#Paramedic!steve harrington

[piratefishmama]

Angel | Steddie Oneshot

Eddie Munson never believed that he’d go to Heaven. Sure he’d been raised in a catholic household, his uncle was religious, he’d been raised to give thanks for the food they ate, to pray before bed that should he not wake, his soul the lord take an all that jazz.

Wouldn’t believe it to look at him, to hear the songs he sang, the music he played. Wouldn’t believe how he’d been raised if one were to go by covers instead of contents.

But despite his upbringing in the very catholic Munson Trailer of Forest Hills Trailer Park, he never believed he’d go to heaven. Something about queers and submitting to sin and blah blah blah it’d been a long-ass time since his last confession, but Uncle Wayne stopped reminding him a few years back, so he had an excuse to keep ‘forgetting’ to do it.

Turns out, one did not need to go to confession to make it to heaven!

Angels would just. Turn up, apparently.

Maybe he’d done something good that he wasn’t aware of, he did go to that Make A Wish thing a few weeks back, DM’d a whole one shot for the kids, he’d spent hours there, a whole dang day just… hanging out with sick kids.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what brought this heavenly creature to his side.

To cut a long story short, he was on stage one minute, belting out the lyrics from the final verse of the last song in their set ‘Into the Underdark’, Jeff was slipping into the ending guitar solo, Eddie was gearing up for an end of gig crowd surf and the next.

The next he was looking into a bright, blinding light that kept moving between his eyes.

He’d always been told not to go to the light. If you see it? Don’t go to it, going to it would make whatever trip you were going on a one way ticket, there was no going back when you reached that light. Just hang back, wait for the resuscitation, it’d happen, someone would breathe life back into you, or whack you with enough voltage to get that heart kickin again, just don’t go into that light.

That light was way too close to his eyes, and he couldn’t swat it away. His arms felt tied down. Rude.

And then the light was gone, had he reached it? Was that it? One way ticket stub punched, sorry Earth, Munson out. “Mr Munson? Can you hear me?” Oh what heavenly chorus, the light had momentarily blinded him but shit… when his sight came back, at least enough to make out the vague shape of a very square jaw, of angular features, of warm hazel eyes, and a luscious head of hair surrounded by a halo of brilliant white light.

Angel. He had an audience with an Angel. It could only be an Angel. Neat.

He’d enjoy the ‘I Told You So’ he got from his uncle whenever the old goat made it up there he hoped it wouldn’t be soon though, he’d prefer a longer wait than a short one, thanks.

“Mnn… I hear you big boy, are you sure I’m in the right place though? I’ve been told Heaven wouldn’t want me” it sounded smooth in his head, but he was pretty sure he slurred half the words.

How could he have a slurred voice in Heaven? That didn’t seem fair.

Oh he’d forgive the slurred speech bit if the angel kept making that wonderful music with his vocal chords, that little giggle of a laugh, so bubbly and sweet, yep. Somehow he’d weaselled his way into Heaven. Suck it soccer moms. “Well, at least you can summon the strength to be charming.”

He was charming? An angel thought he was charming? Hell yeah, he’d rock this heaven shit, he already had an in with the big, winged boys!

“I can summon the strength for other stuff too, worship ain’t ever really been my thing but, baby I think I can learn for a literal Angel” he’d subject himself to an afterlife on his knees gladly if it meant he’d have his hands curled around this creature’s thighs, his mouth on—

“Oh wow…” Eddie couldn’t really see it properly thanks to the lovely blinding spots in his eyes that was no doubt his eyes adjusting to heavenly light, but he was sure his angel was blushing, he sounded a little breathless. Good. “You’re uh… wow”

Eddie hadn’t had much charm before becoming world famous but, he’d gained a little experience. Women and men alike throwing themselves at him, knowing he wasn’t all that fussed, babes were babes. All genders welcome to hop on and take a ride. He knew it was mostly the fame, he was still the same nerd he’d been back in high school, but… if fame got him laid then fame got him laid.

At the very least it gave him the experience to flirt with one of Gods pretty little birds. Maybe even score if the reaction he got was any indication.

So much for lust being a punishable sin, huzzah.

Steve was having a day. Okay no, Steve was having a whole week. The only upside to his overtime riddled ass, was that Robin had been on the majority of his shifts with him, so they could at least talk in the ambulance while they roamed the streets waiting for chaos to drop.

Monday, it’d been a seven car pileup on the highway, a few lost limbs, no fatalities but one hell of a close call on two accounts.

Tuesday, it’d been a tumble at a care home resulting in a popped hip and some heavy flirting from a few old ladies. Poor Robin suffering it from a few old men trying to shoot a shot they didn’t have.

Wednesday it’d been crisis after crisis resulting in him not finishing his shift until six hours after he was meant to finish his shift.

Thursday he had one blessed night off, thankfully his on-call status hadn’t dragged him in, and he got a decent six hour nap in.

Friday, another car wreck, he didn’t want to think about that one.

And now Saturday.

Dispatch sent them to the sold out arena, some idiot had leapt off the stage likely for a crowd surf, his foot tangled in an amp chord, it reduced his air time dramatically and he brained himself on one of the guard rails.

Excellent. At least he wasn’t dead.

Which given how easily one could wind up six feet under from such a whack to the head, he was lucky.

They parked by the side exit, shuffled in by security, and right through into the arena. The patient hadn’t been moved as per dispatchers instructions to the person who’d called. No moving the idiot until the professionals arrived and determined it safe.

Cameras, flashing lights, big beefy security guards standing in front of them blocking the majority of what was happening from view, there was… quite a bit of blood there. It didn’t look pretty in that lighting. “The crowd’s too much, let’s get him to the ambulance.” Robin’s patience didn’t exist when it came to large crowds.

Too many people. Plus she’d been on shift five hours longer than he had.

“Alright, you two, c’mere” Steve singled out two of the big security guys “we’re gonna need you to help us get him onto the gurney, we’ll look him over in the back of the ambulance.” There were no broken bones, nothing stopping them from moving him just enough to get him to the ambulance unscathed.

And then, somewhere between writing out paperwork, checking vitals, and Robin googling who this guy was, said guy… woke up.

Steve, being closer, was quick to check responsiveness, pupils reacted well to light although a concussion did look likely, they’d cleaned up the blood and found the cause to be a cut just above his left eyebrow that’d probably make a kickass scar and oh.

Without the blood. Oh. Oh he was pretty. Pretty plump lips, long lashes, deep brown eyes, faint freckles across his nose. All that hair. He was pretty.

“Mr Munson? Can you hear me?” He’d asked, while shining that little torch into those pretty brown eyes, left to right to check the responsiveness. And then he spoke and Steve— well. Robin was eyeballing him judgementally pretty damn hard given how fast his face flamed red.

Her head in her hands, her fingers plugged into her ears as Munson rattled off promises of worship and good lord— Steve didn’t know what to say, what to do, what does one do when a hot yet slightly delirious rockstar offers to worship your ‘angelic body’?

What does one do with that?

One awkwardly stutters through thanks while bright red and toasty until they can part with the guy at the ER wishing he’d met him under better circumstances cause it’d been a long ass time since anyone even touched him let alone worshipped him but accepting that he’d probably never see the guy again, so it didn’t really matter.

Until a few days later when the official Corroded Coffin account slid into his DM’s on Instagram, apologised profusely, and requested very sweetly to make it up to him with dinner the next time he was free.

Signed Eddie. With a little angel emoji. How on earth could he say no to that?

#steddie #piratewrites #Rockstar!eddie munson #Paramedic!steve harrington #SHITPOST FICLET #i have no excuse for this

[lesservillain]

I think we have an emergency…

emt!steve harrington x nurse!reader

#steve harrington #steve harrington moodboard #emt!steve harrington #paramedic!steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #emt!steve harrington x nurse!reader

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Eddie's porn stash is a pretty conventional one. An 'if you've seen one stash you've seen them all' type. It basically only consists of skin mags, some of them kinky but most of them vanilla. Normal stuff.

The oddest thing in it is a two-year-old calendar. You know those sexy firefighter calendars? Usually a charity thing? A hit with the housewife crowd? Yeah. Except this calendar decided to branch out and include a bunch of sexy men from a bunch of sexy professions.

So, in this thing, joining the sexy firefighter is a sexy doctor, a sexy construction worker, a sexy police officer (whose month Eddie tore out and burned because fuck cops but don't ever fuck cops), a sexy librarian, and so on. They're all really good-looking, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic.

It's weird. Paramedics aren't normally part of the traditionally sexy professions. It's messy and sometimes tragic, but lacks the high-paying glamour that doctors and nurses enjoy. Eddie's had his fair share of fantasies, and none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

The guy in the calendar simply is that hot.

There's not even anything risqué about his picture. None of the pictures go beyond "this dude is chiseled and shirtless", because veering even slightly past the softest softcore territory would scare off the little housewives or something.

(Eddie is actually pretty fucking sure it'd increase the sales, but hey, what does he know.)

The point is, there's nothing that obscene about the pic. Just a guy kneeling in the back of an ambulance, first aid equipment scattered between his powerful thighs, shirt open to reveal his sculpted torso…

Dark hair spanning across his pecs, over his abs, vanishing down his tight tight tight pants. Hips canting upward, bringing attention to the size of his bulge beneath the zipper. Broad shoulders, ripped arms and large hands, veins protruding across the back. A pretty yet masculine face, with a strong jaw and a straight nose, full lips, a smattering of moles going down his biteable neck. Voluminous, golden brown hair swooped away from his twinkling eyes.

He's got this look in them, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in the calendar.

The one month everyone will go crazy for.

Eddie has become intimately familiar with that look. No joke, in two years it's made him crack his marbles more than anyone else has done in his quarter-century lifetime. When all else fails, November-paramedic has his back. It's basically his longest relationship to date, which sounds a lot sadder out loud (and it sounded fucking sad inside his head, too).

You might wonder why any of that is relevant now, as he sits on the curb outside of The Behemoth with blood trickling from his temple, his band giving their statements to one cop while another hauls away the snarling douchebag that clipped him. How does it play a part in this god-awful night out, you ask?

Well.

"Sir?"

Eddie startles, too caught up in the thudding inside his head, made worse by the buzzing crowd, to notice the man approaching him. He looks up, his gaze gliding past uniformed legs, muscular forearms, a curved neck and honeyed eyes appraising Eddie, and oh.

Oh God.

Eddie's breath sticks in his chest and his tongue becomes a cognate to sandpaper, because it's the paramedic.

It's the paramedic. From the calendar.

He's hallucinating. He has to be. He collapsed on the sidewalk, and now he's having one last weird sex dream before his brain finishes seeping out and he fucking dies.

November-paramedic crouches in front of him. Eddie continues to gape like he's getting ready to catch the peanuts no one is tossing at him.

"My name is Steve. I'm with the ambulance," November-paramedic says. "What's your name?"

Eddie makes a noise incomprehensible to most Earth cultures before his brain registers the meaning of the question and stutters out the answer.

"I- Uh- E-Eddie. It's, it's Eddie."

November-paramedic – Steve – smiles kindly. Heat prickles across Eddie's cheeks and neck. It's not the same as the cocky, sexy smile he's got in the calendar, but still. He's smiling. At Eddie!

"Hi, Eddie." He nods toward Eddie's temple. "That's an impressive cut you got there. May I take a look at it?"

"Yeah? Yeah. Um, g-go ahead."

As Steve sets down his bag and rummages through it, Eddie scours his face to confirm that it really is the guy from the calendar. To his chagrin, it is. There's no mistaking it. Those eyes, like liquid gold. That jawline, a weapon in its own right. Those moles, applied so skillfully it must've been by an artist's hand. That hair, coming straight out of a commercial for luxury shampoo. It's lying flatter than in the calendar, either lacking product or having sweated it out, but it's still glorious.

Steve, having finished washing his hands, tugs on a pair of disposable gloves. The plastic snaps against his wrist, sending a shiver through Eddie. It centers between his legs. Shit, if he pops a boner now…

"I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?" Steve says while pressing a square piece of gauze against the cut. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Eh, Thursday?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"The Behemoth."

Steve nods and, with a lopsided smile, asks, "And are you a patron or did you and your head injury just wander onto the scene?"

Eddie laughs. Loud, merry, and verging on too long. It wasn't even that funny. Steve seems pleased his joke was a success, though. Unless his smile is the uncomfortable kind that one wears when faced with the unhinged. Eddie isn't sure how much blood he's lost.

"No, I, like, my band…" he says, stammering like talking isn't what he does best. Jesus Christ, it's just a hot guy! Eddie has made a fool of himself in front of those plenty of times – no need to get flustered about it. He clears his throat. "We had a gig and, after, at the bar, some guys got into a fight. Got ugly, so we tried to leave, but… alas!" He makes a dramatic sweep of his arm, nearly clocking Steve. Steve expertly ducks away without lessening the pressure on the wound. Eddie soldiers on, not daring to pause lest he lose his steam. Hopefully his burning face is enough of an apology. "Fucker wasn't even aiming for me. He missed his intended target and struck me instead."

"Right. Did you lose consciousness after he hit you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Did you drink tonight?"

"Half a beer, at most."

"Do-"

"Eddie!"

Gareth's nasally voice cuts off Steve's question. The next second, he's materialized beside them with a slightly alarmed expression. "Dude, are you…!"

He trails off, eyes growing into dinner plates. There isn't that much blood, is there?

Steve looks Gareth up and down, a crease between his brows. "Is this your friend?"

"My drummer. Gareth."

Eddie half-expects Steve to demand Gareth leaves so he can do his job in peace, but nope. That kind, calm smile is back. He even gives him one of those little upward-nods 'cool guys' like to do.

"What's up, Gareth? I'm Steve; I'm with the ambulance. Just making sure Eddie won't keel over later tonight."

"Uh huh…" Gareth kneels opposite Steve. He's smiling too, but his is shit eating. Eddie frowns in confusion, because what does Gareth have to be happy about? He was freaking out right after Eddie got hit, but now he's staring at Steve like-

Oh.

He's staring at Steve.

No. Noooooooooo! Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh why, why has he kept his porn stash in a drawer without a lock all these years?! He can't recollect the reason Gareth opened that particular drawer on that particular day – all Eddie remembers is how Gareth, Jeff, and Marv snickered when he explained the inclusion of the calendar.

That was it, though. They moved on. Sure, there has been the occasional roasting after the fact, but it's not like he hasn't also mocked them for their weird shit. But that's not the point. The point is that Gareth is staring at Steve like he recognizes him.

Gareth's attention flicks toward Eddie. Eddie shakes his head as subtly yet pleadingly as he can. Gareth's grin gobbles down another turd. Eddie makes a valiant effort to explode Gareth's eyeballs with his mind.

"Say…" Gareth turns to Steve. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so. Eddie, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah, man," Eddie says, voice trembling. "Hurts like hell."

"I could've sworn I've seen your face before," Gareth says. "Like, I'm 100% sure."

"Are you dizzy or nauseous?" Steve asks, ignoring Gareth.

"Um, a little dizzy but no nausea?"

"Hmm, okay. Blurred vision or uneven numbness?"

"No."

Steve nods, glancing at his watch. Then, to Eddie’s dismay, he looks at Gareth. "I've never been to this bar before."

"Nono, not here. Somewhere else…"

Steve's lips purse and his brows knit into the most adorable thinking-face Eddie has ever seen. His heart skips a beat, then skips two more as Steve's free hand gently cups Eddie's cheek. The skin catches fire where Steve's gloved fingertips touch it.

"Let me have a look at your pupils…" Steve says, guiding Eddie's face and, holy shit, leaning in close for a better look.

Eddie gulps, half his blood rushing up and the other half down; he squeezes his legs together to prevent the little guy from saying 'hello' to everyone present. His eyes rove over Steve's face. His lips are chapped and the skin on his nose is dry. The nose itself is somewhat crooked. Did he get into a fight between the calendar photoshoot and now, or did they make the nose straighter for the photo? Why would anyone think it necessary to edit a face like this one? Even with its imperfections mere inches away, it's still the handsomest Eddie has seen.

Steve hums. It's a perfectly preserved vinyl. It's a metal festival. It's Eddie's new favorite song.

"Same size but pretty dilated… Keep your eyes open, please." He shines a tiny flashlight into Eddie's eyes before nodding, satisfied. "All right, looks good."

He leans back out of Eddie's space, returning Eddie's ability to breathe, and removes the gauze. His smile tells Eddie that the bleeding has stopped. As great as it is that he won't hemorrhage to death, it also means their encounter is approaching its end.

"You might've seen me at the university campus?" Steve says, fiddling with some plasters; it takes Eddie's horny brain five full seconds to deduce he's talking to Gareth again.

"No-" Gareth freezes, mouth hanging open. His smugness has evaporated. "Actually, I might have? You're a student?"

Steve chuckles as he patches the last of Eddie's cut. "No, but my friends are. None of them own a car, so I end up driving them everywhere. Right, Eddie, I think you're good to recover at home. Unless you feel like you should head to the hospital?"

Great question! Does he? On the one hand: riding in the ambulance with Steve, ensuring a few additional minutes of his lustrous eyes and smooth voice.

On the other hand: hospital bills.

"… no."

"Okay. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I live alone."

"Then maybe Gareth could hang around for the next 48 hours?"

"Sure can," Gareth says without hesitating. Eddie's heart swells with affection for him, despite his (failed! Hah!) plot to mortify Eddie to death.

Steve is already packing his medical bag.

"I want you to rest and avoid stressful situations," he tells Eddie. "No alcohol, no recreational drugs, no driving, and no working until you feel completely recovered. You may take tylenol, but not aspirin or ibuprofen. And if your symptoms worsen or you develop new ones – seek medical attention. Got it?"

The last part is sterner, reminding Eddie of every male authority figure he's strived to disobey during his teenage years. He has no such desire this time.

"Got it."

Steve raises his eyebrows as if to say 'have you really?', and Eddie has to wonder if it's he who seems contrariant and/or stupid enough to ignore the medic or if this is something Steve does with every patient. If it's the former, he mustn't seem that contrariant, because Steve's features soften into trust. He stands, brushing dust off his knees.

"Great. You boys take care now. Have a nice night."

"Yeah, you too, man," Eddie calls after him weakly as he retreats to the blinking ambulance. "Thanks…"

He keeps his gaze on the broad expanse of Steve's back, soaking in the rippling of his muscles as he walks and, oh would you look at that, his ass is as nice as the rest of him. Eddie's been wondering for two years now…

"Dude!"

Eddie jerks toward Gareth. Did he say that out loud? Did he drool? Is his boner showing? But no, Gareth isn't disgusted or disturbed – he's excited.

Shit.

He'll never hear the end of this.

"Don't!" he hisses.

Gareth just laughs, eyes twinkling.

"That was-"

"Don't!"

"I can't believe it!"

"Gareth-"

"You are so red right now!"

"For Jesus fucking Christ's fucking sake-"

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

Dedicated to @rougenancy for always listening to and encouraging my various thoughts, opinions, and ideas (they are constant).

Part 2

AO3

#me combining paramedic!steve with model!steve? it's more likely than you think #no need to tell me i'm a genius – i already know it #steddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #it's not important but i named the third guy 'marvin' #because i think he looks like one #this is part one out of [undecided] #i'll be winging it in the middle so that'll be fun #my writing #steddie fic: november paramedic

[xoxoladyaz]

You're My Heaven, Angel (Paramedic Steve x Rockstar Eddie) - Part 2

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 (Coming Soon)

AN: I just wanted to say a quick THANK YOU to everyone who has been so kind and so supportive of Part 1! I hear you and I, too, want to create a whole series based around this idea. It's a lot of pressure following-up something that's so beloved, but I'm going to give it my best!

Robin must secretly hate Steve.

She must be the most incredible actress in the entire world. She must be the most prolific conman that’s in the business of conman-ing people or whatever. She must have made a blood oath with an elder god during a full moon that no matter how many days or weeks or months or years it took, she would one day make Steve Harrington’s life absolutely miserable. There’s no other reasonable explanation for why she insists on taking the scenic route to Eddie’s room - a scenic route which adds on two additional minutes of travel time instead of heading straight down the hallway (which maybe adds forty seconds tops). 

A route which means Steve has to bear two additional minutes of Eddie loudly introducing him to every single doctor, nurse, patient or family member that they come across on the way to his suite. Never mind that Steve’s worked with most of these doctors and nurses for years now, never mind that he actually goes to Sharla’s poker group when he has Thursdays off with the other fifty-something moms on staff (which Robin never ceases to find absolutely hilarious); no, Eddie is all smiles and arm flourishes, loudly – too loudly – proclaiming that they are now in the presence of his angel, his baby, his angel baby, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, his amor, his partner, his husband – 

“Congratulations, Steve! I didn’t know you got married!” Sue laughs as the entire production passes by. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie blows her a noisy kiss before clearing his throat. He takes a deep breath, and – 

“I’M GETTING MARRIED IN THE MORNING - ”

“Robin, he’s singing again!”

“I know, dingus, I can hear him.”

“DING DONG, THE BELLS ARE GONNA CHIIIIIMMMEEEEEEEE - ”

Steve turns back, risking a glare at Robin mid-step. “Remind me why we’re going the long way around?”

Robin snorts out a laugh, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Come on, Stevie, we all need the exercise.”

“ – GET ME TO THE CHURCH ON TIMMMMMEEEE – Stevie? Stevie,” Eddie turns and sighs at Steve and okay, Steve can’t tell if Eddie’s eyes are super dilated because of the probable head trauma or if there’s a weird reflection from the fluorescents, but his eyes are, like, legit sparkling up at him. “Steeeeeevieeeee - ”

“Yep, I’m still here.” Eddie grins, flopping to the side so that their joined hands are resting up against his head. He sighs happily, his feet wiggling under the shock blanket, and it’s not cute Steve stop thinking it’s cute – 

“Steve!” He pulls his eyes away just as the gurney comes to a stop in front of Brenda, one of the intake nurses currently on shift. Brenda’s blonde and cute and ethically non-monogamous, but Steve is more of a one and done sort of guy. That doesn’t mean they don’t flirt like crazy anytime they bump into each other, though. (Hey, he’s gotta stay in shape somehow.)

“Looking good today. Is that a new shirt?” She asks with a smirk, her eyes running over his biceps. (It’s not a new shirt, Robin just ran it through the dryer, so it shrunk. Really, he should have gotten rid of it, but it makes his biceps look amazing.)

“Nah, it’s - ”

He has a line. He has a great line. But as soon as he opens his mouth to speak it, he’s cut off by a very loud hissing sound coming from his left and – 

Yep, it’s Eddie. Eddie, who’s glaring at Brenda like they’re mortal enemies. Seriously, it’s a good thing he doesn’t have laser eyes like that one superhero guy because if he did, Brenda would be at risk of getting too tan.

“MINE!” Eddie snaps at the end of his hiss and then, all while still maintaining eye contact with Brenda, he yanks Steve’s hand to his mouth and licks it. And not, like, a gentle lick that you’d get from a puppy. No, Eddie licks his hand like he’s trying to give Steve a tongue bath.

(His first instinct should be to pull away, but instead all Steve can think about it Eddie giving him an actual full body tongue bath - )

“Dude!” Steve exclaims when he does finally pull his hand away. (He hears Robin snort under her breath, clearly having caught onto the fact that his brain broke at the whole licking thing and shit, now he’s thinking about it again - )

“No, MINE!” Eddie growls, and Steve barely has a chance to wipe his hand on his pants before Eddie is grabbing it back, clutching it between both of his hands like it’s his special or something. (Special, was that the word that the guy used? The little creepy guy in that one movie? He needs to text Dustin and ask.)

“Aww, I’m glad to see you’ve finally met someone!” Brenda teases.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replies distractedly, trying (and failing) to shake one of Eddie’s hands off of his hand because now that they’re actually at his suite, he’s going to need them. “Brenda, this is - ”

“The concussion patient from Lollapalooza, Sarah clued me in,” Brenda says, snapping her gum. “Eddie, right?”

Eddie pauses from wrestling with Steve to sniff at Brenda and honestly, as someone who spent way too much time at country clubs as a child because of his parents, Eddie has the whole I’m-better-than-you-you-poor-person-wearing-Adidas expression locked down. “That’s Mister Eddie to you, Briony.”

Briony? “Who’s Briony?”

Robin kicks the gurney forward with an eye roll and suddenly they’re moving into the suite. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, dingus.”

Eddie finally manages to tear his eyes away from Brenda. He perks his head up at Steve and once Steve’s face is in his line of sight his expression softens, the sparkles coming back in full force. “And it’s such a pretty head, baby.”

Such a pretty head SUCH A PRETTY HEAD – 

“I’ll show you – ow, Robin, seriously?” Steve yelps at Robin’s pinch.

“Stop being horny and help me get him on the bed.”

“I’m - ”

“Don’t listen to her baby, please, please stay horny, and lose the shirt while you’re at it!” Eddie sits up and starts frantically grasping at Steve’s sleeves. “Christ almighty, these arms, arms of heaven, arms of an angel - ” 

“Steve!” Robin barks and shit, he needs to focus. He takes advantage of the fact that Eddie let go of his hand to grab at his shirt and darts down to the other end of the gurney. They lift on a count of three, placing Eddie onto the bed and kicking the wheeled cart out of the way. (Eddie makes a loud WHEEEEEEEEE sound and then immediately goes back to demanding that Steve get naked.) Sarah, who’s followed the procession the entire time, grabs the empty cart and wheels it out of the room just as Brenda steps in.

“Well then, Eddie, let’s get started on intake,” Brenda nods, bringing out her iPad. “Are you ready to answer a few questions?”

“No.”

Robin groans and steps to the side, energetically fluffing and reorganizing Eddie’s pillows so he’s seated up. Somehow Eddie is able to lean around Robin’s wide-armed movements and fix Brenda with yet another piercing glare.

Brenda shoots Steve a look before nodding her head at Eddie.

Right.

“Hey, uh, Eddie, we really need to ask you a few questions - ”

“Hand!” Eddie snaps to look at Steve and sticks his hand towards him. He wiggles his fingers a few times before making a grabby motion. “Hand!”

It’s not cute. It’s totally not cute.

Steve sighs but walks back around from the foot of the bed and places his hand gently in Eddie’s. Eddie links their fingers and squeezes tightly. “Uh, how about now, is now okay to ask a few questions?”

Huffing, Eddie looks at their fingers for a few moments before looking upwards at Steve. Their eyes meet and he grins. “Hi angel,” he lets out a pleased sigh. “I missed you.”

Don’t say it don’t say it DON’T SAY IT - 

“I missed you too, Eds.” 

FUCK.

“Awwwww, my little schmoopers are being all schmoopy-moopy!” Robin sings in her best baby voice. (That’s it, he’s eating the rest of the Chunky Monkey.)

“I’m eating the rest of the Chunky Monkey.”

“Uh, like fuck you are.”

“I'd rather have you eat me,” he hears Eddie whisper and yeah, okay, that’s one he’s just going to choose to ignore for the sake of what little sanity he has left.

“Right, okay,” he hears Brenda try to get things back on track. “About those intake questions - ”

“Oh, don’t worry Nurse Brenda,” the lilting voice of Dr. Suzie Henderson floats into the room. “I can take it from here.”

Steve turns just in time to see Suzie strut into the emergency suite. She shoots Brenda a grateful nod and Brenda, with one last wink to Steve, hands her iPad off to Suzie and heads out of the room. 

“Bye Steve!”

“Bye Brenda.”

“Yeah, bye Brittany!”

Suzie has the best laugh in the world, and she lets it fly on her walk over. “Hey Steve,” Suzie grins at him as she makes her way towards the foot of Eddie’s bed. “How are things going today?”

“Oh, good,” Steve replies quickly before turning to look at Eddie. “Eddie, this is Doctor Suzie Henderson, she’s my sister-in-law.”

Eddie slowly scooches his butt backwards so he’s sitting up more. “No, she’s our sister-in-law,” he huffs before turning and smiling at Suzie. “Hey sis!” 

“And you must be Eddie! I heard you were thinking about marrying into the family.” She lets out a quick giggle at those words but then clears her throat and throws her shoulders back. “Well, if you are serious about joining our Steve in holy – or unholy – matrimony - ”

“Fuck yeah,” he hears Eddie whisper.

“ – then I’m going to need you to answer a few questions.”

“Proceed, milady.” Eddie starts gently caressing Steve’s hand with his fingers. Steve shoots a look at Robin, who makes exaggeratedly sappy faces while glancing between Steve and their intertwined fingers.

(Forget the Chunky Monkey, he’s eating all of the ice cream they have left tonight.)

“Full name?”

“Edward Anthony Munson.”

“Age?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Name of your emergency contact?”

“Oh, that would be Uncle Wayne and Chrissy! Baby, you’re going to love Wayne,” Eddie says, turning to gaze lovingly up at Steve. “And he’s going to love you! Not as much as I love you though, that’s impossible.”

(Steve’s pretty sure that Bambi eyes here is the impossible one.)

“Great, is Wayne and Chrissy’s contact information in your medical file?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie replies dreamily, still gazing at Steve. 

“Okay, speaking of your file,” Suzie taps at her iPad, “any major events in your medical history that we should know about?”

“Hmmm?” 

He can feel it on his face, he can feel his stupid grin on his stupid face, but he chooses to instead focus on helping Eddie pay attention. “She wants to know if there’s major health events in your past that we need to know about, Bambi.”

“Bambi?”

“BAMBI?!” Robin squeaks after Eddie.

Shit shit SHIT -

“I mean - ”

“Bambi,” Eddie hums, blinking rapidly as he slumps back against his pillows. Once he's settled, he tosses his free hand across his forehead and moans happily. “He loves me. He loves me, he loves me, HE LOVES MEEEEEE - ”

Don’t blush DO NOT BLUSH BODY STOP BLUSHING

“Oh my god that was amazing, I have literally never seen you this red, you look like an actual tomato. Oh my god, I have to tell Nance, like, now.”

“Right, yes, okay Bambi,” Suzie interrupts with a snicker, “like Steve said, is there anything we need to know?”

“Well, we’re in love,” Eddie sighs, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Stevie’s hand. “I think I’m still a little high but it’s only weed, I’ve definitely stopped doing cocaine since, like, five months ago. No need to worry about that, angel,” Eddie pats the top of Steve’s hand.

“Yeah, no, I definitely won’t worry about that.” (He’s definitely going to worry about that.)

“Well, thank you for your honesty, Eddie. I’m going to take a closer look at your files once we get them just to get a better picture of your overall health before we run our tests. Now, second set of questions,” Suzie loudly taps and drags a new window on her tablet open. “What is your annual income?”

(Huh. That’s weird. Steve’s doesn't think he's ever heard any of the nurses ask that question before.)

Eddie snorts out a laugh. “God, I make so much money. A fucking stupid amount of money.”

“You have something in way of a retirement plan then?”

“Doc, I could retire for, like, the next five hundred million years.”

Susie hums as she makes a note. “Do you have anything against sharing resources with your romantic partner?”

(Okay, Steve definitely hasn't heard anyone else ask these questions before.)

“Nah!” Eddie scoffs before gently tugging on Steve’s hand to get his attention. “You’ll be the hottest trophy wife, babe. Do you have an apron? I’m going to buy you an apron.”

“And what are your feelings on children?”

“Kids? I love kids. Is he good with kids? I bet he’s good with kids,” Eddie rushes out. “Fuck, you’re going to look so hot pregnant, baby.”

Robin makes a loud barfing noise which Suzie naturally ignores. “What exactly are you looking for in a relationship?”

“Suzie - ”

“Him! My angel,” Eddie slumps to the side so he’s leaning up against Steve’s hip. “I want to wrap him up in a warm towel and keep him forever and make sweet, sweet love to him under the - ”

“OKAY, next question please,” Robin loudly cuts him off.

“So what you’re saying is you’re looking for a committed relationship with Steve,” Suzie ignores Robin's dramatics. “Are you prepared for lifelong monogamy?”

“Absolutely.”

“Suz - ”

“And you’ll work every day to be deserving of Steve?”

“For the rest of my life,” Eddie proclaims and fuck, he actually sounds serious. He actually looks serious too.

Huh.

Suzie quietly observes him for a moment before her face relaxes into a warm smile. “I believe you. Now, dealbreakers. What are your opinions on outdoor weddings? Steve gets scared in churches.”

“What?!” Eddie gasps, snapping back to Steve.

“SUZ – what, no, I’m not afraid of churches - ”

“Uh yeah you are, you said that every time you visit one you get nightmares about being sacrificed on an altar,” Robin chimes in.

“Gee, thanks, Robin.”

“Baby, baby, don’t worry, I’d never let them sacrifice you,” Eddie tries to comfort Steve, but everything that’s happened in the last thirty seconds – hell, the last thirty minutes – is starting to finally sink in and yeah, okay, there’s an obscenely hot and rich and famous rockstar telling Steve that he loves him and sure, he’s partially concussed but the joke isn’t ending, he’s acting like he’s serious and they’ve only exchanged like maybe twenty words total but he’s acting like this is actually happening and what if it actually could – 

“Shoot, we’re going to have to wrap it up here, loverboy,” Robin waylays his runaway thoughts as her beeper goes off. “We’ve got a fainter with a broken nose."

“Okay, okay.” Steve shakes his head and tries to gently extract his hand from Eddie’s grasp but Eddie lurches at the feeling of Steve moving his hands and whines, digging his finger into Steve’s hand.

“Eddie, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

“But – no, angel, please,” he blubbers before turning his eyes on Steve and –

Oh.

Oh no.

They’re even bigger and shinier when he’s crying.

“I’m sorry, Bambi,” he replies totally deliberately, “but I’ve got to go finish my shift. I’ll come back when I’m done, okay?”

Eddie sniffles, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” he whimpers sadly, and – look, this joke isn't really joking anymore so if Eddie's gonna go all the way, he might as well go all the way too.

He leans forward and presses a quick kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. “Be good for Suzie, okay?” As he draws back, he glances back down at Eddie. Eddie is blinking dazedly at Steve, all glassy-eyed and rosy.

“Wow,” Eddie whispers, and while the smile that appears on his face is small, it’s the warmest one Steve has seen yet. “Whatever you say, baby.”

“Right, right.” Steve nods and then pivots, making a hasty retreat out of the room.

“Later, Bambi,” Robin sings behind him, and then she’s quick on Steve’s heels. The hall’s crowded, though, so they aren’t fast enough to escape the start of Suzie and Eddie’s conversation. 

(“So, outdoor wedding? Maybe in spring?”

“Can it be in Hobbiton?”

“Uh, it better be in Hobbiton!”)

“I’m kinda surprised to see you staking your claim already, dingus,” Robin says, thrusting the portable gurney mat into Steve’s arms as they walk. “I was worried I’d have to make you.”

“I shouldn't have done that. I mean, he’s a patient, Robin!”

“Not anymore, he’s not!” Robin gently bumps his hip. “He's not your patient anymore so now we need to start planning your next move. I mean, he’s obviously going to say yes when you ask him out, but it still needs to be smooth.”

“What – I’m Steve Harrington, I’m always smooth.”

Robin is purposely silent.

“Okay, first of all, rude,” he says after giving her plenty of time to politely agree. “Second of all, even if I did decide to make a move, there actually isn’t a guarantee he’d say yes. Even if he wasn't just doing this because he's heavily concussed, I’ve hardly talked to the guy!”

“I know, he has no idea how much of a dork you are, it’s great.”

Steve offers Robin a hand as he climbs into the ambulance. (Not without shooting her a look once they're both seated, of course because again, rude.) 

Robin shrugs Steve's frown off. “Look, dingus, I know you think that you have all these great lines or whatever - ”

“Uh, I don’t think, I do have them - ”

“ – but they’re, like, obviously lines. Whatever you say to him has to be more real. He needs to know that if he says yes, he’s going to be going on a date with a guy that has the ooiest, gooiest, squishiest little itty bitty heart!” She squeezes her hands together like she’s holding Steve’s heart in her hands (which definitely isn’t concerning given the fact that she’s technically a medical professional who knows just how vulnerable that particular organ is.)

“Robs - ”

“ITTY BITTY!” She kisses the tips of her fingers. “And that’s why we gotta plan, doinkus. Edward Anthony Munson needs to be constantly conscious of the fact that he’s dating the best guy on the entire planet because you are, Steve, you are the best guy on Earth and you deserve a Prince Charming even though the Prince Charming archetype is totally outdated and part of a patriarchal initiative to establish systematic gender dynamics - ”

Well, shucks. Maybe Robin doesn’t hate him after all.

“ - doesn't exist, its still what you deserve. But more importantly than that, if Eddie does start dating you, then I have a better shot of getting him to introduce me to Chris Hemsworth.”

“Chris Hemsworth?"

“Uh, yeah.”

"Chris Hemsworth - Chris Hemsworth? Out of every famous person Eddie could hypothetically introduce you to, you'd want to meet Chris Hemsworth?"

"Well, yeah," Robin takes a brief sip of her water before shooting Steve a playful smirk. “I mean, as great as you are, I wouldn't be opposed to upgrading my emotional support himbo.”

Never mind, she’s evil incarnate.

(And she’s going to be out of Chunky Monkey in about five hours.)

Tags list: @piratefishmama @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @noxturnallyevermore @little-trash-ghost @justforthedead89 @mmmmwaffles94 @omletlove @lostonceandneverfound @sweetwaterangel @punctualhowell @sapphirecobalt-1 @kedtheduck @lunesispunk @mrs-dr-reid @clockworkballerina @stayonmars @maya-custodios-dionach @kahri1 @renaissan-vvitch @xwildangel @sweetarts116 @musical-theatre-gay @ladylokilaufeyson5 @ellietheasexylibrarian @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @designatedgrape @steddiesoulmates @starlightshadowsworld @inmoonywetrust @hellfire--cult @singmeyoursimpsong @sleepdeprivedflower @loserhotline @m-owo-n @magpiemuseum

#it's me I'm the girl who fainted and broke her nose at work #I told the doctor hey at least I've finally broken a bone and he said it didn't count #which is honestly super rude so fuck you doctor jones #anyways #steddie #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #steddie fic #paramedic Steve harrington #rock star Eddie munson #yes Eddie knows my fair lady #Steve forgetting both Superman and Gollum #trigger warning: brenda #also I took a weed hard candy while I wrote this so if the grammar is weird whoopsie I'll fix it later #Chris Hemsworth is for the lesbians

[audhd-nightwing]

steve: yeah i’m a government employee

eddie: i fucking hate cops

steve: good thing i’m an EMT then

eddie: …

eddie: *starts twirling his hair* so… are you free tonight?

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #nothing hotter than a man who takes care of people #while i enjoy law enforcement steve au’s #i prefer this #aka EMT steve #or like #paramedic steve #idk what the difference is

[steddieunderdogfics]

The Unintended Consequences of Fight or Flight by GhostEnthusiast

The Unintended Consequences of Fight or Flight by GhostEnthusiast

Rating: Mature

5,463 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Scare Actor Eddie Munson, (love that that's an existing tag lmao), Paramedic Steve Harrington, Halloween, Fluff, Minor Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Platonic Soulmates Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Platonic Soulmates Chrissy Cunningham & Eddie Munson, Kissing

Summary:

“You punched me?” “I know, I know, I’m so fucking sorry, you just scared me and-” “I scared you?” He splutters and the guy goes bright red, somehow cringing even further into himself, “I’m a fucking scare actor!” or Eddie is a scare actor in a Halloween Haunted Maze at a theme park. Steve has terrible fight or flight reflexes. They make out about it.

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #no upside down #halloween #rated m #fluff #buckingham #paramedic steve

[pemsha]

sooo i did that little thing based on @2btheanswertothequestion 's steddie+paramedic steve au (check it out, its my favourite thing right now!!)

#ngl i don't rlly like it but its okay #i LOVE your fic tho #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #paramedic!steve

[fantasticallyfruity4]

Okay idk abt where y’all are from but my local HS had a paramedic on site for football games at all times.

And considering we’re all down bad for paramedic Steve rn, this feels like a great au (Also, has to be punk Steve bc like, it’s me come on, I want to give Eddie a heart attack.)

Lucas decides he wants to try out for football fall of sophomore year and the part is, begrudgingly supportive.

And max and Dustin are on marching band, so they’re at the games to. And Mike and el and will and Jonathan are just there on the basis of comradely and good friendly support. And of corse Eddie and his van have to be the kids chief mode of transport.

And Eddie doesn’t meet paramedic Steve (cute paramedic Steve with the lip ring and the nose ring and the eyebrow stud) because poor sweet little Lucas got squished by some freak out on the field, or bc his good friend chrissy took a hell of a tumble coming down from a cheer and he’s such a worried friend fussing over her like a mother hen, or bc somehow someway Dustin got whacked in the nose by a flute.

No, he does this all by himself. All his own brilliance. He went to check on the Byers + co contingency before going back to hovering over his little band babies + his two accidentally adopted jocks, and takes a fucking header off the bleachers. Clears a good 3 feet if he doesn’t say so himself.

So sweet pretty paramedic Steve of corse rushes over to him in an instant, sitting him up against the side bleachers, shining a light in his eyes, asking where he is, when it is, his name, and they’ve got a little crowd of the byers + wheeler + the little Mayfield and Henderson but Steve’s paying them no attention and Eddie doesn’t even see them.

The paramedic introduces himself as Steve, he says “I’m Steve and I’m gonna make sure that you’re feeling okay tonight, okay sir?” And eddie nods dumbly.

And Eddie is answering sure, but he’s really making Steve worried bc he’s so wide eyed and taking a second to answer and it’s just worry some (he’s having a very in love mental breakdown, okay, let him be. He’s speed running visions of a life together. He’s understanding what “love at first sight” means for the first time in his life.). He’s got a the man he didn’t even know was in his dreams fussing over him. He’s going to explode.

“If I knew I’d have such a cute paramedic I’d have fallen off that wayyyy earlier tonight” Eddie says then slams his mouth shut and goes wide eyed in horror. Steve just laughs, a beautiful sound. Not at Eddie, no it doesn’t feel taunting, it’s a beautiful sweet sound.

“We’ll, if you’re thinking clearly enough to hit on me I think you’re heads definitely okay. Do you have a headache at all? Any dizzyness? You took a hell of a header, Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No just like my actual nose hurts from smacking into the dirt”.

Steve nods. “May I?” “Corse man it’s your job”.

Steve chuckles. “Stop making me laugh man, I’m on the clock. Does this hurt?” “No” Eddie answers in the most nasally voice with Steve’s fingers still squeezing his nose and he wants to die because what was that sound? But Steve just smiles softly. “Good, awesome. No pain? Breathing okay?”. Eddie nods dumbly. “So I’m gonna bet it’s just sore from smacking into the dirt, not broken.”.

Eddie nods dumbly. Again. For the 20th time that night. He can’t function. “So why don’t we just get these cuts here cleaned up?” Steve decides, reaching into his bag for a million supplies. “Think I’m gonna get any cool scars?” “Nah sorry man, not with these little guys. But it’s for the best, why mess with perfection anyway, right?” Steve winks dabbing some shit that BURNS on Eddie’s cheek before putting on a bandaid and Eddie might be going into cardiac arrest.

“I like your uh, piercings” Eddie spurts out like an idiot.

Steve grins. “Thanks. Got a peak of those bats when I first came over, got any more?”. Eddie snorts a laugh. “Yeah a shit ton. Nothing easy to see though my uncle would hang me if I made myself any less hirable”. Steve chuckles at that. “Hey man the whole f-d is all old military dudes covered in their shitty navy tats, i wouldn’t be too worried.” “Oh so there’s more where this came from? Maybe I should fall more” Eddie taxes, just a little. “Watch it” Steve chuckles.

“Okay I think you’re pretty patched up, handsome. But considering everything don’t drive tonight, especially if you have passengers. You have a ride home? Someone to call?” “Yeah I’ll just make it one of my friend Jonathan’s problem, that’s fine”.

“Okay, good” Steve nodded, taking out a small pen and pad from his pocket and writing something. “And this friend Jonathan… he’s not a boyfriend, right?”.

Eddies jaw fucking drops. Literally drops. He’s going to spontaneously combust. “Nah, no, nope man” he stutters out. “Okay, gotcha. If anything starts hurting tonight, if you get dizzy, any nose bleeds, give me a call. Or… you know, when you’re feeling better give me a call too”. He hands eddie the piece of paper with a smiley face and the name ‘Steve (the paramedic)’ with 10 scrawled numbers on it, as he stands up, offering eddie a hand up himself.

Eddie doesn’t want to think about the strength steve has that this that easy to lug his 160 pounds of trailer trash ass up. Or how he feels about what looks like the singular inch steve has on him, even in his boots.

#steddie #paramedic steve harrington #paramedic steve #punk steve harrington #punk steve

[inklessletter]

I don't usually do any fic rec but I think that it is a perfect time for everyone to read @2btheanswertothequestion 's November Paramedic.

It's funny, sexy, relatable, easy to read, pining at its best, friendship at its bestest and as a pretty special bonus, a delicious Max&Steve sibling like relationship.

Gareth I love you.

#steddie #fic rec #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #November Paramedic #2btheanswertothequestion

[sidekick-hero]

Blinded by you

(steddie | 2.1k | rated T | silly fluff | AO3 Link)

There are a few simple truths in Eddie Munson’s life.

Jeff Hanneman is the best guitarist in the world. Mac’n’Cheese counts as a balanced meal. He’s the least organized person he knows.

It’s the last one that gets him into trouble the most. He knows it. He tries to be better. But he can’t help it that his brain is usually all over the place. There are too many thoughts in his head to keep track of them. If he doesn’t write it down, it won’t be happening.

He should have written it down. Uncle Wayne, 10am, breakfast. It’s the first time his uncle visits him at his new apartment. Which is great and all, he’s proud that he found his this place and manages on his own.

Only problem is: he may have forgotten to clean the place.

Now it’s 2 in the morning and he just remembered that in about 8 hours, his uncle will arrive and be faced with what only could be described as a mess.

So, Eddie does the most logical thing that comes to his mind: he cleans the shower.

The showerhead is covered in limescale and Eddie wonders how he even managed to shower this morning. Did he shower this morning? He sniffs under his armpit and decides that no, he definitely didn't shower this morning.

He takes off his clothes and gets the bleach from under the sink. Why not combine both tasks and be done with it? He can be efficient when he wants to be. His uncle would be proud.

The showerhead is over his head and he puts some of the bleach on the scrubber and starts scrubbing the limescale.

One minute he's looking up at his hand scrubbing away, the next there's a burning pain in his eyes. He lets out a yelp and drops the scrub brush into the shower.

"Shit! Fuckfuckfuck."

He squeezes his eyes shut, but the pain doesn't go away. It only gets worse.

There's a distant memory in his mind that when something like this happens, you're supposed to flush your eyes with clear, running water, so he turns on the shower, waits a few seconds for the bleach to wash away, and steps under the spray.

He forces himself to open his eyes and let the water wash away the burning liquid. But there's still too much limescale, so he stumbles out of the shower and over to the sink. He bends over it and opens the faucet.

For the next five minutes, he lets the water run in and out of his eyes, praying to the gods that he does not lose his sight. Even by his standards, that would be the stupidest accident that ever happened to him. And that’s counting the time when he succeeded in breaking both hands at the same time.

The pain eases a bit, but his eyes still burn like hell. He thinks about just going to bed and hoping it'll go away in the morning. But then he imagines waking up to a world of darkness and reaches for the phone instead.

Swallowing his pride, he dials 9-1-1.

Later, he will remember this as one of the most embarrassing and surreal moments of his life. Him, standing in the doorway of his kitchen next to the phone, naked as the day he was born, water dripping all over the floor, his eyes squeezed shut. The receiver in his hand and a nice young man on the other line asking him what his emergency is.

I'm a fucking idiot, seems to be the best answer to this question.

"I accidentally got bleach in my eyes and they're burning like hell. I'm afraid I'm going to lose my sight."

"Okay, sir. Have you rinsed your eyes with clear water?"

Eddie pats himself on the back for his excellent survival skills, happily ignoring what got him here in the first place.

"Yes, I did. For at least five minutes. But it still burns really bad and when I try to open my eyes, everything is blurry and it hurts even more."

The operator on the other side was humming and Eddie could hear him tapping away at his computer. "Very good, Mr. -" The operator pauses and Eddie remembers that he hadn't even said his name, just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Figures. "Munson. Edward Munson."

"Very good, Mr. Munson. May I ask what exactly happened?"

Shit. How embarrassing.

"I was cleaning my shower."

"At 2 in the morning?" Eddie winces.

"Yes?"

"Okay, Mr. Munson. We're going to send an ambulance to you. Explain to the paramedics what you told me and show them the chemicals you used. And please keep your eyes closed for now so you don't irritate them any more. Do you understand?"

Eddie nods, then remembers that the guy couldn't see him. "Yeah, I got it. Wait for the ambulance. Don't open my eyes. Show them the bleach."

"Very good. Oh, and Mr. Munson. A word of advice? Next time, clean the shower during the day and wear goggles and gloves." Eddie promises to do that and hangs up.

And so Eddie waits. Still naked and wet, his eyes closed.

The doorbell rings and he walks over to the door, stubbing his toe more than once on the way.

"Hello?" he asks through the door, not wanting to expose himself to a stranger and get arrested for public indecency.

"Hello, sir. We're here for an emergency. Something with bleach and possible eye damage?" A deep voice answers from the other side.

Eddie opens the door, eyes still closed, and says, "That would be me." The man gasps softly and Eddie is a little surprised. Doesn't he see a lot of naked people at his job?

He turns and walks to the bathroom, stubbing his toes again on the way, expecting the paramedics to follow him into the apartment.

"Sir, please wait. Where are you going?" The same voice, now closer.

"To my bathroom. The operator told me to show you the bleach. I left it there." A warm hand wraps around his arm and Eddie realizes for the first time how fucking cold he is.

"Sir, we need to examine you first. My partner can get the bleach in the meantime." His next words are not addressed to Eddie, but to the person behind him. "Robin, could you look for the bleach in the bathroom? Make sure you bring back anything you find that might be important."

Eddie feels someone walk past him and he wants to open his eyes so badly. He feels naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

The man in front of him speaks again, his tone soft. Soothing. "I need to look into your eyes and examine the damage. I will shine a light into them. It will probably hurt, but you must keep your eyes open. I promise to be as quick as I can, okay?"

All Eddie hears is 'keep your eyes open', so he does. His eyes are still burning like a son-of-a-bitch, but his vision is finally clearing up. Kneeling in front of him, rummaging through a large leather bag, is the most beautiful man Eddie has ever seen.

The literal angel at his feet chooses this moment to look up at Eddie through strands of golden hair. His beautiful, beautiful face is inches from his dick and Eddie has to do everything in his power to keep it from greeting the man in front of him like an excited puppy. Down boy, he thinks.

He has maybe ten seconds to be embarrassed by his nakedness before he notices a pair of pretty hazel eyes that are examining everything but his eyes. They linger on Eddie's dick and suddenly he's not ashamed anymore.

"You know, I hurt my eyes. Not my dick."

The guy starts and covers it with a cough. *"Sorry, sir. Wandering mind. Let's get to it."

"You can call me Eddie. And I wouldn't mind something else wandering while you do your examination." The most adorable blush adorns the man's cheeks, and Eddie is more than grateful that his eyes may still burn, but they work just fine. What a shame it would have been to miss such a sight.

The paramedic recovers quickly. He stands up again and takes a step closer to Eddie, radiating heat. Eddie wants to rub his cold skin all over it. Did the fumes go to his head?

"Well, Eddie. I think we'll focus on your eyes for now, okay?" Eddie starts to pout exaggeratedly, but hisses in pain as the blinding light hits his eyes. He instinctively closes his eyes and pulls away from the source of his discomfort.

A very warm, very large hand cupped his face and stopped him from retreating any further. "Hey, man. I'm sorry I startled you. But you gotta show me those big brown doe eyes of yours, okay?"

How could he ever say no to this? Eddie opens his eyes again and the hand on his cheek never leaves while the paramedic shines the light into both of his eyes. It hurts, but not as much as before.

"Your eyes are pretty." The guy says softly, and Eddie gets the impression that those words were not meant to come out of the paramedic's mouth.

“If all you wanted was to stare into my eyes, we could’ve just gone to dinner.” Eddie quips and the hand on his face drops, leaving him feeling cold and bereft.

"I mean, your eyes are pretty irritated." After what feels like minutes, but is probably no more than a couple of seconds, the guy turns off the light and puts it away. "But I don't see any encrustations or scar tissue on your cornea. Did you clean them with water?"

Eddie nods. "Yeah. At least five minutes, I think."

The guy hums. "No wonder they're irritated. Ah, Robin. You got the bleach?"

The other paramedic, a young woman also about his age, steps forward. Eddie wonders how long she's been standing there and how he missed it. The fumes have really done something to his head, he thinks.

Mr. Most Beautiful Face in the World takes the container from his colleague and examines it.

"Okay, I got to ask, Eddie. How did you get bleach in your eyes?"

And so Eddie tells them the whole story. It's no less embarrassing the second time he tells it, and the incredulous faces they make don't help.

"So, just to be clear. You accidentally got bleach in your eyes while trying to take a shower and clean said shower at the same time? At 2 in the morning?"

That sounded awfully judgmental, so Eddie does what he does best - deflect.

"You know what else I'd like to accidentally get in my eyes, big boy?"

"Please don't do that. What does that even mean?"

Admittedly not his best line, but he should get some credit for pulling any lines after the night he just had.

"It's the shock! You should be nicer to me, I almost died!"

"Jesus, are you always this dramatic?" Eddie thinks the guy is trying to sound annoyed, but the fond smile on his face ruins that impression.

"No? I mean...does it work? I mean. No, 'course not."

Before Eddie can put his foot in his mouth any further, the other paramedic chimes in. "It's kind of entertaining to watch...whatever this is. Like a very bad romcom or one of those cheesy soft porn things. But we really have to go, Steve. You know, to work?"

And there is that adorable blush again. Eddie has only seen it twice, but he's already hooked. Wants to cause it every day, wants to find out how deep it goes under the very loose, very revealing scrubs the guy - Steve - is wearing.

"You're right, sorry, Robs. Okay, Eddie, it looks like your eyes are fine, just irritated. You should go to bed and rest them for a while. They should be fine in the morning."

With that, they both turn and head for the door. Now or never, Munson.

"Steve, wait!"

Steve turns back to him, an expectant look on his face.

Eddie smiles his most disarming smile and says, "You better write down your number for me in case this happens again."

Steve laughs in surprise, the sound so beautiful that Eddie wants to record it. "You don't remember 9-1-1?"

"What if I just want a certain paramedic to check me out?"

There are some simple truths in Eddie Munson's life. One of them is that while his chaotic mind might get him into trouble now and then, it also got him a date with the most gorgeous guy he ever met.

___________________

As usual, my unending love and gratitude for the worst enablers I ever met, @legitcookie and @yournowheregirl 💜💜💜

Any and all resemblance to persons living or dead should be plainly apparent to them and those who know them, especially if the author has been kind enough to have provided their real names and, in some cases, their phone numbers. 

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #paramedic!steve #Eddie Munson is a mess #(yes I am projecting leave me alone) #just some silly self-indulgence #my writing

[imfinereallyy]

does anyone have any good paramedic Steve fic recs? Or nurse/medical field ones? Even firefighter ones? (no cop ones we are acab in this house) I’ve been craving a good steddie with paramedic Steve. I feel like I’ve burned through a lot of them, but I might have missed some. Maybe I’ll write one because they just hit so good.

#steddie #stranger things #fic recs #Steve Harrington #paramedic Steve Harrington

[atimeofyourlife]

Time after time

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: uncle wayne adopts steve | rated: t | wc: 942 | cw: reference to abuse, reference of canon fake suicide | tags: steve harrington has bad parents, steve harrington needs a hug

The first time they met, Wayne knew the boy couldn't be much older than fourteen. Definitely younger than Eddie, who was fast approaching sixteen. It was early, a little before 6 am, during summer vacation, no less. Wayne had finished his shift and called into Benny's to get a coffee and breakfast, on the mornings he did this, he was almost always the first customer of the day. Occasionally beaten in by a cop, or a firefighter, or anyone else that had been stuck with a night shift. But he had never seen a kid in so early. Sat alone in the corner booth nursing a cup of coffee with an almost empty plate in front of him.

"Mornin' Wayne. The usual?" Benny asked.

"You know it. But, uh. What's with the kid?" Wayne replied, nodding toward the boy in the corner.

"Dick and Linda's kid. They're back in town, and he needs a safe place. So he comes here."

"Why don't you report it?" "You think I haven't tried? His parents paid off just about everyone from the mayor down. Kid's not lucky enough to have any other family around to look out for him."

The kid came over with his empty cup and plate.

"I've told you a thousand times that you don't need to do that kid." Benny said.

The kid just shrugged.

"What's your name, kid?" Wayne asked.

"Steve, sir. Steve Harrington." He replied.

"I'm Wayne. And I wish my boy was as polite as you."

The second time they met, it was in more unfortunate circumstances. Benny's funeral. There'd been weird shit going on in town, starting with the Byers' kid going missing. Wayne didn't believe any of the official stories. But especially not the story of Benny's supposed suicide. He knew Benny so well, and something like that wasn't the sort of thing to cross his mind.  He took his place in the community too seriously for that.

But the kid had changed. A few years older, and a lot more haunted. The look in his eyes giving away that he'd seen more than his fair share in his young life. And he was jumpy, almost always looking over his shoulder.  He kept to himself, away from everyone else there. Wayne didn't see much of him until after. Steve was standing at the edge of the parking lot, his hands shaking as he tried to get his lighter to work.

"Here, kid." Wayne held his own lighter out.

"Thank you, sir." Steve replied, after taking a long puff on his cigarette.

"No need for thanks, kid. You doing okay?"

"I. I think I'm gonna miss him. He's helped me out a lot." Steve admitted.

"That was Benny for you. Always ready to help anyone out. But do you have anyone else you can reach out to if you need it?"

Steve hesitated a moment. "Yeah, sir. I do."

The third time, it was less of a meeting than Steve yelling directions at everyone. Tabitha, a woman who lived on the other side of the trailer park, collapsed in the middle of Big Buy. The kid snapped into action without second thought, checking Tabitha for a pulse, for her breathing. He yelled at an employee to call for an ambulance as he started chest compressions. At another to clear space. At some other customers to block the end of the aisle so no one else could stand around and watch. Wayne approached as Steve gave rescue breaths, before going back to the chest compressions. When he noticed Wayne, he looked like he was about to yell at him, but Wayne spoke first.

"It's okay, kid. She's my neighbor. And I know CPR too, so when you need a break I can take over."

They swapped places a few times before the paramedics showed up and took over.

"You did good, son. You acted quicker than any adults did. You may have just saved her life." "Anyone would have done it, sir. I was just the closest who knew what to do."

The fourth time, it was at the hospital. Steve in the hospital bed next to Eddie's, identical wounds, but Steve's were infected. Wayne got to talking to Steve while Eddie slept.

"I tried to protect him the best as I could, sir. I patched him up, and made sure he got to the hospital in time. I know I should have done more-"

"You did more than enough. You kept him alive, now you need to focus on making sure that you're healthy. And you can drop the sir shit. It's Wayne."

After that, Wayne lost count of the meetings. From sharing the hospital room with Eddie, to being friends, to being more. He would do as much for Steve as he would for Eddie, and wanted to ensure that both always had somewhere safe to return to.

"Steve, if you ever want to get out of that big empty house of yours, you're more than welcome to join us here. We'd love to have you move in with us." Wayne said to Steve one day while they were cooking together. Eddie always conveniently disappeared when anything cooking related came up.

"Sir, Wayne. I couldn't put you out like that." Steve replied.

"Nonsense. You're as much my kid as Eddie is, it don't matter who your momma or daddy is. We want you here, you spend enough time here as it is, we might as well make it official."

"I, Wayne. I'd like that." Steve was quite choked up, so Wayne pulled him into a hug. All was going to be okay, with him and his two boys.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #wayne munson #steve harrington has bad parents #steddieholidaydrabbles #atimeofyourwrites

[finntheehumaneater]

I owe you a black eye and two kisses

(Part two)

Now on Ao3

playlist | pinboard TW: drugs, swearing

Steve knew this was a bad idea. He knew it, and yet there he was, doing it anyway. His hands were shaking, and he was pretty sure he was still bleeding somewhere, but he sat patiently at the picnic table behind Hawkins High, waiting for the dealer to show up.

And honestly? Drugs wouldn't fix his situation. If anything, they would probably make it worse. But he just wanted to get back to that floaty-feeling he had felt with Robin a few days ago—to get rid of the feeling that he wasn't safe, because the people who hurt him were gone, and he was fine.

He should be fine, but he wasn't.

And he had a headache, just to top it all off.

He pressed his face into his hands, hating the way That his still-raw skin stung at the contact, but he didn't have the energy to lift his head up. He had felt on the verge of passing out for hours, and he was probably some kind of fucked up, again. But how would he know?

After starcourt, he had pushed the paramedics away—insisting that they check on everyone else, first, leaving him to sit in the back of an ambulance alone— his bruised-up Knees dangling over the edge of the vehicle, a blanket wrapped around his shoulder.

He hadn't needed it. He should have given it to someone else.

He could have gotten himself killed by refusing medical help like that. But that's who he's supposed to be, right? The self-sacrificing hero who puts others before himself—always making sure that everyone else is okay and comfortable before he limps off to go and tend to his own wounds in solitude.

And that's what he was doing. Tending to his own wounds. By buying drugs, of course, like any reasonable person would do. Besides, getting high was always more fun for him after serious head-trauma. He knew the risks, and he liked them.

He and Robin would have to find a new job, too.

Family Video was hiring soon, though, he had seen an ad for it in the newspaper this morning. He'd have to talk to Robin about that. But, then again, he’d probably end up vetoing the option, since he really didn't want to work for Keith.

A voice startled him from his thoughts —a teasing "Well, well, if it ish't Steve Harrington"—and he panicked, his body flinching into itself on its own, back curled like that would protect him from any kind of harm. He could still be beaten senseless like that, though, he knew from experience.

Steve forced himself to straighten, taking a deep breath, and trying to ignore the way that the pounding in his head only got worse after the sudden movement.

He didn't turn as Eddie Munson made his way to The other side of the picnic table, sitting down and placing his small, metal lunchbox between them.

“Munson,” Steve muttered, Kkeeping his head ducked, his eyes glued to a spot of lichen growing out of the wood of the table, desperately hoping that the hair falling over his forehead would help hide his battered-up face better. 

“Harrington,” Eddie said back, but the cockines and teasing in his voice faltered slightly. "Shit, man, what happened to you?"

Steve shook his head, trying to turn away, but Eddie must have leaned over the table, because there was a thumb pressed to his chin, bringing his face up—the tip of it just brushing his bottom lip for a moment. It didn't move away when he winced and tugged back slightly, his skin burning at the contact. “Steve. What happened?"

Steve moved his eyes up to meet Eddie’s, and he had never felt more exposed in a t-shirt and jeans than he did now, what with the way Eddie was looking at him. It was Robin's Madonna t-shirt, and even though she only wore baggy things, really, it was still a bit tight on him, pushing up against his stomach a bit. But he had borrowed it because it was soft and cotton, the kind of fabric that didn't make him feel like he'd need to peel off his skin to be comfortable again after wearing it.

"Starcourt, " Steve managed, kind of loving the way that Eddie's thumb pressed against his skin a bit harder, his index finger hooked under Steve's chin to keep him in place. "M'okay."

Eddie narrowed his eyes, looking Steve over again, and Steve could feel his face flush as Eddie ran a finger down Steve’s bruised cheek and sighed. “Huh. Alright, then. Glad you’re okay.”

Steve nodded and watched as Eddie opened the box, looking at Steve expectantly, because of course he was waiting for Steve to tell him what he wanted, but Steve was feeling unsure, now. Did he really need to get high? That didn’t seem like it would help with his headache. He had really only done this once, and he felt horrible afterwards.

“I—I can’t do this,” He choked out, hating the way that his eyes stung, his hands gripping at his arms as he looked away, because he was tired. He was tired, that was it. Definitely. His fingers dug into his skin a bit harder, and he managed to get out an, “I’m sorry,” when he heard Eddie sigh and the box close.

“It’s okay,” Eddie whispered, his voice softer and less demanding than before. “Do you need anything? A ride home? You look kind of pale, sweetheart.”

“I don’t…I’m fine. You probably—you don’t need to do that,” Steve sniffed, wiping his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of Eddie, but he really couldn’t help it.

“At least let me walk you to your car?”

“I didn’t bring it. I—I walked here. Needed some fresh air, I guess…”

He looked back at Eddie, and Eddie looked him over once more, getting up and looking at Steve expectantly again. “Well, if you think I’m going to let you walk for half-an-hour like this, then you’re wrong. Let’s go, I’ll drive you home.”

EDIT: since this is getting so much attention, I would also just like to say that if you guys like my writing, I have more of it here ❤️

(I might make a part two of this and post it if people are interested, but I’m putting this here so that you guys can bug me about finishing this if you’d like :D)

I did not read this over. So sorry for any mistakes.

Title from this song

I hope you enjoyed my 11PM shitty writing, and reblogs and comments are appreciated!! ⭐️

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve x eddie #steddie fic #Finn writes #stranger things fic #steve Harrington fic #stobin #platonic with a capital p #My fic #my writing

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(part 3 of November Paramedic; part 2 is here.)

When Gareth mentioned a plan to locate Eddie’s paramedic in shining armor, Eddie assumed it'd be him getting into various accidents all over Indianapolis. It's something the little shit would've found funny, okay! But, Gareth's plan is much less hazardous and slightly more logical: lurk around the university until they spot him. Like a pair of drug dealers trying to tempt the goody-two-shoes protagonist into addiction and sin on an 80s Saturday morning cartoon.

It's not the simplest task since they don't know when Steve might be there. Also, other responsibilities mean they can only spare so many hours loitering. So, thirteen days post-hatching plan and nineteen days post-meeting Steve (not that Eddie's been counting or anything), with nothing to show for their ethically questionable behavior, Eddie is ready to give up. Especially since both of them have a rare simultaneous day off. Usually, those are spent jamming, smoking, playing D&D… literally anything other than this.

"This is fucking stupid," he says, cigarette clenched between his teeth. "We're not gonna run into him."

"Sure we are," Gareth says. He drops his butt among the dozens they've chain-smoked and lights another without meeting Eddie's gaze. "We're getting closer. I can feel it."

"The only thing you're feeling is delusional. It's time to give up."

"Eddie, c'mon-"

"Nope." One last drag and Eddie stomps out his cig. "Fuck this; I'm out."

He stalks toward his van at the far end of the parking lot. Gareth curses before running after him.

"Dude!" he exclaims, jogging to keep up with Eddie's longer strides. "You can't just give up! What about what you said-"

"I was being stupid. What was I even imagining? We orchestrate another meeting and, what, I use my freakish wiles and seduce him? And then we'll live happily ever after…" Eddie shakes his head. "It doesn't work like that. He'd probably turn out to be a douche anyhow."

"No, listen!" Gareth seizes Eddie's arm and yanks him to a stop in the middle of the lot. "You always do this. Self-sabotage and cut things short, even when there's potential."

Eddie scoffs. "You know what else always happens? I end up liking them more than they like me. It's not fun."

"You don't know it'll be like that this time. You have to try."

"No."

Eddie takes a step back. He's done; he's out. Gareth reaches for his wrist to pull him back in. He jerks away, almost losing his footing and stumbling into the burgundy car behind him. Gareth's arms shoot out to help, but Eddie steadies himself before crashing. For a second, silence reigns as they assure everyone's on solid ground. Then Eddie opens his mouth to once and for all-

"Eddie? Gareth?"

Their heads snap to the side, eyes landing on… Max? Looking unusually dressy in high-waisted shorts and a fitted top under an oversized jacket, and her hair in a high ponytail. She's got her skateboard under her arm, a messenger bag with a textbook sticking out, and a confused furrow between her eyebrows.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

Fuck. They can't tell her the truth – she'll never let him live it down. Fortunately, Gareth realizes this too, because he says:

"Uh, I go to school here? What are you doing here? The math building is way over there."

She rolls her eyes and leans on the burgundy car. It's a shiny BMW M5 – the limited anniversary edition. Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie almost dented that thing! It's worth more than his life. And Max is slouching against it like it's nothing. He could warn her not to scratch it, but she's unlikely to care; she's always been metal that way.

"Waiting for my friends," she says. "We have dinner on Tuesdays."

Eddie's ears ignite. Dinner? With friends? While wearing what's basically a date outfit?

"Ooohhh…" he says, sharing a grin with Gareth. "And do these friends include someone special?"

She shrugs, looking anywhere but at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, Red! You're killing me! I need to know if he's good enough for you."

His fingers hover over her ponytail, as if to tug at it. She slaps his hand away.

"You're annoying."

He laughs. This terrible day just became infinitely better. He won't rest until he gets what he wants – or until she punches him, which'll probably come first. He's about to tell her so when a voice calls her name. Both turn to look, and…

It's a boy Max's age. He's beaming and waving, quickening his steps toward her. She smiles too, almost shyly, as she waves back. It's the perfect opportunity for teasing, if Eddie's day hadn't just become infinitely better.

His tongue is heavy, his skin is itching, his heart is bruising his ribs from the inside. Sweat is gathering in his pits and it's getting a little hard to breathe. Because walking half a pace behind the boy, carrying a huge duffel with such ease it might actually be stuffed with feathers, is… is…

"Yesssss!" Gareth hisses next to him. He may also be fist-pumping. Eddie isn't looking.

"Hey!" The boy stops in front of Max. "Sorry, practice ran late."

"It's okay," she says, cooler than ice, though her eyes are glittering. "I just got here."

She says something else, or maybe the boy does? It's all background noise, because Steve has caught up. Steve, in jeans and a polo that must've been tailored to his exact measurements because oooooooooohhhh boy. Steve, unshouldering the bag, muscles shifting and straining under his shirt with the movement. Steve, smiling, his golden eyes flying over Eddie.

"Hey! Eddie and Gareth, right?"

Eddie draws a sharp breath. He remembers!

"Y-Yeah!" he squeaks, hands fluttering to either wave or shake hands, ultimately doing neither. "Hi! You're here!"

"I am," Steve says, casual, as if inane conversations with former patients happen on the regular.

(It better not – Eddie doesn't do well in competitive settings.)

Max, keen eyes darting between them, asks, "You know each other?"

"Met at work," Steve says. "Or, I was working and he…"

"Ah." Max taps her temple. "That."

"How do you know them?" the boy asks her.

She points at Eddie. "Neighbor. And that's the guy who dumpster dives outside our apartment building."

Gareth flips her off. Eddie would laugh, but he's busy pretending he doesn't know what Steve looks like shirtless. It's hard (pun slowly growing more relevant) – his gaze keeps dropping to the polo's undone top button. Steve is just as gorgeous out of uniform, and now Eddie's thighs are tingling with want. He could stare at him forever…

Unfortunately, 'forever' is cut short by a woman arriving in a flurry. Wait, no. 'Flurry' implies some sort of graceful whimsy, while this person… she's a hurricane crashing into a house.

"Sorry I'm late! Nielsen wouldn't stop talking and got angry when people started leaving because it's an important lecture so this girl called him out for not keeping time because he goes on all these tangents and he said they're interesting tidbits and she said it's disrespecting our time and-" She pauses for breath. "You don't care, do you?"

Max, Steve, and the boy shake their heads.

"Right. Sorry." The woman turns to Eddie and Gareth. "Hi! I'm Robin. And you are?"

"My neighbor and his friend. Steve treated his concussion," Max rattles off, glaring at them. "You didn't answer my question: why are you here?"

Gareth frowns. "I told you," he says, pointing at the building. "School." He points at himself. "Student."

Max glares harder. "You don't have class on Tuesdays. And Eddie doesn't go here at all."

"I had stuff I needed to drop off."

"Is tagging along a crime? Jesus."

Max doesn't reply, though her glare remains.

Robin hums. "Okay, so this is super-enjoyable, I love just standing around, but I'm starving, so…" She looks at Steve, who nods.

"Yeah, we're going," he says, but neither moves. He glances at Eddie, which makes her glance at Eddie, and then they make a series of eyebrow-movements at each other, ending in a shared smile. Steve asks, "Have you guys eaten yet?"

Eddie shakes his head, pulse racing. Is this going where he thinks it is?

"D'you wanna come with? There's this diner we like…"

Holyshityesitis!

"Yeah!" Fuck, too eager. "I mean, uh, sure, sounds good."

"Cool." Grinning, Steve clicks a remote car key; the burgundy BMW beeps. What the fuck? How high is a paramedic's salary?! "Did you drive here?"

"I, uh…" Eddie falters. Shit, wasn't he supposed to? It's been three weeks and he feels fine – he thought he was in the green!

"Nope! I did!" Gareth says, 'proving' it by hauling his house keys from his pocket and jingling them.

Steve nods. "Should be safe for you to drive again, but the less strain you put on your brain, the better. Even a mild concussion isn't anything to sneeze at."

"Y-Yeah, I've been taking it easy. Basically done nothing. Until now."

Max snorts. Eddie is going to pour coffee through her mail slot.

They decide Eddie and Gareth will follow Steve's car to the diner, since Steve can't fit all of them (the real reason he asked if they drove here, duh). It's good because Eddie gets the chance to panic/gush/collect himself in the privacy of his van. It's bad because Gareth drives, lest their fib be revealed. Gareth spends the ten-minute journey gloating about driving Eddie's beloved girl, interspersed with 'I told you so!'s.

The diner is cozy, all wooden furniture and sepia photographs on the walls. A graying waitress who smells like tobacco directs them to a booth and takes their orders. An awkward silence then falls as they wait for someone to speak.

The boy clears his throat. "My name is Lucas, by the way. I don't think I said." After shaking his hand and introducing themselves, Lucas says to Eddie, "I think Max has mentioned you."

"Oh yeah? I've been dying for her to mention y- Ow!"

Eddie rubs where Max kicked his shin. Her glare is murderous. Lucas is blushing happily, though.

"So, what d'you guys do?" Robin asks.

Right. Time to small-talk like adults. Eddie gets his job as a mechanic out of the way, then gives the word to Gareth, who tells them he's a creative writing major. Robin turns out to be getting a masters in linguistics and Lucas studies biology.

"I don't actually know what I want to do, but biology feels broad enough to give me options, y'know? I can go to med school, or forensics, or, I don't know, paleontology?" he says. Max glows brighter with every word that comes out of his mouth. Cute.

This then segues into talking about their friends, who by the sound of it lead incredibly interesting lives.

"Dustin's at MIT, Mike's at Oxford, Will's in San Francisco…" Lucas says, counting on his fingers.

Max interjects, "El's in Africa building houses and teaching kids English."

"Erica is still at home, finishing high school and drowning in early acceptance letters to, like, every Ivy League there is," Steve says with a look of pure pride.

"Nancy and Jonathan – they're our age – are chasing scoops in Afghanistan… " Robin says.

"... and Argyle is also in California," Lucas finishes.

Eddie whistles. "And here we are, still in Indianapolis."

"Dude, I'm surprised I got this far," Steve says. "Wouldn't've managed without her."

He jerks a thumb in Robin's direction, who preens at the acknowledgment. Robin's cool, Eddie decides. Garrulous but fun and nice… and verrrrrrrrry close to Steve. The kind of close where they're always in each other's space. Where they wordlessly transfer food between their plates. Where Steve unceremoniously wipes a speck of ketchup off Robin's chin after she repeatedly fails to get it. They're comfortable, but not necessarily romantically affectionate. Like they're siblings rather than lovers.

(Dear God, if you are in heaven, let them be siblings.)

Conversation flows. They joke around, tell stories, swap opinions. Robin gets passionate about tonal shifts when stage shows are adapted to film, and Eddie tries not to stare at Steve's mouth as he eats. And then, once their plates are cleaned and they're waiting for dessert, Gareth leans his elbows on the table and fixes Steve with a purposeful look.

"I figured out where I've seen you before."

Eddie stiffens.

Steve blinks. "At campus, right?"

"Thought so, but no. I realized it's actually…" Gareth chuckles. "It's ridiculous, but uh, my mom had this calendar…"

Steve recoils, red flooding his face. Robin, Lucas, and Max shriek in delight, Robin grabbing Steve's arm and shaking it as he hides behind his hands.

"And my mom," Gareth says between bursts of laughter, "she's shameless, all right? She kept it in our kitchen. So during, what was it, November?"

"November," Steve confirms, muffled.

"For 30 days, if I wanted to check the date or make a notation… I saw you."

Tears stream down Robin's face, she's laughing so hard. She and Max have started chanting 'Slut! Slut! Slut!' at the still crimson Steve.

"You don't understand," Lucas says, gesturing for emphasis. "We've been waiting for someone to come up and say 'hey, weren't you…?' for years. Thank you so much!"

"Hey, thank my mom," Gareth says. Eddie's quite stunned he'd throw his own mother under the bus like that. She's a really nice person, too!

"Makes sense," Max says. "Moms love Steve."

"All parents do," Lucas says.

Cackling, Robin pinches Steve's cheek. "Gotta hide your mom and your dad around Steve!"

Steve bats her off, flushed but smiling. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You got your wish, now shut it."

That only makes the three restart the chant to ridicule him for his harlotry. Steve's indignant squawk that 'it was for charity!' merely has everyone laugh more.

And Eddie? Well. As he sits beholding this man who works as a paramedic and drives a luxury car, who models for charity and allows his friends to mock him for it, who blushes and giggles when they lovingly call him a whore…

All Eddie can think is that he's in fucking trouble.

Afterward, it only makes sense for Eddie to drive Max home. Steve shakes his hand outside the diner, saying it was nice to see him again. Eddie, not knowing how to ask for Steve's contact info without seeming weird, agrees. He waits until the BMW drives off, then tells Gareth to get the fuck out of his seat. Gareth relocates to the backseat, whining since Max already called shotgun.

The initial minutes, they're quiet. Then Max turns to Gareth and says:

"When were you telling me Eddie is your mom?"

"Huh?"

"You said you knew about the calendar because of your mom. But that's not true."

The warmth drains from Eddie's face; his knuckles crack around the steering wheel. Gareth's expression is the epitome of 'oh shit' when he meets Eddie's gaze in the rear-view mirror.

"Yes, it is," Gareth says.

"It's not," Max says.

"It is!"

"It's not! The calendar was for 2021, and in November '21 you were a freshman and had already moved into the dorms! If your mom kept it in her kitchen, you wouldn't have seen it!"

She scowls at Gareth, mouth pinched and eyes flashing, daring him to contradict her.

Gareth swallows thickly. "It… wasn't for 2021."

"Yes, it was."

"How do you know?"

She puts her hands in her lap and lifts her chin, almost primly. Eddie gasps as the penny drops.

Gareth screams, "WHAT!"

"You have it?" Eddie cries. "Why do you have it?"

She scoffs. "You know why – you've seen his pecs."

"I don't- Okay, how're you so sure it's me?"

"Because you spent all of dinner looking like you wanted to crawl inside his mouth and live there." Her nose wrinkles. "At least I hope it was his mouth you want to crawl into-"

She's cut off by Gareth shouting "I can't hear you! Lalalalalalala-"

Eddie crumples in his seat. He's depleted of blood, air, life, everything. Behind, Gareth is grilling Max for information: are Steve and Robin together? Is Steve single? Is he queer?

Max replies: no, yes, and 'that's not for me to tell, moron'.

Gareth nods, satisfied. "That means he is. If he was straight, you'd say so." He slaps Eddie's arm. "You got a shot, man!"

"You… don't know that…" Eddie wheezes.

Max tuts, shaking her head. "You actually want to hit on my chauffeur."

"He prefers the term 'seduce'," Gareth says.

Eddie smacks his face into the steering wheel at the next red light.

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

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lordofthepointygerbils, @lenore1232, @imzadidragonfly, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @bea-sayan, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @steveisabicon, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @olivethenerd16, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll,

I won't be adding more to the tag list because there are already so many of you. Instead, I'll be tagging the four remaining parts (it'll definitely be seven in total, btw) as #steddie fic: november paramedic. Hopefully, they'll show up in the tags and you'll see them that way.

Thank you for reading 🖤

Part 4

#the entire conversation in the van - and the purpose of max's role - came to me late at night #and i was so excited i could barely sleep afterward #everything fell into place after that #steddie fic: november paramedic #steddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #max mayfield #my writing #ok so about the car: #(first off i want to admit i know nothing about cars) #in the show steve drives a bmw 733i. the car is gorgeous imo. however while luxurious at the time it's not expensive today. #so i looked up modern luxury cars and found the 30 jahre m5 - the limited edition from when bmw m5 celebrated 30yrs in 2014 #only 300 got made and only 30 were sold in the us. they were as you might imagine expensive. #so the story here is that steve got one for his 16th birthday (would've been in 2015 in this fic) #probably from a doting grandparent since i doubt his parents would've given something so expensive to a teen #fun fact: every 30 jahre m5 is colored 'frozen dark silver' (gray. they're fucking gray.) #but since it's NOT steve's car if it's not burgundy and since i've already erased covid's existence... i don't think this change matters

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance. 

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy. 

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless. 

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one. 

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death. 

But it was closure. 

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted. 

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room. 

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video. 

It felt fresh. New. Clean. 

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months. 

At first, he dreamt of death. 

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance. 

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red. 

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes. 

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before. 

It didn’t even really look like a gate. 

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods. 

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean. 

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms. 

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth. 

Pomegranates. 

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home. 

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them. 

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of. 

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there. 

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up. 

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too. 

He knew her. He knew her. 

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before. 

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you. 

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it. 

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap. 

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came. 

You were always alone. 

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work. 

Not yet, anyway. 

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back. 

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm. 

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet. 

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night. 

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really. 

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes. 

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security. 

Safety - an unknown feeling. 

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place. 

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too. 

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it. 

Then one night, he saw himself. 

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked. 

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up. 

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm. 

Safe. 

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be. 

Certainly not 1988. 

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before. 

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting. 

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello. 

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright. 

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy. 

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper. 

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia. 

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get. 

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before. 

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you. 

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one. 

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep. 

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s. 

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington. 

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee. 

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate. 

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit. 

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington au

[stvharrngton]

bruised and bloody

a/n: this was the second ever steve one shot i wrote and it’s been sat in my drafts for about 3-4 months lol but i’ve come to a roadblock with everything else i’m writing so i thought i’d post this :)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k (i genuinely did not realise it was this long oop)

warnings: mentions of trauma and injuries, cursing, a little angsty but a fluffy ending

summary: best friends to lovers, you and steve come to terms with your feelings for each other. very much two idiots pining, set in season 3

The ‘battle of Starcourt’ had come to an end. You all somehow, thankfully, made it out alive. You escaped the Russians, defeated the Mind Flayer and made it out without barely a scratch or bruise. Steve, on the other hand, was suffering. Badly.

The boy beaten within an inch of his life by the Russians, possible broken ribs, dried blood covered his face and his Scoops uniform. A puffy and bruised black eye to top it all off. He managed to struggle on through the night - a drive to the weather top, crashing the Todfather into Billy’s car and the final battle. But as you all stood outside in the fresh air as Starcourt burned behind you, he finally let himself breathe.

Steve began to trudge towards his car before you stopped him, “Steve?” he paused, “You should see a paramedic. Your ribs might be broken! You need to get checked out, c‘mon.” You pleaded with him, wrapping your fingers around his wrist.

“No!” he cried, “No. I just wanna go fucking home. Please.” Steve’s voice cracked as he whispered out the last part, “Please, let’s just… let’s just go, okay?” his fingers now lacing between your own, dragging you towards the BMW.

You only nodded. You dare not open your mouth, the choked sob bubbling in your throat threatening to spill past your lips. You winced as you watched Steve hold his ribs as you came to a stop at the driver’s side of the car.

“Shit,” he said, fishing through his pockets, “Russian’s took the keys. Please tell me you still have the spare?” he looked at you with a pout.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Hang on,” digging through your pockets you unhooked the spare car key from your keychain, “Steve, are you okay to drive?” A hand on his shoulder as you handed over the key.

“Yes. God, I’m fine! Get in, come on.”

Fuck, Steve muttered under his breath as he watched you sulk round to the passenger side of the car. Curling into yourself, you held your knees to your chest as you refused to look anywhere but through the window.

He didn’t mean to snap at you and you knew that. Tension and emotions were running high as exhaustion ran through both your bodies. Bones tired and bodies slick with sweat and dirt. You both just wanted to get away from the disaster you narrowly escaped.

Turning the key in the ignition Steve began the drive back to his place. Radio humming low, windows down to allow the night time summer breeze of Hawkins flow through your hair. He glanced over at you, you hadn’t moved nor dared to look anywhere else.

He sighed, “Hey, look I’m sorry. Okay? I didn’t mean to snap,” his eyes darted between you and the road to try and gage any sort of reaction. “I’m just so fuckin’ tired and- and I desperately need a shower and to sleep for like, I don’t know, 15 hours.”

A low breathy giggle crept past your lips. You didn’t move, eyes still transfixed on the stars in the dark sky. You just simply nodded, squeaking an ‘okay’ out from your lungs.

“I just couldn’t think of anything worse right now than being prodded and poked in the back of an ambulance,” Steve explained, “but…” he continued, “I’ll go to the emergency room tomorrow and get checked out.”

He reached across the centre console to squeeze your knee, “Promise?” you breathed.

“Promise.” Another squeeze.

That was all you needed. You cared deeply about Steve, your friendship blossoming at the end of high school and even more when you ended up getting a job together at Scoops Ahoy. Your shared experience in the Upside Down only strengthened your bond with the boy. Not to mention the massive crush you had, but how could anyone blame you? Look at him, for God’s sake.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve suffered from the exact same dilemma. Steve spent your days off work moping to Robin about how hopelessly in love with you he was, but he refused to ruin the friendship. Yeah, Robin would think, definitely hopeless. Adding another tally under ‘YOU SUCK’ to the board.

Steve pulled into his driveway, parents MIA of course. Too busy at some fancy business conference to even know their only son was kidnapped and tortured. Following him to the front porch he opened the door for you, letting you inside first.

As you toed your sneakers off, Steve’s fingers laced through yours once again as he led you upstairs to the en suite of his bedroom. Digging through the cabinets he pulled out and dusted off the first aid box he kept.

Taking a seat on top of the toilet seat lid he held the box out to you, “Come on you, time to play nurse and clean up my face.” Steve’s face sporting a wide grin.

“Oh, yeah, sure! Can’t have the ladies see King Steve all bloody and bruised now, can we?” he rolled his eyes at your words, “It does make you look kinda macho though,” you shrugged.

Steve involuntarily blushed, “Yeah? You think?” he asked, a certain unreadable glint in his eyes.

You smirked, digging through the box for the rubbing alcohol, “Definitely.”

“Now hold still, this is gonna sting, Steve.” You wiped at the gunk and dry blood littering his face, scathing over fresh lacerations causing the boy to wince and yelp in pain as the alcohol cleaning out his wounds.

His hand immediately flew to your waist, his fingertips gripping you like he was scared to let go, scared to lose you. Your movements stopped as you glanced down at Steve’s hand holding you tight. It wasn’t unwelcomed, far from it actually, it was just a surprise. Steve followed your eyes yanking his hand back into his lap, refusing to look at you.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I uh, I didn’t mean to do that.” he began to ramble, “Sorry, I just, it kinda hurts, so.”

You smiled at the boy, “Steve,” you spoke softly. Your fingers gently moving the hair from his face, gliding down his jaw until you could rub your thumb under his bruised cheek soothingly, “it’s okay. You can put your hand there. I don’t mind.”

“Right, okay,” he whispered, placing his hand on your waist once again, giving your skin a light squeeze this time, “carry on.”

You made quick work of cleaning the blood from Steve’s face and cleaning his fresh wounds as best as you could, furrowing your brows every time he winced or sucked a breath in through his teeth.

Dabbing the alcohol on the last cut in his hairline, his beautiful hairline, you glanced down at his eye, “We should get some ice on that eye, Stevie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Later.” Steve waved your concern about his gross eye away, fully staring up at you now, “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”

It was your turn to blush and ramble nonsense now, “I- What?” you paused, “Steve, are you still high?”

“Stone cold sober, babe.” a raspy chuckle emanating from his lips, a rasp that made your knees week and a shiver shoot down your spine. The pet name making your thoughts run wild.

“You’re an idiot, Harrington.”

You discarded of the bloody wipes and cotton balls into the trash and with a quick rinse of your hands you were done. You spun back around ready to tell Steve you were ready to head back home but the boy’s bare chest stopped you in your tracks.

Your eyes roamed from the discarded Scoops top on top of the laundry hamper to Steve’s chest again. From the tiny ringlets of hair that decorated his pecs, a small trail running down his abs that stopped above his shorts to the freckles and moles that danced across his toned body.

He caught you, and you knew he had. Your cheeks flashed red embarrassment heating your skin. You wanted to stop staring, you really did but you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asked you, barely a whisper. His hand came to rest on your bicep, concern lacing his features.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly being brought back to reality, “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” you chuckled, “I uh- I better get going. My parents are probably wondering where-“

“No!” Steve spoke, voice cracking, “I mean, can you- do you want to stay the night?” he asked nervously, fingertips fiddling with his belt loops as he glanced up at you from underneath his lashes, “It’s just… just I don’t really want to be alone right now?”

He voiced it as a question and you weren’t sure why but you would jump at any chance to stay over at Steve’s place. You were sympathetic, of course, but you understood why he didn’t want to be alone. Hell, he almost died today, you both did and that wasn’t a good experience for anyone.

“Oh.” you began, and you could see the panic ignite in his deep brown eyes before you took his hand in your own, “Sure, Steve,” his features began to soften, “I can stay over. I’m not sure I want to be alone either.”

The boy smiled at you with so much love and adoration, it made you want to give him the world. Protect him at all costs, make sure he never gets hurt again. All you wanted to do was hold him and never let go, to kiss his soft pink lips until they were numb. It broke your heart.

“Do you want to shower or anything?” he asked, “I’m gonna grab one but you can use my Mom’s bathroom? She has all the nice soaps and shit in there.” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You nodded, “Shower sounds good.” You chewed your lip, “Can I uh, borrow some clothes? I don’t really wanna sleep in this.” you laughed, gesturing to the ugly sailors uniform you both had to wear, “Is that okay?”

“Oh, yeah! Course, here,” he said moving past you as you followed the boy into his bedroom. You watched as he rifled through his draws, he handed you an old Hawkins High basketball tee that was way to big for you and a pair of shorts. “Those okay?”

“Perfect,” you smiled softly at the boy, “thank you, Steve.”

“Alright, I’ll be in here if you need anything,” he said pointing back over his shoulder to his bathroom door, “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, making your way down the hall to the much larger bathroom. You set the clothes down on the counter and began to undress, removing your Scoops uniform that had been clung to your figure for way too long. You sighed, glancing at yourself in the large vanity mirror.

Running the shower to your desired temperature you stepped inside the glass, letting the warm water run over your tired body. You squeezed whatever soap Steve’s Mom had into your hands and lathered your skin with the suds, letting your mind wander to the boy who was a few metres away.

Images of Steve bare chested, water droplets cascading over his body ran through your mind. You pictured him with sopping wet hair, slicked back against his scalp wishing that you could be the one to rub soap into his skin, massaging his aching muscles. You wanted to be the one to share those intimate moments with Steve, soft touches and sweet kisses as you held each other close.

You didn’t notice how tears began to prickle your eyes. You shut the thoughts off as you shut the shower off, stepping out and wrapping yourself in one of the big white fluffy towels. You dried yourself off as quick as you could, slipping on the t-shirt and shorts Steve gave you.

You clicked the door closed behind you and padded back down the hallway to Steve’s bedroom. You knocked on the door softly to make sure he was decent, you stumbled in on him sat on the edge of his bed rubbing a towel through his hair. His chest was still bare glistening with the water droplet he had yet to dry, a pair of blue pyjama pants hanging dangerously low on his hips.

“Hey,” you squeaked out.

“Oh, hey!” he grinned at you, “Good shower?”

You nodded. Steve scooched past you, his hand brushing against your waist again as he dumped the wet towel in the hamper in the corner of his room.

You tried not to think about how his touch ignited your skin, pushing down the butterflies to the very pit of your stomach. “I’m gonna go grab the blankets and pillows off the couch, I’m getting pretty tired.” you said.

Steve furrowed his brows at you, “What?! Nonsense, you can sleep here,” he said patting the bed, “you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

Your cheeks began to heat up at the suggestion of sleeping in the same bed as the guy you were practically in love with, “A-are you sure?” you stuttered.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve insisted, “it’s not weird, right?” he whispered, reaching out to take your hand in his own.

“No,” you stated, taking a step closer to him, “not weird.”

“Here,” he said pulling back the comforter for you, “make yourself comfortable, sweetheart.” He got up from his spot on the bed to switch the lamp off.

You scooted into the bed making sure you left enough room for Steve. You sunk down into his soft sheets letting the warm comforter engulf your tired body. The sheets smelt of him, of mint and cedar and boy. It made you want to stay in his bed forever and never leave.

Steve climbed in next to you. You both lay on your back, bodies touching shoulder to shoulder. You stared up at the ceiling as your fingers messed with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing. Steve ran his fingers through his still damp hair as he exhaled through his nose.

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt his hand searching underneath the sheets until he found your own, lacing your fingers together as he settled them on the bed between you.

“Are you okay, Steve?” you whispered, glancing over at him laying next to you.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, a squeeze to your fingers, “I’m just glad we made it outta there today, you know? Could’a lost you.”

“Hey,” you said, turning in the bed to face him now, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, Harrington.”

He chuckled and your heart swelled, “Yeah,” he breathed, “wouldn’t have it any other way.” Steve frowned at his own words and he was thankful you couldn’t see his features in the dark.

You suddenly felt a wave of confidence wash over you. Maybe it was the fact that you were in the dark and Steve wouldn’t be able to see the way you toyed with your lip or how your cheeks would blush like crazy. Maybe it was the fact that you were lay next to Steve, in Steve’s bed, in Steve’s clothes. You recalled his conversation with Robin that you overheard from the movie theatre bathroom earlier today.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“I’m an open book.” he replied.

“Have you ever been in love?”

The pause in the air was tense, Steve racked his brain for any sort of reason you may be asking this question.

“Yeah, well- I mean, I think so. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Who?” you knew who it was, but you had to keep digging.

“Nance.”

You nodded, your hand still clasped together with his. Your thumb rubbed over Steve’s.

“Do you still love her?”

“What?” Steve exclaimed, his eyes growing comically wide with shock, “No! That ship has sailed.”

“Oh,” you whispered, “why not?”

Steve turned to face you fully now, his eyebrows knitted together. The boy wondered why you were interrogating him, why you were so curious about his sham of a love life all of a sudden.

“She broke my heart, y’know? I just couldn’t,” he shrugged, his free hand coming to brush the stray hairs from your face, “besides, I think I found someone who’s a little better for me.”

Your heart sunk. You wished, more than anything, that it was you. That you were the better fit for Steve. You felt Steve’s eyes on you, the small amount of light leaking through the curtains illuminating his features.

“Who is she?”

Steve chuckled, “Well, she’s this super awesome girl. Totally chill, totally smart. She’s just,” the boy next to you poured his heart out to you whilst you were completely oblivious, “so kind and funny, a giant dork really.” He caressed your cheek now, his thumb coming to soothe the hot skin of your cheek, “And she’s gorgeous, so fucking beautiful. I really think she’s the one.”

Tears welled in the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over your lashes, “She sounds amazing, Steve. She’d be lucky to have you.” You were happy for him, truly. Steve deserved to be happy and have that special someone. But the despair and jealously in the pit of your stomach wouldn’t let up.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, “you would be.”

It came out as a whisper, a whisper so quiet you weren’t sure if you heard him right. You blinked your tears away, your gaze locked on Steve’s brown eyes, “What?”

“You heard me,” Steve began, “it’s you. It’s always been you. Fuck, sweetheart, I am hopelessly and utterly in love with you.” he admitted, his body inching ever closer to yours. His eyes scanning for any sort of sign that you didn’t feel the same.

You stared blankly at him, your brain still trying to register what on earth he’d just confessed to you. You couldn’t believe it. Was this a dream? Some kind of sick joke? Steve wouldn’t do that to you.

His brows furrowed as you were still yet to say anything, he began to pull his hand away from your face, “I mean, if you- like, if you don’t feel the same that’s cool too, but I-“

You cut him off, pressing a single finger to his pink lips, “I do,” you nodded, “I mean, I feel the same way, Steve.” You heard him exhale a shaky breath he didn’t realise he was holding, relief washing over his boyish features.

“Good,” he whispered, his body now flush with yours, foreheads pressed together and his nose knocked into your own, “can I kiss you?”

You didn’t respond, your arm slung over his waist, fingertips tracing patterns over his bare back. You pressed your lips to his and the butterflies erupted in your stomach.

Kissing Steve was everything you dreamt of. His lips were soft against your own. He tasted of mint and strawberry chapstick and fuck, was he good at this. So good.

His fingers threaded through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding along your bottom lip earning a content sigh from you. Steve smiled into you, loving the noises you made, the way your lips fit perfectly with his own.

You pulled apart from each other for just a second, chests heaving against each other as you caught your breath. Steve pulled you into him even closer, if possible, his lips pressing against your temple then your nose.

“C’mere,” he said, laying back against the sheets as he pulled you into his chest, “let’s get some sleep, beautiful.”

You nodded, letting sleep pull your tired body under. Feeling safe and content wrapped in Steve’s arms, ready to start the next chapter of your life side by side.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fic #k.fic #dunno i kinda like this #ik this scenario has been written by everyone but yeah