#And then Eddie should fuck Steve

[plistommy]

#steddie #Saw this ’meme’ at twitter #Eddie’s all 😡😡😡😡 #And Steve 😳😰😰🤭 #lol #Maybe they should yknow #Make out #? #And then Eddie should fuck Steve #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fandom #pic #stranger things #stranger things 4

[mardyart]

treasure hunt!!

Camp AU

(1, 2, 3)

#look at all my kids being happy!!!!! #they deserve it!! #steddie #steddie fanart #eddie munson #steve harrington #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #eleven #will byers #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #max mayfield #should i tag vecna too??? #yea fuck it #vecna #stranger things #stranger things season four #stranger things fanart #art #fanart

[navnae]

When Steve’s parents get a postcard from him they’re relieved because after they fought with him about being in a relationship with Eddie that put a huge dent in their relationship. They were taken aback when they say a picture of Steve kissing Eddie on the cheek and Eddie was flipping off the camera with his tongue out. On the back of the card was a message, it became clear who the message was written by just from looking at the hand writing.

“He chose me bitches and we’re getting married. Guess who’s not invited…YOU

HAHAHAHA!!!!!!

.p.s. He calls me daddy now :)”

Steve’s parents lost their minds completely after reading that and their dislike for Eddie grew stronger, then again that was Eddie’s goal.

#steddie #hell yeah #fuck them #yup yup yup #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie headcanon #steddie hcs #steve x eddie #idk what else to tag #help lol #please #who needs them #bad bitches #purr #as they should #that’s what I’m talking about #they ate #hcs #headcanon #come on #manifesting #power #so cuuuute #lmaooooooo #that is so funny #incorrect quotes #steddie incorrect quotes #i know what you are

[steddieas-shegoes]

Things I’ll never write because I lack the time to devote to it:

Corroded Coffin makes it big in the early 90s, and sure they get mistaken as a “grunge” band occasionally, but if it puts them in arenas then they’ll be grunge sometimes

Steve, of course, goes on tour with them because why wouldn’t he follow Eddie across the country (eventually the world)?

They have groupies falling all over them after every show and Steve just laughs about it because Eddie is so ridiculously in love with him he doesn’t even notice the women half naked in front of him in the autograph line

But he does notice that Gareth is just as avoidant, blushing when any attention is on him, but never does anything beyond a polite smile and autograph

Eddie tells him it’s because he’s never even kissed someone before, that he’s always been a romantic at heart who thinks the first time should be “special” (insert fond eye roll here) and Steve actually feels bad for him

Because how will he find that on the road? He has women coming up to him every night, but none of them would be “special”

Steve thinks for weeks, and Eddie knows something’s up but doesn’t ask. He knows Steve will come to him when he’s ready

And then after witnessing an especially awkward encounter between Gareth and two fans, he finally pulls Eddie aside and asks “what if we could make it special for him? Get it out of the way?”

It’s a hard sell at first, and Steve knew it would be

That’s one of Eddie’s best friends, they’ve been best friends for nearly a decade

And he’s so protective of his relationship with Steve, of their dynamic, possessive in a way that would probably be unhealthy if they hadn’t literally almost died together

But he realizes that Steve’s right, Gareth will never make a move on someone until he’s sure they’re right for him and that won’t happen on tour

And Steve was perfect for their first time. He’s patient and gentle, even now, even when they’re in a rush on the bus before everyone gets back

Eddie offers and Gareth just laughs, but it dies out when he realizes he’s serious

He asks a lot of questions, and he takes days to decide, avoids them both so he can make the right decision for him

But he knows they’re right. They’d be perfect for his first time. He knows it’s stupid to put so much weight into something like sex, but it’s just that he wants it to mean more than rough fucking on the couch of a bar’s back room

So he agrees

He agrees as long as they’re both involved and it doesn’t just turn into one of them fucking him or getting fucked by him. He can’t deal with either of them getting jealous or being mad at him

So they agree

And the next time they get to stay in a hotel, Gareth skips getting his own room so he can have the first time he’s always pictured, even though it’s definitely not who he pictured it with

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #gareth emerson #I just think this would be neat #but I don’t have the time to commit to this that I’d wanna give it #and I’m just saying if anyone wanted to 👀👀👀👀👀 #headcanon #I’m not normal about Gareth okay #I just believe in my heart that that man should get loved (fucked) by Steve and Eddie sometimes

[unfinishedslurs]

prank gone wrong (viral!) (steddie)

Eddie’s been someone’s dirty little secret before.

He’s got a type, okay? Unfortunately hot jocks are often the type of asshole to get sucked off behind the bleacher and then turn around and spit in his face about it. Going right back to their friends to talk shit about what a freak Eddie is, never mind the fact that his mouth still tastes like their nasty fucking jizz. He’s used to it by now. Used to people who pretend they barely know each other. He’s not asking they parade their relationship for the whole town to see, just someone who doesn’t pretend they’re strangers. Is that too much to ask? 

He’s so fucking stupid. He really thought this time would be different.

Steve Harrington barreled into his life like a goddamn train and Eddie’s been derailed ever since.

The first time he met Steve he was six. Eddie still lived with his mom, and she took him to the park, where he met a little boy who wrinkled his nose and told him he smelled bad. Steve does not remember this, and turned red with mortification the first time Eddie told him

After that incredible hit to baby Eddie’s self-esteem, they didn’t interact much, existing on the periphery of each others lives. He figured it didn’t matter. Harrington was a year under him, and a douche besides. Was ready to leave town from the moment he learned to walk. As soon as he graduated, he could finally get the hell out of this place and never think about the assholes he went to school with again.

His mom leaves. His dad gets arrested. He moves in with his Uncle Wayne, who only has one bedroom in his trailer and won’t take no for an answer when he gives it to Eddie. 

Eddie doesn’t graduate.

(Harrington comes back to school different after Byers beats him up. Eddie doesn’t notice. He’s got bigger things to worry about.)

They don’t talk in Eddie’s second run of senior year either. He hears the gossip, sees him come to school with stitches in his forehead and no girlfriend. Still, it’s none of his damn business. He rolls his eyes at the rumors and stays far away from Billy Hargrove.

Steve Harrington graduates. Eddie doesn’t.

And this is where his careful distance falls apart.

It’s the mall’s fault of course. What isn’t? Businesses closing down, rent going up, his resolve crumbling. All over some fucking ice cream. God, Eddie should have just turned around. Left the store and the mall and the entire damn town behind. 

He’s aware he’s being melodramatic, but in his defense he’s queer in Indiana. He has a right to be. 

Anyways, the point is that Eddie saw Harrington’s little blue shorts and red lips and cannot be held responsible for what happened after. 

(They fucked. That’s what happened. They fucked, and kept fucking, and then after the mall burned down Steve showed up on his doorstep with suspiciously placed bruises and his coworker and looked at Eddie with pleading eyes. He didn’t even bring Robin home to her parents like a sensible person, just insisted on having her there because they were a package deal now and couldn’t be separated. Like puppies, Robin said when he looked at her. Last he checked, she wanted to bite Steve’s head off, and now they were attached at the hip?

He got used to it quickly. He had to. She comes on half their dates. Steve’s lucky he’s so cute.)

Now, nearly five months after Steve served him ice cream for the first time, he feels his heart shatter in the Hawkins High parking lot. 

“Harrington,” Dustin shouts, and it carries across the empty lot. Steve’s head jerks up and he waves, Robin standing beside him. “Steve, c’mere!”

Steve tilts his head. “What?”

“Come. Here.” Dustin repeats, enunciating clearly. Mike and Lucas look at him like he’s insane. So do Gareth, Jeff, and Chuck. 

Steve, who is standing a mere 20 feet away, turns to Robin and says something that makes her snort. Eddie can practically hear his bitchy murmur. 

“Is that Harrington’s girlfriend?” He hears Gareth ask. He has to swallow his laughter. 

“Yes,” Dustin says.

“No,” Mike corrects. 

“He won’t admit anything, but he always has a bunch of hickies and stuff after hanging out with her,” Lucas clarifies, because half the time when Steve says he’s hanging out with Robin he's actually with Eddie. The fact that Robin is usually still there is irrelevant. Marking up his boyfriend is one of his favorite pastimes. He refuses to let his boyfriend’s “soulmate” get in the way just because she refuses to sleep in one of the Harrington’s fancy guest rooms like a normal person unless he kicks her out. The way they both pout at him for it is fucking ridiculous. He ends up giving in half the time, and then lies awake and cold on the very edge of the bed because Robin starfishes her way across the rest and Steve is a blanket hog. 

The first time he tried giving Steve a hickey as some kind of dominance move for privacy, Robin stared him dead in the eye and didn’t back down. 

“I can do that too,” she said, and promptly bit Steve on the shoulder. Steve, who was shirtless and already slightly dazed from Eddie’s ministrations, let out an honest to God squeak. Like a dog toy. Eddie and Robin both stared at him before breaking into loud cackles that had a blushing Steve yelling at them before finally burrowing under the covers and refusing to come out. Needless to say, Eddie didn’t get laid that night. 

“Harring-ton,” Dustin whines. 

“I’m literally right here. You come here.”

He did, if only to grab Steve by the wrist and drag him to where everyone else was standing. Steve squawks. “When we’re late for dinner with Ma, I’m telling her it was your fault—“

“I want you to meet everyone!”

“I went to school with them!”

“Yeah, but they think you’re still a dick,” he says, as if they’re not standing right there. Steve is similarly engrossed in their conversation, not even noticing that Dustin’s stopped walking. 

“They can think whatever—“ he walks right into Eddie and lets out a startled oof. Eddie, who let it happen, catches him as he flails. 

“Well hello to you too,” he says, not bothering to hide his amusement. 

Steve looks at him with wide eyes, gaze dropping down to his lips before whirling around and snapping, “Henderson!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lucas mimics under his breath, ducking behind Steve when Dustin turns around with the fury of a thousand suns in his eyes. 

He just stands there, hands on his hips as the kids bicker around him. 

“Oh, so now we can talk?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, brow furrowed like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about. 

Eddie can’t help but laugh, a sharp sound that makes Steve jump. “What do you think it means, Harrington? You never want to talk to me in front of the kids! Don’t want to dirty your hands with the Freak in public, I guess.”

“I…what are you talking about?”

[no talkie henderosn]

“What?” His eyes get wide, panicked, as he reaches for Eddie. “Eddie, that’s not—you have to know that’s not what I meant by that. I never meant it like that!”

“Then how did you mean it?”

Steve mumbles something he can’t make out. 

“Speak up, sweetheart.” It comes out mean, he knows it does, but he’s feeling a little mean right now. Lashing out like a wounded animal just because his boyfriend didn’t want to talk to him in public. 

Actually, when he puts it that way, he remembers he’s justified. 

Steve says something again, still incomprehensible. Eddie rolls his eyes. “If you can’t stop mumbling, I’ll just leave.”

That does the trick. “I thought we were playing a prank on Henderson together!” 

Eddie gapes at him. “What?”

“I thought,” he repeats, running an anxious hand through his hair, “we were pretending not to know each other to mess with the kid. Eddie, baby, you’ve gotta know I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you were hurting. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I…” This can’t be real. He’s been agonizing for months, and for what? A prank? Just some stupid, shitty prank Steve thought he was in on? He’s going to jump off the quarry. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have had so much fun with that!”

“I thought you knew!”

“How would I have known? I can’t read your mind!”

“You can sometimes,” he says, pouting. Eddie wishes they weren’t in the middle of an argument, he wants to kiss those lips so bad. 

He groans into his hands. “It’s significantly easier to tell when your boyfriend wants to fuck than it is to read ‘Hey, let’s play a prank on this twelve year old,’ on someone’s face, sweetheart.”

“I guess,” Steve huffs. Then his face softens. Eddie lets himself be drawn in by the wrist, helpless in the face of his sweet smile. “We can stop,” he promises, swaying in close enough for his breath to ghost across Eddie’s lips. “We could walk into Hellfire tomorrow holding hands, if you wanted to. Anything you want, just say the word.”

“How would we walk into Hellfire? It’s at your house.”

Steve pinches him for that. 

#prank gone wrong (viral!) au #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steddie #i Did not end up writing the actual scene where Steve decides to prank Dustin by pretending to hate eddie #But just so you know he looks at Eddie and raises his eyebrows and in Eddie’s mind he’s asking how they should play this #in Steve’s mind he’s asking a series of convoluted questions that end ideally end with Dustin ripping his hair out in frustration #Steve I’m sorry but you need to use your WORDS your boyfriend things you HATE HIM #this goes from pre-s4 to post-s4 btw #Featuring stobin being weird as fuck friends bc I feel like they would Not Be Separated for the first couple of months after Starcourt #Eddie just has to deal with that #He’s also being dramatic they eased up eventually. enough for Robin to give them space to get their rocks off anyway

[cuoredimuschio]

okay, but where's my steddie AU where steve wants to learn to play guitar to impress a girl he's infatuated with and he remembers that munson kid was always hanging up posters for his weird band at school, so he hikes out to eddie's usual dealing spot behind the track and asks (with far less groveling than he really should have) if eddie will teach him how to play, and obviously eddie says no because why would he want to help king steve, but of course, steve offers to pay him, $20 a week, and well, that's the kind of get-the-hell-out-of-this-shithole-town cash eddie really can't afford to refuse, so fine, he'll teach steve to play and they'll spend inordinate amounts of time together tucked away in eddie's room and they'll start to see that they have more in common than they thought and that they kind of had each other all wrong, and eddie will put his hand over steve's to help him get the placement for a tricky chord and it totally won't awaken anything in either of them?? where is it??

edit: i started writing it

#steve x eddie #steddie #stranger things #someone tell me this has already been written because i need it. please. #bonus points if steve shows up to the first practice session empty-handed #and eddie nearly calls the whole thing off when he has the Audacity to grab at eddie's sweetheart as if eddie'd ever let him play her #and he doesn't even teach steve anything that day because rule number one get your own fucking guitar and keep your mitts off mine #but by the end when eddie is deep deep deep in love and it's time to send steve off to woo this lucky girl of his #he offers to let steve take his sweetheart because she's guaranteed to make him look ten times hotter and cooler #and he'll have no trouble sweeping his girl off her feet and maybe eddie's breaking his own heart but it's fine—as long as steve's happy #except steve doesn't seem nearly as happy as eddie thought he would be #he seems sad actually and eddie kind of hates that so he starts to make some lame joke about how steve should be honored #because eddie wouldn't lend his baby out to just anyone and that gets steve to crack half a smile #but then he puts the guitar down on eddie's bed (with all due gentle reverence) walks over takes eddie's face in his hands and kisses him #kisses him like he's been dying to do it for weeks. because he has #because somewhere along the line it stopped being about wanting to impress a girl and started being about wanting to be with eddie #it started being screwing up on purpose so that eddie would grab his hands and show him how it's supposed to be done #and forgetting about lessons entirely and just sitting around and listening to eddie talk or just watching him play #because somewhere along the line steve fell out of infatuation and into love with the last person he ever expected.... #anyway idk where i'm going with this

[strawberryspence]

Steve Harrington has always loved the sky.

How vast, and complex, and free it is. How it changes colors with the season and weather. Sunsets and sunrises, and the things they signify. Some may hate the way it makes them feel smaller, but Steve loves it. He feels safe being a tiny particle under this big sky.

At the early age of six, Steve remembers his mother, sitting beside him in the garden. She was the one who thought him cloud watching. Laying mindlessly in the garden, as they both point out at shapes at the blue sky. There’s a cup, a shape of a heart, a bear. One even looked like a guitar! It was one of the only things they did together for fun.

At thirteen, the sky becomes Steve’s only companion. His parents has left him again, alone in a big quiet house. He’s been in the pool for almost three hours, floating aimlessly as he stares at the sky. There’s different shapes, and it makes him a little less lonely knowing that he’s at least not alone as long as he’s under the big sky.

At seventeen, Steve finds the beauty in the night sky. The dark canvas, with the shining stars and the moon looking down at him. He doesn’t cry, because Harrington’s don’t cry. But there he was, laid in his backyard, nursing a broken heart from the first person he’s ever loved. He’s alone again, and he thinks he’ll always be alone. Just him and the big vast sky. However, there’s more important things now, more than heartbreaks and loneliness, like 12 year olds that get experimented in labs, a girl getting pulled in his pool and to her death and monsters living underneath him. Although underneath the big dark sky, Steve feels like he’s being wrapped in it’s darkness, almost like a comforting blanket.

At eighteen, Steve finds a real friend. Not the sky, but Robin Buckley. A friend he found under the night sky as the place they met went into flames, including Billy Hargrove and Jim Hopper. It’s cruel, but one of the things Steve has learned is that there’s always lost, and there’s always gain. Two nights after the fire, Steve asks, if Robin would lay beside her on the ground. They watch as dark sky turns as the sun rises, too scared to go back to sleep because only then can the nightmares haunt them again. They watch as colors mix from darkness to brightness, and the for the first time in a while, he has someone there with him.

At nineteen, Steve meets Eddie Munson. Really meets him, a brand new slate from what they had in high school. It’s the night just after they come back from the upside down, his bits have been eaten and they’ll probably go back there again tomorrow. Nancy has some kind of plan and he wants to sleep, but he can’t. They sit at the back of the trailer, away from people that could see them (specifically Eddie) smoking a cigarette.

“I can’t believe you guys have been doing this for years.” Eddie says, disbelief apparent in his voice.

Steve shrugs, “I don’t either. They’re—“ He pauses, thinks about El who’s only 15 and has the weight of the world on her shoulders, thinks of Will who’s been through hell and death, thinks of Max who’s still grieving her dead brother only for it to be used to lure her into death, he thinks of the kids, the kids who’s all barely 15 fighting this entity, “They’re all too young for this.” He finishes.

Eddie gives him a look, Steve doesn’t like it. It feels like he’s being studied, he feels naked under Eddie’s eyes. Like he can see through him, see the pieces Steve has hidden for so long.

“You’re young too.” Eddie answers back, tilting his head, “You, Robin, Nancy, even me.”

Steve shrugs, “I guess. I just want this to end already.”

Eddie looks away, staring at the skies as it finally starts changing its hues.

“I don’t really like sunrises.” Steve looks at him, offended and ready to defend his dear old companion.

But Eddie continues, “I’ve always liked the sunsets more, you know? Sunsets are— endings. But they show you that even endings could be beautiful.”

Steve stares at him, watching silently as Eddie smokes. Steve knows the sun is rising now, and he’s never been one to miss it when it’s right in front of him. But there’s something about the way the different colors are hitting Eddie’s face, the light dancing on his skin and his brown eyes illuminating the colors, like it’s lighting him up in ways Steve has never seen before. It’s breathtaking, Eddie’s breathtaking and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.

When the silence grows heavy, Eddie breaks it with, “Plus I really like it when the sky turns orange.”

It’s the first time Steve has ever ignored the sky.

At nineteen, Steve learns that the sky could also be red. He doesn’t remember much, just Dustin crying over Eddie’s body as the red sky above him thunders on, menacing and cackling at their demise. The clock just struck, four fault lines running across the town above him. Vecna got Max and Eddie’s dead in Dustin’s arms. It’s hard to look up at the sky then, when they finally emerge from hell. Steve thinks that no clear blue sky, or no dark starry night, can ever give him comfort again.

At twenty, almost three months from the first Vecna fight, the sky is permanently gray and stormy. Steve Harrington is bones and meat. Nothing else. He is nothing but a body, weary of the life that has been given to him. They fight for the last time. Steve wants to run away, pack his bag and never look back but as long as his under this fucking sky, he will always remember that he abandoned them. He fights, he fights, he fights. Eddie’s dead, and Max is in a coma, and Steve Harrington fights until it ends.

They get Max back, but she’s forever changed by the experience. They win, the skies turn back to blue and Steve wants to vomit. If this is what it means to win, then why does he want to die? Why does winning feel so much like losing?

At twenty-two, Steve moves to Boston with Robin and Nancy. It’s a weird group, his best friend and her girlfriend, who was also his ex-girlfriend. But they’re Steve’s family (aside from the kids) and he’d go anywhere if Robin asks. He hasn’t laid in his back to watch the clouds in three years, he hasn’t stayed up to look at the night sky, he hasn’t watched the morning sun rise to it’s beauty and he hasn’t watched the sunset in a while.

It’s a conversation they’ve always avoided. Robin knows that Steve used to love the sky, he told her just as much, how it feels like a companion he’s always had. She doesn’t know why he stopped, why he stopped looking up and pointing out random shapes, or random constellations. Why he hasn’t been waking her up in the morning just so he can show her the sky changing to another beautiful color, morning after morning. All she knows was it stopped after Eddie died.

Eddie’s death has always been hard for the three of them. This one person who’ve they known for almost a week, leaving such a big impression in their lives. She knows Nancy has stash of metal music, smiling with a sad grin whenever Metallica comes on. Robin has multiple guitar pins, always an electric guitar in the color red, pinned in her coat, in her bag, in her bedroom and anywhere else she can stick it on. And Steve, well, Robin held his hand as he got his first tattoo. A D20 dice, just above his demobat scar. Robin’s still not sure if he cried because of the pain of the needle or the pain of having the same scar, in the exact same place, of someone who didn’t survive it.

It all comes out one day. The anniversaries has always been harder, not only were they far away from the kids, but the Vecna spring anniversary always hits them the hardest. It’s also Eddie’s death anniversary, to make it worse. Robin plans it all out, they stay in all day. Just watch movies, eat snacks, stay wrapped in comfortable blankets. The three of them fall asleep in the middle of their fourth movie of the day, all tangled together and it’s days like this— like this that makes it harder to ignore the fact that it should’ve been the four of them rather than just three.

Robin wakes up with Steve not beside her, Nancy still sleeping peacefully beside her. The digital clock— they all can’t stand the silent tick tocking of a clock, reminds them too much of a grandfather clock, no matter how big or small— blinks at her, it’s almost 5:21 in the afternoon. From where she is sitting, she can feel the cold wind brushing her feet, the door of the apartment balcony open. She stands up, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and walking out to the small balcony.

It’s a surprise to see her soulmate watching the sky start to change colors, the sun impending to set in a few more minutes.

“You’re watching the sunset.” Robin states, making Steve look up at her.

“Yeah.” He replies.

Robin sits beside him, putting the half of the blanket on his shoulder, the half on hers. They watch as the colors start to change. The blue shifting to pink and purple.

“I stopped watching the sky because of Eddie.” Steve starts, startling Robin. It’s been a conversation waiting to happen for years now, but she didn’t think it would happen today. She finds her footing almost immediately, “Why’s that?”

Steve isn’t looking at her, just watching as the sky dances in front of him. Robin have imagined hundreds of ways that this conversation could go but she never expected him to say, “I think I could’ve loved him. Sometimes, I think I do love him.” She had her suspicions, that maybe her bestfriend isn’t entirely straight. But she didn’t connect the dots that it was Eddie who made him realize this.

Steve continues, “He said he loved sunsets, he loves when it turns orange. Because it showed people that endings could also be beautiful.”

Steve has watched maybe hundreds, maybe thousands of sunsets in his life. But this one— they stay quiet, Nancy comes out a little later, sitting on Steve’s other side and holding his hand through the sunset. Together they watch as the day of the anniversary ends, with what Steve could only call the most beautiful sunset he’s ever seen in his life. It turns into the most beautiful hue of orange and Steve breaks.

“That’s him.” Robin tells him, as she wraps him into a hug, as Steve finally cries on her shoulders, both grief and pain chocking him as he sobs harder, “It’s okay. Eddie’s okay now, and he’s letting us know. We’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be okay.” Nancy reassures, hugging the two of them.

Only then does Steve find comfort in the sky again, with the two people he loves and he knows loves him and under the sky as an old friend watches over.

At twenty-six, Steve graduates with a Bachelor of Science, majoring in Atmospheric Science.

Steve doesn’t avoid the sky anymore, he studies it now, writes the weather news for a big Boston channel. He stops to point out random objects in the sky, has a telescope set up for constellations. He drinks a hot cup of coffee, every morning, watching as the sun rises.

He lays in the grass with Dustin and Suzie’s son and teaches him how to cloud watch. He takes time to send reminders to Max and Lucas to wear a raincoat if he sees that it’s going to rain in California. He talks to Will and Mike for hours, just trying to describe to them a weather phenomenon so Will could draw it and Mike could write it for their latest best-selling comics. He knits El a gorgeous sky blue scarf, because he knows how cold it gets in New York.

Wayne calls him, every other day, to ask how the weather is in Boston and Steve asks how the weather is in Indiana. Steve spends a few months in a year in the guest room of the farm house Joyce and Hop bought in 1986. He stays and writes about the stars and the planets, because the skies are so much clearer in rural places.

He still lives with Robin and Nancy, but they’ve moved to a house now. He’s got equipment for sky watching at the backyard and the girls surprised him with sunroof in his office. They have a dog named Hetfield and cat named Sabbath.

And more than anything, Steve loves sunsets. He has the time of every sunset for everyday charted in his room. He stops, whatever he is doing, however important it is, just to go out and get a glimpse of the sun setting. Sometimes, at home, the girls accompany him, like an unspoken ritual, to just watch the sun setting. He waits for it to turn into some shade of orange and smiles when it turns to the color.

It’s a hello, a how are you, a comfortable hug.

It’s an old friend in the form of the sky.

It’s Eddie Munson just checking in.

→ @undreaming-fanfiction’s beautiful addition (p2)

→ dustin henderson & sunsets (p3)

-> the alternate nicer, fluffier sunrise fic

#i am fucking psychopath #i am sorry #i cried writing this and then i said i should not post this #like this is cruelity #but i cant #its here #its for you #goodbye #daerants #steddie rants #dae writes #daeheadcanons #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson angst #steddie fanfic #steddie fic rec #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #tw mcd #tw major character death

[finntheehumaneater]

honestly, the duffer brothers have fucked up with a lot of things, but one of the big ones for me was them not letting Eddie say “i’m glad to be with you, Dustin Henderson. Here at the end of all things.” While Dustin was holding Eddie’s dying body in his arms.

#LET HIM BE A NERD WHILE HE DIES #I BEG OF YOU #PLEASEEEE #alternatively this could be seen as Steddie also if you want to make it sad and romantic #But he should have gotten to be the biggest nerd ever in his final fucking moments #:( #‘Eddie Munson #Dustin Henderson #Steve Harrington #steddie #<—kind of. Would make a nice angsty fic #YOU GUYS BETTER TAG ME IF YOU DO ANYTHING WITH THIS BECAUSE I NEED TO SEE IT #and like #like #steve carrying Eddie and Dustin out is like the eagles taking Frodo and Sam away from harm :( #I’m making myself sad now I’ll stop :( #stranger things #Stranger things hc #stranger things fic #stranger things fandom #stranger things season four #steve/eddie #eddie & dustin #Steve & Dustin #eddie/steve #lotr

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

love: saying "i love you" even when you're scared written for @steddielovemonth day 20 (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

M | ~3.1k | tags: medieval-ish au, prince!steve, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it’s intrigue cw: torture (both implied and explicit), past & on-screen brainwashing, manipulation, angst, violence, open ending, mild gore, traditional fairytale imagery

princemær

It is not the sensation of cold steel touching his throat that makes him halt, the blade against his skin a feeling so familiar these days that he barely falters in his steps anymore. Nor is it the clearly spoken threat of, “One wrong move, Kas, and I will paint the soil with your blood so that something good may come of your existence after all.” 

Original, that. Eddie is not loath to admit it. 

And were this valiant knight anyone else, he surely would have worked his clever tongue to make it count, at the very least, that they should have caught him at last. Judging by the determination in the man’s hazel eyes and the absolute calm in his hand, sword unwavering against Eddie’s throat, he would have paid gravely for it. 

As it is, though, Eddie can only stare into the eyes of his imminent captor, frozen to the spot and freezing yet more when he finds no trace of recognition in those eyes. 

What did they do to you? he wonders desperately, so forlorn in the throes of distress he finds no wherewithal to struggle against four men of the Prince’s guard as they roughly disarm and bind him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Prince, aching for just a hint of recognition, even a glint of betrayal and hatred – but all he can find is cold nothingness as the Prince holds his gaze, looking down at Eddie from his royal mare. It’s not one Eddie recognises, and he is reminded of the years he has gone without those eyes in his life. 

“The King is expecting your return,” says the Prince, sheathing his sword when one of his men binds Eddie to the back of his horse; the first of many tortures, he is sure.

Or rather, the second, with the way the Prince is looking at him, speaking to him without that familiar melody to his voice. It is monotonous now, and Eddie wants to become the monster again that they all make him out to be, if only to rip out the throat of the person who did this to him. The person who took the Prince’s voice, his smile, his memories. 

He would gladly become a monster for him all over again. 

“A sword has been made for your head, after all. And a feast for your demise.” 

And with that, the Prince spurs his mare into a trot, his loyal guardsmen following just behind him, pulling Eddie with them. It is a small miracle that he does not stumble and fall, the floor beneath his feet unsteady as cotton as all feeling leaves his body and the world rewrites itself around him and this very moment. 

Prince Steven wants him publicly executed. That is not what leaves Eddie’s stomach with a wave of nausea he barely manages to swallow down, panting and gasping for air as he is from running after the horses. 

No, what leaves him with a frozen bloodstream and a panicked paralysis of the mind is that Prince Steven recognises him no longer. Remembers not the history that lies between them. The sacrifices made. 

Were the situation any different, allowing for tears and curses cried into the dark of night without threat of detection, Eddie would have wailed. Wept at the realisation that he should have never left Steve to the claws of the King and his advisor. 

What did they do to you? he agonises, staring at the familiar blues that attire the Prince so tragically familiar. And how do I get you back before you spell doom for yourself with my own blood?

*** 

Foolishly, Eddie has spent years of his life thinking he would never be presented with this view again: The palace in all its glory, sandstone nary white and golden, shining and gleaming in ways more sublime than the sun herself. It stole many a night from him, the thought of this vision and the heart it holds inside, a keep more than a palace, and just as out of reach for the hands of a man deemed a traitor to the kingdom. 

But now here he is, stumbling on bleeding feet as the horse drags him into the courtyard of what used to be his home so many winters ago he has lost count. People gave gathered in the streets and alleys and up by the windows, chancing a look at the man condemned, sweat and tears dried and crusted on his cheeks, ripped clothes showing bleeding wounds from falling when the Prince demanded they ride faster. 

He can scarcely hold his own weight anymore, his feet aching and burning, his entire body on fire and dehydrated, the world around him spinning just quickly enough that he takes too long to realise it when the Prince cuts the rope from the horse’s saddle and takes a hold of it instead. Holding Eddie like a mutt on a leash – and he’s panting like one, too. 

Still he catches his breath long enough to lift his chin and look at the Prince, showing defiance in one simple act that in another lifetime counted as devotion. But he wants to look at him. Wants to drink him in, changed though he might be. 

“Will you lead me to death now, Your Majesty?” 

The Prince says nothing as he rebinds Eddie’s wrists, securing them to his chest so he can’t easily break free and the Prince’s neck in the process. A wave of pride washes over him, even as he realises that he must succumb to being a prisoner for now with no means to escape. 

“I am but your humble subject. Where you lead, I will follow,” Eddie says with a wavering voice, just barely resisting to bow before his Prince for dramatic effect and hoping that would conceal the truth to his words. 

“One more word, snake,” he says, cold eyes boring into Eddie’s like a blade of ice and leaving trickles of fear in their wake, “and I will personally see to your death being so slow and painful, you will have forgotten your own name just before I am done, leaving you not enough time to remember. You will spend eternity wandering and finding no peace. Finding not even your name, as all you are has been replaced with pain.”  

Eddie flinches away from him unwittingly, hating the cold smirk that infests that beautiful face. His Prince wouldn’t talk like that. His Prince would not resort to threats of torture, inflicting fear wherever he sets foot. 

He had heard the stories, tales of a Prince changed, accounts of the Golden Prince dimmed and dulled, a tender heart hardened and smooth edges roughened to hurt whoever dared to touch him. The first few years he had heard the tales, and still he had chosen disbelief and doubt. Refusal to believe it. 

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

“What happened to you?” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them, and he watches as something shutters behind those familiar eyes. 

“You cut out my heart. All those years ago, when you killed him. I intend to do the same to you.” 

Eddie swallows, the words not making sense. He has killed many a man, those who deserved it and those who did not, but whom could he have killed to elicit such a response from the Prince? 

“Whom?” he dares ask, preparing for a blade in his stomach or a fist in his face, ready for the guards to pull him back and pummel him until he does indeed forget his name and the rest of the world for a while. 

But the Prince stands his ground, his cold gaze nary lifeless even as Eddie’s vision swims. 

“Eddie.” 

And all the blood flees his body in a rush as understanding dawns on him, leaving yet more confusion as he hears his own name fall from the Prince’s lips with such barely concealed grief and sadness that it makes his knees buckle. 

“I intend to repay you for what you have taken from me. Settle the blood debt. Three days from now, it shall be my hand on the sword that will have your head.”

Eddie is too stunned to speak, too exhausted from two days on his feet, dragged on his feet and on his back, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear grips his whole body and intensifies the aches and pains he feels until his legs give out and he lands on his knees in front of his Prince, close to weeping once more. 

A hand comes to rest on his chin, tipping up his face so he can meet those royal eyes, and Eddie finds himself wishing for the blade instead. 

“Good,” Prince Steven says, his voice quiet, only for Eddie to hear. “I want to hear you beg for your life.” 

Eddie cannot keep a hold of the tear that breaks free and rolls down his face, leaving a trace for the Prince to follow as he undoubtedly marvels at having the great Betrayer on his knees and at a loss for words. 

And Eddie knows he will beg. But not for his life.

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

Instead it is Henry, the King’s advisor, who takes great pleasure in taunting him, leaving his body bloodied and bruised before he applies whatever concoction he cooked up that will leave Eddie feeling like his insides have turned to flames, leaving him to grunt and bite down on his screams as Henry weaves tales out of thin air laced with blood, sweat and tears. 

“You were always so gullible, the both of you,” Henry continues, though Eddie must have missed the beginning of his words, as even these ones barely reach him through the pain. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks around a mouthful of blood, spitting at Henry’s feet, revealing in the sick twist of his mouth that Eddie can just barely make out as his vision blurs dangerously. 

“What did we do to him? Oh, even a decade later you are still the same stupid boy you were then, hmm? It is you who did this to him. It is you who betrayed him, killing Eddie Munson and becoming Kas The Betrayer. Do you not recall?” 

His world tilts suddenly as Henry fills his mouth with a bitter liquid, clamping his mouth shut so Eddie has no choice but to swallow it all. 

“Surely you do remember the way you shoved your blade between Munson’s ribs on your way out of this cell all these years ago, cutting out his heart and making it your first feast of your newly-won freedom. Surely you remember betraying the Prince’s trust and then killing his lover and his best friend. You must remember, stupid boy, and know that your execution will bring freedom to the Prince’s mind that is so trapped in its vengefulness.” 

Nausea overcomes him and he retches, but Henry prevents him from throwing up and emptying his bowels to rid himself from whatever the alchemist uses to cloud his senses and reshape the world to his very own liking. 

“Shut up,” Eddie wheezes, earning a well-placed punch for his troubles. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you… Don’t you touch him.” 

A smile fills his vision as Henry comes close to hum as he turns Eddie’s face this way and that, keeping him from shaking it as images of a false history manifest in his mind. 

“Oh, I won’t have to touch him. See, he will realise what he has done on the scaffold. The veil over his eyes will be lifted when your heart stops beating, all the pieces will fall into place, but still he will be blind, for the veil will be replaced with the ghost of you, slowly fading beneath him.” 

Henry is circling him, stalking him like a predator his prey. Eddie has not been prey in so long. He does not know how to suppress the shivers or the horror at the tale woven around him. 

“And then, sword still in hand as it drips with your blood, despair will overcome him and he will follow you. The kingdom will be freed of the King’s pest of an heir, and I will lend his grieving Majesty a helping hand in ruling his kingdom. That is, of course, until he, too, ultimately succumbs to grief for his only son, leaving only myself to rebuild and reshape first the kingdom and then the whole world just the way I want.” 

He comes to a stop in front of him, another dark green flask in his hand. 

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

More of the bitter liquid flows down his throat and Eddie almost chokes on it, coughing it up and trying to resist, but Henry is stronger than he is. Always has been. 

And with poison in his ears and his bloodstream alike, Henry’s words grow truths inside Kas’s mind; the memory of Eddie Munson dying on his blade, the blood dripping down his fingers as he takes a bite of the man’s heart, and the prince’s screams in his ear at this ultimate betrayal, for that heart belonged to him. 

When he loses his grasp on consciousness, out of breath and out of his mind with pain, he wishes for the scaffold. He wishes for the Prince to take his life and settle the debt. Avenge his love. Avenge what Kas can only ever dream about. 

***

Gradually, over the span of only three days spent in either sensory deprivation or torture, Henry manages to drain the dredges of Eddie’s false identity and replace them with what really happened; replace them with Kas. With guilt, with shame, with a debt so severe it could never be paid back as long as Kas remains alive. 

He forgets about most of Henry’s visits, wakes up with new injuries and new memories, the reserves of water left for him tasting bitter and wrong, but he is always so desperate for it, he has not the luxury of choice. 

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

They lead him out in chains and shackles, like he poses any risk of escaping. Like he doesn’t welcome what is about to come. Like he doesn’t— 

He… 

Kas falters in his steps the very second he lays eyes on the Prince, hand resting on the hilt of a broadword that looks to be expertly crafted. A sword has been made for your head, after all. He swallows, ignoring the guard that kicks him in the shin and punches him in the neck, telling him to move forward. 

His head aches the longer he watches the Prince, the world around him becoming hazy as guilt and shame wash over him, the feeling that this is right, this is what he deserves. And still, underneath it all, when Prince Steven meets his eyes, there is the nagging feeling that none of this is right at all. That the Prince should not be looking at him like that, should not be holding onto that sword, should not be his own executioner. 

It splits his head, but still he is helpless against the shackles, cannot struggle when the guards pull him along instead. 

The Prince says not a word until Kas the Betrayer kneels before him, and once again there is a wave of familiarity that comes from this action, but he cannot place it. Kas has never knelt for anyone, so it must be wrong. It must be instinct, the last desperate flare of a dying flame, leaving him disoriented, his head flooded with visions of how life could have been. 

The headache mingles with a new wave of fevered need to live, to rip apart these shackles and kill every guardsman and the King himself before he leaves the sandstone castle behind him once more. 

But there is also a strange sensation of calmness that tells him he is willing to let it happen like it must. He is willing to give this to the Prince and repent. He is willing to give it all up and give in to this. 

Kas the Betrayer is ready to die. He is too tired to alter the course of fate any longer. 

But then? Oh, a lone man’s willingness is not force strong enough to defy the will of Fate herself. 

Because when Prince Steven opens his mouth, all the bitterness leaves Eddie’s mouth, all the visions become unveiled at the sound of that voice that for decades now has held him through pain and pleasure alike, the voice that whispered promises of a future together of even just five minutes away from prying eyes. 

When Prince Steven opens his mouth, Kas becomes Eddie once more, coming to life again inside his own tired, exhausted, agonised head. 

“Any last wish?” 

For those to be the words that save him carries a strange sense of irony, and Eddie knows it’s too late. He knows the plan will commence. Maybe it’s for the better. Ten years he has suffered without his heart, ten years spent shunned and banished and labeled a traitor to all kingdoms simply because he dared to love his Prince more than his King. Ten years that have left him tired and worn out, without a purpose to his ways. 

And Steve, subjected to Henry and his alchemy, his poisons and potions, his bitterness that will turn your insides to flames. Steve, tortured and manipulated for ten years without Eddie there to protect him. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it should end now. That it should end like this. He has no strength left in his body, could not free himself or the Prince even if he were foolish enough to try. 

Still he finds himself relieved that he should die inside his own head this time. That small mercies and miracles alike will grant him this. Looking at Steve as he takes his last breaths.

So, does he have any last wish? 

“Yes,” he croaks, daring to look up into those once so beautiful eyes that hold no warmth anymore. 

Tell me what they did to you. A kiss from my Prince. Don’t turn this blade on yourself when this life has left my body. Believe me when I say this is a trap, and I am not who you think I am.

But he says none of that. Wishes for something else. Wishes not for himself.

He swallows, straightening his back. “I wish that you would… That you would just, just listen to me.” Fear overcomes him, and he knows these will be his last words.

The Prince inclines his head, intent at least on listening. Good. That’s good. 

Because now, for the first time in a decade, Eddie will utter these words to ears that will listen. Fear grips his heart, squeezing around it until it stops. And still he speaks. 

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

tagging: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @madigoround @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 (i have a permanent tag list now, lmk if you want on or off 🤍 these are only the ones who commented on the post) (sorry the first tag should be so fucked up mwah)

note: i posted this last night but then wanted to double check with the lovely lovely mod of steddielovemonth (kith for you!) if this was okay to post, and she said yes, so fever dream round 2! sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for the patience! 🤍

#steddie fic #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #this is still a fever dream of a fic #this one goes out to all the blorbos from my notes who wished for this to come back 🤍 #i could (and probably should) make this a 10k thing but i kinda love the lack of context of background that comes w these types of stories #we just vibin with fucked up dynamics and more questions than the text could answer yesss #(but i keep wanting to add to it help. anyone know what's going on? no? me neither come join the club the words just be happening) #dark!fic #<- not really but the themes are there yknow #konrad von würzburg would be proud of me for this #dio words #dio's steddie ramblings

[lokiiied]

okay so like, this episode especially is when the fruity four physical space/touching barrier really breaks and i love it and there’s so many parallels between steddie & ronance and i NEVER EVEN NOTICED this last gif moment…EDDIE’S HAND ON STEVE’S SHOULDER AND THEN AS SOON AS HE REALISES/STEVE LOOKS AT HIM HE PULLS AWAY AND YOU CAN SEE IT IN HIS FACE HE’S LIKE SHIT BUT STEVE KEEPS LOOKING AT HIM LIKE HE FORGOT THEY JUST MANAGED TO COMMUNICATE W THE OTHERS I CANT—

#bless you gif creators 🙏🏻 we love you #i can’t take this #please #they deserved so much more #just one kiss duffers #ik eddie was overthinking this #and so was steve but like in opposite ways #eddie was like oh god i fucked up #and steve was like wait i should have made a move #steddie #steve x eddie #gayer things #ronance #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #st4

[resident-gay-bitch]

(romantic ships)

please reblog for a bigger sample size <3

#no i did not put stobin because she is a lesbian and you sickos that ship them romantically should get fucked 🤢🤮 #guess you can tell which my least favourite ship for him is #jay polls #steve harrington #stranger things #ships #steddie #stonothan #stommy #stargyle #stancy #harringham #harringrove #cheerscoops #eddie munson #eddie x steve #jonothan byers #jonothan x steve #tommy hagan #tommy x steve #argyle #argyle x steve #billy hargrove #billy x steve #chrissy cunningham #chrissy x steve #nancy wheeler #nancy x steve #anti stancy lmao #stranger things 4

[patchworkgargoyle]

i'll miss you more than anyone

Time for some Steddie yearning hours!

1.9k words, rated T for language. Angsty pining with a happy, fluffy ending. Basically unedited because I'm posing this at 1am. Forgive any wonky tenses. Now on ao3!

Title from Something About Us by Daft Punk.

🌒

It took considerable force, but Eddie managed to wedge open the only window in his tiny, shitty apartment with a grunt and a sigh. No matter how much WD-40 he forced into it, the damn thing's determined to stick and squeal. If he didn't know any better Eddie would swear it did this just to annoy him. Stubborn piece of shit. Takes one to know one, he figured.

He let out another sigh. Leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter, he flicked his zippo open and lit a smoke, relishing that first warm draw of acridness with his eyes closed. Robin would snark at him about the fact that his lease specified no smoking, but fuck the landlord. He needed this. Eddie tilted his head back and exhaled, watching the smoke curl out and away into the darkened alley between the buildings.

The day had been… hard, to put it lightly. It was the last day of Steve's visit. He'd come to see Eddie, to explore Seattle, for a whole week. Just the two of them. It'd been so good, even if Eddie's backstabbing heart wouldn't stop hoping that the visit would end up as something more. It was stupid, a useless hope. Stubborn.

They'd meandered around Capitol Hill so Eddie could show off the first place he'd ever felt safe enough to be queer and loud about it, unable to look too long at Steve's expression of relieved pride in him. He let Eddie drag him to a few bars, introduced him to some new friends who welcomed him with open arms and pointed, knowing stares in Eddie's direction. They'd walked along the pier, doing the touristy shit, ate greasy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper and watched seals play and beg for food in the harbour. 

Hell, Eddie even let Steve drag him up to the Space Needle. It was something Eddie had refused to do when he first moved, not wanting to do something so mundane and cliché when he was trying to become a local. But of course as soon as Steve insisted he folded like wet tissue.

Now Eddie knew he'd be cursed with the image of Steve, his hair windswept, gazing out at the city with wide-eyed wonder at the sparkling sprawl of buildings as the sunset painted him in pink and golden hues.

Eddie didn't even bother looking at the city, the ocean. They couldn't ever compare.

Not for the first time that night, Eddie hung his head and rubbed at his eye with the heel of his palm, wishing the image would stop fucking tormenting him. He was so fucking hopeless.

Raising his head again, he took another drag and stared up at the moon. Light pollution blotted out everything but the moon and Venus. It was the one thing he missed about Hawkins (that was a lie, always a lie), seeing the stars appear in the deep, dark blue above like all the gods took a needle to the fabric of the sky. Here, Eddie's only two stellar companions danced around each other every night. Sometimes closer, nearly touching it seemed, other times further away, locked in an eternal game of will-they-won't-they.

Tonight he only saw the lonely moon through the gap in the buildings. A waning crescent that shone bright enough that it lit up the darkness of Eddie's silent kitchen with a silvery glow. It was silly, but he held a tiny wish that Venus wouldn't be too far behind so at least Eddie would be the only lonely sad sack tonight. At least the thought made him chuckle at himself slightly.

Seeing Steve off at the airport that morning felt like Eddie was about to rip himself in two. If it weren't so public, if it weren't so risky, he might've confessed to Steve right then and there in some desperate attempt to get him to stay just a few days, hours, seconds longer. He'd dig his own heart out of his chest and offer it up on a silver platter; anything for the man that carried him out of hell. But Eddie was nothing if not a coward. They'd hugged each other tightly, just shy of too long, and Steve waved goodbye with a bittersweet smile and something shining in his eyes.

Eddie'd had to wait an hour in the airport parking lot before he was stable enough to drive back home.

Thing was, he was so fucking lonely out here. He'd moved to get away from the pitchfork-wielding, grudge-carrying people that never bought the government's cover story, to stop the vitriolic graffiti that had kept getting sprayed on Wayne's new trailer. The kids would get caught up in it too if they were caught hanging around The Freak. Eddie couldn't fucking go anywhere without keeping his head on a swivel, and it was so exhausting. He'd needed to leave. Even if it meant having to leave his family, the only people who knew the real story behind his scars and nightmares–even if it meant leaving Steve. So, it was hard, having Steve–a piece of his home, maybe even his heart–come visit and then leave after just a handful of days. Great days, but still. 

Choking out a bitter laugh, Eddie scrubbed at the tears starting to trail down his cheeks. Stupid, he was so stupid. His throat closed up around another laugh, turning it into a silent sob, a frustrated growl as he begged his stupid heart to just let it fucking go, to stop hurting, stop tantruming pathetically inside his ribcage about a man he could never have.

Just as another sob threatened to claw its way out of his chest, the phone rang. The shrill sound made him jump, nearly dropping his cigarette out the window. Swearing, he reached and pulled it over, answering.

"H'lo?" he rasped.

"Jesus, Munson, you sound rough," Steve's tinny voice replied, amused, "did I wake you up?"

The tightness in Eddie's chest burst into butterflies and he couldn't help but laugh around a sniffle. "Nah man, I was up. Shouldn't you be asleep, though? Isn't it 3am there or something?"

"Yeah, or something. Just got home though."

"Wait, what? The fuck are you calling me for, then?"

Steve chuckled. Christ, it was a great sound, filtered through endless miles of telephone lines though it was. "You told me to call when I got home safe, remember?"

"After you'd slept or something, dude, jesus christ. You didn't have to call at the ass crack of dawn."

"Well I wanted to."

Eddie mentally started stomping out the fresh butterfly swarm fluttering around in his guts. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold back the smile on his lips, wide enough that he knew Steve could hear it in his voice. So he teased, "Wow, Harrington, it's almost like you miss me or something." There was a pause.

"I do."

Sincerity weighed down Steve's words, two syllables dropping into the well of silence left in their wake. Eddie felt the ripples through his whole body, leaving stillness behind.

"Really?" Eddie whispered. He heard Steve inhale shakily and ached to be beside him again, to have him near, pull him close, feel him again.

"Yeah, Eddie. I miss you so much, it– god, it hurts," Steve said with a tiny, heartbreaking laugh.

"Fuck. I– same, Steve, I've been bawling my eyes out since this morning." His words were thick with even more tears threatening to spill but he blinked them back.

"I'm sorry."

Eddie snorted, though regretted it immediately and swiped at his nose with his sleeve. "Why're you apologising?"

"Hate knowing you're hurting too."

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid," Eddie sighed, then added quietly, nervously, "not like you could stay."

Speaking just as quietly, Steve said, "Maybe… maybe I could."

"Huh?"

"I've just, I've been thinking," Steve started, gathering steam, "for a while now but also on the flights home. It sucks that you're out there by yourself. And the kids are all graduated and leaving, and Robin and Nancy are planning on moving, and-"

Eddie's unable to help it, interrupting Steve's rambling that he definitely picked up from Robin, but he can't hold it back, hope forcing the words out. "Stevie, are you saying–?"

"UW accepted my application," Steve said. "I could move out there, get my teaching degree."

"Why?" 

The question hung in the air, all of Eddie's breathless wishes clinging to it. Steve took a steadying breath on the other end of the line.

"I have feelings for you Eddie. Might be kind of in love with you, and I really don't think it's one-sided. Should've told you at the airport."

"How did you know?" 

Chuckling, Steve said, "You're not subtle, but when I said the view from the Space Needle was beautiful, you agreed even though you never took your eyes off me."

"I wanted to tell you," Eddie said in a rush, heart in his throat, "all fucking week. I'm kind of in love with you too."

Steve laughed, full and warm, and Eddie might've collapsed with relief if he weren't leaning on the counter still. "We're idiots, huh?" Steve asked.

"Massive idiots. Complete morons. Absolute buffoons. You're telling me that we could've been kissing all week if one of us had just gotten the balls to confess?"

"Well, maybe more than just kissing." Steve's voice dropped suggestively and Eddie grinned at the bloom of desire that grew in his chest.

"A gentleman never assumes, big boy, but good to know."

A yawn echoed through the phone and the heat Eddie felt morphed into depthless fondness. "You should go sleep, Stevie."

"Probably. Gonna be wrecked for my shift tomorrow." He sighed softly. "Worth it, though."

"Worth having to pry your eyelids open while Marge berates you for letting her kid watch movies her husband rented?"

Steve snorted. "Yeah. Worth packing my bags and running off to the coast, too."

"Christ." Shaking a little, Eddie asked, "Are you sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything." He yawned again, hard enough Eddie could hear the receiver shudder in his hand. "I wanna keep talking to you but I'm dead on my feet. Can I call you tomorrow? Please?"

"You don't have to ask, sweetheart," Eddie said, pouring his fondness into every word to make up for the fact that he couldn't be there to see Steve's gorgeous, sleepy face, to fall into bed with him and wrap him in his arms. "Hell, call me when you wake up, before you go to work. You gotta tell me how your flights went anyway."

"Uhg, right. Ask me about the lady who scoffed at me reading The Hobbit."

He scoffed. "She dares to look down upon one of the great works of literature? I don't know her but she has made a mortal enemy on this day." The tired giggle Eddie heard made him smile so wide it almost hurt.

"You're so dramatic."

"You love it."

With a contented sigh, Steve said, "Yeah, I do." Another yawn, loud this time, and Steve continued, "Good night, Eddie. I'll call tomorrow. I miss you."

"Can't wait. Miss you too, Stevie."

Eddie hung up, the receiver settling in with a click. It felt like his body was made of bubbles, or fireworks. He almost couldn't believe it, that his hopes actually came true. Steve loves him, wants to move to Seattle for him. What!?

He let out a long, loud whoop that echoed in the alleyway. A distant neighbour yelled at him to shut the fuck up, but Eddie couldn't care less. He loved Steve, who loved him back.

Grinning, he looked up at the sky again. The moon had moved on, but there, creeping over the roof of the apartments next door, Venus finally made an appearance. Laye, but still there, still following. A beautiful, shining pinprick of light, trailing in the moon's wake.

Welcome to my new tag list! @steves-strapcollection, @ghost--enthusiast, @inairbinad, @rhaenyyras, @chocolate-fishy, @lovelyscot, @little-trash-ghost

Feel free to ask to be added/taken off!

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #sav scrawls stuff #am i projecting my loneliness onto my favourite blorbo? yes. thats what fandom is for #its cathartic or something #and should i have worked on my big bang fic instead? absolutely. fuck.

[ghosttotheparty]

part 2 of this post more autistic steve <3 now w autistic mike <3 also on ao3

Not much changes after it all. 

Nobody notices when they’re all together. 

Nobody notices the way Eddie’s eyes seem to get stuck on Steve’s face, on his hair and his neck and his hands, and it kind of makes sense when Eddie remembers that nobody notices the way Steve’s mood shifts when it gets too loud. They also don’t notice the way Eddie’s fingers linger on Steve’s when they greet each other, or the way Steve traces a teasing line over Eddie’s back when no one is looking. 

Eddie doesn’t really know why they haven’t told anyone. He knows they wouldn’t have a problem with it, with SteveandEddie. Hell, he’s pretty sure Robin has a crush on Nancy, and he’s fairly positive Argyle isn’t 100% straight. (And he’s starting to wonder about Mike. He hasn’t said anything, of course, but he’s a little too much like Eddie was when he was his age for him to not think anything of it.) 

But they keep quiet about it. Act like friends, buddies, pals, while everyone is around, then kiss each other against the closest wall or piece of furniture when they’re gone. Call each other late at night when one of them doesn’t sleep over. During movie nights, they sit side by side with a blanket over their laps, and their legs press under it, and their fingers tangle, and Eddie traces lines over his palms or runs his thumb back and forth over his skin. Steve squeezes at his fingers, fidgeting happily with them. Once, Steve falls asleep on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie has to actively suppress a grin.

They don’t mind. 

It doesn’t feel like much has changed between them, either. Even though before that day they were barely even friends. Eddie supposes it’s always been easy between them, every casual interaction; the quiet banter between them while complaining about Dustin, the bored looks while the kids bicker. It’s always come like second nature, like they were on the same wavelength without even a word. 

Like they were both following a script they both had memorized. And then the script was flipped, painted so it was blank, but they still…

They still knew what to do. Where to go. What to say. 

How to touch each other. 

They barely even have to try. It’s oddly beautiful to Eddie, how quickly they found their way together, how nicely they fit together. It’s like they’re fucking puzzle pieces or something, and Eddie really realized after everything with Steve that he really is just as (if not more) cheesy as those romcoms Nancy loves so much. He thinks shit like he and Steve are fucking puzzle pieces, the way they fit together. But it's true; Steve’s arm fits right over Eddie’s waist, the other under his neck as Eddie snuggles up close because he can’t stand even a centimeter of distance between them. Their legs twist together naturally like they’ve been doing this for years, the same with their fingers. 

And it feels the same even when Steve doesn’t want to be touched. 

That happens sometimes, like that day. Steve gets too overwhelmed, too overstimulated, to handle being touched, sometimes just by someone else like Eddie or Robin, sometimes by anything all, like his shirt or his socks or his pillows. He lays on the floor sometimes, looks up at the ceiling and focuses on the feeling of the floor against his back, the way his spine stretches. Eddie joins him sometimes, lays next to him in silence, listens to him breathe. And when Steve is ready, he reaches for him, twists their fingers together, tugs Eddie closer when he wants it. 

Wordless, most of the time. Eddie doesn’t mind. Steve does just fine communicating what he needs when he needs it. Soft hums or grunts when Eddie asks him questions. If he wants a hug, if he wants something cold, if he wants Eddie’s hand to squeeze. 

And when he can speak again… 

Thank you, Eddie.

Eddie always kisses his forehead. Mumbles a soft love you, because they say that now. 

Which wasn’t a big thing either. Easy. Quiet. 

It was late at night the first time they said it. Eddie hadn’t even realized they’d said it until the next morning, when he woke up to Wayne walking past his room to the bathroom, when his eyes found the phone on his nightstand, a little blurry because of how tired he was. 

G’night, Stevie, love you.

Mm. Love you too, baby.

He’d fallen back asleep with Steve’s voice in his head. 

They never said anything about it. Never had a big moment, a conversation, a confession. It was just that. Soft love yous when they parted, mumbled between kisses. Sweet kisses. Soft kisses. Good morning kisses, good night kisses. Sloppy kisses, with whispers and giggles as their hands wander. 

So fucking easy. 

— — — — — 

The phone rings as Eddie is turning the page of his comic book. He reaches for it without looking away from the book, quickly picking it up so the hallway phone doesn’t wake Wayne up, though it doesn’t usually. The man sleeps like a log.  

“Munsons.”

“…Eddie?”

Eddie drops the comic book when hears Steve’s voice, soft and weak and breathless and so vulnerable Eddie aches a little. 

“Hey, baby, what’s up?”

“I, uhm…”

“You okay?”

“Not— Not really.”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, moving to sit up, tossing the comic book away. 

“I just— I just got back from work, and I— I’m, like…”

“Deep breath, honey, you’re okay,” Eddie says reassuringly, closing his eyes as Steve inhales deeply, exhales slowly. 

“It’s too much,” Steve chokes, and he’s crying now, his voice wobbling. “You said— you said to call you if— if—“

“‘S right, Stevie,” Eddie says softly. “Good job, baby, I’m right here. What do you need?” 

He feels a little sick, anxious with how heavy Steve’s voice sounds when he says, “I don’t know.”

“What would make you feel better, honey?”

“I… You, I— I want you here.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, warmth flooding his chest. 

“I’ll head over soon, baby, I’m not gonna hang up on you right now, though.”

Steve lets out a wet giggle. 

“‘Preciate it.”

“What else?”

“I…” Steve exhales. Takes a deep breath. “I need to hit something, I’m…”

Eddie hears a muffled thud, the sickening sound of Steve hitting his thigh with a fist.

“Get a pillow, Steve,” he says quickly. “Go get one to hit and come back to me, okay?”

Steve lets out a soft whine and then it goes quiet for a few moments before there’s a rustle and the sound of Steve’s hand picking up the phone again. 

“I got it,” he says breathlessly. 

“Good boy,” Eddie says softly. “I’m gonna head over, alright? Use the pillow, don’t hurt yourself.”

Steve lets out a breathy hum.

“M’kay. Dri— Drive safe.”

Eddie smiles into the phone, already standing. 

“I will, baby, I love you.”

“Love you.”

He hangs up and scrambles to find his shoes, scribbles a note for Wayne (gone to steve’s love you) and leaves it in the kitchen. Tries not to let the door slam shut. 

Steve is in his room when Eddie gets there, sitting on his bedroom floor and hitting the pillow, tugging the pillowcase like he’s trying to rip the fabric. 

“Hey, baby,” Eddie says softly, alerting Steve of his presence quietly, and Steve hums, turning his head toward him, but his eyes are closed. He doesn’t stop with the pillow, and Eddie moves onto the floor, kicking off his shoes. 

He seems fairly calm right now, rocking back and forth as he pulls at the pillow case, breathing heavily. He isn’t hyperventilating, Steve notes, just breathing hard. Loud. But steady. 

“What do you need?” he whispers. 

Steve’s lips part, and he takes a breath. 

“I…”

His brows furrow, and he exhales sharply, frustrated with himself. 

“Take your time, sweet boy, I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie says softly, and he wants to caress his face, to kiss his forehead so the wrinkle from his furrowed eyebrows fades, but he refrains. 

It takes a few moment for Steve to speak, still rocking back and forth, and Eddie waits. 

“Can you— Can you squeeze me?”

“Squeeze you?”

Steve hums weakly, almost whimpering, and he gesturing with a hand, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Sit— Sit behind me, and…”

“Yeah,” Eddie says quickly, moving to crawl across the floor. “Of course.”

He sits behind him, leaning to check his expression as he wraps his legs around his hips, and he hugs him gently, pulling him against his chest. 

“That okay?”

“Harder, I need— I need pressure—“

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs, tightening his arms, squeezing, and Steve stops moving, freezing for a moment before he relaxes against Eddie with an exhale. “Okay?”

Steve whimpers affirmatively. 

His hands find Eddie’s forearms after a few moments, and his breathing becomes slower, shallower, returning to normal. His hands relax on Eddie’s arms, and Eddie carefully loosens his arms. 

“Okay?”

“Don’t let go,” Steve says weakly. 

“I won’t let go unless you want me to, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve takes a shuddering breath, and his head falls back to Eddie’s shoulder, exposing his neck. Eddie starts to sway with him in his arms, squeezing him once. 

���Thank you,” Steve whispers after another while. His voice is soft, weak, and he’s crying again. Eddie squeezes again, refraining from kissing his neck just in case he’s too sensitive right now. 

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs instead. “You need me, I’m right here, always.”

Steve cries quietly, holding Eddie’s forearms, and when he stops crying, he curls into a ball, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck as he sighs, wiping his face with the back of his hand. 

“Hard day?” Eddie whispers. 

“Mhmm.”

“Wanna talk or take a nap?”

“Mm. Dunno.”

“We can talk later if you want,” Eddie whispers. “Let yourself be tired.”

Steve sighs, his breath tickling Eddie’s neck, and he presses closer. 

“Squeeze?”

Eddie tightens his arms, and Steve groans softly, nuzzling closer. Eddie smiles as Steve becomes heavier, as he melts into Eddie’s arms, as he falls asleep. 

They talk when he wakes up, when they move to his bed. Their voices are soft and quiet as Steve makes his way back into Eddie’s arms, pressing to his chest, face tucked into his throat. 

A customer yelled at him today. Steve hates being yelled at. It makes him think of his father. 

The customer called him stupid. 

Steve really, really hates that. 

He held himself together until he got home. 

Eddie kisses his forehead, sliding a hand over his waist gently. 

“You’re not stupid, Steve,” he murmurs. Steve sighs, buzzing into Eddie’s neck, and when he speaks, his voice is muffled. 

“‘M not stupid.”

“‘S right.”

Steve is quiet for so long Eddie thinks he’s fallen asleep, until he shifts and says Eddie’s name softly. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

Eddie smiles, shifting down so they’re face to face, and Steve’s arm reaches up to drape over his neck as his other arm tucks between them. Eddie touches his face tenderly, brushing his thumb over his cheek before he leans in and kisses him softly. Steve kisses him back, leaning forward to capture his lips again when he pulls away, shifting to touch his face. His fingers press into Eddie’s cheek gently, touching his scar. He doesn’t really like the scar all that much, but he can’t complain about it. He’s alive after all. And if Steve heard him complain or talk negatively about it, Steve would be pissed, so… 

Steve likes the scar. He kisses it a lot, his lips always soft and careful and loving, like the scar is something beautiful. It’s nice. Especially on days that Eddie can’t stand to see himself, to look at himself in a mirror. Steve always seems to somehow know. 

Steve sucks on Eddie’s lower lip, his teeth digging into it gently, and Eddie lets him, relaxing into the mattress, exhaling. It always feels so nice when Steve does this, kisses him like he’s fidgeting, like there’s nothing else in the world but their mouths. Steve likes doing this, Eddie’s realized. Sucking on Eddie’s lips, his tongue, sometimes his fingers. It’s never sexual (or at least too sexual), just something for Steve to do. 

Steve hums low in his throat, licking Eddie’s lips, and Eddie grins, letting Steve lick across his teeth. He doesn’t think he can ever get used to this: the weird, oddly soft grossness of Steve’s tongue sliding across his mouth, between his lips, slick and wet. But they both love it, always smiling absently, dopily, when there are strings of spit connecting their mouths, when their chins are wet with each other’s spit, sloppy and filthy and beautiful. 

Steve falls asleep with his lips pressed to Eddie’s, and Eddie can barely even move, smiling to himself. He’s so sweet. 

Eddie traces his face for a while, gazes at the moles spotting his skin like he’s stargazing, until it’s too dark for him to see them clearly. He can still see them when he closes his eyes. He has them memorized. 

— — — — — 

It’s a Wednesday. Eddie doesn’t have anything to do. 

Wayne falls asleep on the sofa, and Eddie makes him lunch. Leaves it on the kitchen counter with a note that just has a little devil doodle on it with a heart. And he goes to Steve’s. 

He almost expects Robin to be there when he arrives, but when she is there, they’re usually downstairs, tangled on the sofa while they bicker and watch a movie, or both at the same time, or in the kitchen, bantering or singing while they make lunch together. The house is dark when he gets there, all the lights off, and he hears music from upstairs, muffled and pulsing through the walls. He recognizes the song as he goes up the stairs, some Fleetwood Mac song that Robin’s been listening to nonstop lately, and then he expects to see her again as he pushes Steve’s door open, but he stops when he sees Steve. 

Laying on his bed sideways, his head hanging off the edge upside down, his arms crossed over his midsection, tapping in time with the music. His eyes are closed peacefully. 

“Hey, baby,” Eddie says softly, smiling when Steve smiles without opening his eyes. “Mind if I join you?”

“Mm-mm. No touching, though.”

“M’kay.”

Eddie sits on the floor next to where his head is hanging, looking at the way his hair hangs down, looking soft and smooth and shiny in the sunlight. 

“You stood in the doorway a long time,” Steve says, his hands still tapping. 

“Did I? Didn’t notice, I was distracted.” Steve suppresses a smile. 

“How’d you know I was there before I said anything?” “Heard you on the stairs,” Steve says lightly. “I know what your walking sounds like. ‘Nd I could smell you.”

He’s already smiling like he knows what Eddie is going to say. 

“You could smell me?”

“Mhmm. I got the nose of a bloodhound, Robin says.”

“Okay, weird.”

Steve giggles. 

“You smell good.” “What do I smell like?”

“Mm. Cigarettes. But, like, in a good way. ‘Nd your shampoo. ‘Nd your apartment. You and Wayne smell mostly the same. He uses different soap.”

Eddie smiles at him, listening to the sound of his hands tapping his sides in time with the song, watching him smile.

“...You do have the nose of a bloodhound, my god.”

Steve giggles.

He falls quiet, still smiling as he listens to the song, and Eddie looks at him. 

He always looks so golden, glowing warmly all the time, but it’s different when the sunlight is right on him. Eddie knows Steve doesn’t really like himself, but he thinks Steve is the sun’s favorite person. He looks like he should have a halo. Like it’s missing. 

There are moles on his neck, right where Eddie likes to kiss and lick and suck to hear the way Steve whines like he’s throwing a temper tantrum, like he’s upset. The first time it happened, Eddie thought he hated it. He thought Steve was too sensitive for it, thought it wasn’t good for him the way it is for Eddie. But when he tried to raise his head, Steve’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling him back down to bury his face in his neck, and Eddie had laughed, opening his mouth to slide his tongue over the skin, and he relished the way Steve hissed a soft Fuck, yes.

Eddie looks at the spots, smiling softly, and then his eyes move to look at Steve’s Adam’s apple, pronounced because his head is tilted back over the edge of the bed, his neck arched. Eddie wants to lick it. 

Steve’s hands are still tapping his sides, one hand tapping four beats, the other one, and as Eddie watches, they switch smoothly. Eddie blinks, watching. 

He smiles. Steve is wearing one of Eddie’s rings. It’s one he’s never worn all that often, a little small for his ring finger but fitting perfectly on Steve’s. No one’s questioned it because they haven’t seen Eddie wear it. It’s a silver band, scratched and tarnished with age, and Eddie doesn’t even remember when or where he got it. Just that it’s a good ring, won’t turn Steve’s finger green, and that it looks nice against Steve’s skin. Neither of them said anything when Eddie put it on his finger. 

It was late at night, and they were smoking a joint together, trading it back and forth until Steve opted to just lean in and blow the smoke into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie had gazed at him the way he is now, smiling softly as he traced the angle of his nose, the part of his lips as smoke drifted from between them, curling into the air toward the ceiling. Eddie had barely thought, shifting to reach into his bedside table to find the ring, reaching for Steve’s hand to slide it on carefully, slowly. Steve had watched, smiling as he took a drag, and he held the smoke in his lungs as Eddie pressed a kiss to the ring like Steve was royalty. He tugged at Eddie’s hand to make him lift his head so he could lean in and kiss him deeply, exhaling the smoke into his mouth. 

Steve’s hands switch again, alternating beats, the ring flashing in the sunlight. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Eddie’s face flushes with heat, and he looks at Steve’s face when his hands don’t stop. Steve is quiet, and his eyes blink open, his eyelashes fluttering for a moment before he looks at Eddie, shifting to see him. 

“Yeah?” he asks lightly, softly. 

“...Yeah.”

“What tipped you off?”

“I just…”

And how the fuck is Eddie supposed to say it? That everything Steve does lights his insides on fire, even if he’s just itching his nose, that Steve makes Eddie want to live life more than anything. That Eddie looks forward to seeing him every time he wakes up in the morning, that even on days that they can’t see each other, the idea of seeing Steve keeps him going. And maybe that’s not healthy, to be so fucking obsessed with someone, but Eddie can’t bring himself to care. He almost died. He was inches from it, almost in the fucking light or whatever. What does it matter if he’s obsessed with his boyfriend? 

“You’re just so perfect,” Eddie says finally. Steve scoffs. 

“I’m not perfect, Eddie.”

“Closest thing to perfect I’ve ever known.”

Steve is quiet again. 

He looks at Eddie again. 

For a while. 

Eddie thinks he’s processing it, absorbing it. 

He knows Steve doesn’t hear things like that often. His parents are pieces of shit, were always mean to him regardless of how hard he tried to make them proud, and the kids tease relentlessly, even in love. Steve isn’t told often enough how much he is. How he’s fucking everything. 

“Can I have a kiss?” Steve asks softly. 

“Touching okay?” “God, yeah, please.”

Eddie grins and moves to sit cross-legged across from where his head is hanging. Steve looks at him, smiling, and Eddie finally drags his fingers through his hair, undoing the small knots in it as he leans in and kisses him. It’s a little awkward with the upside-down angle, Eddie’s nose mashing against Steve’s chin, and vice versa. But it’s perfect. 

Steve hums, reaching to touch Eddie, his hand drifting in the air for a moment as he gets situated until his fingers push into Eddie’s hair a little too hard. Eddie smiles, sucking for a moment on Steve’s lower lip before he pulls back to look at him. Steve tugs his hair, lips parted, chin lifting to prompt Eddie to kiss again, and Eddie leans back in, kicking into his mouth gently. 

His hand finds Steve’s neck, fingertips trailing over his warm skin until he finds his throat, where they dance over his Adam’s apple lightly, making him shiver. Eddie smiles, pressing his hand over his throat, holding it carefully, listening to Steve choke weakly, a hum catching in his throat. 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, holding Eddie’s face between his hands now. “I think I’m falling in love with you too.”

“Mm.” Eddie kisses him slowly before mumbling against his lips. “‘S cool.”

Steve smiles.

— — — — — 

The music is different the next time Eddie goes over. Loud, heavy, and… screaming? 

Eddie makes his way upstairs, raising an eyebrow as he heads to Steve’s room, the music getting louder and louder. He can practically feel it in the ground, vibrating through his bones, and he can’t even understand the lyrics, the words growled and hissed and screamed. 

Steve is pacing in his room when Eddie pushes the door open, hands flapping in the air in time with the music as his head bobs, making his hair swing in the air around it. Eddie pauses to watch, glancing at the record player on his dresser. There are records on the ground, set against the dresser, the covers of them black with spikey, illegible writing. One is just white with something written on it in black marker. 

“Hello?” Eddie says loud enough to be heard over the music, and Steve looks at him excitedly, running at him before jumping so Eddie can catch him, arms around his waist. Steve’s arms wrap around his neck. 

“Hi,” he says brightly.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, arms tightening when Steve doesn’t let go. 

“I am desperately understimulated.”

“Oh, understimulated, huh?” Eddie says suggestively, grinning when Steve giggles into his neck, arms tightening, and he sways.“What are we listening to?” 

“Mm, they’re called Damage Control,” Steve mumbles, up on his tiptoes to hold Eddie tighter. “They’re one of my favorites right now.”

“Favorite… what?”

“Bands,” Steve says, his voice on the verge of laughter. “They’re from Indy,” he continues when Eddie remains speechless. “They sell to that one music store in Bloomington— You know the Rock Shop?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly. That’s where he gets most of his tapes. God knows the music store in Hawkins doesn’t have shit he likes. 

“There,” Steve says. “The owner suggested them to me because I liked Autopsy, and Damage was kind of new— They still are, I guess, they’ve only released three albums and they’re kinda underground or whatever, but the guy at the Rock Shop said they’re working on another album and I’m really excited about it.”

Eddie is grinning, and when Steve pulls away, he is too. 

Steve looks at him with that glowing grin, and he starts bobbing his head with the music again, mouthing the words at Eddie. 

You’ve been holding your breath for far too long, babyI’ll give you mine straight from my lungs

I’ll give you it all, baby, anything you needGut me, Gut me, Gut me

Eddie’s smile widens, and he pulls at Steve’s back, crashing their mouths together so hard it hurts a little, but Steve giggles, hugging his neck and tilting his head. Eddie kisses him desperately, listening as Steve moans softly into his mouth, their teeth clashing and tongues sliding, and it’s sloppy and messy and seemingly just what Steve needed. He pushes Eddie against the door as the instruments cut short in the song to emphasize the long, scratchy scream before the drums come crashing back in. 

One of Steve’s legs hitches up on Eddie’s hip, and Eddie grabs his thigh, squeezing tightly, smiling when Steve grunts, one of his hands grabbing at the side of Eddie’s thigh. 

“Baby,” Eddie gasps when they part for breath, glancing down at Steve’s spit-slick lips.

“Mm.”

“I got a very serious question for you.”

Steve giggles, smiling lazily, tracing the scars on Eddie’s neck. 

“What?”

“...Do you want me to touch your butt?” Eddie asks seriously, eyes wide and earnest, and Steve giggles again, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

“Sure.”

“Sure? You don’t sound like you want it—”

“Eddie,” Steve says firmly, grabbing his face and pulling so their eyes meet. “Touch my butt.”

Eddie snickers, licking his bottom lip as he slides his hand over Steve’s thigh and hip to grab his ass, his stomach flipping when Steve’s eyes flutter shut for a moment. 

“Yeah,” Steve says softly, his voice almost lost to the music. “Fuck, yeah.”

Eddie squeezes again, digging his fingers in until Steve winces and exhales sharply. 

“That okay?” Eddie checks softly, and Steve nods. 

“Touch me,” he says, breathing hard suddenly, eyes closing as he kisses Eddie messily for a moment. “Please, Eddie baby, I need more.”

Eddie reaches down to tug at his other thigh, picking him up and holding him as his legs wrap around his hips, sliding his hands to hold his ass, spreading his fingers to take up as much space as possible, squeezing as he turns to press Steve into the door. 

He kisses him again, licking into his mouth messily, and Steve’s mouth falls open, his tongue sliding against Eddie’s as he holds his shoulders, his breath fast and hot. 

“What do you want?” Eddie asks breathlessly, his face warm as Steve licks his mouth again. 

“Want it to hurt a little,” Steve breathes. “Just, like… squeeze tight. ‘Nd… Fuckin’ bite me and shit.”

Eddie laughs, kissing him quickly before he tightens his hands on his ass, digging his fingers into his flesh. The fabric of his sweatpants is thin and soft, and he can feel the heat of Steve’s skin on his hands. He watches Steve’s face carefully, watches his eyebrows furrow as his eyes squeeze shut, watches his mouth fall open silently as he holds his breath, and when his shoulders tighten, Eddie relaxes his grip. He watches as relief floods Steve’s expression, as he relaxes against the door with an exhale and a Fuck yeah.

“That okay?”

“Mm,” Steve hums, nodding, breathing hard. “Yeah, that was… That was perfect.”

“M’kay,” Eddie mumbles, kissing him again desperately. “Lemme know if it’s too much.”

“Okay.”

Eddie does it again, kissing Steve and letting his mouth hang open for him to lick into it, squeezing hard until Steve whines before he releases, listening to Steve exhale. 

Steve’s mouth is warm, and Eddie presses him into the doorway harder, practically massaging his ass as Steve’s tongue slides over his teeth like he’s trying to feel the texture of them, like he’s trying to memorize the bumps and divots between them. His tongue lingers at one of Eddie’s canines, pressing into the sharp point of it, and Eddie bites down gently, carefully. Steve moans happily, his hips jerking up. Eddie grins. 

He slides his hands to his hips, squeezing hard for a few seconds as Steve finally pulls his mouth away to catch his breath, panting. Eddie lowers his head, pressing his face into Steve’s neck and sliding his tongue over his skin as Steve giggles lightly. He’s ticklish here. 

He hears Steve inhale deeply when Steve’s face presses to his head, his nose in his hair, and he smiles, licking him again before he lingers at a spot under his jawline, biting down as he squeezes again. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve chokes. “Harder.”

Eddie soothes the spot with a swipe of his tongue before moving a hand to tug at Steve’s shirt, pulling the collar out of the way so Eddie can mouth at the spot between his shoulder and his neck. He bites down again, harder, listening as Steve lets out that petulant fucking whine, like he’s mad, like he hates it, but his hand reaches to hold the back of Eddie’s head, holding him in place, his fist tight in his curls. 

“Shit,” Steve gasps when Eddie lets up, looking at the bite mark on his skin, a perfect print of his teeth. “I wanna come, I…”

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, squeezing his ass again before he pulls him away from the doorway, stepping back into the room to drop Steve on the bed, but Steve pulls him down with him, crashing their mouths together messily. Their lips don’t land square on each other, and Eddie grins as he crawls over him, letting him lower onto his back as Eddie hovers over him, his hand on the bed next to his head. 

And it’s so much, the feeling of Steve’s tongue sliding hot over his lips, over his teeth and the roof of his mouth, the feeling of his hands in his hair, pulling hard without even thinking, the feeling of his legs wrapping around his waist and pulling so their hips press. The music, the screaming and rapid drums and loud, scratchy guitar. 

“More,” Steve chokes, almost demanding, but he looks so helpless here, under Eddie, his cheeks red, his hair messy. “I need— Fuck, Eddie, please, I need more—”

Eddie swears under his breath, sitting up quickly, kneeling between his legs, and he tears off his t-shirt, throwing it across the room before he reaches for the hem of Steve’s, which is already lifting up over his torso as Steve wriggles to get it off. 

Eddie throws it across the room, shifting to lean down, kissing and licking and sucking and biting to his heart’s content, relishing the sounds Steve makes that are just audible over the loud music. Eddie bites down on his chest, humming in satisfaction (because Christ, this is fun), and he reaches up with a hand, pinching one of Steve’s nipples harder than he really has to, but Steve lets out a sharp Ah, fuck— and his hips jerk up against Eddie’s. So he does it again, making it hurt the way Steve likes it. 

They’re having sex. This isn’t how Eddie saw today going, in all honesty. He thought they’d make out a while, make dinner with enough to bring home for Wayne, watch a movie. Make stupid commentary, bad puns and immature jokes. Cuddle on the sofa until they fall asleep with their hands in each other’s hair. He never would have seen this coming, not when they’ve never talked about it or anything. They haven’t even gotten close, unless Eddie counts the few times Steve needed sensations, the times he was seeking feelings and asked Eddie to touch him, but it was all over clothes, barely sexual. Just rubbing and squeezing his muscles, massaging his ass in an almost silly way because it felt good and because it made Steve smile, which felt good in its own way. 

But they’re both achingly hard, and when Eddie lifts his head enough to glance down, there’s a wet spot on Steve’s sweatpants that makes Eddie’s heart fucking soar. Steve’s arms wrap around his neck desperately, grappling and clutching and pulling him down to kiss him sloppily, and Eddie reaches to the small of his back, tugging so it arches, so their hips press again, and he grinds down, hearing Steve’s moan that slips right between his lips. 

Eddie giggles, doing it again, sliding his hand farther down to grab his ass, squeezing hard. Understimulated. This probably wasn’t what Steve had in mind when he told Eddie how he was feeling. But it seems to be working for him if Eddie had to guess based on the loud, frantic sounds escaping his mouth, based on how desperately he’s grinding back against Eddie, jerking his hips up again and again, over and over. 

And Eddie is practically fucking him, reaching to tug one of his legs up so it’s over his arm, grinding his hips down harder, rocking back and forth as Steve lets out a loud groan, as his fingers tighten in his curls. Eddie kisses him, licking across his mouth, and he bites down on his lip so hard he almost expects to taste blood. 

He doesn’t, luckily, but he licks it anyway, soothing it gently. 

He buries his face in Steve’s neck as the music gets louder, faster, as Steve moves against him desperately, frantically, and their skin is slick with sweat now, tacky and sticking to each other, but it doesn’t fucking matter, before Eddie is getting a little lightheaded as he mouths at Steve’s neck, his skin salty. He bites. 

The music draws to a climax as Steve lets out a loud moan, as his body tenses and freezes, and Eddie whimpers, gasping for breath. 

And then it’s almost silent, the record spinning, staticky and quiet, and they’re both breathing hard, holding each other tightly. Steve’s arms are around his neck, his chest rising and falling against Eddie’s, and Eddie can’t see, his face in Steve’s neck. They’re both trembling. 

Eddie’s never come that hard in his life. And it was in his pants, but he can’t even be embarrassed about it, because Steve did too, because Steve came just as hard as he did. Because Steve is still making soft noises, whimpers and weak moans as his hips roll helplessly like he’s still riding it out. 

“Holy shit,” Steve says after a few silent moments. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. 

“That was…”

“Fuck.”

“Mm.”

Eddie lingers there, kissing his neck gently, nibbling gently, and he sits up slowly, unsticking their skin. He looks down when Steve’s arms fall away, landing on the bed like he can’t control them, down at the wet patches on their pants, wishing he had Steve’s Polaroid camera close. Maybe next time. 

“Stimulated enough?” he asks after staring for a little while longer, and Steve giggles almost deliriously, his eyes closed.

“Fuck you.”

Eddie snickers, his eyes wandering to the bite marks on Steve’s chest and collarbones and neck. They’re already bruising, and he bites his lip, tracing one lightly. Steve hums. 

“That music was something,” Eddie says absently, tracing a line down the center of his chest, down to his belly button and the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“That was fucking incredible,” Steve says, back arching, chin tilting up. “Fuckin’ heaven, Eddie, holy shit.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

Eddie leans down to kiss his throat gently. 

“How do you feel?” he murmurs. 

“So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Eddie says again, grinning, looking at him. He looks asleep already, relaxed and sated and fucked happy. 

“C’mere.”

“We should change.”

“Don’t wanna move.”

“Want me to change you?” 

Steve snorts, his head rolling on the bed so half his face is buried in one of the blankets. 

“Just don’t make it weird.”

His legs fall as Eddie moves to get up, standing shakily. 

“Me?” he says dramatically, a hand to his chest even though Steve isn’t looking at him. “Make something weird? How dare you?”

Steve is still giggling. 

And somehow this is just as nice as the sex, Eddie gently tugging Steve’s pants and boxers down, smiling when Steve lifts his hips to help him, wiping him clean and helping Steve into clean clothes. Feeling Steve’s eyes on him as he changes too. 

It’s quiet. Steve is still fidgeting, but it’s sleepy now, like his orgasm took all the energy out of him, and Eddie climbs into bed next to him, smiling when he feels the way Steve is sliding his feet back and forth over the sheets. He keeps doing it even as he wraps an arm around Eddie tightly, his skin warm on Eddie’s, even as Eddie plays with his hair, twisting and tugging and pulling the way he knows Steve likes. He only stops when he drifts off to sleep, after a quiet, mumbled love you. 

— — — — — 

Mike had forgotten how cramped Steve’s car is when he’s picking them all up. 

Usually Eddie drives them around, but he has errands to run for Wayne, and now Mike is squished against the door in the backseat. He should be riding shotgun, but Dustin called it as they were all headed out the door. Unfair, in Mike’s opinion (he is the tallest, after all, and his legs are not meant to be cramped like this), but he doesn’t complain, because Will is next to him, their shoulders mashed together as Lucas and Erica climb into the car somewhat unsafely. 

Mike looks out the window, tuning out Steve’s voice as he tells them all to buckle up. (Mike did before the others got in.) It feels warm, and Mike pretends it’s just the sunlight coming through the windows, hot on his face, and he ignores the way Will’s knee is pressing into his. 

He’s tired after today’s campaign, and he relaxes as much as he can into his seat, letting his head fall to the window, the glass warm on his forehead, and he drifts off, zoning out, but he’s startled out of it when Steve starts the car a loud shriek omits from the speakers before it cuts off quickly. 

“What the fuck was that?” Dustin says adamantly as they all catch their breaths, their eyes wide as Steve slowly starts to drive, fingers still on the volume dial that’s turned all the way down. 

“That was— music,” Steve says choppily, checking the rearview mirrors. “Sorry.”

“That was not music,” Erica says from where she’s squished between Will and Lucas. “That was the sound of someone being murdered.” “Jesus,” Dustin says, exhaling and slumping in his seat (must be nice). 

“Yeah, Steve,” Lucas says, also squished against the door. “What the hell?”

“Sorry,” Steve says again, making a face. “I didn’t realize the volume was all the way up, geez.”

“Why was it all the way up?” Will asks, and Mike finally tears his eyes away from Steve in the rearview mirror, looking at the way Will’s brows are furrowed, his eyes wide, almost glowing in the sunlight. “What’s wrong with you?”

“It was Ed— Okay, first of all, watch yourself,” Steve says sassily. “I’ll drop you off right here and you can walk home.”

“Yeah, because my mother would love it if you did that,” Will shoots back. “You wouldn’t, you want her to like you.”

“That’s the only thing stopping me, so watch it or I’ll decide silence is worth not getting a Joyce Byers hug.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

Mike rolls his eyes at the bickering, watching as Erica kicks at the back of Dustin’s seat, telling him to move it forward only for him to turn and swat at her leg. Steve swats at him, telling him to fix his seatbelt. 

Mike looks back at Steve in the rearview mirror, at the way his hair is a little smoothed back, shiny in the sunlight. And he huffs, looking back out the mirror. 

He leaves with Will, waves half-heartedly to Steve as he blows them sarcastic kisses. (Will pretends to catch one and throw it back at him, and Steve pretends it smacks him across the face. Mike rolls his eyes.)

It rains the next day. It’s not a downpour, but enough that Mike probably should have brough an umbrella, his hair wet across his face when he finally gets to Steve’s house. He gets off his bike, kicking the stand to make it stay in place, and he exhales slowly, shaking his head and muttering Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid to himself as he goes to the front door and knocks. 

He opens the door before he gets a respose, stepping in and out of the rain. It’s not weird. They all do it, just come inside before Steve can answer the door. Mike once overheard Robin saying that Steve loves it, his friends coming inside without invitation, like they live here too. 

Steve comes into the hall from the kitchen as Mike is pushing his bangs out of his face and pulling his hood down. 

“Hi,” Mike says awkwardly. 

“Hey?” Steve says, drying his hands with a towel. He glances at the door, realizing that Mike is alone, and God, this is so stupid. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just… Uhm.” He pauses, toeing at the ground. 

“Did something happen?” 

Mike can hear the worry in Steve’s voice, and it makes him feel bad. 

“No, nothing— nothing happened, just… Can I borrow some tapes?”

“...What?”

Mike looks up at him, his face flushing with embarrassment, and he fucking hates feeling like this. 

“Just— Eddie lets me borrow tapes sometimes when he thinks I might like, like, a certain band or album or whatever, and I…” He pauses, seeing the blankness in Steve’s eyes. He exhales sharply, frustrated. “I’m, like… curious. About the— the song that you played in the car yesterday— accidentally played in the car. Yesterday.”

He finishes awkwardly, looking at Steve as Steve processes it, watches as Steve’s lips twitch into a smile. 

“Oh.”

Mike blinks at him. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, beckoning as he heads to the stairs. “Sure.”

Mike kicks his shoes off, exhaling in relief, as though he was worried Steve was going to tell him off or something, and he follows him up to his room. Steve kicks some laundry aside as they go in, and he grabs something off his dresser and hides it in a drawer before Eddie can see what it is. Mike doesn’t ask. 

Steve pulls out a box, pushing it toward Mike as he leans against his desk, and Mike looks at it curiously. 

“You only heard, like, a second from the song but that was Target Practice,” Steve says, rummaging through another drawer as Mike’s eyes scan the tapes. “They’re from Seattle; the genre’s kind of small right now, kinda like— starting out, I guess, but it’s getting bigger.”

“What’s the genre?” Mike asks absently, leaning to look. Some of the tapes are labelled by hand, Steve’s handwriting distinct and loopy, some others printed and colorful, professionally done. The one reading Damage Control looks well-loved, worn and used. 

“Uh, death metal?” Steve says like he isn’t entirely sure. He lifts up another box of tapes. “This one’s got some Fleetwood Mac and stuff in it, but you should be able to, like, see the difference.”

Mike can. 

He looks through them curiously, lifting them to look at the labels and song lists, furrowing his brows at a few of them. He lifts one up, analyzing the black and red lettering that reads Possessed, the upside-down cross, and he skims the list of songs, lifting an eyebrow. Burning in Hell, Satan’s Curse, Pentagram… 

“Where do you get these?” Mike asks, his thumb running over the words. He feels almost guilty looking at them, knowing his father would have a fucking conniption if he saw Mike looking at it. His dad hates Eddie, and his whole… thing. He thinks it’s blasphemous, un-American. Mike feels kind of exhilarated here, looking at the tapes. 

“Mostly a music store in Bloomington,” Steve says, leaning against the desk and watching him. “A few are from Indy, but those are like, the international ones. Uh…” He looks over at the tapes, searching, and he points at one reading Sodom. “They’re German. Not available in smaller stores, you know.”

Mike nods, looking again. 

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asks after a few moments. 

“Damage Control is my favorite right now,” Steve says. “They’re from Indy, sell to some stores around the state. But Killjoys are local too, they’re really good. They do shows in Indy and Fort Wayne.”

“Have you been?” Mike asks, struggling to tamp down his excitement at the thought of a live show. He’s never seen any live music, aside from the talent shows at his middle school and the choirs at church. 

“Twice,” Steve says, smiling like he just knows. “Yeah. It was fun.”

Mike looks through the tapes again, but his hand lingers on Possessed, his mouth twisting as he looks at it again. He’d have to hide it. He doesn’t even know what his dad would do if he found it. Probably send him to some church camp. Take away all his D&D stuff. 

“Can I?” he asks anyway. 

“Yeah, ‘course. Take as many as you want. Long as I get ‘em back.”

Mike grins. 

He takes Possessed, Sodom out of curiosity, and one from Damage Control. (There are three by them, each labelled with numbers. He takes the first one.)

“Yeah?” Steve asks when Mike stacks the three of them in his hands. “You set?”

“Yeah,” Mike says, hesitating again. “Uh.”

“What’s up?”

Mike stalls, sorting the tapes again, biting his lip nervously before he speaks. 

“You know how I like… I like Eddie’s whole… look?” he says finally, looking up at Steve, who’s looking at him, leaning against the desk next to the boxes, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. 

“Uh. I wanna grow my hair out like— like him, or— I wanna grow my hair out more,” he says, remembering that his hair is almost past his shoulders. “But, uhm.”

Steve waits patiently while he finds his words.

“How do you keep your hair so soft?” Mike asks finally, the words bursting out of him, and he flushes with embarrassment again. Steve blinks. 

“...What?”

“Just—” Mike huffs. “I like Eddie’s hair length, it’s just, like… crispy.”

There’s a moment of silence.

And then Steve turns away with a laugh that he tries to stifle. It doesn’t work. 

“You are not allowed to tell him I said that,” Mike snaps, but he’s suppressing a smile too, because he doesn’t see Steve laugh all that often, but he has a great laugh. His eyes squint shut and he smiles like he’s at the fucking dentist, showing all his teeth, and his nose wrinkles like he’s a little kid. It’s cute. Not that Mike fucking notices. 

“I won’t,” Steve says, still laughing, and he gestures a cross over his heart. “I won’t, I swear.”

“How do you keep your hair so soft?” Mike asks again. Steve shrugs. 

“‘S just… taking care of it. Trimming dead ends, using good shampoo and stuff. Also depends on your hair texture, Eddie’s is different from mine.”

Mike hesitates. 

“I have to cut it to grow it out?”

“Just the dead ends,” Steve says lightly. “For it to grow out healthy.” He hesitates, eyeing Mike’s hair before he gestures to it. “Can I?”

Mike nods, and Steve sits up off the desk, reaching out and gently touching a piece of Mike’s hair, analyzing the ends. 

“Just this,” he says, holding the hair up, pinching it to show where Mike should cut it. “‘S not too bad, but these ends are a little split, so you should trim them off, keep the length.”

Mike exhales. 

“How do you know all this?”

Steve’s hands drop. 

“Magazines,” he says, leaning back against his desk. “But if you wanna know about, like, your hair specifically, you could go into a hair salon and ask for advice.”

Mike blinks, and his stomach twists at the very thought. At the thought of going into a place like that, all fucking prim and proper and expensive, white floor tiles and women with curls piled on top of their heads. Red lipstick and judging eyes. He imagines his mom’s friends. He knows how they look at him. 

“I can’t do that,” he says like he’s arguing, like he’s cornered. Steve blinks. 

“They’d give you some actual professional advice,” he says. “They know better than I do.”

“Steve,” Mike says firmly. “I can’t do that.” He’s practically shaking. He doesn’t know why.

“It’s what I did—”

“It’s different for you,” he snaps. 

“...How?”

It’s a stupid fucking question. Like Steve can’t see the difference between them. Mike stares for a moment, taking a breath that comes out too fast.

“You go into a hair salon and ask for— for advice, and you go into gas stations and get magazines about it and you… you care about your appearance or whatever, and it’s fine,” Mike says, clutching at the tapes. “It becomes your fucking name, and people think it’s fine, that you— you’re presentable and fucking cool, but— but if I do that, then they know I’m a faggot,” he says, and he isn’t even thinking anymore. “I don’t want them to make fun of me, not about that.”

And it’s quiet, the rain outside tapping on the window quietly. Steve’s eyes widen a little, and his expression relaxes as the realization sets in, and Mike’s chest feels tight suddenly, like there’s something squeezing him so tightly he can’t breathe. 

“Mike…”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Mike chokes, his eyes stinging. “Please.”

“Hey,” Steve says softly, standing up off the desk again, reaching for the tapes in Mike’s hands, and Mike’s heart feels like it splits open, because Steve doesn’t want to share with him anymore, and God, he’s so childish. But Steve just takes them gently and sets them on the desk, holding one of Mike’s trembling hands. 

Steve’s hands are so warm. It feels weird that that’s what stands out to Mike right now, but his brain latches onto it, and his fingers wrap around Steve’s, holding his hand tightly as he gasps for breath like his throat is closing. 

“Mike,” Steve says softly. “I need you to breathe.”

“I ca—”

He gasps, feeling lightheaded, and his hand tightens on Steve’s. Steve squeezes, reaching for Mike’s other hand, and he pulls it toward himself, pressing Mike’s palm to his chest. 

Mike’s eyes flutter open as he feels his chest rise slowly, and Steve whispers softly.

“In.”

Mike’s breath stutters in his chest, and he grips Steve’s hand so hard it must hurt, but his vision dims. He tries to breathe in, looking into Steve’s eyes as Steve nods. 

“Good job,” he says softly, murmuring. “And out, slowly.”

They exhale together, carefully. 

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Steve says softly when Mike catches his breath. “Alright?”

“Promise?” And Mike kind of hates himself, because he’s acting like such a child, but Steve just smiles softly at him. It’s kind of a sad smile. 

“Mike,” Steve says gently. “I’m… Me too.”

Mike blinks. His breath stills in his chest, and he freezes, looking into the earnest shine of Steve’s eyes, feeling his heart pound against Mike’s palm. They’re both shaking now, but Steve is still smiling weakly. 

“You too?” Mikes says softly, almost to himself. 

But Steve doesn’t take it back. He just keeps smiling. 

“Yeah.”

Mike’s hand somehow tightens even more on Steve’s.

“You’re… You’re gay?” he whispers, like there’s someone in the hallway or under the bed, listening to them. 

“I’m– I’m bisexual,” he says, but Mike blinks in confusion, and he smiles again. “It means I like men and women.”

“Oh,” Mike breathes. He feels a little dizzy. “You’re like me.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “I’m like you.”

“I need to lay down,” Mike says after a moment, blinking hard, and Steve nods, letting him go as Mike lowers to the ground, laying on his back and covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

“You okay?”

“Mhmm.”

He hears Steve leave and go downstairs, and he squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he sees colors bloom on his eyelids, bright like fireworks. His back stretches out on the floor and he lets his legs extend until his knees pop, and he takes a slow, deep breath, focusing on the way his chest rises and then falls. 

He doesn’t know how long it is until Steve comes back, and he lowers his hands when he hears his footsteps make the floorboards creak. He looks up, blinking his eyes open, and Steve is looking down at him, holding two cans of 7-Up. Mike wants to cry a little. It’s his favorite. 

He sits up as Steve joins him on the floor, and they’re silent as they crack the sodas open. 

“Who else knows?” Steve asks finally. 

“Uh,” Mike hesitates, looking at the soda that’s gathered on the lip of the can. “Eddie.”

Steve blinks. 

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, he… he knew before I did,” Mike says, and he gives a weak laugh even though it isn’t really funny. “He…”

Steve waits for him again. 

“It was the day we introduced Will to the rest of Hellfire,” Mike says quietly, his cheeks flushing. “Eddie pulled me aside while everyone was hanging out and he… He just kind of told me? That I— I like Will.”

Steve’s lips curve into a smile, and his eyebrows raise. 

“Will, huh?”

Mike looks down shyly, nodding and suppressing a smile. 

“He… Yeah. I guess Eddie could… see how I looked at him or something.”

“Eddie’s pretty good at that,” Steve says after a moment. “Noticing things about people.”

“Yeah.”

Steve is quiet for a moment as Mike sips his soda. It’s sweet, even more so because Mike hasn’t eaten anything in a while, and he slides his free hand over his leg to stop himself from shaking it out. It feels like this should be awkward, sitting with Steve Harrington on his bedroom floor and drinking soda together, but it isn’t. 

“Can you give me a minute?” Steve asks after a little while, and Mike nods, watching curiously as he leaves again. The door stays open when he’s gone, and Mike leans against his bed, looking around the room. The wallpaper is hideous, but he doesn’t know if Steve picked it or if his parents did. His eyes scan Steve’s desk. There are some books stacked on it, and one is open, another book holding it open so the pages don’t close, and Mike is curious about what the book is, but he doesn’t get up. 

His room is messy, but Mike can’t complain. It’s clean compared to his own. 

There’s a t-shirt on the floor next to where he’s sitting, and he nudges it aside as he takes another sip, raising an eyebrow at the black fabric. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Steve wear black. 

When Steve comes back, he’s smiling to himself, and he sits on the ground again, sipping his soda. 

“So.”

Mike looks at him. 

“So?”

“Uh.” Steve laughs lightly, almost scoffing. “Can’t believe you’re the first person I’m telling about this, but…”

Mike blinks, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Telling me what?”

“Uh,” Steve says again. He sets his soda can down, sitting with his legs crossed. “So. I think one of the reasons that Eddie noticed how you, uhm, how you feel about Will, is that he’s— he’s also gay.”

Mike blinks. 

“He’s my boyfriend.”

Mike blinks again. 

Steve is smiling a little bit, and Mike’s hands start shaking again. He puts his soda down, staring at him. 

“He’s your boyfriend?” Mike says weakly. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “We’re dating, we’ve— we’ve been together for a few weeks.” 

And Mike feels like he’s spinning, because it isn’t just Steve’s voice saying it, but Mike is hearing a man’s voice say my boyfriend, and Mike didn’t even know that was possible. He didn’t know it could happen, that a man could say something like that with a smile on his face, that it could be something so… light. 

“We haven’t told anyone just… just because it’s kind of new,” Steve continues. “But also just, like… I don’t know, we didn’t really feel like we had to, I guess. Nothing’s really changed, except that we, like, make out now.”

Mike laughs weakly, almost deliriously, and he reaches out and pulls at Steve’s arm. Steve lets him.

“Can you say it again?” he asks, almost pleading, and Steve’s hand touches his, big and warm and grounding, holding him gently. 

“Eddie is my boyfriend,” he says softly, slowly. “I’m Eddie’s boyfriend. We’re in love with each other.”

And Mike is crying. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his head to hide his face, but Steve doesn’t let him, pulling at his hand until Mike is falling against him, sobs wracking his shoulders as Steve hugs him tightly, rocking back and forth. Mike lets him. 

It feels weird, to cry in someone’s arms after hiding it for so long. He’s cried alone for years now, ever since he’s felt like he’s too old to cry. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his father cry.

But even though it’s weird, it’s nice. He doesn’t feel like he has to hide his face, doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with crying, and then he doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with him. 

Steve rubs his back gently, rocking back and forth with him like he’s a baby, but even that is nice because Mike always ends up rocking back and forth when he cries anyway, and Mike closes his eyes, letting himself like it. Letting himself like Steve holding him, letting himself cry. 

When he finally stops crying, he pulls back enough to wipe his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie, and Steve looks at him. 

“Are you guys happy?” Mike asks before he can say anything. Steve blinks.

“Yeah,” he says. “We’re really happy.”

Mike closes his eyes. 

Steve pulls him into another hug, and he kisses the top of his head in a way only his mother ever has, but it’s oddly comforting, and Mike melts against him, feeling him tuck his hair back. 

They separate after a while, and Mike moves back, taking a deep breath. 

“Alright?” Steve asks gently. Mike nods. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” Mike says, sniffling, drawing his knees to his chest. Steve is quiet for a few moments, thinking. 

“People… People are gonna give you a lot of shit,” Steve says slowly. “Regardless of if they know. But it… It doesn’t matter.”

Mike blinks at him. 

“They don’t matter,” Steve says almost adamantly. “Do whatever the fuck you want, what— whatever makes you happy.”

Mike looks at the ground. The carpet is worn thin, almost flat even though it looks like it’s supposed to be fuzzy and soft. 

“My dad hates everything I like,” he mumbles. He’s tried to not let it bother him for years. He’s pretended it doesn’t bother him for years. But it does. 

It fucking sucks. To watch all the other kids with their parents, smiling and laughing after school and at birthday parties and baseball games. To hear the boys at school talk about how their dads surprised them with tickets to see their favorite team play, about how their dads bring them books from the library, watch movies with them, help them with their homework.

To wonder what it’s like. 

He’s tried to stop thinking about it, about what it would be like if his dad were to come into the living room and not immediately say something like Mike, change the channel. If his dad were to look at the books stacked in Mike’s room without wrinkling his nose at them like they smelled. If his dad were to help Mike with his homework without telling Mike to just figure it out or that he needs to pay better attention in class if he doesn’t get it. 

His dad doesn’t like him very much. Mike is used to it. He’s kind of stopped caring. He’s growing his hair out even though his dad comments on it every time they’re in the same room, telling him he looks like a girl from behind (which Mike doesn’t mind as much as he thinks he probably should), telling him he looks ridiculous. He wears the shirts he steals from Eddie (and the one Eddie gives him) even though his dad stares at them like they’re about to spontaneously combust. He’s even been thinking about painting his nails black just for the hell of it. Just to piss him off. 

But it sucks, too. Knowing that his dad doesn’t like him. He loves him, Mike thinks. He hasn’t heard it from him in a long time, not since he was a kid. But his mom tells him he does. Your father loves you, Mike, she’d said one night when Mike told her his dad had snidely told him he needs new friends. He just doesn’t know how to show you. 

He shouldn’t have to show me, Mike had wanted to say. But he just rolled his eyes. He does that a lot. 

His father loves him. But he doesn’t like him. 

If he were to see Mike on a sidewalk, and Mike wasn’t his son, he would stare. And look away. And grumble something about people like him. 

Mike knows it. 

And it especially sucks because Mike kind of likes himself. 

Not a lot. In fact, he also kind of hates himself. He wonders if it’s normal for boys his age to hate themselves. To think they’re the worst person in existence as they do their algebra homework and ride their bikes down the empty roads so they aren’t late for dinner. 

He thinks he sucks. He’s annoying, and mean, and almost everything the world expects a fifteen-year-old boy to be. He’s lonely and sad most of the time. He was a bad boyfriend, and he is a bad friend, and he’s a terrible fucking son.

But lately it’s been getting easier to look at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t mind the way he looks as much as he used to. He still doesn’t particularly like looking at himself, but it’s not as hard. 

And he has fun with D&D, and he has fun reading his books and learning things and listening to music, and lately it’s been getting easier to be by himself, too. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, when it started to shift. He supposes it might have been around the time that he and El broke up. (Which had been shockingly easy. Entirely mutual. And now it’s easier to be around her too. Like there aren’t any expectations.) But it’s quieter in his head now. He can finally focus on what he’s doing instead of getting distracted in a spiral of self-hatred. Which is nice. 

So yeah. He kind of likes himself. 

But it fucking sucks that as he grows to like himself, his dad’s gaze seems to get colder. 

Because his dad loves him.

But he doesn’t love him.

“Your dad’s a bitch,” Steve says dryly, and it startles a laugh out of Mike. “I’m serious, I’ve heard what he says about Eddie, about your campaigns and your books and shit. He’s an asshole, Mike.”

It’s oddly cathartic to hear it out loud. 

He’s an asshole instead of He loves you. 

Mike looks at him. 

“He doesn’t matter,” Steve says, softening his voice. “None of them do.” He’s quiet for a moment, and in that moment, he looks like he’s in pain. Like the scars on his sides are aching the way they sometimes do, like the ground has turned to gravel. His voice is gentle when he speaks again, almost whispering. 

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Mike looks at his own hands, twisting his fingers together, thinking about the bottle of nail polish that’s sitting in the drawer of his bedside table. 

“People are mean,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I know.”

Mike glances at him, remembering. Steve used to be a dick. He knows it. Steve knows it. Everyone fucking knows it. But now Mike sitting on his bedroom floor, telling him he’s queer, his cheeks tacky with drying tears, and Steve is just looking at him, listening, gentle and kind. 

“Can I tell you something about them?” Steve asks, and Mike nods. “...A lot of them are just as fucking weird as us.”

A laugh bursts out of Mike again, and he furrows his brows. 

“They’re scared of being treated the way they treat other people,” Steve says. 

“That’s stupid.” “Yeah. It is.”

“...And kinda sad.”

“...Yeah.”

There’s a pause before Steve speaks again. 

“Don’t listen to anything they say to you. About you. They don’t matter, okay?”

But it’s kind of hard for Mike to think that someone doesn’t matter. He knows he shouldn’t care about people’s opinions. But their opinions have always mattered to him. Even if he hated them. 

Opinions.

The stuff of nightmares, even after everything Mike’s been through. 

They haunt his dreams, along with flashing lights and the whites of Will’s eyes. 

Frog face.

Fairy.

Faggot.

He doesn’t know why it cuts so deep, if people don’t like him. Maybe it hurts more because he doesn’t even like himself. 

“Mike,” Steve says gently, leaning closer when Mike doesn’t say anything. Mike looks up at him, and his eyes are burning again, his vision swimming with tears, but he can still see the kindness in Steve’s eyes, the gentle expression on his face. “...The only people that really matter are the people that love you.”

Mike looks away again, blinking tears out of his eyes. 

“Alright?” Steve murmurs, touching him, pushing his hair out of the way. “Nancy, and Will, and— and the Party, they… They love you. No matter what.”

Mike sniffles, taking a shaky breath as he wipes a tear away from his cheek with the side of his hand. 

Steve moves forward, looking into Mike’s eyes, and he looks set on telling him this, on making Mike hear him, on making Mike believe him. 

“They love you,” he says slowly, like he knows Mike doesn’t believe it. “They love everything about you, okay? They love your dorky interests and your shitty jokes and your weird Addams Family vibe—”

“Fuck you,” Mike laughs, wiping his face again as Steve laughs.

“Alright?” Steve says, still smiling. “Those assholes from school don’t fuckin’ matter. In twenty years you’re gonna be a wildly successful fantasy author and nothing those fuckers say to you will be relevant.”

Mike blinks, taking it in. He doesn’t even remember telling Steve he wants to be a fantasy author. His father teased him the first and only time he told him. That’ll definitely put food on the table, Mike. But Steve says it like it’s a sure thing. Like it’s obvious. 

Mike starts to smile, somehow exhilarated by Steve calling them fuckers. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. 

“Okay,” Steve says. “And if they give you too much shit, come get me. I’m not above threatening some fifteen-year-olds with my bat. Neither is Eddie.”

A laugh bursts out of Mike, and he thinks he kind of loves Steve. 

“Okay,” he says again, wiping his cheek again. 

They finish their sodas. 

Mike decides he likes the worn carpet. Steve seems comfortable on the floor even though Mike knows how odd it is, the way he laid on the floor to calm down, the way he hasn’t gotten up since, and Mike wonders if he does the same. If that’s why the carpet is so worn. 

“Where do you get your hair cut?” Mike asks after a while as they sit with their backs to Steve’s bed. It’s still raining outside, the sky rumbling with quiet thunder. 

“Uh, I do it myself.”

Mike makes a face across the room, and he hears Steve snort next to him. 

“Damn.”

“You want me to do yours?” 

“...Will you?” Mike asks, half-hopeful. 

“Yeah,” Steve says lightly, and he’s already moving to get up. “Come on. Rain’s not letting up anytime soon.”

He has Mike pick a record out while he gets the scissors, sets up his desk chair, and gets the vacuum from down the hall. Mike looks through them before picking one by Morbid Angel. 

Steve sets it up, laughing to himself and shaking his head as Mike sits in the desk chair, grinning. The music drowns out the sound of the rain and thunder. 

Mike takes off his hoodie. The towel Steve drapes around his shoulders smells like laundry detergent, clean and fluffy and warm, and Steve’s hands are gentle as he sprays Mike’s hair with water, dampening it and combing it out. There isn’t a mirror for Mike to watch, so he closes his eyes. 

It feels nice, Steve’s comb running through his hair that’s damp with tap water instead of rain. He hears the quiet snip of the scissors in his hair over the loud music, and he suppresses a smile. He hasn’t wanted to cut his hair in ages. The mere thought of it made him feel sick. Especially the thought of getting it cut the way his father wanted him to get it cut, short and masculine and proper. 

But he knows Steve is keeping the length. 

Cutting off the dead ends. 

He stays still as Steve works, combing and snipping and trimming, tapping his feet on the ground in time with the music. Steve puts some kind of expensive-smelling product in his hair that makes it curl nicely, and he dries it with a blow-drier, scrunching and bunching it up in his hand. Mike didn’t realize his hair was so curly. It looks kind of pretty when he looks in the mirror. 

He helps Steve vacuum the hair off the ground after, and he holds the towel in place so Steve can vacuum that too. He throws away the soda cans while Steve puts the vacuum away, and he feels lighter now. Like the dead ends of his hair weighted a ton, like he can lift his head all the way up for the first time. 

The rain finally lets up. 

He hesitates on his way out, the tapes stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie, and Steve seems to sense the hesitation, quietly waiting. 

It’s drizzling now, still grey and dreary despite the sunlight peering through the clouds that make the leaves in the trees glow green. His bike is next to Steve’s car, and he looks at it for a moment. 

“Do, uhm…” He pauses again, turning back to Steve, who’s lingering in the doorway. “Do you and Eddie… tell each other that you— you love each other?”

He looks into Steve’s eyes, and Steve is almost smiling now, his eyes shining like he knows. 

It’s never been easy for Mike to say. 

He’s never heard his parents say it to each other. It sounded like a foreign language the first time he heard Mr Sinclair say it to Mrs Sinclair. He’d looked at Lucas, but Lucas hadn’t reacted. Like it was normal. 

And he’d wanted to say it to El. But he just couldn’t, not until the world was ending and he had to. It was weird. 

He does love her. He knows he does. But it was hard to get out when he knew he couldn’t say it the way he meant it. 

He wants to say it to Will. Even if Will hears it in a way he doesn’t mean it. It doesn’t matter. Mike loves him in every way. But it’s like the words get caught in his throat every time he wants to say it out loud. 

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “All the time.”

All the time.

Mike nods, glancing at the ground, at the line between where the rain hit and where it didn’t. 

“Is it… Is it hard?”

He looks back up at Steve, who’s looking at him softly somehow. 

“No,” he breathes, and he pauses, shifting on his feet. “Loving Eddie…” He looks at the ground, smiling so softly it’s almost absent. “‘S the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Mike’s chest tightens. 

He nods. 

And then he’s moving forward and wrapping his arms around Steve tightly, and Steve is hugging him back like he saw it coming. His arms are strong around Mike, holding him close while Mike shakes. 

“...Thank you,” he says finally, his voice weak. That’s all he can say. 

“Love you, man,” Steve says softly. He doesn’t sound like he’s expecting to hear it back. He squeezes Mike, and when they part, he ruffles his curls, grinning. “Get outta here.”

Mike swats his hand away, giggling. He feels like a kid again. It’s nice. 

He goes home. 

Holly is in the living room when he gets there, coloring on the floor while their dad watches the news, and she looks up when he shuts the door, pulling his hood down and shaking his hair out. It feels nice to shake, even if he kind of feels like a wet dog doing it. 

“Will is in your room,” she says brightly, looking back down at the unicorn she’s coloring. 

He blinks, pausing by the door, reaching into his pocket to hold the tapes. His dad is still looking at the television, brows furrowed. He doesn’t look at Mike, but it feels like he knows about the tapes. 

“Will?”

“He came over,” she says plainly. 

“Wh— When?” 

Jesus, he’s been gone for ages. 

“Not too long.”

Vague. 

“Thanks, Holly,” he says dryly, heading toward the stairs. 

He shakes his curls out again as he reaches for his door handle, smiling, and he opens it. Will is on his bed, curled up in a hoodie and sweatpants, and he looks up when the door opens. He’s already smiling, but the smile falters when he sees Mike, and his eyes widen.

“What?” Mike says, closing his door, his cheeks flushing. He kicks his shoes off to join Will’s and moves toward his dresser, setting the tapes on it next to his Walkman. 

“I like your hair.”

Mike falters, looking at him, his stomach flipping over. 

“What?”

Will is smiling again, his eyes watching Mike as he tries to casually change into some sweatpants. His jeans are damp from the rain on his bike. 

“Your hair,” he says lightly. “It looks good. I didn’t realize it was so curly.”

“Me either,” Mike mumbles, tugging his sweatpants on. They’re a relief from the jeans, soft and warm. It’s raining harder now, the sky darkening again, and he glances outside, thinking he got lucky. 

“Where’d you get it done?”

“Uh, Steve did it for me.”

“Steve Harrington?”

“How many Steves do we know, dumbass?” 

Will flips him off and laughs, moving toward the edge of the bed to make space for Mike, and he gestures. His hair flops in his face. It’s gotten longer, always more ruffled and messy. It looks good. Mike kind of wants to tell him, but randomly telling him he likes his hair when he hasn’t done anything with it would be awkward, wouldn’t it?

“C’mere, you gotta see this panel, it’s fucking gorgeous.”

Mike pulls off his hoodie, tossing it to his desk before he climbs onto the bed next to him, leaning against the pillows that are stacked against the headboard, and he looks at where Will is pointing. The panel is nice, colorful and detailed, but when Will speaks, it looks even nicer. 

Will tends to do that. Make things look more beautiful. Brighter. 

Mike looks at him as he talks, as he explains the context and the symbolism of the colors or whatever, and wow, Mike really isn’t listening at all. He’s distracted. Will’s eyes are bright and shiny, his eyelashes fluttering when he blinks, and he’s smiling as he speaks. Mike’s eyes trail over his face, tracing the bridge of his nose, over his smile lines, over the moles spotting his skin. 

He’s beautiful.

Curled up in Mike’s bed, wearing a hoodie that Mike is pretty sure is his, talking about the art in some comic book. Happy. Healthy. Safe. 

Will trails off when he realizes Mike is just looking at him. 

“...What?” he asks shyly, his eyes flickering across Mike’s face. 

And they’re close enough that Mike could kiss him if he just leaned in. He kind of wants to. But that wouldn’t be right, he doesn’t think. 

His mouth opens, and he tries to speak, stammering silently. Trying to say it. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you.

It doesn’t come out.

“Will you paint my nails for me?”

Will blinks, and Mike’s face flushes with heat, and he shouldn’t have said that, why the fuck would he say that—

“Yeah,” Will says lightly. Smiling. “Sure.”

Mike opens the window a little and gets the nail polish, the sound of rain and thunder filling the room as Will gets situated on the bed. He clears away the blankets and pillows (which Mike has an abundance of; it’s a little ridiculous, but it’s cozy), sorting them around the bed. They sit cross-legged, facing each other. 

Will bites his lip when he’s focussed, and he hunches over their hands. His hands are warm, especially because Mike’s are still a little cold from the rain, and he holds Mike so fucking gently Mike kind of wants to cry. 

The polish is cold too. It’s an odd sensation, but it’t not awful. The smell isn’t great, but Will doesn’t seem to mind it, holding Mike’s hand so close to his face Mike can feel his breath. 

They’re quiet as Will paints his nails, but it’s not a weird silence, not awkward or tense or anything. It never is, with Will. It’s always like this. Comfortable and warm, like climbing into your own bed after travelling for a while. 

With Will focusing on his nails, Mike is free to look at him. He’s not staring, really. Maybe he is. Maybe gazing is a better word. 

Sometimes he wishes he was an artist like Will. He would paint him. Draw him. Sculpt him. Anything. He’d want Will to be his muse. 

Which is weird, probably. Oh well. 

“What do you think?” Will asks, lifting his head. Their eyes meet. His eyes are so pretty. Mike blinks, hearing the question, and he looks down at his hand. His nails are black and shiny, and there isn’t any paint on the skin around his nails. He’s kind of impressed. 

“I like it,” he saus softly.

Will beams proudly. 

Mike lays down when Will finishes, and Will puts the polish away so Mike doesn’t have to use his hands. It’s pouring outside, loud on the rooftop outside his window. Mike moves to make room for him. He wonders if Eddie is over at Steve’s by now. He realizes the black shirt on the floor is probably his, and then he wonders if Eddie just left it behind or if Steve had borrowed it. 

Will lays down next to him, sighing. They’re so close. 

Mike holds his hands up above their heads, looking at his nails. The black looks even darker against his pale skin. (He’s really pale. His mom says he needs to go outside this summer. She’s been excited for his trip to California, telling him he’d finally get some sunlight.) 

Will copies him, holding his hands up like he’s looking at his bare nails. 

His hand touches Mike’s lightly, bumping it, and it’s so soft it could be an accident, but Mike knows it’s not. 

He moves his hand closer, smiling when Will touches it again. 

They’re quiet as Mike shifts closer, and he’s smiling as Will moves even closer, rolling against Mike and wrapping an arm around his waist. Mike lifts his arm for him to lay on him, resting his arm over him carefully so he doesn’t mess up his nails. 

Will sighs. His head is on Mike’s chest, and Mike knows he can hear his heartbeat, but he doesn’t really mind. He hugs him gently, running his hand over his arm. 

Their legs tangle. 

Will’s arm reaches up and his fingers touch Mike’s hair, pushing into his curls. Mike closes his eyes, exhaling as Will runs his fingers through it, playing with it absently. It feels nice. 

Mike can feel Will falling asleep. His breathing slows, becomes heavy, and his hand becomes heavy too, lingering in Mike’s hair before it shifts to touch his neck. His hand is so warm. Mike lets his cheek squish against Will’s head. His hair smells like citrus. 

Will takes a breath, sighing and pressing closer, nuzzling against him, and he takes another breath before he speaks, his voice so soft and breathy Mike almost doesn’t hear him. 

“Love you.”

Mike stops breathing. 

His eyes open slowly, and he looks at the ceiling.

Will stiffens as he realizes what he’s said, but he doesn’t say anything, silent except for the beating of his heart, and Mike slides a hand down his arm, squeezing. His eyes sting. 

Will relaxes after a moment when Mike squeezes again. 

And it’s fine. 

Mike squeezes again, and then he rubs his arm, palm running over the folds in the fabric, and Will somehow presses even closer, his leg lifting before it wraps around Mike’s hips. He turns his head and buries his face in Mike’s chest, groaning weakly, embarrassed. Mike laughs, closing his eyes again, arms tightening around Will to hug him, and he squishes his cheek on his head. 

He wants to say it. But when he opens his mouth, his throat gets stuck. He squeezes his eyes shut in frustration, wanting to cry, but Will shifts so he’s almost on top of him, his hand burying itself in his hair again, and he tucks his face into Mike’s neck. It tickles a little, but he stays there, sighing, and Mike tilts his head into his hand, letting him. Will is heavy on him, pressing him into the bed, and it feels nice. Grounding. Especially as his frustration threatens to take over. 

Mike squeezes him again. Will hums, like he gets it.

— — — — — 

“Oh, my god, dingus, we’re running late.”

“We’re not even going anywhere on a schedule, Rob, there’s nothing to be late for.”

“We’re going on my schedule, and we’re running late.”

“Okay, well, it’s not my fault you took like two hours in the bathroom.”

“I literally take fifteen minute showers, you’re the diva.”

“A fifteen minute shower and then thirty minutes on your hair—”

“Fuck off, you’re the one with a whole shelf of hair supplies, you dick.”

“And you’re the one who uses them.”

“I do not.”

“Liar. You also steal my shirts, don’t act like you don’t.” “They’re more comfortable, you can’t blame me, womens’ shirts are always fitted or have weird lace or have tighter sleeves and it all makes me want to rip off my skin. At least your shirts have room for tits.”

“Wouldn’t women’s shirts have more room for tits since they’re made for tit-having bodies?”

“Not the room I need. They’re so constricting, it’s like they wanna kill me. Your shirts are comfortable because they’re loose.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re insufferable, you take hour-long showers and brush your teeth for like twenty minutes.”

“I literally don’t. Also you’re complaining, but I’m the one with my shoes on, and you’re the one pouring yourself orange juice.”

“Fuck off—”

Robin leaves her window all the way down when they leave town, and Steve lets her even though the wind fucks up his hair. She likes to leave her arm out of the window, moving her hand up and down to feel the wind around it. He glances at her as they cruise down the empty roads. The sun is bright today, and she’s grinning as she sings along with Stevie Nicks, her hair flying out of her face. One of her legs is pulled up on her seat, and she’s fiddling with her fraying shoelaces. She’s wearing one of Steve’s old shirts, the short sleeves rolled up to her shoulders to battle the summer heat, and her arms are freckled, sun-kissed. 

He glances again when she pauses singing, watching her reach for the thermos she filled with orange juice before running after him when they left. The polish on her nails is chipped, purple and orange, painted by Erica and El, and she’s wearing an old ring that Eddie founds while packing out his ring. It fits perfectly around her right pinkie, tarnished silver that shines in the sunlight. 

 He’s a little in love with her, he thinks. 

He glances at her again when she starts singing again. (She has a nice voice.) Her eyes are closed as the light shines on her, like she’s a cat in a sunbeam. 

He’s a lot in love with her. 

He sings with her when the next song comes on, turning up the volume.

When they get to Bloomington, they stop in a cafe to get coffee. Robin takes her coffee like Eddie takes his, unnecessarily sweet, more milk than coffee. Steve takes his black. Robin and Eddie also both make fun of Steve for it. (“You’re soulless, Harrington.”)

Robin swings their hands as they walk toward the music store, almost skipping. Steve is smiling as he sips the last dregs of his coffee. He loves it when she’s like this, all chipper and shiny. 

“So what exactly are you looking for?” he asks as they head into the Rock Shop, the bell above the door dinging cheerfully as Steve opens it and steps aside for Robin to go inside. 

“Uh, Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Stooges, Sex Pistols… Et cetera.” She starts down one of the aisles, eyes skimming the signs. Steve lets the door shut behind himself, the bell chiming again. It’s cooler inside, soft breezes from every corner of the shop coming from rotating fans. “Anything, really.”

“Bored of Fleetwood Mac?”

She scoffs, sending him a look over the records between them. 

“Like I could get bored of my girl Stevie.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head as he looks down at the records. The metal section is down the aisle. He might get something from Eddie. Motörhead just released a new album, they might have it. Steve can’t quite remember the name of it. Orgasm something or other. 

“Can I pick the music on the way home?” Robin asks, thumbing through some records. 

“You literally always pick the music.”

“Untrue.”

“Why are you so argumentative today—”

“Hey, Steve!”

They both look up at the sound of the shop owner’s voice, deep and scratchy from years of cigarettes. Steve smiles brightly at him. They’ve known each other for ages, ever since Steve started wanting to just get out of Hawkins. He’d started coming here for music since he got his license, and the shop owner, Marty, has always been kind to him. He once offered to pay for Steve’s gas when he found out he was driving all the way up from Hawkins. 

“Hi.”

But Robin stops short, looking back and forth between them, and Steve realizes she’s never been here before like he has. 

“You guys know each other?”

Marty’s hands are full, holding heavy boxes as he carries them to the backroom, but he pauses long enough to say, “Oh, yeah, Steve’s been comin’ here for ages. He’d be a regular if he lived in town, huh?” with a little chuckle before he disappears behind the beaded doorway. Robin looks at Steve with a tilted head.

“Hello?”

“What?”

She juts her chin out, making a face, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“They don’t have Toto here, Steve.”

He freezes, looking at her for a moment as it dawns on him that she really does always pick the music. 

“Okay,” he says, setting a hand on the table between them, and he knows his hip is jutting out a little too, and he looks sassier than he should, but he doesn’t really care. “First of all, I would know that if I’ve been coming here for years. Second, have you ever seen, or heard, me listen to Toto?”

She blinks, her long mascaraed lashes fluttering at him, and he sees the gears turning in her head before she realizes.

“...No.”

“Right,” Steve says pointedly, tilting his head forward. Robin’s lips twitch into an amused smile. “I don’t know where that came from. I don’t listen to Toto.”

“What do you listen to?” she says, furrowing her brows, smile gone, and then her eyes widen. “Oh, my god, I don’t even know what music you listen to, I’m a terrible friend—”

“No, you’re not,” he says, laughing lightly, leaning forward over the records. “I like the same shit as you, so I let you pick the music because I know you would hate the other shit I like.”

She blinks again. 

“What else do you like?”

He pauses, staring at her before, 

“Like. Just. Death metal. ‘Nd stuff.”

And she blinks again. 

Then her face contorts into an expression of pure confusion, and he laughs because he’s never seen her look this confused. That’s usually his role. 

“What?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. 

“Who are you?” she says, but she’s laughing too. “How did I not know this?”

“I don’t listen to it anyone around,” he says, shrugging, neglecting to add except Eddie.

He hasn’t told her. He doesn’t know why. It’s not like he’s trying to hide it from her, or like he feels like he has to hide it from her. She’d be supportive, he knows. 

It’s not like he wants to keep it to himself. He kind of wants to scream it from the rooftops. That he’s in love with a man. It’s just hard to get out. Even when he told Mike, it almost got stuck in his throat. He almost changed his mind. 

He just…

Needs the right moment.

And right now, in a public shop, with other people around, even if it isn’t many, isn’t a good place to tell her something like this. So he doesn’t.

“I’ll show you in the car.”

“You just said I could pick the music in the car—”

“Oh, my god, you’re so annoying—”

She goes off to search, and Steve looks in the metal section. The new Motörhead album is at the front, displayed with a little New! sign. Orgasmatron. He was close. 

He leaves with that, carefully placed in a paper bag that’s stamped with the Rock Shop’s logo, a planet with lines around it, dotted with music notes. When they’re checking out, he smacks Robin’s hand away as she reaches to pass Marty her money, and he pays for it himself. She gets a Siouxsie and the Banshees record along with a Ramones cassette tape and one from Dead Kennedys. She places them carefully in the paper bag. 

“Okay,” Robin says before they’re even buckled in the car, one of her legs drawn up onto her seat to make space on the floor for the paper bag (because for some reason she refuses to put it in the backseat). “Music. Show me.”

“I have tapes in the glove compartment,” he says, putting the key in the ignition, but he doesn’t start the car, leaning back to watch her. But he remembers too late.

“Hello?” she says, lifting one of the tapes up, her eyes wide, grinning, and his face flushes with heat when his eyes skim past the word written on the label. 

sweetheart ♡

“Who the fuck is this for?” she asks excitedly, staring at him like she’s scandalized, and his face flushes even hotter as he sighs heavily, looking out across the parking lot. 

“Uh,” he says, hesitating. And he sighs again. “It’s, uhm. Not for anyone.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and he glances at her. She blinks, still holding it up, and her smile falters as she processes it. 

“...From?”

He nods hesitantly. 

And then her grin is back. 

“Who?” She reaches out and smacks him. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone, you bitch?”

He giggles, swatting her hands away, and he shifts in his seat to face her, hesitating. His heart is beating faster than it should be, and this weirdly feels harder than it was to tell Mike. Which doesn’t make any sense. 

But maybe it does. Maybe it’s because he’s kept it from her for so long. 

“Uh,” he says again, his mouth dry. He crosses his arms over his chest almost defensively. “I just… I didn’t, like, uhm.” He swallows, avoiding her eyes as she moves to face him, still holding the tape. “I couldn’t think of, uhm. When was a good time. To tell you.”

“To tell me… that you’re seeing someone?”

He swallows again. Nods. Glances at her. 

“Just… who I’m seeing.”

She leans forward, over the center console. 

“Babe… Who the fuck are you fucking?”

It makes him laugh a little, but his hands are shaking again, and he hates himself for being so nervous. It’s stupid, he knows. But he looks away from her eyes again. 

“Uhm.”

“Who else knows?” she asks softly, and she doesn’t sound upset. Just a soft prompt so he doesn’t have to tell her yet. So he can work up to it. 

“Uh.” He winces. “Mike?”

“Mike?” 

She bursts into laughter, not upset at all like he thought she’d be, and he finally smiles weakly. 

“Why does Mike know?” She freezes, suppressing a laugh as she looks at him with wide eyes and a gasp. “Oh my god, did he fucking walk in on it—”

“No,” he says quickly. “God, no, it’s just— I can’t really tell you, it’s just a whole thing.” He gestures vaguely, swatting his hand in the air like he’s dismissing it.

“Okay,” she says, laughing, relieved. “Who is it?”

He looks at her. 

His lips part, and he stammers silently for a moment, his voice stuck in his throat again before he finally manages to speak, his voice weak and thin and quiet.

“...Ed— Eddie?” 

She blinks, expression blank, and then her shoulders slump, and she looks away, eyes wide as she thinks. 

“...Oh.”

Oh. Okay. Not what he was anticipating. 

“Oh?” he questions. She nods absently, eyes staring down at the emergency break, and she flips the tape over in her hand. 

“Yeah,” she says thoughtfully. “That makes sense, actually.”

“It… It does?”

“Yeah, I mean…” She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling. “That one movie night we had. You fell asleep on his shoulder, and I swear he would have killed any of us if we tried to wake you up. So we left you guys there.”

He remembers it. He had tried to stay awake, but he’d had a long day, and with Eddie’s warmth next to him, he couldn’t help it. He’d drifted off with his head on the back of the sofa and was barely conscious as his head fell to Eddie’s shoulder, as he nuzzled closer, as Eddie’s arm slid across his lap under the blanket they were sharing. When he woke up, they were tangled together, legs entwined, arms tight around each other, and Eddie’s curls were in his face. They, luckily, woke up before anyone else, and got a few minutes to make out on the sofa before they got up to make breakfast and coffee. 

“God, I’m so oblivious,” Robin says almost to herself. “You always share blankets during movie nights. You’re holding hands, aren’t you?” she asks, looking up at him, and he nods. “God.”

He doesn’t know what to say. So he stays quiet as she pieces it together. 

“How long?” she asks after a few moments. 

“Uh, a few weeks. It was after the, uhm, well— kind of during, the— the pool party with the kids.”

She blinks. 

“You disappeared during that party, he— he said you weren’t feeling well.”

“It was… I was, like, whatever you call it. Overstimulated. The heat, and the noise and everything, and I just… I had, like, a… a meltdown. And Eddie just… I don’t know. Helped.” His cheeks flush with heat, embarrassed as he looks down. “He was really nice, and it just…”

Robin laughs, reaching out and poking one of his red cheeks. He glares, pushing her hand away. 

“He’s nice to you?” she asks, leaning back to lean against the door, looking at him, curling up into a ball comfortably like they aren’t in a parking lot. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, scoffing. “Jesus. Yeah. He’s…” He shakes his head, smiling absently, his fingers tangling in his lap. “He’s sweet to me. Treats me right. Real gentle.”

She leans forward in his peripheral, and he looks up at her. Her eyes are wide, and she’s smiling, and she gestures with a wave of her hand. 

“What?”

“Details,” she says bluntly. “Come on.”

“I’m not giving you details—”

“Not those details, dingus, just… Tell me about it.”

He sighs heavily, letting his head fall back to the window. The sun is hot on his arm, and the car is warm, but he just relaxes into his seat, mirroring her. 

“He, uhm.” He looks down again. “He’s… I don’t know Sweet. He’s, like… careful with me? When I’m feeling overwhelmed or— or when I can’t really talk, or when I’m upset about something. He always asks what I need, and he’s so fucking respectful, like he— he gives me as much space as I need, and he holds me just right when I need it, and he always just… reminds me that I’m okay ‘nd stuff. Tells me it’s not my fault.”

She listens intently, leaning forward over her knees, her chin squishing against her band-aided kneecap. 

“It’s like he can read me,” Steve continues. “He comes over, and he— he just knows how I’m feeling, even if I don’t even know, he can always tell if I’m tired or if I’m overwhelmed with something or if I’m hungry, and I don’t even know how he does it, but he still asks what I want, and— and how I want him to touch me or if I wanna be left alone, or…” 

He exhales, blinking as his eyes sting suddenly.

“He’s just so… good.”

Robin is quiet for a moment. And then—

“You’re in lo-o-ove…”

He scoffs, and he doesn’t look up, but she still sees the flash in his eyes, and she reaches out to smack his leg. 

“You are,” she says excitedly, hitting him again as he giggles and tries to catch her hand. “You’re in love with him, oh my god.”

“Okay,” he says loudly. “Yeah.”

“Does he know?”

“Yeah,” he says shyly. “We… say it to each other.”

She lets out a sound, a high-pitched squeal, and he rolls his eyes, looking away and suppressing a grin. 

“How did that go?” she asks, and he can tell that she’s full of curiosity. She’s never dated anyone, she’s told him. Never had anyone to talk to about crushes. 

“Just… Very casually,” he says, laughing lightly. “We just said it one night. Love you. Before we hung up and went to bed. I didn’t even realize we’d said it until the next morning, but we just… kept saying it. And then one day he randomly said he was falling in love with me, and I was… like, Yeah. Same. So.”

“And they say romance is dead,” she says dryly, raising an eyebrow, but her eyes are sparkling excitedly. “Have you gone on dates?”

“Not really,” Steve says. “‘S not easy. I wanna take him to a diner for dinner and shit, but… this fuckin’ town. And even if we were in Bloomington,” he adds, glancing around outside. “Or— Or Indy, we just…”

“Yeah,” she says quietly. 

“But he picks up takeout sometimes before he comes over,” Steve says, lightening. “And we watch movies or I help him with his new battle vest and stuff. We’ve gone out to the quarry twice.”

She has a little smile on her face as she listens intently.

“It’s…” Steve hesitates again, and he wants to cry. His eyes sting, and his chest feels tight, and his hands are trembling a little. “I’ve never felt like this before,” he says softly, almost whispering. “About— About anyone, he’s so fucking… perfect. I’m just…”

He wipes his cheeks quickly when a tear falls, and Robin moves forward, eyebrows furrowed like she’s going to cry too. 

“And maybe it’s just the— the trauma bonding with the, I don’t know, the— the attraction or chemistry or whatever, but it feels so…” He thinks for a moment, wiping his cheek again. “Serious? Like… He’s fucking it for me.”

“Wow,” Robin breathes. 

Steve smiles, and she’s grinning back at him, and he pauses again before he holds his left hand up, showing her the ring on his finger. Her eyes look at it, and then widen a little. 

“Is that his?”

Steve nods. 

“He didn’t even say anything when he gave it to me,” he says, letting her take his hand and touch the ring. “Just leaned over and put it on my finger and kissed me. And he— he didn’t even have to say anything.”

He looks at her and sees her wipe a tear from her cheek. 

“That’s really cool,” she says softly. “That’s… really fucking cool.”

He laughs weakly, leaning forward, and she does the same, bumping their foreheads together. 

“I’m so in love with him,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking in love with him I feel stupid with it.”

She laughs again, and then she’s hugging him, stretching over across the center console to wrap her arms around his neck, and he squeezes his eyes shut, hugging her back. It almost hurts, this hug, and a part of him realizes how Robin must have felt that night in the bathroom when they talked about Tammy. He feels like something’s been lifted off his shoulders, like something is missing that he won’t miss. 

They part after a long few moments, sniffling and smiling, and Robin leans back in her seat, looking at the tape, at Eddie’s blocky handwriting and the uneven heart. 

“Have you guys fucked yet?”

“Holy shit.”

Steve turns back toward the wheel and buckles up, starting the car as he shakes his head and Robin laughs. 

Robin picks the music on the way home. 

edit: i keep forgetting i have a permanent taglist sorry yall; @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist

♡ buy me a coffee ♡

#i fucking went through it during mikes scene good lord #also i just think they should let finn have his natural hair as mike i beg #so pretty #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #mike wheeler #robin buckley

[devondespresso]

i was reading a scoops era steddie au where eddie visits scoops often and one thing i noticed i alway want but have yet to see (bear in mind my fic pallette is basically just shit i see on Tumblr and occasionally reading every fic a certain author has written) is a specific scene of eddie noticing stobins missing when he goes to visit them at scoops the day theyre stuck in the bunker. cause they entered the bunker after a shift one night and didn't get out until at the soonest the next afternoon right before the mall closes so if either or both of them were scheduled to work then they'd be just... gone.

and how characters around them handle that depends on how soon (if at all) they're declared missing. did robin think they'd be in-and-out in their snooping and tell her parents shes be back a little late or did she think they'd be out kinda late fucking around and just lied to her parents telling them shes sleeping over at a friend's like how we know tina was going to cover for erica? did mrs Henderson freak out when Dustin didn't bike back home (knowing what happened with will) or did she know he was with steve and trusted that they were goofing off or something?

and usually i see Steve's parents not being home but what if they were?? they could panic because steve always has some sort of excuse for why hes gone or maybe just his mom starts worrying because while his dad never really asks about him she does and she knows hes probably not at some girls house right now because he at least would have told her. or maybe mrs harrington doesn't know her son as well as she thinks she does and assumes he is out at some girls house and is relieved hes finally getting to be more like himself.

maybe just one or two people in scoops troop are reported missing that night and maybe the search started for them is enough for the other's parents or friends to realize they're all missing. maybe none of them are because they each already had a coverup with the people who'd notice. maybe they spent a good few hours in that elevator regretting lying about where they'd be because now no one knows they're in danger and by the time they start looking it could be too late (obviously erica didn't seem to grasp this yet but shes literally 10 and it's definitely her fist severely traumatic life or death experience. for the others tho it could definitely be on their minds and i have seen a few fics where robin wonders about how steve and Dustin are reacting like they've done scary shit like this before together)

then morning comes and id give it until lunch with no calls or anything before parents who believed their kids were sleeping over to start worrying seriously. maybe they call the friend their child's supposedly with and get a confused parent saying they haven't seen them or maybe they get the friend picking up and confirming they're fine (like tina). but if Mrs Henderson gets worried and calls steve she'll either get the harringtons saying he isn't home right now or she won't be able to reach him. and knowing steves like a big brother and a best friend to dustin knows that if steve missing too he's probably at least missing with him and goes to the station worried about them both

and then theres the fact that scoops has to open in the morning, probably sometime around 10am. maybe steve and robin were scheduled to both work again and as 10am comes and passes scoops ahoy hasn't been touched. maybe some mall manager calls the scoops manager (forgive me ive never worked in a mall but i do work in a store-within-a-store and we have our own manager plus the big store manager) and asks where their employees are. if missing persons reports were filed that last night then the manager would be really worried while frantically trying to find someone to cover for them. but maybe no one knows they're missing yet and their manager is grumbling about their no-shows, maybe considering firing them for both disappearing without even calling out. depending on how much they know and if the reports were filed, whoever has to cover their shifts is either worried about their coworkers (probably moreso robin than steve because of his reputation) or utterly pissed that they both didn't show and they have to open scoops ahoy with a few hours delay and probably a good few karens bitching about being closed. or maybe one or the other was scheduled and while their no-show is really inconvenient at least someone's there to open and ask for backup

and then theres steves car still parked in the back where it was the day before. a bike left behind at the mall is less eyebrow-raising but a fancy car? Steve Harrington's car? Steve Harrington who was scheduled to work today but somehow isn't in scoops right now? is he skipping work while simultaneously wandering around his workplace? and whats worse is despite evidence being there *no one can find him*. maybe thats what it takes for people to realize hes like actually missing. maybe they think he was kidnapped, hopefully he just went home with some girl and lost track of time.

and then theres eddie. eddie whos been stopping by scoops for a while now. maybe he still doesn't really like Harrington but likes teasing him with Buckley or maybe they've gotten pretty close. maybe they're already dating. maybe eddie walks up to scoops one morning to find it closed or to find that one or the other didn't show up for work this morning. maybe he hears from the worker that ones missing or maybe they get a rant about how pissed the worker is to be opening alone. maybe he's the one to go to a mall manager or security officer worried about scoops being closed because he *knows* the people that are supposed to be there right now and they don't just abandon work at the same time with no explanations.

or maybe eddie visits in the afternoons and learns they're missing from their coworkers or maybe hes there because he saw it on the news and went on his our hunt. either way it'd probably end with Eddie looking around the mall for them because he knows steve isn't going to just abandon his beemer in a busy public parking lot. maybe he finds them high out of their minds while checking the movie theatre (this one i do see a lot and am obsessed with its so good) or maybe he doesn't find them at all (its a big mall and they are actively hiding from Russians who know they escaped. sure stobin are not being very secretive while high but dustin and erica are at least keeping them in less-discoverable locations). maybe he goes home knowing hes looked everywhere in that damn mall and assumes they're probably kidnapped and taken somewhere else (if he did find them tho that opens a whole can of worms for if, how, and how much eddie gets involved and while my brains gone down sone of those rabbit holes i don't think i will today)

and then they see the news about the mall fire. and eddie knows damn well that he looked everywhere in that mall but didn't see a trace of his friends but there they are on the news and apparently in the fire. maybe eddie assumes he didn't look hard enough. but maybe he sees how steves the only one with more than a few bruises on his legs, how despite them claiming he was trapped in rumble that also allegedly killed billy hargrove he looks like hes carrying himself on adrenaline alone and hovering around robin and the kids like something more than falling support beams could get to them. maybe its the fact that he look as shit as he did but wasn't laying down on a hospital stretcher like he would be if he just got those wounds.

_._._._

hi if you saw any typos no you didn't UNLESS theyre funny or actually concerning then you should tell me and i can react appropriately

also i swear i feel like doctor strange looking through every possible reality when i go on tangents like this. idk whenever i come up with little fics in my head or come up with different ways my favorite unfinished fics could end im always exploring as many different versions of the same scenario as i can and coming up with as many what-ifs as i can.

also i pressed the poll button by accident while making this and idk how to make it go away to we're trying just ignoring it and not writing anything in it to see if it goes away

actually fuck that it probably wont work so im adding a poll question as a treat for the people who read this far

#writing this was an experience except i don't remember any of it and i didn't even reread it to check spelling #i love thinking like this tho and coming up with all these different things that could happen with this one scenario #and following canon and trying to fill in the gaps gives just enough room to fuck around but still keeps me in the right direction #with just a couple deviations that are too good to ignore like eddie finding stobin while theyre high and getting water #im also writing my own little steve henderson au universe in my head loosely inspired by those steve henderson posts by that one person #i can't remember their user rn but if i ever actually share ill tag them as inspiration inlike the first post #but mostly its me taking steve right after s2 events and letting him get help from the hendersons because dustins his new best friend now #(regardless of if he agreed to it or not) #so uh yea if anyone wants to hear about it you should totally let me know because i will do a lot for external validation #im just an 8 year old girl playing barbies but morbid things are happening #stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #platonic stobin #steve x eddie #robin buckley #dustin henderson #erica sinclair #steve and dustin #steve and robin #platonic soulmates stobin #scoops ahoy #stranger things season 3 #stranger things s3 #stranger things rambles #claudia henderson #steve has bad parents #mrs harrington #stranger things thoughts

[stevieharringtonwifeguy]

au where at some point during their adventures in the upside down, steve gets left behind. trapped in the upside down and left to fend for himself until el manages to open another gate to get him out. and while he's in there, he finds a creature. or more accurately, a creature finds him. it's human...ish. it has a face, hair, same basic body structure (don't look below its naked waist, steve), even though as it approaches him it's clear that this thing is Unnatural in the way its joints bend and its eyes bore into him. steve's not quick enough to stop the thing from getting its fangs into him, too thrown off by its appearance, and as it pins him to the ground and he realises how much stronger it is, that he's not gonna be able to fight it off, he takes a moment to cringe at the fact that he's survived demogorgons and russians and god knows what only to get killed by something that looks like a naked nerd.

the thing doesn't kill him though. after a couple seconds attached to his neck, it pulls off. steve's light headed and definitely not in a position to get up and run off, but he's also definitely not dead. the thing stares at him for a second with its weird not-quite-human eyes, and then opens its bloody mouth. croaks out a 'stay' and walks off into the woods. steve's too weak to do anything but listen, and soon enough the thing is returning, dropping a dead baby demodog by his side with a hoarse command to eat.

and the thing keeps doing this, drinking steve's blood and then going out and hunting for him. the more he (yeah, steve lost that battle to keep his eyes above the guy's waist) drinks from steve the stronger his grasp on language gets, through some magical upside down bullshit that steve doesn't really care about, as long as it means he has some company in this hellscape and also explain that he can't eat raw demodog. apparently, steve tastes better than anything else in this dimension, so the vampire(?) has decided its in his own best interest to keep his new meal happy and healthy. steve's not gonna complain, and honestly the arrangement makes sense to him. the vampires considerate too, even if he doesn't understand human concepts like clothes or privacy while peeing. he makes the upside down bearable. steve's not sure if that's trauma bonding or stockholm syndrome or what, but he's glad of it anyway.

soon though (days? weeks? months?), el does it. she manages to open a gate. steve's about to step through, when the vampire grabs him, clearly doesn't want to let him go. steve looks at the gate, then back at him, then back at the gate, and thinks well. what the hell. and brings his new friend back home with him. introduces him to the party, and just narrowly manages to convince them not to stake him in the heart. teaches him the joys of showering (he's lost all self consciousness about nudity around this guy ages ago)((still kind of a weird moment when he insists steve be the one to soap him up, says he doesn't like how slippery the soap feels))(((says he doesn't like how the soap covers up steve's scent, how he has to press in real close to smell his blood beneath the lavender, and if steve has to try very hard not to moan when the vampire leans in close and noses along his neck to prove his point, that's steve's business)))

and most importantly, he breaks out the big book of baby names his parents had in the attic, goes through it name by name, reading each aloud to the vampire so he can find one he thinks suits him. the guy makes him go through the shortlist while looking at him, staring into each other's eyes while steve recites names like there's something in steve's face that he's looking for. and he must find whatever it is, because his dark, still not-quite-human eyes light up on the third name on the list. it's solid, suits him.

eddie.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #they then proceed to have a super fucked up relationship #i feel like the particulars of how a relationship with someone who isn't human is kind of under explored #divine did it well i think #but like. a vampire might have an entirely different framework for what affection is and what relationships should look like #both in terms of sex and romance #and i think that's something you could have a lot of fun with yknow #and by have a lot of fun with i mean write some probably objectively fucked up shit #again. god bless divine. yes this is sort of based on that what gave it away #what gave it away and why was it the shower thing

[lovestuckyhatemarvel]

Powers in Stranger Things

Okay so, I want to do a powers au for steddie where one or both Steve and Eddie have powers. And I started wondering about how to do that. There seems to be like, 3 different ways most people do this.

1.) Secret Lab Children.

Steve usually gets labeled 7 because Steve and Seven are close in terms of just the words themselves. Eddie usually gets labeled 10 or something? No idea why, but whatever. Both have a lot of potential for both answering questions not answered by canon while also giving angsty opportunity.

2.) Exposure to Creatures/weird shit in Hawkins

Steve got a mouthful of something in the tunnels underground Hawkins, and people sometimes have that give him powers.

3.) The Upside Down/Dimension X

This one's less common, or at least less common from what I've read, and also apparently the canonical answer to how Henry got powers in the first place even though that makes no fucking sense. According to the stage play, apparently, when Henry was a child he got transported to Dimension X and interacted with the mind flayer which gave him COMPLETELY NEW BLOOD AND A NEW PERSONALITY AND ALSO GAVE HIM POWERS.

So what I'm saying is like half the cast should have powers at this point, especially Will. And that we can all just start saying shit. Why do Eddie and Steve have powers? Fuck you, that's why. They have powers and they're gonna fuck because I said so. And then they're gonna use their powers to fuck and then they're gonna kill Vecna just by letting him know how lame he is.

#stranger things #powers #powers au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #the duffer brothers are hacks #this also doesn't take into account that El just has powers because the duffers stole Charlie McGee's origin story but made it darker #And we still DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHY OR HOW THE REST OF THE EXPERIMENT KIDS GOT POWERS #because El didn't open a door to the upside down until after they were dead #and she didn't get her powers from the upside down #SO HOW THE FUCK DO THE OTHER KIDS HAVE THE POWERS #DID THEY ALL TOUCH A SPYGLASS IN A CAVE IN NEVADA #the fucking show doesn't care about these questions so why should we