it disgust you so to be around mere peasants?” 

Harrington looks taken aback, shock and confusion clear on his face before a frown takes its place and washes away all further emotions. 

“It is not your presence that bothers me, nor the nature of your birth.”

“And yet you leave every time I so much as strum a tune, Lord Harrington, ready to throw both caution and propriety to the winds. Leaving me to wonder what it is that I have done to deserve such treatment.” 

Eddie finds himself walking closer and closer to the Lord, coming to a stop not one foot before him. He is drawn in by his presence, his charm as alluring as his cold silence. Everything about Lord Harrington intrigues him, horrified as he is to admit it. But with Steve not around to catch his eye and captivate his heart and mind alike, he simply has to find inspiration elsewhere. 

And the way Harrington’s face is taken over by a dangerous expression is the most inspiring, alluring thing he has seen in a while, even though it is directed at him. 

“How can you have the audacity to feign confusion over my disdain, bard,” he hisses, and Eddie shivers slightly. Harrington does not even have the sense to step back, staying right where he is, so close, so improper. “How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own, singing songs and telling stories, making into nothing but a jaunty tale recited by drunkards with no regard to the blood it was written in.” 

Eddie blinks, not quite catching up with the point Harrington is making. 

“What—“ 

“You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.” 

Lord Harrington speaks to him as though he takes offence at the content of Eddie’s ballads, offence at the reality of their background. But what right does he have to take offence when his songs are based on heroic deeds, recounted to him first hand by his very best friend. What right does Harrington have to question the truth behind them? 

“If it is a matter of truth that concerns you, let me reassure you, my Lord, that all of my ballads are based on true events. I ask that you do not call me a liar, no matter how great your dislike of my craft.” 

“It is not a liar that I call you, but rather a thief.” 

Eddie gasps, offended now. “What do you suggest I have stolen, then?” 

“A person’s right to their own story. To their own nightmares. A man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.” 

“How dare you call his deeds horrific,” Eddie hisses now, feeling protective over his knight. “How dare you accuse me of ill intent when every word out of my quill is written with nothing but love and admiration.” 

“For whom?” Harrington challenges, disdainful and cold. “Only for yourself, your vanity, your overgrown sense of artistic ambition.”

“No,” he shakes his head, hands clenched into fists as he finds himself incredibly close to Lord Harrington, their faces only inches apart now. “It is love for this person I have never met, whom my dear friend has told me about. A man who has kept me awake at night as I was pouring over letter after letter, hoping he should be well. It is a love so strong it has to be turned into art, into song, love that should be sung in every voice of the kingdom.” He scoffs, stepping back to catch his breath. “I do not expect you to know such a love when all you have in your cold heart is disdain for all things beautiful. You would never know bravery if it looked you in the face, you would never know love if it was the very fabric that makes this world. It would slip through your fingers, my Lord, for you would be busy yearning for the day your life found its meaning.” 

He is seething, heaving breaths, out of control over the words tumbling out of his mouth. Insulted in his pride and his muse, offended, hurt. Confused, still, as to why the Lord hates his songs with such vigour. 

“Is that your opinion of me?” Harrington whispers, though even in that toneless voice of his lies so much that Eddie cannot begin to decipher. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, the fight leaving him now, the very air sucked out of the room they share. “I believe I made that clear just now.” 

Harrington takes one step closer once more, but Eddie does not budge. 

“Then I suggest you forget that knight of yours,” he says, quiet and final. “And forget the idea you have of love. To love someone is not to turn his nightmares into song. To love someone is not to look him in the eye and insult his very existence even further. You love yourself, your craft, your mind. But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.” 

Eddie huffs, just barely able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “And what makes you so sure of that, Lord Harrington?” 

A smile twitches his lips, though there is no mirth, no glee. “You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.” He takes a step back and evades Eddie’s eyes. “I believe you should return to the fest now. Good night.” 

And with that, he turns around and leaves. 

Eddie finds himself rooted to the ground, air returning to the room now but still he is unable to catch his breath, staring ahead as he is. 

Words echo in his mind as the picture paints itself and a horrible, horrible realisation dawns on him. 

You will find there is an irony to your words soon. 

How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own?

But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.

You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.

But… There is no way. There is no way that Dustin’s friend, Dustin’s knight and protector, his saviour, Steve, should be the same as Lord Harrington with his careful, quiet, disdainfully quirked eyebrow. 

Except, Lord Harrington collected Dustin from Eddie’s home, speaking with him in a tone filled with such familiarity, they cannot be mistaken as anything but friends. 

And Lord Harrington had listened with such rapt attention when Eddie played his jaunty tunes and the well-known classics at the banquet days ago, looking like he enjoyed Eddie’s play. His face had only soured when people started requesting his newer original songs, his fists clenched upon the opening chords of The Knight and His Nightmare, leaving the hall altogether when people requested more. 

You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean. 

Eddie’s heart falls when he realises what he has done. How blind he was to the frowns and the tension, how deaf to the hints and insinuations, how ignorant he was of the pain he inflicted on Lord Harrington. Lord Steven Harrington. Steve. 

His Steve. And yet not his at all.

He falls back onto the bench, dazed, as the weight of his realisation settles inside his chest. 

onwards to part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #honey i’m so sorry you gave me a rather clear prompt and i went and disrespected it but i hope this is fine too?? #this is also the part where we remember i’m german and am using this language like lego bricks on a playmobil set #dio words #this wasnt meant to be so dramatic but uh. apparently i write miscommunication tropes now. pride&prejudice made me do it #i am planning on a part 2 but i do not control the brain #knight!steve harrington #bard!eddie munson #bard/knight