#Steve does like to listen to some Metal too

[plistommy]

Eddie and Billy usually always choose what to listen to together ’cause they have such a similar music taste.

They call Steve’s music taste shitty, as a joke, but once Steve gives them that sad face and big puppy eyes, the radio is turned to Queen or Duran Duran immediately.

Anything for their pretty boy.

#Steve does like to listen to some Metal too #Especially because it gets him all hot and bothered seeing his boyfriends singing it #But he also loves his soft tunes okay and his bf’s respect that even if they joke about it #harringroveson #metalsandwich #steve harrington #billy hargrove #eddie munson #stranger things #st #my writing

[ikarakie]

one of the known, undisputed rules of riding in steve harrington's car: passenger seat gets music privileges.

if you brought your own tape, and won the usually vicious battle for shotgun, there was a 100% chance that the drive would be backed with music of your choice. hell, there was even a small collection growing in steve's glove box of music that wasn’t his, because people left them behind either on accident or on purpose. no one really knew what steve liked to listen to- maybe minus robin- but he always seemed happy with whatever the passenger put in.

until one day, when dustin and lucas and mike climbed into his car. dustin had won passenger seat privileges, after a rather tense game of rock, paper, scissors, and instantly reached for the tape player.

steve smacked his hand down. "paws off, henderson." he scolded, not unkindly. all three kids stared at him like he'd grown a third limb as he pulled out of the wheeler's driveway. electric guitar played at a semi-low volume.

"what the hell?!" dustin squawked. "why can't i change the tape?" steve rolled his eyes, fingers tapping along to the rhythm of the beat on the wheel. none of the kids recognised the song, and it certainly didn't seem the kind of thing steve harrington would willingly listen to.

"is it so surprising i want to listen to my own tape in my car?" steve asks. dustin shouts an affronted, 'YES!' to which steve just shakes his head and continues driving.

the man on the track sings over heavy drums and guitar, talking about how he needed someone to 'show me the things that make true happiness' and 'he must be blind.' then, there's a guitar solo that steve smiles at.

"who are you?" mike asked, suspicious. "what did you do with our steve?"

"oh, shut up, wheeler." steve meets his eye in the rearview mirror. "next one to complain loses tape privileges for their next three turns."

that does shut them up. they make idle conversation over a couple more songs before they pull up to their destination. mostly threatening each other over high scores and making bets. steve waves them off with the usual 'don't be stupid' lecture and pulls out of the arcade parking lot, the bass of whatever the next track had been audible even through his closed doors and windows.

after that, steve retains ownership of his stereo every now and then, always playing some form of heavy metal. it just becomes the norm, though never fails to confound whoever's in the car. (because, seriously? polo shirt wearing steve harrington and heavy metal?)

they only ever hear anyone else listen to it after they join hellfire. eddie invites them to his trailer to create their characters together, and when they walk in one of the songs from that dumb tape is playing from a record in the corner.

"woah! you like this music too?" lucas asks. eddie nods excitedly.

"yeah, man! you a fan?" his smile dims a little when lucas shakes his head, but dustin is quick to jump in.

"our friend steve is always listening to a dumb mixtape with this sorta stuff on it." he explains, missing how eddie's eyes light up and his smile turns a little bashful. "he used to let us play whatever we want, but ever since he got that tape he makes us listen to it sometimes when he drives us around."

"well," eddie sighs, fiddling with one of his chunky silver rings. "seems this steve knows someone with very good taste in music." there's a warm look in his eyes before he claps his hands and diverts their attention to the character sheets he printed out.

later that night, steve gets a call.

"you told me you only listened to that tape once." the voice on the other end drawls. it's low and teasing, but it's undercut with obvious wonder and fondness. steve doesn't even bother pretending to be confused.

"well, it's good." (it makes me think of you) he replies, like it pains him. eddie giggles, and steve eyes the tape in question. sat on his bedside table, 'for my stevie' scrawled across it in eddie's neatest handwriting. shitty little hearts drawn around his name and an even shittier skull at the end. "how'd you know?"

"recognised my mötörhead record." eddie coos, "told me how you revoke their music privileges to listen to it." a pause. "you're so fucking cute."

steve can't help the dorky smile that spreads over his face. the way he twirls the phone cord like a fucking lovesick loser. he cracks a joke about making eddie a mixtape featuring the likes of duran duran and tears for fears, which makes him fake retch. they chat for a little while longer, whispering 'i love you's through the phones like it was their first time saying it.

the tape stays firmly in the bmw's music rotation.

#the song is paranoid by black sabbath btw #steve smiles at the guitar because he watched eddie learn to play it #established steddie #for like a year or so #this is set post s3 but pre s4 ofc #steddie #stranger things #prompt #steve harrington #imagine #eddie munson #stranger things prompt #steddie fic #steddie prompt #steve and eddie #dustin henderson #steddie hc #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet #the party #steve x eddie #steve and dustin #steve and the party #stranger things headcanons #stranger things hc

[luveline]

Missing my zombie!steve husband 🫶🏻

quiet day at the camp… hope something bad isn’t brewing… zombie apocalypse au <3 fem, 2k

Steve loves the sound of the river, but he only allows himself a moment to lay down on the riverbank during laundry hours. 

You stand knee deep in the water with your pants and sleeves rolled up, the corrugated metal of an old shed roof that’s been repurposed into a washing board held to your chest. It was pointless to roll your sleeves up, you’re soaked to the bone, even your hair, but the summer sun keeps you warm. 

“Don’t get too hot!” you call. 

“I’m fine,” he says, unwilling to shout. 

“He’s fine!” Robin shouts from beside him. “Numbskull.” 

Steve stares at you, locking you in, so to speak, the nice shape of your hip and stomach, the mess of your wet hair. Tonight, he’ll help you fix it, but there’s no rush and no hurry to dry off while the sun is out, and the fences are up. He turns onto his stomach. Grass tickles his cheeks. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Robin asks quietly. 

“Fine. Can you tell me if she needs help?” 

“Sure.” He listens to the sounds of her moving, likely pulling the slim lengths of her legs against her chest to hug herself, the tan leaves of a book spread out just in front of her. 

Steve could really go for a cigarette. You swapped the last box you found for toothpaste, isn’t that how it always goes? You and Robin found a cheat code in the apocalypse, nicotine with a capital ‘N’. You swap Arctic chewable for socks without holes and boxes of Marlboro’s for the bathroom essentials. Everybody wants them, and you’re great at finding them. Steve never thought he’d crave a cigarette again considering he wasn’t addicted, having smoked for a couple of months in high school to feel cool with his friends, stopping when his mom asked him to. He doesn’t remember why. She’d asked, and he’d listened, as he used to do. Swim team, cross country, basketball, lifeguard training, mowing the lawn, not upsetting his father, taking out the trash, vacuuming, no drinking and driving; task after task after task. Some of it was easy. He liked doing the dishes, and he loved taking care of his mom even if she didn’t feel the same. 

Not that it matters now. Does it matter now? He’s never gonna see her again. She’s a memory. She’s a bad memory, most of the time. 

The more he reflects on it, he decides. She was a bit shitty, but she’s his mom, and she’s likely gone, so he’ll try to remember the cookies they made together and the way she’d smile at him after she tied his shoelaces before school. And also the mean fucking bitch she’d turn into when she drank two glasses of wine. 

“What are you thinking about?” Robin asks.

“That’s the wrong soap,” you say from the river. Your voice floats over the breeze. 

“Fuck off, soap is soap,” Eddie says, your not-so-new friend, Steve’s sworn enemy. 

“I’m just saying,” you laugh. “Look, I’ll wash, you rinse.” 

“I’m thinking about that time,” Steve begins, holding his hand out toward her, open but not expectant, “when my mom and dad came home early from his business trip in Missouri and found us sleeping together.” 

“I’d never heard your dad laugh before,” Robin says. 

“My mom really didn’t like you after that.” He smiles as she takes his hand. They were a lot more touchy, pre-apocalypse. He misses that sometimes. 

“I don’t even think she thought we were dating.” 

“She was disgusted.” 

“She said we were being weird teenagers.”

“I guess we were. I never had a friend like you before so maybe I can’t blame her,” he says. He has something special with you, you’re a best friend because you’re half of his heart, but Robin was his first proper best friend, and remains it. “I missed you a lot when we were stuck in Indiana. There were a ton of times where shit would go wrong and I would get mad at you because I knew you’d know how to fix it, but you weren’t there.” 

“You’d get mad at me?” Robin asks, squeezing his hand. “You jerk. Be mad at yourself.” 

“Can you wait for me next time?” he asks.

Robin’s quiet, then she laughs, “I’m nodding but you can’t see.” 

He wonders how she’s feeling. He admits to not doing that much in the past. Not that he didn’t think about how he made others feel, he was always worrying about that after Nancy, but he can’t say he thought of it in the moment. Steve forces himself to sit up and offer his arms for a hug, which Robin gladly accepts, her frazzled laugh on his neck as he pats her back. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“You know Y/N says I’m possessive?” 

Robin leans away, fingers curled around his elbow. “You’re fighting?” 

“No, just. She says I’m possessive, that I get mad about, you know, my people.” 

“Right. Isn’t everybody?” 

“I never thought I did. I’m not, like, too proud most of the time.” 

“Steve, this is super introspective,” she says, frowning, smiling, a weird expression somewhere melding in the middle of happy and concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s fine if you’re not.” She laughs shrilly. “I woke up the other day and cried and then ten minutes later I felt fine. I’m far from okay.” 

Steve glances past Robin’s head to watch you in the river. You’re sitting down amongst the stones. It really isn’t too deep, water to your ribcage washing suds down to Munson, who’s smiling at you kindly, not smarmy or flirting, just smiling. 

“Why did you cry?” he asks quietly. 

“I missed my cousin, I think.” 

Steve curls his arm behind her head and encourages her in for a fiercer hug. 

“Think we should probably go help them,” she mumbles. 

He takes it for the brush off that it is; sincerity is too much to take, sometimes. If she wants to be evasive about it that’s okay, she already took the leap and admitted to getting upset. 

“I cried thinking about Y/N’s hands the other day,” he says. 

“Steve.” Robin rubs her eye with the heel of her hand. “I don’t even know what to tell you.” 

“What? I’m trying to show you I’m pathetic so you don’t feel bad.” 

“I know you’re pathetic, and I don’t feel bad.” She climbs off of the ground and brushes broken grass off of her legs. Steve climbs up next to her, nudging her with his elbow. “You’re mucho pathetic. It’s kind of crazy.” 

“I think I might try and drown him,” he says conversationally. 

“Why now?” 

“Why do you think?” Steve asks, toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, nearly pitching forward on the wet bank closer to the river.

You and Eddie look up as they approach from different spots of the water. Your smile at seeing him winds him for the thousandth time, just so happy to see him, so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do for a few seconds. “Hey, honey,” he says, “can I help?” 

“Now you wanna help?” you ask, gesturing to your soaked front. 

You’re messing with him, and he doesn’t care anyways, you can talk to him like crap if you want to. He shuffles down from the mud of the riverbank and into the water, cold and wet like a shock against his ankles, softer as it climbs to his knees. You’re sitting where it’s more shallow, opposed to Eddie on his knees and almost drowning further down. He puts his hand on your wet shoulder and kneels down in the water beside you. “Wanna hug?” you tease. 

Steve hugs you. Doesn’t care that you’re soaking or that the water is freezing against his crown jewels, though he shivers by your ear, prompting your laugh like bubbles in his own. “It’s cold,” he says. 

“Freezing!” 

Not to be a freak, but he can feel your chest pressed to him, and he knows you get achy in the cold. He wraps his arms doubly behind your back and rubs at your sides. “How much laundry’s left?” he asks. “We’re gonna get hypothermia. Again.” 

“You didn’t get hypothermia,” you remind him, folding into his space. “Steve… is everything okay?” 

“Do I look mopey today? Robin just asked me the same thing.” 

“You don’t look mopey, but you’re being touchy. You’re cuddling.” 

“How am I not supposed to cuddle you, dummy? I’m keeping you warm enough to function right now. Without me you’d be an ice cube floating down the river.” He leans back to hold your face in one hand, your cheek under his thumb, water racing down his wrists and your neck. 

You push against his hand gently with your cheek. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“What for?” 

For lots of things. “I didn’t realise how cold the water was. I would’ve come to help you.” 

“It’s fine. I scrub everything and then Eddie catches it. We’ve only lost one pair of underwear,” you say. “The river’s like a long washing machine.” 

“How much do you have left?” he asks. 

“Nothing. I was just about to get out.” 

“Couldn’t have told me that before I came to get you?” 

“No,” you say, lifting your chin. Not challenging, but close. It’s an offer, Steve decides, kiss me or don’t kiss me. You don’t seem to realise he doesn’t decide, he needs you. If you always wanted to kiss him, you’d always be kissing, all the time, everywhere. 

Steve gives you a quick peck. “Come on, let’s go set up the line.” 

You somehow, together, make your way back to the tents without freezing to death after throwing your clothes on a drying line between trees. It’s warm enough that stripping down to your skivvies is mildly pleasant (away from the eyes of the other campers). You get dressed in the softest clothes you own upon Steve’s insistence, sweatpants and a dark hoodie, three pairs of socks and the tent door left open, before he lays you down on the sleeping bag, and settles between your legs, his full weight bearing down on you, his face nestled in the damp crook of your neck. 

“I couldn’t kiss you the right way,” he confesses. 

“Why?” You pull mildly at the ends of his hair. 

“‘Cos I always want more than one kiss.” 

“That’s a strangely romantic way to say you wanted to make out with me,” you whisper. 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, even though he does want to, and he did in the river, and he does all the time.

“You’re getting kinda heavy, Steve,” you mumble. 

“What?” 

“It’s a good thing.” 

“How dare you.” 

“We got sorta frail for a bit.” You wrap an arm around his head, tip of your nose to his forehead. 

“Yeah. Lucky we’re in camp Eddie now,” Steve says. 

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” you murmur, so close to sleeping Steve can tell. You just need a feeling of security to nudge you over the edge. 

“Lucky we’re together.” He climbs off of you slowly so as not to rouse you too much, kissing your slack cheek as he settles on your shoulder. “You and me. I don’t care where we are.”

He ends up falling asleep not long after you, lulled by the rhythm of your light snore. 

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[mcdynamite]

When everything settles down after Vecnapocalypse, Steve gets a call from the athletic director at Hawkins High School, and a day later, he accepts a part-time position as the assistant coach of the Hawkins High varsity basketball team.

Lucas is obviously stoked, and the other kids concede (after a few minutes of bemoaning Steve's return to the Dark Side) that it's a perfect job for him. Robin screeches with delight, and Nancy tells him she's proud of him, and Jonathan thumps him on the back with a quiet, "Congrats, man," and Eddie?

Well, Eddie just rolls his eyes and makes a joke about the Return of the King that goes right over Steve's head (but has the kids and, wouldn't ya know it, Nancy, grinning) and doesn't say much else.

It's probably stupid, but Eddie has actually (horrifyingly) grown to like hanging out with Steve. Sure, he knows next to nothing about D&D or Lord of the Rings or metal music, but that doesn't seem to matter all that much. He still listens to Eddie rant about all of those aforementioned interests and does his best to understand, even if he doesn't particularly care about the content of Eddie's latest campaign. He lets Eddie play Dio and Metallica and Black Sabbath for him, and even though Eddie can tell he's not really into most of their music, at the end of his "Musication" he gives Eddie a list of the songs he actually liked, so they have some stuff to listen to when they hang out that won't make one of them want to puncture their own eardrums.

He even looks genuinely apologetic (and, dare Eddie say, disappointed?) when he tells Eddie that it's not that he doesn't want to read Lord of the Rings. It's just that he can't, because reading is really fucking hard when the letters won't stop jumping all over the damn place.

The point is: Eddie likes Steve. He likes Steve's sarcastic quips and his attentiveness, and his hilarious but well-meaning and frighteningly successful mothering of the teenagers they apparently co-parent. Eddie likes Steve, and he likes being his friend, and he's afraid that this stupid Assistant Coach job will end up dragging Steve headfirst back into his King Steve days, and Steve will forget all about being friends with Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

It's so, so stupid, because while Eddie likes Steve, he also knows Steve, and he knows that Steve isn't the guy who used to hang around the Tommy Hagans of the world anymore. But the fear is there, and it's still there by the time the school year starts and Steve starts getting busy "prepping" for his new job, which... what? The basketball season doesn't start until January, so what the hell kind of prep would Steve be starting in August?

Eddie wonders, but he doesn't ask. He just anxiously waits to see if Steve will eventually decide to ditch him, and he continues to be quietly delighted when Steve always, always makes time for the two of them to hang out.

The thought of Steve going back into jock-mode still makes him kinda sick, but he'll never tell Steve that. Steve is way too excited for the start of the basketball season, and Eddie is gonna support him the same way Steve supports Eddie at his Corroded Coffin concerts: with begrudging interest and genuine pride, so help him God.

It goes on like this until one day, Eddie's begrudging interest suddenly becomes a little more genuine, when he accidentally stumbles upon what Steve meant for the last three months whenever he said he was "prepping for the season." 

He's got plans to hang out with Steve that afternoon, pulling up in his van fifteen minutes late because time management has never been one of his strong suits. Only, when he gets to Casa Harrington, he notices something strange. The garage is open.

The thing is, Steve always parks the Beemer in the driveway. He never uses the garage. Actually, Eddie didn't even realize Steve had a garage at all, until now, but he hears some clanging coming from inside and goes to investigate. He walks past the Beemer (parked in the driveway where it always is) and peers inside, expecting to maybe find Steve... repairing something? Reorganizing? Honestly, he has no clue what he thinks he'll find in there.

What he definitely doesn't expect to find is Steve Harrington in the middle of what appears to be a pretty fucking intense workout – hair and tank top damp with sweat, wearing frankly indecently short shorts, and breathing steadily as he does fucking pull-ups on the bar in his garage, which has apparently been converted into a whole goddamn home gym.

Eddie stops in his tracks and stares, affording himself a moment or two to have a teeny, tiny (enormous) crisis over it.

Steve hasn't noticed him yet, and Eddie can't tear his stupid eyes away from the way Steve's arms tremble from the exertion as he pulls himself up, face pinched into a concentrated frown. Eddie can see him gritting his teeth, can see the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining a little bit. Even worse, every time Steve lowers himself down, his stupid tank top rides up just enough to expose the (not at all soft, apparently) plains of his stomach, glistening with sweat, and God, Eddie wants to lick Steve fucking Harrington's abs like a-

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, Jesus H. Christ, fucking shit, NO.

Listen... It's not like Eddie hasn't already known for years that he's gay. He's been fully aware of that since middle school. It's the reason his dad kicked him out and sent him to live with Wayne, for fuck's sake. It's just that Eddie has put a lot of effort into pretending his thoughts about Steve Harrington were totally, completely, 100% platonic up until this point, and now he can feel all of that hard work going down the metaphorical drain.

He stands there, stock still with his jaw hinged open, and stares while his brain melts out of his ears and his thoughts begin to race. God, those fucking arms. Eddie's not weak, but he's definitely weaker than Steve, which means Steve could definitely pin Eddie down if he wanted to. In a bed. Against the wall. On the hood of a car. Fuck, on the goddamn floor – Eddie's not picky! All he knows is that he wants Steve to leave the workout for later so Eddie can lick the sweat off of him, which... gross. But also hot. But also-

"Eddie?"

Oh, fuck. How does one talk to the sun?

Steve has noticed him standing there, obviously, which sort of makes Eddie wonder how long he's been staring. Time stopped in Eddie's world the moment a sweaty Steve Harrington entered his field of vision, so he truly has no idea how bad his staring got.

Christ, this is going to be so bad.

So, so bad.

"Eds?" Steve says, his face pinching into a frown. "You okay?"

Oh my god, you moron, say something! Eddie's brain screams at him.

"What?" Smooth. "Uh, yeah! Totally fine. Just, y'know, like, lost in thought, or whatever. Plotting my next demonic attempt at world domination. The usual."

Steve looks at him like he's grown a second head, which... is fair. But Eddie's fumbling attempt at speech is at least embarrassing enough to take precedence over the cacophonous sound of whatever Ode to Abs his mind was attempting to compose, and Eddie feels like he can think a little more clearly.

"Ah, fuck," Eddie mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighs and looks at Steve apologetically. "I'm sorry, dude. I swear I'm fine. It's just been a weird day."

Steve cocks his head to the side like a particularly inquisitive puppy, and oh God, it's adorable. Eddie loathes how adorable it is. "Good weird?" Steve asks. "Or bad weird?"

Eddie ponders his answer for a moment, then replies with, "Weird weird."

That's enough to startle a laugh out of Steve, who shakes his head and wraps a towel around his neck. "Fair enough, man. Sorry about all of this, by the way." He gestures vaguely towards the home gym in his garage and shrugs sheepishly. "I was gonna be done before you got here but I sorta... lost track of time, I guess." He's got an unreadable look on his stupidly beautiful face, and Eddie doesn't like that at all. He doesn't like that one bit.

But he decides not to overthink it and brushes Steve's apology off with a wave of his hand. "It's whatever, dude. Might wanna shower, though." The ‘otherwise I might take it upon my gay little self to lick you clean’ is left blessedly unsaid.

Steve laughs again, and just like that, things start to feel a bit less earth-shattering. They banter for a bit longer, then Steve really does go to take a quick shower, and they spend the rest of the night lying on the floor of Steve's living room, listening to the metal mix tape they made together and bitching about their brood of teenagers.

Weirdly, though, after that day, Steve seems to be working out a lot more frequently. As in almost every single time he and Eddie have plans. Day after day, Eddie is treated to the sight of Steve Harrington looking like a goddamn Greek god, and day after day, Steve catches his eye and smiles before abandoning his equipment and acting like Eddie's world hasn't been completely turned on its head.

It's starting to drive him kind of insane, honestly, and his pining has gotten so bad that even Gareth and Jeff know.

"He's just so pretty!" Eddie whines for what feels like the thousandth time.

His band mates simply exchange a long-suffering look and let him ramble.

It all comes to a head in November, just before Thanksgiving, when Eddie shows up and once again finds Steve finishing a workout. Just like always, Steve shoots him a good-natured grin and greets him before heading inside for a quick shower, and just like always, Eddie waits downstairs.

NOT like always, however, this time Steve comes jogging down the stairs with wet hair, wearing a pair of joggers and... absolutely nothing else.

It's been a long time since Eddie last saw Steve without a shirt on (since the day at Lover's Lake when they found watergate, to be precise), and suddenly Eddie is remembering why he'd immediately pulled out a cigarette to calm down that day. Only this time it's even worse, because Steve has really been putting effort into these workouts, and it shows.

His chest is toned and covered in coarse hair that Eddie kind of wants to tug on, just to see what sort of sounds Steve would make if he did. He's got the makings of an honest-to-God six pack just barely visible on his abdomen, partially obscured by scars Eddie recognizes from looking at his own in the mirror. Steve's are slightly smaller and not as deep, but they clearly came from the same sets of tiny jaws, and Eddie finds them weirdly comforting, these matching scars that they share. Steve's look pale in contrast against his skin, and God, Eddie just wants to kiss them. He wants to worship them and every other inch of the man who bears them.

The man who definitely just said something Eddie didn't hear because he was too busy trying not to pass out from mere proximity to something so beautiful.

"Sorry, what?" Eddie asks, shaking his head violently in an attempt to dispel his traitorous thoughts.

Steve smirks, but Eddie can see the soft fondness in his eyes when he cocks his head to the side and repeats the words Eddie missed the first time. "I asked if you see something you like, Munson," Steve teases, one hand carding wet hair out of his face, and Eddie just blinks at him.

Play it off, play it off, play it off, his brain supplies helpfully. He can totally play this off. Dudes stare at their friends’ chests all the time, right?

"What?" he practically squeaks. "I- well... no, wait, um... ah, fuck."

So much for plausible deniability.

He's just beginning to feel vaguely panicky when Steve seems to catch on, and he's right in front of Eddie in an instant, concerned, hazel eyes gazing down at Eddie's grimacing face.

"Hey," Steve says, reaching out like he wants to touch Eddie but thinks better of it. "It's okay, man. You're okay. I'm just messing with you."

The impact of his words is instant, and Eddie can feel his face heating up. Of course Steve was joking. God, Eddie is such an idiot.

"Right," Eddie says, voice strained. He rubs his face with both hands, shaking his head lightly. "Duh. Obviously you were teasing." His voice sounds strange even to his own ears, and he's got a weird feeling of anticipation in his stomach that tells him that he's already shown too many of his cards.

"I mean, yeah..." Steve says, seeming nervous for the first time since Eddie got here. His hands flit from the back of his neck to his hair to his waist, like he doesn't know what to do with them. "Teasing is, like, flirting 101, so..."

Eddie freezes.

"Oh my God, wait..." he says slowly, finally daring to meet Steve's confused eyes. "Flirting?"

Steve looks utterly perplexed now, and he does that thing where he cocks his head to the side in confusion. 

It's still adorable. Fuck, why is it so adorable? 

"Um... yes?" He studies Eddie, seems to register the shock on his face, and then matches it with shock of his own. "Wait, you didn't know? I thought you knew!"

"I most certainly did not!" Eddie counters, feeling a bit like he's having an out-of-body experience.

"Oh my God," Steve says. "Oh my God, Eddie, I've been flirting with you for, like, months!"

"Months?!" Eddie's voice has officially reached the stratosphere.

"Yes!" Steve yelps. He looks torn between laughing and crying, though Eddie thinks it'll be mildly hilarious no matter what choice he makes. "Jesus, dude, I winked at you while I was doing pull-ups last week! What did you think that was?"

"A hallucination!" Eddie says immediately. "You're straight, Harrington!"

At that, Steve snorts, then shakes his head.

Eddie's pretty sure his brain is melting by now.

"Yeah, um, no," Steve says firmly. "I'm definitely not straight."

"You... I... What? Since when?"

"Well..." Steve begins, briefly glancing away. "Since forever, technically. Probably. But officially, since that time I made out with Tommy H. after we got wasted at a party sophomore year. And if that wasn't enough proof, I think the amount of time I’ve spent staring at your ass lately definitely is."

Eddie stares at him. "Am I dead?" he asks dumbly. "Is this Heaven? Am I having a fucking stroke?"

Steve's laughter is bright when it rings through his living room, and Eddie is grateful when Steve carefully raises a hand to cup his cheek, because the soft touch is grounding in the best way. 

"Definitely not dead, Eds," Steve says. "And shit, I hope you're not having a stroke. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Eddie just blinks at him, because Steve has one hand on Eddie's cheek and the other on Eddie's arm, and he's definitely not holding up any fingers. "Zero, Harrington, what the fuck?" he says weakly.

Steve laughs – no, scratch that, he giggles. He fucking giggles. 

If Eddie isn't dead yet, he's about to be. 

"Good. See?" Steve says. "Not having a stroke."

"I don't think that's how strokes work, dude," Eddie says weakly.

"No?" Steve asks, though he's still smiling, and he looks wholly unbothered by Eddie's doubting of his medical prowess.

Eddie shakes his head, eyes wide as Steve huffs out a laugh and slips an arm around his waist to pull him closer. They're practically chest to chest now, and Eddie is suddenly reminded of how very shirtless Steve currently is. He's mildly horrified by the way his hands tremble slightly when he rests them flat against the center of Steve's chest, but it's not like anyone can blame him! He's only ever kissed a couple of people before, and now he's somehow found himself in the arms of a half naked Steve Harrington. So, yeah, he's feeling a little jittery. Sue him.

If Steve notices the jitters, though, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he gives Eddie a soft, disarming smile that makes Eddie feel pathetically weak at the knees. "So..." Steve says, cheeks turning a pretty pink color. "Hi."

A slightly manic bark of laughter bursts from Eddie's lungs, but it only seems to make Steve smile wider. "Yeah, hi, Stevie," Eddie breathes. 

And then he nearly stops breathing completely when Steve's thumb drags gently across his cheek. It's such a sweet gesture that Eddie thinks he might melt right into the floorboards.

"So..." Steve murmurs again, gaze not leaving Eddie's. "It has recently been brought to my attention that you didn't realize I was flirting with you this whole time."

Eddie doesn't need a mirror to know that his face flushes bright red at Steve's words.

"But I have been," Steve continues. He bites his lip, almost like he's nervous, which is ridiculous because what the fuck is there about Eddie that could be making Steve Harrington nervous right now? "Like, I've been doing it constantly, because you're funny, and sweet, and sort of adorable, but also kinda hot? Y'know, because you have the tattoos and stuff, and you're all dramatic all the time, and it's hot, but then sometimes you do that thing where you hide your face behind your hair, and it's so fucking cute, Eddie, I mean..."

Steve trails off, cheeks growing even pinker after seemingly realizing that he's been rambling, and Eddie feels like he's going insane.

"Anyway," Steve says, clearing his throat. "I like you, Eddie. Like, a lot. And I've sort of been dying to kiss you for, like, months, so-"

Eddie never lets Steve finish his sentence, because the moment the word kiss leaves his mouth, Eddie is leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a soft, fleeting kiss that's over far too fast.

So fast, in fact, that it takes a moment for reality to catch up to Eddie afterwards. He's already pulling away by the time it hits him: he just kissed Steve Harrington.

He, Eddie fucking Munson, just kissed Steve fucking Harrington.

"Holy shit," Eddie mutters, gaze flitting back and forth between Steve's wide eyes. "Holy shit."

There's a brief pause, and then Steve starts to laugh.

It starts as a soft chuckle and slowly transforms into bright, elated laughter that echoes off the walls and bathes the whole room in sunlight, never mind the rainy day outside. It's light and happy and beautiful, and Eddie unfreezes after a moment to add his own laughter to the mix. He drops his head onto Steve's shoulder, a shiver running down his spine when Steve's arms come around him automatically, like they were made to fit together like this.

Eddie wonders if maybe they were.

When their laughter finally dies down, Steve carefully pulls back just enough to meet Eddie's eyes again, and Eddie smiles shyly up at him.

"Sorry," Eddie says without a hint of guilt in his voice. "You said the word kiss and I panicked."

Steve just shakes his head and grins. "See? Like I said - adorable." One of his hands raises to cradle Eddie's cheek again, and Eddie doesn't hesitate before leaning into the touch. "But if it's okay with you," Steve says softly, “I'd really like to give you a proper kiss, now."

And yep, it's official. Steve Harrington is going to be the death of him.

Eddie can't fucking wait.

He nods and lets his gaze flit down to Steve's lips for a fraction of a second before Steve is closing the distance between them, and oh... this is so much better than the quick, vaguely frantic press of lips they exchanged only a few moments ago. Eddie takes back every judgemental comment he's ever made about the girls who were obsessed with Steve Harrington in high school, because he gets it now.

Oh, God, he gets it.

Because Steve kisses him, soft and sure, like Eddie is the only thing that matters in all the world. It's gentle and sweet and perfect – not an ounce of hesitation in the way Steve slots their lips together. And then Steve just... stays there, like he's giving Eddie a moment to catch up, to process what's happening.

He's so goddamn patient – so fucking kind – and Christ, Eddie adores him for it.

Steve pulls back just enough to break the kiss, and Eddie doesn't whine. He doesn't. But it's okay, because Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long, threading his fingers through Eddie's curls and using them as leverage to tug him even closer into a kiss that turns Eddie's legs to jelly. Steve's tongue slides against Eddie's so beautifully, and his hands are so strong, and he smells like lemony soap and minty toothpaste (did Steve brush his teeth after showering? God, he's ridiculous. He’s perfect.) and Eddie can feel the muscles in Steve's chest shift whenever they move, and, and, and...

And yeah, this time when Steve pulls away, breath coming quicker and eyes shining with happiness, Eddie does whine. Or maybe it's a whimper. Maybe it's both. Christ, Eddie doesn't care. He'll keep making that noise forever if Steve keeps looking at him like this.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes. He knows he probably looks embarrassingly awestruck, but he can't find it in himself to care. "How are you so fucking hot, Steve? What the fuck?" His face is on fire, but Steve just laughs – nope, there's that giggle again – and kisses Eddie's forehead.

Eddie's pretty sure he's melting, but honestly? Worth it.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Steve teases, "but I've actually been working out a lot lately..."

Not even Eddie's lovesickness could protect Steve from the playful smack he gets for that.

"Did I notice?" Eddie huffs. "You're the worst, Harrington."

Steve just smiles and kisses him again.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fluff #jock(ish) steve #pov eddie munson #gay eddie munson #sweetheart steve harrington #eddie is bad at flirting #eddie can't handle jock-mode steve being so hot #lighthearted #first kiss #eddie is pining hard #but its okay because so is steve #i wrote most of this at 3am #so its very silly #but also I love steve and eddie #and they're in love #and i love that for them #mcdynamite writes

[riality-check]

A continuation of this post. Part 3

ao3

As that long-haired guy walks away - his friend onstage called his name, but Steve didn’t catch it - Robin nudges Steve.

“Asshole roadies,” she says, sing-song.

“Get fucked,” Steve says with her.

It’s tradition, that little chant. Every gig, there’s always one venue where someone with far less experience says something. Steve knows he was blunt and probably shouldn’t have said anything with that tone, but after too many times, his patience is exhausted.

He can’t even blame the blunt thing on ASL. If anything, he’s meaner in English.

It makes sense. He knows English a lot better. He and Robin only started taking the ASL classes two years ago, when he really needed it. His left ear had been pretty much gone for a while (fuck you Billy Hargrove for putting ceramic in his scalp), but he sucked it up and started learning when his right ear started going, too.

Honestly, he has no idea what caused that.

Two years of ASL means he and Robin aren’t fluent yet. Not even close. But between that, his residual hearing, and the lip reading he’s relied on for longer, Steve does alright. If he wasn’t at a gig, he’d bring his hearing aids, but that’s a recipe for disaster and broken equipment.

Plus, he’s learned he can’t focus on his job when he hears as well as feels the music.

Robin taps his arm again. You good?

I’m good, he signs back.

They finish setting up before they grab a snack. The venue is pretty tiny, a standing room only place that serves pizza and a few drinks, and that’s it.

The pizza is really good though.

They finish up their slices before they go back to the booth. Robin is particular about not eating around the equipment, and Steve has long given up on fighting her.

Their jobs are pretty easy, in all honesty. The light cues are pre-written, and sound check was an hour ago. All Steve needs to do is hit the cues, and all Robin needs to do is adjust mic levels and turn them on and off as needed.

This leaves plenty of room for a healthy amount of fucking around.

As Robin, always on his right side, starts telling him a story about her friend’s ex’s (who is also her friend, because lesbians are just like that) latest date, Steve watches the crowd file in and nods along.

His mind, however, goes back to that guy. Someone always says something, and it’s always someone new to touring. Steve can just tell. All the rookies do the same thing; they look at the stage with wonder in their eyes. This guy was no different. Just some rookie giving Steve a problem, like always.

Except that this guy was different.

Rookies tended to want to prove themselves. They wanted to show off their fancy knowledge and make it clear that they belonged there along with everyone else who had a career. They wanted to catch Steve off guard, make him thank them for helping him out.

This guy didn’t do that. He was nosy and pushy and pretty and rambled a lot, but he wasn’t trying to be a dick. He was trying to look out for Steve, even if it was none of his business, even if he didn’t know him.

He ended up being a bit dickish, but he wasn’t trying to be. If Steve were a nicer person, he’d think that might count for something.

Steve is trying to be a nicer person, with emphasis on trying.

His watch vibrates, jolting him back to the moment. He lowers the lights, cueing the openers to go on.

The set list, along with Steve’s cues, is in in a binder between him and Robin, lit by a book light with a battery that’ll die at least twice, with their luck.

The first opener is a band Steve has never heard of called “Corroded Coffin.” If they’re any good, he might listen to their music.

Big emphasis on might because he’s not a big fan of metal. Punk has better bass lines, one that Steve likes to feel in his chest.

He hits the cue when they start their opening song, lighting them in reds and purples and-

Oh. Shit.

That guy wasn’t a roadie. He’s part of the opening band. He’s a guitarist.

A really good guitarist.

A really hot guitarist.

Steve is so caught up in stating that he nearly misses the next cue. He doesn’t, though. He’s a professional.

Robin elbows him, and he turns to see her signing. For one hopeful moment, he thinks she’s signing “hungry” and will offer to get them both more of that really good pizza like the wonderful friend she is.

But then she repeats the sign, again and again, and Steve smacks her before hitting the next cue.

“I am not horny!” he whispers, clearly loud enough for Robin to hear through her earplugs because she laughs.

You think he’s hot, she signs.

Steve rolls his eyes.

I’m right! she teases.

Steve faces away from her for the two seconds it takes for her to tug him back.

“Not fair,” she says, and Steve only gets it because it’s light enough to read her lips.

The band has gone through two songs, and the lead singer, a tall Black guy, is saying something to the crowd. Steve hears it just fine with all the mics, but understanding is too much of a struggle to bother.

He doesn’t really care anyway. He likes feeling the music and hearing it with what he has left (his audiologist said it won’t accelerate his hearing loss, so any hearing protection is a waste of money), not listening to whatever the bands have to talk about.

Anything important? he asks Robin.

She shakes her head.

Steve turns back to the stage in time to hit the next cue, casting the band in blue as the guitarist starts playing a really low intro.

Did you hear his name earlier? Steve asks.

Robin says something, but it gets lost in the music and the dim light.

“Hettie?” Steve asks aloud.

Robin shakes her head. Sorry.

She finger spells, messing up once and throwing it out with a wave of her hands.

“Eddie?”

She nods.

Steve hits the next cue and uses the rest of the time to appreciate the view. Eddie really is hot, in his dark jeans and tattered tank top, grin on his face and quick-moving fingers. And Steve has never had a chance to talk to the talent, even if they’re nosy.

But Eddie was nosy because he was worried. It would almost be sweet if it wasn’t so condescending.

He didn’t mean for it to be, the terrible little rational part of Steve’s brain pipes up. And he apologized. Multiple times.

The bigger part of his brain reminds him that it doesn’t matter what Eddie meant it as. Steve effectively tanked any hope when he snapped at him before the show.

Oh God.

He has to do a whole tour with this guy. Who he was a total dick to.

Yikes. At least he has Robin, who is-

Currently staring at him and signing “horny.”

Steve smacks her again, which she laughs at and returns instantly before they focus back on their jobs. They’re professionals, goddammit.

Professionals who are already on less than stellar terms with one of the openers.

He’s so not looking forward to the next few weeks.

Tag list (this is not a regular thing for me but it was manageable this time!): @just-a-tiny-void @weirdandabsurd42 @satan-is-obsessed @honeysucklesinger @coyotepup345 @gayafmermaid @thegingerrapunzel

#ria writes #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #corroded coffin #hoh steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #stranger things ficlet #stranger things #st #st ficlet #also squad don’t get used to tag listing #i’m very inconsistent with it #gi;pe au

[rogueddie]

Steve hates mixtapes, always has. He's made some for girls before, went all out, spent hours making them. But he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand why people like them so much, why people think the effort is worth it.

He remembers how those girls had smiled when he'd given them the mixtapes, remembers how sweet they'd been on him after, how they kept talking about it. Even though it's just some songs he thought they might like. He was never sure how to make any of them romantic, didn't know if they expected any input from him between the songs. He's pretty sure he'll never really get it, but…

He wants to make one for Eddie.

Eddie has been trying so hard to get him to like metal or rock or anything 'alternative'. And Steve doesn't know how to explain what he does or doesn't like, doesn't know how to explain why he likes Sabbath Bloody Sabbath but can't stand T.N.T.

He's tried to explain it. Tried to sit down with Eddie and explain that there is a happy medium betweent he ones too loud and the ones that are just… boring. And Eddie tries to listen, is so clearly trying.

But Steve can't explain it, doesn't know how to. Not without sounding like an idiot, anyway. Telling Eddie that a lot of AC/DC songs don't have enough going on to make his ears feel happy would ruin whatever thing the two of them have going on.

Which is why he's sat on the floor, desperately looking through the tapes Eddie has been forcefully lending him, trying to find the right songs for a mixtape. If he can't explain it to Eddie, maybe he can show him instead.

He refuses to acknowledge to odd bubbling excitement building in his stomach. Eddie is his friend, this isn't romantic. Eddie wants to show him his music, wants to share something he enjoys, there's nothing for Steve to be getting so worked up over. For all he knows, Eddie is straight.

It takes him three weeks to make the mixtape.

"Eddie!" Steve jogs to catch up with him. It's the third time they've run into each other by accident, outside of the kids or Robin. It's the first time that Steves had the mixtape in his pocket, ready.

"Hey Steve," he raises an eyebrow. "What's got you in such a good mood?"

"Day off," Steve lies. "And I'm done with the shit I need to do. Uh, anyway, I have- I mean, it's not… fuck. Ok, here, just…" He awkwardly holds the mixtape out, shifting when Eddie carefully takes it, like it's something precious. "It's, uh… I know you've been, like, struggling to figure out what metal songs I'm into or whatever so… these are the, uh, type. Things. I guess."

Eddie is smiling, small and soft. He hasn't looked up from the track list since he turned it over.

"I'm already noticing a theme." His voice is so gentle, almost adoring, that Steve feels his face heating up. It's only worse when Eddie looks up, turning that smile directly on him. "Thanks Steve."

"Uh, yeah, no worries?" Steve bites at his nail.

"I hope you know that I'm making you one," Eddie raises an eyebrow, smirking. He slowly starts walking around him. "After I'm done with this shelf for Wayne, I'm making you one. I'm gonna rock your world, Harrington."

Steve laughs a little, hopes it doesn't sound as awkward to Eddie as it does to him. "Look forward to it."

Eddie gives him a two finger salute, turning to walk a little faster to his van.

Steve waits until he turns a corner, looking around to make sure no one can see him and doing a little fist pump.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #ficlet #steddie fic #technically?? #had no idea how to wrap this up but it was meant to go on longer than this. writers block bb #fluffifc

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Summary: Steve and Eddie bond over hating Billy Hargrove, and then they suck face.

Steve dove into the closet and leaned against the wall, sliding a broom through the handles of the storage closet. He sighed in relief as he leaned his head back. He froze and tensed up when a pair of boots appeared under the door. They stood there for a moment before stomping away. Steve moved back into the storage closet and turned around to find the light. Suddenly, it came on, and Eddie Munson was staring at him, only inches away from his face. Steve jumped and stopped himself from screaming outloud.

"Did you just lock me in here with you?" Eddie asked.

"Sorry, Hargrove is out there, and I do not want to face him," Steve said quickly.

"Keep that fucking broom exactly where it is then," Eddie said and slid to the floor. "And have a seat."

He patted the floor next to him, and Steve plopped down beside him.

"You hate him too?" Steve asked.

"With all my fucking heart," Eddie said. "Honestly, a little scared of the guy too."

"He's definitely a psychopath. I don't enjoy the way he stares at me or follows me. Normally, I wouldn't have a problem if a guy has a crush on me but this guy. . . Especially ones who nearly murdered me. . . Well, if it anyone else, I'd be asking for his number, but his personality is way too ugly," Steve said.

"So, you don't really care who knows that you like guys?" Eddie asked.

"I like both and no, not really. I figured you would be safe with the hanky and all," Steve replied.

"Oh, that's just a cool metalhead thing. Does it mean something?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah," Steve grinned.

"Damn. Okay, well, that explains some things then," Eddie blinked. "Not that I'm complaining or anything because I like both too. It took me a while to figure that out."

"We all figure things out on our own time. We get there eventually," Steve shrugged.

"Yeah," Eddie said softly. "I never thought I'd meet someone exactly like me, though. Bisexual. I mean, there's Hargrove, but I'd rather gouge my own eyes out. You know, most people think we have the same taste in music. Sure, he listens to heavy metal, but what that jackass mostly listens to is glam metal like Motley Crue. He's a Tommy Lee wannabe douchebag. Normally, I respect all music but I hate Tommy Lee."

"He dresses like a douchebag too," Steve said. "He's abusive to everyone, including his own stepsister. He's racist too. I had to pull him off one of the kids I babysit. He nearly caved my face in."

"He's a fucking monster. His father's just as monstrous, I heard, but it doesn't justify him passing it on, especially if it's his kid stepsister. Honestly, I'd rather have you back as king," Eddie said.

"Seriously?" Steve asked.

"If you think you were bad, think again. I wouldn't even classify you as a bully. You actually tried to keep some of those jocks in line," Eddie said.

"I just never thought it was all that funny that they did that. It never made sense," Steve said.

"Well, then, it makes you a million times smarter than they are, big boy," Eddie said, nudging him.

"You know, I think he's probably gone by now," Steve said.

"Or he's lying in wait," Eddie whispered, leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

Steve could feel his breath against his skin, and he shuddered. Eddie placed a hand on his leg and caressed his knee gently.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked softly.

"Getting closer to you, it's kind of scary out there," Eddie said coyly. "What's your favorite kind of music?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure if I have a favorite kind. It's kind of all over. I don't really lean towards one genre. I do, really like Queen and Bob Seger," Steve said.

"That's respectable. Queen always rules," Eddie said. "I've listened to Bob myself."

Eddie moved his hand from his knee to his chest, rubbing his ringed fingers against Steve gently. He was practically snuggled against Steve’s side. Steve looked down at his hand before finally looking at him. Their faces were very close now, their lips almost touching.

"There's something that I didn't tell you," Eddie whispered.

"What?" Steve asked.

"What eventually led me to realize I liked both. . .is you," Eddie said.

"Yeah?" Steve asked hopefully.

"Yeah."

Steve leaned forward and closed the distance between them, his lips pressing against Eddie's in a soft, tender kiss. Eddie moved against him, cupping the back of his head and pulling him deeper into the kiss. Steve opened his mouth, allowing Eddie's tongue inside. It wasn't enough for Eddie, however. He needed to be closer to Steve. He threw his leg over Steve and straddled his waist as he sunk down into his lap. Eddie gasped and licked into Steve’s mouth as he gripped the nape of his neck. Steve broke the kiss, gasping for breath.

"Freshman Steve is screaming inside me right now," Steve said.

"Wait. . .you've had a crush on me since you were a freshman?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah."

"Loser," Eddie cackled and kissed him deeply while Steve laughed against his lips.

Steve broke the kiss again, grinning.

"We should probably leave before we develop a problem," Steve said.

"But Steve, what if he's still out there?" Eddie asked and paused. "Besides, what if I want to develop a problem?"

Steve laughed and leaned his forehead against Eddie's.

"If he's still out there, I'll protect you," he said teasingly.

"Steve Harrington, my hero. Well, come on, big boy, let's face the music," Eddie said.

They stood up and slid the broom out of the handle. They opened the door and slowly walked out of the closet. They looked both ways down the empty hallway. The coast was clear.

"Wait, why were you hiding in the closet?" Steve asked.

"I hook up with the janitor sometimes," Eddie replied.

"You do not! Art is a happily married man," Steve said.

"Okay, so, I don't," Eddie cackled and paused. "Wait, why are you on a first name basis with the janitor?"

"I eat in the storage closet sometimes," Steve said. "When I can't use my car."

"Not anymore. Art is going to have to be disappointed. You're sitting at our table from now on," Eddie said. "Jesus H Christ, storage closet and your car? I want to eat your face."

They walked down the empty hallway, their pinkies brushing up against each other's occasionally.

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #bi4bi #stranger things fanfiction #rueleigh writes

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 58

part 1 | part 57 | ao3

@steddie-island said i wasn't allowed to cut this lol. cw: angst, canon typical horror, mentions of minor character death

“Lucas called me a ghost today.”

Steve almost laughs, bitter and sharp. Sure. Why not? What’s one more ghost in his passenger seat?

He doesn't really want to talk to her right now, if he's honest. It's been fifteen minutes and she still hasn't apologized for trying to rob him, or explained where they're going, or what spooked her, or why this car ride was so urgent that he had to risk his job for it — a job he actually needs, considering his, well, everything. She's hardly said anything beyond the occasional "turn here" or "next left" while sulking with her forehead pressed against the window.

But he can tell she has something she needs to get off her chest, so he swallows his annoyance and offers, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says back. Doesn't elaborate.

He gives her another minute to gather her words, watches her open and close her mouth a few times in his periphery, but nothing comes out. She scoffs at herself and abruptly changes the subject. “Eddie was being extra… well, extra today.”

“Was he?” Steve asks, his bones itching under his skin. He doesn't want to talk about Eddie. Doesn't want to think his name.

“Yeah, he, uh- he was kinda manic? He was, like, running all over the cafeteria and starting shit with Jason Carver...” And he's only half-listening, anger simmering as she goes on and on, because she promised that Dustin didn't put her up to this. Said that this wasn't some bullshit excuse to get him to talk about Eddie or hang out with Eddie or think about Eddie or kiss and make up with fucking Eddie, and now she's just talking about him, and it-

And it hurts; god, it still just hurts—

"....Then he started rambling about how he can’t wait to get the hell out of here when he graduates.”

Searing-stabbing-burning-sharp. Steve clutches at the flare of pain in his chest, the crushed soda-can feeling where his heart's supposed to be. His head pounds. He follows her next direction onto a winding, tree-lined road, the canopy suffocating overhead, and his skin feels too dry — too tight, too small, shrink-wrapping him inside of it, because he knows where they are now. Knows the tilt of the rusted lamp shade, the shape of the weather brick paths. He's tasted the metal tang of this stop sign in his nightmares.

Fuck. Fuck.

"Cool," he grits out as he drives through the cemetery gates. Past stone and wrought iron, past the empty central fountain. He hasn't been here since July. “Good for him.”

“Steve-"

“Why are you telling me this?" he snaps. He throws the car in park under an old oak and turns to glare at her, barking a frustrated, "Huh?"

Immediately, he feels bad for raising his voice. Feels even worse for the way she flinches away. The naked fear on her face, her hand reaching for the door. He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose. “Sorry. Sorry. Just-" There's a leak inside him somewhere; some infected, gaping hole, and his stupid heart keeps pumping all his blood into the wound. "Why are you-?”

“Look,” she says sharply, "I know it sucks. To talk about him." She's staring at the rows of headstones up ahead, her face gone steely with determination, her shoulders squared, her big eyes wide and a little wet when she turns to meet his gaze. “But whatever you were— whatever happened, it just… it really messed him up.”

Good. "You sound like Dustin."

"Maybe Dustin had a point."

"Since when?"

She throws her hands up, nostrils flaring. "I'm trying to tell you that I think he still cares!"

“Yeah? He’s got a seriously fucked up way of showing it if so!”

“Yeah, well some of us don’t know how to show it!”

And oh.

Oh.

Silence blankets them like dust. Eyes locked; harsh breaths. This has nothing to do with him and Eddie, does it?

Lucas called me a ghost.

Steve sighs and slumps forward, his forearms on the wheel, his chin resting on his wrist. The late afternoon sun is warm through the glass, and his head gives another nasty throb as he looks out over the hill, at the polished stones glinting in the golden hour rays.

His dad is buried here.

A lot of people are.

“Hey,” he murmurs, rolling his neck to look at her. The skin under her eyes is red. "Sorry for yelling."

She sniffs quietly. "Me, too."

He reaches over and gives her hand a quick squeeze, keeping his voice low and gentle. "You know you can just talk to me, right? Max, talk to me. Please.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “It’s nothing, okay?” She sinks down in her seat, crossing her arms to shield herself. “Shit’s just been… it’s just been weird all week. Like- like bad weird, and I don't know if I'm just going crazy, or— I mean, maybe Ms. Kelley's right, maybe's it's just— but it feels like…”

"Like what?"

She holds a hand out flat in front of her; flips her wrist over slowly so her palm faces the sky.

Steve's blood runs cold. He thinks of his own nightmares: the weird visions, the headaches, the persistent haunted feeling.

"I don't know anything for sure," she insists, rushing to reassure him before he can fully start to panic. "Seriously, don't freak out; I haven't, like, seen any gates or anything, it's just— bad dreams. Nose bleeds. I don't know." She hoists her backpack onto her shoulder. "I thought coming here might help."

He catches her by the arm, raking his eyes over her face, looking for any signs of danger. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shakes her head no and tugs free of his grip, and then she's slipping out of the car, letting the door fall shut behind her, and Steve watches her crest the hill while sirens wail inside his head.

—

part 59

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #my writing #my fic #i rewrote this 42 goddamn times #also i promise reunion is still coming #max had a lot to say apparently lol

[tboygareth]

here, have a little modern steddie meet-cute. meet-ugly, maybe? idk. 1k words, mostly dialogue

"uber for, uh," the guy in the beemer at the curb looks at the phone in his hand, "eddie m.?"

"hey, that's my name!" eddie shouts, stumbling toward the car. the world is tipping sideways a little, but it's been a good night.

he wrenches open the passenger side door and slides in.

"cool if i sit up front, man? i get motion sickness sitting in the back, and you would not like me when i'm motion sick."

"uh, sure?"

eddie pulls the door closed behind him and says, "so what's your name, pretty boy?"

"you don't check the app before getting into some random guy's car?" the guy asks with a huff.

"oh, no, i never order these things for myself." eddie laughs. he tries to think back, remember how many jameson shots he put back tonight. can't. oh, well. "my roommate always sets it up beforehand when i come down to the styx for a show."

"a show? like a concert?"

"uh, no. drag show. styx is a gay bar." the guy's quiet at that. "that a problem? still dunno your name."

"oh. steve," the guy - steve - says shortly. "no, it just... looks more like a... metal bar, or something."

"sometimes things are both, can you believe it! they do a drag show last wednesday of every month. good show tonight, all the girls looked great." he kicks his feet up on the dashboard of the car, watches steve's eyes cut sideways at them as he does. "do you like drag shows, steve?"

he's testing the waters, feeling steve out to see if he should be worried about getting into some random guy's car outisde a gay bar with a dead phone. eddie's definitely had a little too much tonight. he's probably got glitter in his hair. there's definitely black lipstick smeared across his cheek from when allison chaynz planted one on him earlier during her set.

"only been to a few, but yeah. they're a good time. good show."

safe, then. tentatively.

eddie studies steve for a moment, trying to figure him out. he's got this thing he does sometimes, in an uber; eddie's an easy read - he gets into an uber and the driver immediately flips their spotify over to a metal playlist.

the driver's are usually easy to read too, and it's eddie's favorite game; he tends to know when he's got a country boy behind the wheel, or an emo transplant from the mid aughts, or the indie girlies with their iced coffees and perpetual dark undereye circles that all the concealer in the world can't hide.

the guy looks like he wears teenage boy deodorant and smells like repressed trauma. he has the indie girlie dark circles under his eyes, an apple watch strapped to his wrist. rich boy. drives a beemer. good hair, stupid highlights. there's a tube of burt's bees cherry lip balm in the center console and a days old energy drink in the cupholder.

"hmmm, the front bottoms," he decides at last, after staring at steve for what must have been an uncomfortably long time.

"i'm sorry?"

"i said, the front bottoms."

"is that a... what's the word... a euphemism?"

"no, steeeeve. it's a band. check 'em out sometime, your daddy issues'll thank you. do you like music, steve?"

"sure."

eddie clicks his tongue. "smells like bullshit. no one who likes music says sure when someone asks if they like music."

they're stopped at a stoplight. from behind the wheel, steve is studying him right back, looking him up and down, his gaze coming to rest once again on eddie's shoes on the dash.

"get your feet down," steve says, pushing at eddie's shins. "do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"fine, fine. so if you don't listen to music, steve, what do you listen to in this fancy bmw?"

"sports, mostly," steve shrugs. "podcasts sometimes."

"oh, boy, you are a walking red flag, aren't you? shame you're so pretty."

"well what about you? what do you listen to?"

"guess."

"i dunno, probably that metal shit. five finger whatever, or something."

eddie presses his hand to his chest. "five finger - oh, stevie, i am wounded. i wouldn't be caught dead listening to bro rock."

out of the corner of his eye, he definitely catches a smile from steve.

steve holds an aux cable out to him. "here, then. wow me. show me some real metal or whatever."

"god, i'd love to take you up on that," eddie says, huffing out a little laugh. he holds his phone up. "this sucker's been dead for hours."

this time steve's the one to click his tongue. "shame."

"truly. so what's your story, steven? what's got you out at three in the morning?"

"it's my night off," steve shrugs. "just started night shift at the hospital, trying to get used to the new sleep schedule."

"mmm, the hospital. you a nurse?"

"i am. trauma nurse."

"nice. ever see any gnarly injuries?"

"had a pretty fucked up dog bite come in the other night."

"shit."

"yeah." another stoplight, another unsubtle once over from steve. "so what about you? what do you do?"

"line cook."

steve's eyes linger on him a little longer than necessary. "oh, but i'm the walking red flag. got it."

"whoa," eddie laughs. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i've dated line cooks. everyone's dated a line cook."

"sounds like something a slut would say, steve. craziest dick you've ever had, huh?"

"mmm."

it's not a denial.

they're getting close to eddie's building now, and that's an actual shame. because steve's cute. he needs a haircut maybe, and the stubble around his mouth and chin is just on the wrong side of five o'clock shadow, but he's got these distracting little moles along his face and neck and arm that eddie's been itching to play connect the dots with since he got in the car.

"wait, i know this building," steve says as he slows at the curb and looks at the address on his phone again. "my roommate's girlfriend lives in this building."

it clicks into place, then, for eddie.

"oh, shit! you're robin's steve!"

steve's eyebrows draw together as he gapes at eddie, and then his eyes go wide with realization. "chrissy's ed?"

"eddie," he corrects. "gotta be a level twenty friend to call me ed. and chrissy's the only level twenty friend i'll ever have."

"noted. good to finally meet you, man. i, uh. i guess this is you, then, huh?"

"yeah, sure is. maybe i'll see ya around." eddie goes to get out of the car.

"oh, you will," steve says, his smile lopsided and goofy. "i'll make sure of it."

"hold ya to it," eddie promises with a wink.

steve wiggles his fingers in a flirtatious wave as eddie walks backward on the sidewalk toward his building.

so robin's steve is cute. maybe he should have been letting chrissy set them up this whole time.

still. sports and podcasts. guy's a walking red flag. who knows, maybe they're green. eddie's never been able to see the difference anyway.

#steddie #steddie fic #bee's blurbs #idk what this is honestly #it came to me in a vision #buckingham #if you squint

[solarmorrigan]

There are entirely too many cassette tapes in Steve’s car

Steve himself isn’t very picky about music; he might not love everything he hears, but there’s very little he hates. What he does not like is listening to his passengers complain about whatever radio station he’s left on or make fun of him for listening to the Top 40s (his default station; it’s just easier)

What he can’t stand is listening to the radio jump between songs and static as the kids fiddle with the dial trying to find something they like. It takes about ninety seconds of this to give him a headache, so he starts telling them to just keep some tapes in the car so everyone will stop whining

The music is chosen by whoever sits shotgun (and shotgun works on rotation so Steve doesn’t have to listen to anyone fight over that, either. Whatever Henderson says, he does not have perma-copilot privileges)

(Robin does, though)

The collection ranges from new wave to pop to rock to punk to - Steve’s not even sure. He doesn’t really keep up with music, he just lets it play. No one really tends to ask his opinion on it. Still, as long as everyone else is happy, Steve’s not going to complain

When Eddie joins his group of regular passengers, Steve’s tape collection gains an expected smattering of metal, and that’s fine. Eddie is passionate about music in a way Steve’s seen few people be passionate about anything at all; it’s refreshing, and Steve likes to see the way it makes Eddie light up, even if metal wouldn’t necessarily be Steve’s first pick

This is why Steve is surprised when, after getting into the car one day, instead of putting in one of his own tapes, Eddie turns to Steve and asks what he wants to listen to

Steve doesn’t have an answer, because it’s not a question he’s ever had to contend with. It’s always either been a generic radio station or someone else’s pick. He tries to play it off and say that whatever Eddie had been about to put in is fine, but Eddie won’t be deterred. It’s Steve’s car, he says - so Steve should be allowed to pick the music at least some of the time

Eddie keeps needling and pressing, getting frustrated with the way Steve won’t just tell him which tape is his favorite, while Steve gets fed up with dancing around the question and finally just snaps that he doesn’t have a favorite, alright? He just listens to whatever everyone else wants to listen to, his input has never been required, so if Eddie would just put something in he’d be doing them both a huge favor

Except instead of coming to the understanding that Steve is useless for this sort of conversation and just picking some damn music, Eddie looks kind of sad. No one’s ever asked what your favorite is?, he wants to know

Steve shrugs, because it’s not important. Who cares what his favorite band is? He drives the car, and that’s fine

It apparently is not fine, actually. It’s not fine at all, Eddie declares. It is a travesty he will not let stand, because Steve is allowed to have a favorite - He knows that, right? That he’s allowed to have a favorite?

Steve shrugs again

Unacceptable, Eddie decides. Change of plans (they hadn’t actually had plans in the first place, except a vague intention to maybe get lunch); they’re going to listen to some music and find something Steve likes

(It doesn’t end up being as tedious as Steve thinks it will be. He might even find a few things he enjoys

Maybe a few new songs, a band he’s probably heard before but never put much thought into that he actually really enjoys, new names to put to genres he gravitates towards - and the way Eddie looks at him and asks his opinion and listens to him, like what he’s saying really matters

Yeah. Steve finds a few things he enjoys)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #long post

[munsonsmixtapes]

Okay but a vanless eddie walks across hawkins to cuddle his best girl while she recovers from a leg injury.

Basically, she can't come to him, but he'll be damned if he's kept from her.

Toootally not because my busted leg is taking too long to heal and i am frustrated.

Hey! Thanks so much for the request! So sorry to hear about your leg and I wish you a speedy recovery!

Word count: 1,725

Eddie x fem!reader

CW: none!

Eddie stood in front of his van, trying his hardest to make the damn thing work, but after hours and hours of trying to fix it, he decided to throw in the towel. He slammed the hood closed and turned to face his trailer, throwing his wrench to the side and running his hands over his face in frustration, causing the soot from under the hood to get all over it.

He just wanted to see you and now he was without a vehicle. He was sure that he could ask Steve for a ride but there was no way he was going to do that. First of all, he hated being in the passenger seat, and he also hated how Steve drove. He was too careful and Eddie liked to drive fast.

Eddie couldn’t help how anxious he was to see you. He had gotten the call that you had broken your leg and needed to be there with you. He needed to give you cuddles and all the kisses you wanted because you deserved them.

So, Eddie did the only thing he could think of. He walked. He took the teddy bear he had gotten for you and he walked all the way across town to get to you.

He was tired and he wasn’t wearing the right shoes and it was hot in the direct sunlight, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was seeing your bright smile when he showed up at your door.

Eddie wiped the sweat off of his forehead as he got to Family Video, trying not to look like a mess when he stepped inside. The hadn’t realized how hot it was until he stepped into the nice air conditioned building.

Steve was at the counter, sorting through some VHS tapes while Robin was on the phone with a customer. The place was pretty empty for a Friday and Eddie was grateful he wouldn’t have to wait in line after he got what he needed.

He headed towards the romantic comedy section, looking for your favorite one. He didn’t care what people thought, he liked watching the genre with you. The whole idea of watching people’s love stories always warmed his heart. Maybe it was because he was happy with you. So happy that he didn’t mind walking across town just to see you.

He grabbed the movie and a few of your favorite snacks along with a bottle of water for himself. He put everything on the counter, clutching the bear to his chest so he wouldn’t lose it and watched Steve ring him up. Steve eyed the bear and Eddie didn’t miss the look he gave. It wasn’t quite judgmental, but he was definitely suspicious.

“Who’s your friend,” Steve asked as he scanned the items, an amused smirk on his face.

“It’s for y/n,” Eddie told him, clutching the bear tighter to his chest.

“Right,” Steve nodded, putting the items into a paper bag. Steve had always been rooting for you and Eddie to get together and he’d have been lying if he said he didn’t play a little part in your getting together. “I saw her yesterday. She’s doing really good. She misses you, though.”

Eddie tried his best to fight off the smile on his face. He loved hearing those kinds of things, especially when they came from your own mouth. The words sounding so pretty when they fell from your lips.

“She does?” He bit his lip to hold back a a stupid smile.

“Of course she does,” Steve gave Eddie a pointed look. “You’re her boyfriend.”

“That’s right,” Eddie replied, holding his head high. Eddie wasn’t proud about most things but being your boyfriend was definitely one of them. He’d tell anyone who was listen, especially after a few drinks.

Steve told Eddie his total and he threw some crumpled up bills onto the counter that were put in the register. Steve eyed the metal head and couldn’t help but notice now sweaty and out of breath he was.

“Why are you all sweaty?” He tried his best to not sound judgmental since he genuinely cared.

“My car broke down.” Steve couldn’t believe Eddie had walked all the way to Family Video and had every intention of walking to your house. That had to be miles.

“Ah, so that explains the soot on your face.”

Eddie took the bottom of his shirt and rubbed it on his face to wipe away the soot. He couldn’t see you looking like that.

“You’re good,” Steve told him, holding his thumb up.

Eddie took his things and exited the store, just ready to finally get to you. He was hot and uncomfortable since the sweat was making his clothes stick to him, but that was the least of his worries.

You looked around your bedroom at all of the get well soon cards and other gifts that had been given to you when you had broken your leg and maybe too many had been from your boyfriend. He had been there for you every step of the way. He had even driven you home from the hospital and carried you up the stairs to your room.

You felt so lucky to have someone like him. Someone who was so sweet and cared for you in a way that no one ever had before. He’d bring you flowers and your favorite takeout after a long day and you’d eat it together, nothing but smiles as you talked about your days.

He’d drive you anywhere you asked him to despite the fact that you had your bike, which had been the whole reason why your leg was broken. You had fallen off it while trying to get Eddie’s and thankfully someone had seen you on the side of the road and had called an ambulance. You were grateful that it hadn’t been more serious.

Your bedroom door had burst open and there was Eddie, all sweaty, clutching a teddy bear to his chest with one hand and holding a brown paper bag in the other. He dropped both things to the floor and threw himself onto your bed, making sure not to hurt you.

He grabbed onto you, burying his face into your neck, pressing soft kisses to it. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to you. One of your hands ran through his hair and the other went to his back, rubbing circles along it.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into your neck, giving it one more kiss before pulling back to look at you. You always somehow got prettier every time he saw you and he almost thought it was unfair. He didn’t care if you had just woken up or if you had been wearing a full face of makeup, he still thought you were the prettiest girl in Hawkins.

“I missed you too,” you replied, your hand still messing with his hair. “Missed your cuddles.”

“Well, what do you think I’m here for?” He laid next to you, pulling you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Well, you took long enough,” you rolled your eyes, your words having no actually heat. “You called me at almost noon and it’s now,” you paused, looking at the digital clock on the desk next to you. “Almost four.”

“Sorry, honey,” he looked up at you. “My van broke down so I walked.” Your eyes widened at his words and he knew exactly what you were going to say. You were always worrying too much about him.

“You walked here?” You sat up a little more, Eddie not moving as you did so. “Eddie that’s at least five miles.” He thought it was cute that you were concerned. He was fine but he wasn’t opposed to letting you baby him. He loved when you took care of him.

“So?” He needed the exercise and wanted to see you. He was just killing two birds with one stone.

“First of all, you’re not wearing the correct clothing or the right shoes. And you should have at least put your hair up.”

“I love when you worry about me.” He pressed his lips to yours in a lingering kiss. He was hoping that it would make you forget about being mad at him. It always did when you were having your little arguments like this.

“At least take your jacket off,” you told him and you didn’t miss the smirk forming on his lips. “You have to be burning up.”

“Oh, trying to undress me, hm?” He wiggled his eyebrows and you pushed him off you. He took off his jacket like you asked but did it slowly to catch your eye.

You couldn’t help but be hypnotized by watching him, your eyes moving to his shirt. He had cut the sleeves off it so it showed off his arms. You admired them, the tattoos and the muscles that he had been a product of him getting a job at the mechanic.

As soon as his jacket was off, it was thrown to the side and he pressed his lips to yours, longer this time. Just as you were getting into it, he pulled away and pulled you right back into his arms, smothering your face in soft kisses. You let out a bunch of giggles and that was music to his ears. His favorite sound in the whole world.

“Eds,” you managed to get out through your giggles.

“Yes, honey?” That name always made you melt. The way it just rolled off his tongue Ike it was second nature. He favored that nickname over your actual one and you loved it. Eating up the term of endearment every time he said.

“Please.” More giggles escaped you and you could feel hiccups coming on so you had to put the fun to a halt.

“Sorry. Just love to hear your laugh, sweetheart. You’ve been so sad and I’m just trying to cheer you up.” He had seen how not yourself you had been since you had gotten your cast on and he just wanted to do whatever he could to make you feel better.

“Then do something that won’t give the hiccups.”

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” he smirked and dove in for another kiss.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 1

Hello! I know there are a few minutes left of the poll, but there is nothing that could happen in the next 15 minutes that is going to change the outcome.

3 to 1 in favor of the main story first. The only reason I asked, was because that story has been finished a long time, but this one is just getting started. But the masses have spoken.

Original prompt here.

Summary: Eddie and the Corroded Coffin boys made it big right out of high school. So big that Metallica could open for them. Outselling the biggest bands and artists. They are huge. Then a small little indy metal band called The Fallen comes on the scene. They wear hoods and masks and go by aliases. Eddie (and most of the rest of the metal scene) are dismissive of them. More splash then talent.

Only fans don't thinks so. So when Dustin takes him to one of their concerts Eddie learns two things.

One that they are super talented.

And two, that he knows at least of one the members' of the band's real identity.

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

****

Getting out of Hawkins had always been the dream. Being able to do it with three of the best people he had ever had the pleasure of knowing with their music? That was the cherry on top of the icing.

But Eddie never dreamed that Corroded would outsell one his favorite bands of all time. Never even crossed his mind to dream about.

But there it was in black and white. Corroded Coffin was the highest grossing band of the year. Metallica was seventh. Fuck they had outsold Taylor Swift for Christ’s sake.

Barely.

But it still counted damn it!

What was a surprise was the number nineteenth best selling band of the year. A band he’d never heard of before. The Fallen. It said the genre was metal in that little italic font.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Yeah, it was impossible to listen to every up and coming metal band. But if they had already hit this big with only their second album, surely Eddie would have heard them on the radio.

Only on their last tour Chrissy Cunningham, their beautiful and amazing manager had put an embargo on the radio because the riffs were finding their way into Eddie’s song writing. So he guessed it made sense that he hadn’t heard of them.

So he called the one person he knew who would have all the details on these guys.

“Dusty!” he greeted when the man picked up. Man. Shit, when did they all get so old?

“Eddie!” Dustin greeted back. “Finally back in town?”

Eddie grinned. “You know it. Dude, you know my tour schedule better than Chrissy does.”

“Maybe.”

He laughed. “Guess who hit the top of the most successful metal bands of the decade?”

“Oh my god!” Dustin screamed. “That’s so cool! Is the issue out on stands yet or did you get a sneaky peak for having made it to the top of their list?”

Eddie winced. “Sadly the later. But! I can bring it over to show you when I come to hang out.”

“That’s acceptable,” Dustin said. “Steve just got back in town, too. That label he works for sure does like dragging him all over the world.”

Eddie hummed. “Yeah? Where’d they send him this time?”

“Japan if you can believe it,” Dustin huffed. “He basically came home sometime around midnight and just crashed.”

Eddie didn’t know what Steve and Robin did for the studio, no one did. But the general consensus was that they were dogsbodies of some sort. Getting coffees for execs and stars, driving them places. Just stuff they didn’t want to hire out for, they made Robin and Steve do.

“I won’t be waking him up if I come over, will I?” Eddie asked, biting his lip. He had a crush on the other man. A large one. But fame and fortune kept getting in the way of something more.

“Nah,” Dustin assured him. “He woke up about an hour ago. He’s even showered and eaten. He’ll want to see you as much as I do.”

Eddie very much doubted that, but he was going to take it. “Great! This list is insane, man. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

“Come over for dinner,” Dustin suggested. “We’ll pour over the list over pizza and beer.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re old enough for beer now.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” Dustin said. Eddie could feel the eye roll from here.

****

Eddie was watching Steve in interest.

He was walking around like he was used to being in high heels or something, as he would catch himself on his toes and force his feet down on his heels.

He would jump at Dustin throwing open the door. He kept touching his face and rubbing at his throat.

Robin was constantly pushing tea into his hands to get them settle. When they weren’t cradling the tea mugs, they were all over the place. Not just his face. But his back and stomach, too. Rubbing his palms on the front of his jeans.

“Dude!” Dustin hissed. “What is wrong with you? Japan can’t have been that different from America.”

Steve winced from the sound. “Bud, you are seriously being too loud. I told you that I have a migraine.”

Eddie tilted his head. “Hey do you need me to go? Butthead here said you were fine.”

Steve looked up at Eddie and his expression softened. “I’m fine as long as you aren’t yelling like Dusty Buns, here.”

Eddie chuckled. “I hear that. So how was Japan? When me and the boys went a couple years ago it was so beautiful.”

Steve rubbed his forehead between his eyebrows. “I wish I could have seen more of it. It felt like we were running nonstop. At least we aren’t roadies. I don’t think I could do the work they do. They’re the true beating heart of the operation.”

Eddie nodded. “Our last tour we had twelve trucks of roadies and equipment. It was insane.”

Robin grabbed Steve’s cold tea mug and swapped it with a warm one. Steve murmured his thanks. “I’m still not sure if I’m on this time zone yet. And I worry that this fucking migraine may throw me off even further.”

“Is that why Robin is plying you with tea?” Eddie asked. “To keep you awake enough to go bed at the right time?”

Steve nodded, humming contently over the cup of tea. “Nothing caffeinated, not really. Peppermint for the most part, honey lemon, too. She thinks I might be coming down with travelers’ cough.”

Again Steve made an aborted movement toward his face.

“Stop doing that!” Dustin hissed again. “Why do you keep touching your face like that? Did the Tibetan monks curse you or something?”

Robin smacked the back of his head. “That’s China, doofus! And no, no one has been cursed. We had to wear face masks like the surgeons wear for a lot of the trip because there had been a flu outbreak.”

Eddie nodded. “Ooh, yeah. They recommended we wear them too in certain areas, it wouldn’t surprise me if I was that twitchy when we moved to the Australian leg of the tour.”

Dustin eyed Steve warily, like he wasn’t sure if he should believe him or not, but Eddie had backed him up, so Dustin decided to let it go.

For now.

“Where were you touring again?” Steve asked Eddie after taking a long sip from his mug. “South America, wasn’t it?”

“Right in one, big boy,” Eddie enthused. “It was our first time in some of those countries so it was super exciting meeting the people, learning the culture, eating the food. I swear by the end of the tour we had all gained at least ten pounds and that was with us sweating our asses off on stage almost every night.”

Steve winced. “I don’t know how you guys do it, the stage lights we had were merciless.”

“Years and years of practice, Stevie,” Eddie said, “years and years of practice.”

Dustin turned to Eddie. “All right I think I’ve been patient enough, I want to see the top twenty money makers of metal before I vibrate out of my skin.”

Steve laughed and smacked the back of his head. “You know who number one is, why do you care about the other nineteen?”

Eddie shook his head. “Not just metal bands, my weird little friend. But out of all the bands.”

He pulled out the magazine and Dustin snatched it out of his hands, careful not to rip it.

Dustin was furiously reading the list and it was clear that he was looking for someone specific.

“Eureka!” he cried. “I knew it! I knew they were outselling other new metal bands.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. “Yeah? Who’s that, bud?”

“The Fallen!” he cried. “They are so cool man. They have these on stage personas like Daft Punk and they kick ass on stage. I was so bummed when they didn’t come to Pasadena or anywhere near there when they were doing their US leg of their tour.”

Dustin was going to school at Caltech because as much as he wanted to go to MIT his mom was worried about him being by himself, so he moved out to California to move in with Steve.

He was on campus for housing most of the year, but he came home on the weekends and that put Claudia’s mind at rest.

Steve himself had moved out to California a couple of years before. Robin and him had gotten a job at record company and had to move out there to be closer to the headquarters.

Interestingly, or at least to Dustin, Steve’s friends all found jobs out here, too.

“I saw that one,” Eddie was saying. “But I’d never heard of them are they any good?”

Dustin scoffed. “Are they any good? Holy shit are they good.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “They’re a metal band, no offense to Eddie here, but there are only three metal bands on the whole list. Most of them are pop, rap, or country. How good can they be?”

Eddie scoffed and held his hands to his heart. “You wound me!” Then he flopped on the sofa, playing dead.

“That’s what does make them so good, Steve,” Dustin insisted. “Because there are only three metal bands on the list, it means they had to work their asses off twice as hard as the others.”

Eddie popped up. “Yeah, Stevie!” He stuck out his tongue and Steve laughed.

“You got any of the albums?” Steve asked, with a flippant wave of his hand. “If they’re so good, let’s hear them then.”

A shadow crossed over Robin’s face and she looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #corroded coffin #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #The Fallen

[eldritch-thrumming]

i’m so in love that i might stop breathing.

i want to brainwash you into loving me forever, i want to transport you to somewhere the culture’s clever, confess my truth in swooping, sloping, cursive letters.

Eddie Munson is signed to a big-name label, one that monitors every move their artists make. The label practically runs half of LA, with so many artists under contract that Eddie’s not really sure how they can even keep track, let alone micro-manage every single one of them. But somehow they do it.

Eddie’s in the hard rock and metal division. Very rarely does he have to cross paths with artists outside of his genre. It’s not really an issue. It’s not like he’s going to collaborate with some bubblegum pink pop princess.

But then the label decides that they need to cross-market some of their artists. They’ve got lots of big names and Eddie’s on tour for his fourth studio album. He’s established, already done a world tour that was so successful the label had wanted to send him back out almost immediately, but he’d pushed back, asking for some time to write. So it’s been two years, but he’s written some of his best songs to date and the arenas are selling out.

Eddie’s so successful that the label decides that they’re going to pair him with some new up-and-coming singer-songwriter duo. The label wants at least one song, but hopes are high that Eddie will take them out as an opener for the last leg of the tour. Eddie’s given their EP a listen; he can’t really imagine that his demographic will ever overlap with theirs, but if this it what the label wants, then who is he to deny them?

It’s a sunny afternoon in LA when Eddie meets Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley at his favorite coffee shop downtown. It’s a safe place for celebrities, with a hidden back entrance and tinted windows, so he’s fairly certain they won’t be caught out together. Eddie’s ordered some lavender honey oat milk latte, something he would never admit to liking in a million years, but it tastes so good he makes the trip here at least three times a week. He’s sitting in a secluded corner, far enough from the windows that he won’t feel nervous, and he’s still got his sunglasses on, just in case.

He spots Robin and Steve almost immediately. They’re hard to miss, both beautiful and sun-kissed, smiling wide as they bicker before they both stop to look around the space.

“Hi!” Robin exclaims when she spots him, rushing over to his table. She grabs his hand between both of hers before he’s even had the chance to offer it to her and pumps it up and down a few times, like they’re shaking hands.

“Rob,” Steve mutters, placing a hand on her shoulder. Then, he turns his blinding smile on Eddie. Eddie had never believed in that whole ‘heart skipping a beat’ thing before but… he feels something happening in that region. “Sorry about her, she’s, like, a huge fan.” He offers his own hand to Eddie and they shake, the brush of skin on skin leaving Eddie just a little breathless, before Steve pulls out a chair and drops into it.

“Ugh, don’t make me sound like some creepy stalker, dingus.” Robin puts her hand on her hips. “What do you want?”

“Uh,” Steve squints at the menu before glancing down at the cup Eddie’s got between his hands. “What’d you get?” He directs the question at Eddie. Eddie tells him, only a little sheepish about it, and Steve smiles again. Eddie’s skin starts to feel itchy, too tight at his collarbones. “That sounds good. I’ll have that,” he tells Robin and she turns to head toward the counter, mumbling about having to order girly drinks.

Once they’re alone, Eddie slides his sunglasses off his face and up into his hair. He clears his throat before looking up into Steve’s face. Their eyes meet and something… happens. Something electric, something pulled taut between them. Eddie feels it and he’s pretty sure Steve does, too, judging by the way his lips part and his tongue darts out to wet them, quick and nervous. Eddie can’t stop staring. Neither can Steve.

Robin comes back with her hands full and glances between them. “Everything alright?” She asks slowly, cautiously, and their gazes finally snap away from each other, a blush rising in Steve’s cheeks.

Steve looks back into Eddie’s eyes like he just can’t help himself. Like he wouldn’t want to look anywhere else. “Yeah,” he says smiling. “Everything’s great.”

~*~

Eddie agrees to take them out on tour with him. The minute he saw Steve Harrington in the flesh, he knew he’d be taking them, but Robin turns out to be pretty cool too. He warns them that his fans can be pretty intense, that he can’t imagine they’ll be all that pleased with the kind of music the duo plays, but Robin and Steve assure him that they’re really just looking for some tour experience more than anything else. They’ll figure out the songwriting on the road, collaborate in a way that will bridge the gap between their style and Eddie’s.

When he gets home later that night, after a detour back to the label’s offices, Eddie can’t help but insta-stalk. He looks up Robin’s page first, upholding the pretense of ‘market research’ even in the privacy of his own mind. Most of her pictures include Steve and so it’s easy to be led away to Steve’s profile. It’s a natural progression. Totally normal.

Steve is… extremely cute. That’s usually not a word that Eddie would apply to someone he’s interested in—he tends to prefer the leather and chains variety much more than the sugary sweet type—but for some reason Eddie’s left breathless this time. He scrolls down Steve’s page, sees a picture of him with a herd of kids climbing on his back, another of him and Robin in matching sailor costumes. He hits the follow button without giving it too much thought and then slides back to his own page. Eddie is notoriously private, Instagram page consisting of only professional and promotional shots of him on tour with his band or in the studio recording. It’s not that Eddie is hiding anything, but he knows enough to know that the more you open up, the more that can be taken from you. He knows enough to know that the metal community can be somewhat closed-minded about some things, so he prefers to hide his personal life away, to keep some things precious and secret.

He wonders what Steve would think of his page, if he were to scroll through it. He wonders what it would be like to be open and honest about his personal life, about loving someone. What it would be like to not have to worry about losing fans, losing sales, losing bookings. To not worry about what the public would think of him.

He sighs and places his phone face down on his bedside table before turning out the light and drifting off to sleep.

~*~

Steve and Robin have been on tour with Eddie for two months and Eddie is almost positive that he’s falling in love with Steve. It was one thing to listen to Steve sing on their EP. It’s something totally different to watch Steve perform, to see his fingers slide up and down his guitar, the notes and his voice melancholy sweet. Eddie thinks almost anyone would fall in love with Steve if they’d just pay attention.

They haven’t done anything. Nothing has happened. But the green rooms and the tour busses have been full of lingering looks and soft brushes of skin. He’s pretty sure that Robin is close to saying something, clearly irritated by their pining. But Eddie’s still unsure. He knows it’s a lot, being on tour and in close quarters for the first time. It’s complicated and he doesn’t want to jeopardize Steve’s first big break. He doesn’t want to distract him. It’s easy to get caught up on tour, to mistake proximity for real feelings. It had happened to Eddie before; he didn’t want it to happen to Steve now.

Because this is a big deal, for Robin and Steve. Eddie had been unsure about taking them on, but, surprisingly, Eddie’s fans had embraced the duo. Their songwriting methods had complimented each other in a way Eddie hasn’t experienced since he first started writing with Gareth and the three of them had written five songs together already. Eddie would pull them both onstage halfway through his set to perform at least two of them and then again for one during the encore. The crowd went wild every time.

It’s the last night of tour when the space between them finally snaps in two. It’s the encore, they’re playing Eddie’s favorite of the five songs they’ve written together. They’ve made it through the complicated bridge, the final chorus, and now they’re closing out the last verse. The energy between Steve and Eddie practically crackles, almost visible under the harsh arena lights. Adrenaline is pumping, making Eddie feel invincible, and he can tell that Steve feels it too by the way he smiles across the stage at him. The final notes ring out and Eddie can’t help himself. He grabs for the strap of Steve’s guitar and pulls. Steve falls into Eddie’s chest, laughing, eyebrows raised, and Eddie can’t even think. His lips crash into Steve’s and it’s magical. Better than Eddie ever even dreamed it would be.

There’s a roaring in his ears as Eddie pulls back, reluctant. Steve’s eyes are still closed and he tries to follow Eddie’s mouth with his own, but Eddie laughs and gives him a little shake. Eddie glances around and realizes that the roaring he’d heard was the crowd going absolutely wild, screaming and cheering and clapping. Eddie looks back at Steve, who’s looking just a little dazed, blush on his cheeks and dopey smile on his lips. Robin’s screaming into her microphone, jumping up and down, egging the crowd on. Steve looks around the arena, still smiling, before looking back at Eddie and mouthing something in his direction. It’s too loud, Eddie can’t hear him over the crowd, so he shakes his head just a little. Steve tries again but Eddie still can’t hear him, so he raises his microphone to his lips.

“Finally,” Steve practically shouts, voice ringing out across the cavernous space. “Thought you’d never take the hint.”

All Eddie can do is laugh and pull Steve in for another kiss as the crowd continues cheering.

@grtwdsmwhr gave me “i want to brainwash you into loving me forever” and this is what I came up with i guess

#i wrote this so quick on my phone so pls pls pls forgive me for everything!!!!!! #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #stranger things fanfic #steddie ficlet #steddie blurb #taylor swift inspired Steddie

[diaryofaprettyprincess]

Yandere!Eddie gets jealous and angry because Steve starts to baby bimbo!reader like he does. He can tell he likes her too. (:

please he'd get so mad!!!

ʚ♡⃛ɞ

CW: possessive!eddie munson, yandere!eddie munson, bimbo!reader, power dynamic, jealousy, jealous!eddie, eddie and reader aren't dating yet, flirty!steve harrington, babying, mentions of stalker!eddie, crying (from reader), cursing (from reader), manipulation, toxic!eddie, slightly toxic!steve, steve harrington hate (from eddie) dw steve is one of my fav characters i love him sm <333, crybaby!reader (hints of), mentions of hickeys, hickey-giving, kissing (reader thinks that the kisses she shares with eddie are platonic.. even if she is in love with him or whatever screwed up version of love they have lol. eddie just takes adavantage of her..dumbness (lol sorry))

ʚ♡⃛ɞ

basically all of hellfire club along with steve are at eddie's trailer celebrating their campaign being over. steve's only there because 1) he knew you would be wherever eddie was (and vice versa) and 2) he was dustin's ride home. so, he decided to stay.

everyone's just drinking either juice or alcohol and listening to some of eddie's metal music on his boombox, talking about the campaign, school, girls, eddie's band, or whatever. everyone's just relaxing.. well, mostly everyone.

eddie sees you sitting on steve 'the hair' harrington's lap.

steve's lap.

you're giggling and blushing at whatever the fuck he's saying and it's needless to say eddie is fuming.

you're his, for crying out loud!

sure, you two weren't official, and maybe you didn't quite know it....yet, but there were lots of things you didn't know. like basic things and the fact that eddie would watch you sleep and take pictures of you showering or.. pleasing yourself and then he would jack off to it later on in his bed, moaning your name while he holds a pair of your panties he stole from your laundry basket a long time ago up to his nose to finish himself off.

how he had a secret compartment in his closet filled with your things.. but it was only because he loved you! only because he knew what was best for you! and he knew that steve fucking harrington was not the one for you. eddie was.

he protected you and cherished you and loved you relentlessly. he bought you gifts because he liked seeing your face light up. he bought you things with all of the money he earned from selling weed instead of the things that he really needed. like food, for example. he would starve himself till the day he died if it meant seeing you happy.

happy because of him.

so when he saw steve harrington, hawkins' 'golden boy', spoon-feeding you ice cream from a plastic bowl and kissing your cheek and neck every fucking second (just like how eddie would feed you lunch everyday!), he was sure that he was going to fucking kill him.

but, he knew that if he did that he would be seperated from you, his one true love, and he could not have that! so, putting out the cigarette he was smoking on the coffee table's ashtray and getting up from his chair, he made his way over to you and steve.

he could hear steve mutter a soft, "good girl," and "you're such a pretty baby," everytime you swallowed the strawberry icecream.

that should be him.

it usually was.

how could you betray him like this?

you looked up from your spot on steve's lap, eyes wide and glimmering softly.

eddie's heart practically melted.

steve looked up, however his reaction was more so filled with distaste.

"eddie!" you squealed, reaching your hands up and making grabby hands to let eddie know you wanted to be picked up. usually, that made his heart swell, but instead he just held onto your hands with his own; his large hand engulfing yours. you pouted softly, slightly confused.

steve rolled his eyes, annoyed that eddie ruined his fun.

"what do you want, man?" steve asked, his hands still resting on your hips, drawing lazy circles with his thumbs.

eddie felt his body heat up with anger.

the fuck do you think, Hairball?

eddie smiled, cheshire cat-like. "oh, i just need to talk to y/n.."

"mm, sure you do," steve rolled his eyes, "but we're busy right now..isn't that right, baby?" he looked at you so sweetly it made your heart swell.

"y-yeah," you giggled.

eddie's smile dropped, his hands squeezing so tight with anger it began to crush yours. you yelped, pulling your hands away from his.

why are you doing this to him?

"owie! eddie that hurt!" you whined, and steve just pouted, cooing and kissing your knuckles softly. you blushed.

eddie felt like he was going to be sick.

"y/n." eddie said sternly, causing you to whip your head around and look at him, your bottom lip jutted out, tears forming in your eyes.

normally, eddie would feel bad for making you upset...but the anger took over.

"I need to talk to you...alone. in private."

you nodded, getting off of steve's lap as if you followed eddie around like a lapdog. which to be fair, you always did.

steve just scoffed, not at you, but at eddie's rudeness. he knew eddie was obsessed with you. when would you stop complying with whatever that metal-head wanted?

when would that.. freak get over you?

the answer: never.

you followed eddie to his room, sniffling softly.

was he mad at you?

once you make it to his room he slams the door, cornering you against his wall.

"what the fuck was that, y/n?" he spat, and you gazed up at him, confused.

"w-what was what, eds?" you asked softly, trembling at the fact that he was using your real name and not a cute little nickname like "princess", "sweetheart", "baby", or "bunny".

"God, do you have to be so fucking dense all the time?!" he lashed out, and that's when you started to cry.

"E-Eddie, i don' like it when you yell.."

Eddie just rolled his eyes, annoyed.

Again, if he had you crying (negatively) in any other situation he would be on his knees kissing your feet and begging for your forgiveness (which he has done before). But in this situation, he was more mad at steve than you and he unfortunately took most of his anger out on you.

"i wouldn't 've had to yell if you weren't out there all over steve fucking harrington! I mean.. what the fuck was that?"

he rubbed his eyes with his fingers, the silver of his rings glittering in the yellow lamp-light in his room, the pretty sparkly- look almost distracting you.

Almost.

"H-he was jus' feedin' me some ice cream!" you reason, fiddling with the bottom hem of your skirt.

"No, he was all over you! H-he was kissing you, and--and babying you!" he got up closer to you. "I'm the only one that can do that, baby, you know that.." You nodded softly, sniffling again.

He held your chin with this thumb, making sure you looked at him.

"I-I didn't wanna make you cry, but... baby, you drive me fucking insane! I mean--the things we do, y/n, they are things that only you and I can do... do you understand, baby? Hm?" he used his thumb then back of his hand to wipe off your fallen salty tears from your face.

"I-I understand, eddie.. didn' know! 'm sorry," you whimpered, and eddie smiled softly again, pulling you into a tight hug.

"It's okay, baby.. just- whenever you wanna be held or fed or whatever, come to me, sweetheart. okay?"

you nodded against his chest, and he kissed the top of your head.

pulling you away from his chest you mewled a soft, "kissie?" with your lips pouted. his heart skipped a beat, and he swore to God that he might die. And if he did die, he would go happy.

"'f course, baby," he sealed his lips over yours, kissing you for a moment or two and then passionately kissing you before pulling away. "you're my good girl, I love you so much." he admitted, and you giggled.

"I love you more, eds."

"impossible." he whispered, wiggling his fingers around on your waist to get you to laugh again.

However, what he said was true. It was impossible for you to love him more than he loved you.

"Now, I do believe we are expected to go back to the party at some point..Shall we?" he held his hand out and you took it, giggling more than ever.

For the rest of the night you sat on eddie's lap, snuggling into his neck and exchanging kisses with him.

He spoon fed you ice cream, and held the water bottle for you to help you drink.

He whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

He sucked on your neck and left hickey's on the supple skin.

Steve left early.

--

btw i didnt re-read it for any mistakes so ignore if there are any! thank you anon! <33

#mail 💌 #eddie munsonxreader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #teengirlblogger #stranger things season 4 #stranger things s4 #stranger things season four #stranger things vol 1 #stranger things netflix #yandere!eddiemunson x reader #yandere!eddie munson #toxic!eddie munson #yandere!eddie munson x bimbo!reader #eddie munson angst #dark!eddie munson #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x bimbo!reader #jealous!eddie munson

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @subeddieweek, day seven.

Where Would I Go?

Prompt: Praise Kink/Subdrop | Word Count: 1528 | Rating: E | CW: Handcuffs, Biting | Tags: Established Relationship, Sub Eddie Munson, Sensory Deprivation, Softness, Praise Kink, Subspace, Subdrop, Aftercare, Boys in Love

Eddie is being good. So good. Hands on his own thighs, not touching, even if that's all he wants to do.

Steve is stripping his own cock, fisting it right in front of Eddie, and Eddie can only watch.

Because he wants to be good. 

"Close your eyes," Steve asks, and Eddie whines, but complies, closing his eyes.

Now, he can only hear the sounds of Steve's slick hand moving. And Steve is more than aware of what he's doing, because he's added a little heavier breathing into the mix. Some soft moans, and Eddie's dick is straining, needing, wanting, listening to this perfect soundtrack.

"You gonna be a good boy if I let you look?" Steve asks.

Eddie moans and nods at the mere idea of it, "Yes."

"Really, you can be good?"

"So good," Eddie promises, eyes still shut.

"I'm not convinced," Steve says, and Eddie whimpers. "Convince me."

Eddie straightens up on his knees, like he's paying better attention. Keeps his eyes closed, as instructed, and then opens his mouth, an offer.

"Not convincing enough," Steve says, "be good for me."

Eddie isn't sure how to do that, "How?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Steve says, and puts his hands under Eddie's armpits, helping him stand. Eddie shuffles along, blind, until he bumps up against the bed.

Steve grabs his hips, and helps Eddie climb up onto it, and settles him back against the headboard. 

"Hand," Steve says, and Eddie immediately gives him his left hand.

Steve pulls it to the side, and Eddie feels the hard metal, as he ratchets down the cuff and hears the light clinking of metal on metal as he attaches the other end of the handcuffs to the metal bars of the headboard.

"Two?" Steve asks, and Eddie wants to be good, so he offers up his other hand, and Steve does the same on the other side, stringing him up.

"Look at you," Steve says.

Eddie doesn't look, but he'd loved to. Wants to see what he looks like.

Steve's mouth is ghosting against Eddie's ear, "So pretty. Such a good, pretty boy."

And Eddie's head buzzes at the words as they stick to his ribs, his brain, his heart, helping him float away. Laying all his trust in Steve. He doesn't need to see. Doesn't need to grasp.

He just needs to ride the wave Steve's offered him.

Eddie hangs his head back, baring his throat and Steve takes him up on the offer, biting down, and Eddie moans, low in his throat. 

"Thank you," Eddie says, and Steve kisses along his jaw. 

Then Steve slips the headphones over his ears. They are big, bulky, and the cord is dangling, but they do block out a lot of the noise. All he can hear is the buzzing in his own head.

And then Steve's hands are all over his body, touching soft, touching hard, squeezing, licking, biting, sucking.

He's gonna have hickeys all over his thighs, but he can barely feel it. He's too far gone, the pain too far away, off in the distance. An abstract now, only the whisper of it trying to reach his brain, but it can't.

He's closed off from the world. All he knows, all he feels, is Steve.

And he lets himself float.

"You with me?" Steve asks, cupping Eddie's cheek, and Eddie lulls his head into Steve's hand.

"Eddie, open your eyes and look at me," Steve says, and Eddie does. It's dark in the room, but he still squints because it feels too bright. Too everything, because Eddie's pupils have blown-wide, and he feels like he's still adrift. Lost at sea.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks.

"Yeah," Eddie slurs, and his tongue is too big for his mouth. Like he can't form the words anymore.

"You're a good boy, so good. Relaxing for me, then letting me in," Steve says, because Eddie always responds well to chatter. He likes it.

Usually, though, he gives some back. But he can't seem to find the words.

Not tonight, tonight he's just drifting far from the shore. But he feels happy, blissed out, and Steve keeps petting him. Soft and gentle. 

"Eddie? Honey?" Steve says, and Eddie looks at him. Steve cups his cheeks with both hands, "Hi. You back with me?"

"Where would I go?" Eddie asks, and Steve smiles, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek.

"I think you've dropped," Steve answers. "Drink this."

Eddie does, taking a long pull of the orange juice in the glass. It's the best thing he's ever tasted.

Dropped? Like subdrop? Eddie's never even been in subspace before, so that seems highly unlikely. He feels subby, wants to submit, does, but he's never experienced that.

"Yeah, honey, are you okay?" Steve asks, and Eddie mentally runs over his body, checking in to find out.

Eddie feels tired, exhausted really, that floaty feeling of disappearing he'd felt has drained him, but he smiles, "Yeah."

"Everything okay? Too much? Too far?" Steve asks.

"What'dya mean?" Eddie drawls, lolling his head to look at Steve. "I'm cold."

"Let me warm you up," Steve says, and he nudges Eddie forward so he can slide behind his back. He's uncuffed. He hadn't even realized. Handcuffs gone, earphones gone, eyes open. It's just him. And Steve.

And Steve's grabbing the comforter and pulling it up to Eddie's chin, wrapping his arm around him, tight.

"Better?" Steve asks, and Eddie relaxes against Steve's solid body. So much better.

"Do you want to sleep? You want me to hold you?" Steve asks, and Eddie can't make any decisions right now.

It's too hard, and he feels overwhelmed by being asked all these questions. He must not have done it right if Steve is so unsure, if Steve needs to ask him all these things. He didn't do good. He wasn't a good boy. 

"Eddie," Steve says, slightly firmer, "take a breath."

And Eddie realizes he's breathing fast, his chest rising and falling, rapidly.

He turns his head so he can rest his forehead against Steve's neck, pressing in close. 

"You did so good, you were perfect," Steve says, and Eddie tries to take those words. Keep them.

It's hard. He feels on edge, low, in a way he's never felt before.

"Can I sleep?" Eddie asks.

"Yes, sleep. I'll be right here," Steve says, tightening his arms around Eddie's middle, holding him close, safe and secure.

And Eddie gives in to the exhaustion.

Eddie blinks awake, warm and loved. 

"Hi," Steve says, soft and quiet in his ear, and Eddie smiles at the sound. 

"Hi," he answers back.

"Feeling better?" Steve asks, not letting him go.

"Definitely," Eddie says, laying the back of his head against Steve's shoulder.

Steve's stroking his chest, his stomach, and it feels nice. 

And then his stomach growls, and they both laugh. 

"Let's get you something to eat," Steve says, patting him, and Eddie agrees, crawling out of bed. "Take a shower, and I'll get something made for you."

Eddie nods, taking Steve up on the offer.

Eddie stands under the spray, and he feels off. Not bad, but off. Different. He shakes the water out of his hair like a dog, and laughs. Entertaining himself. He thinks he did drop, which, unexpected. He doesn't feel bad now, though, just a little tired, still. Like he could sleep several more hours. Might, after he eats. 

He just doesn't remember much about what happened. He was there, and now he's here. That part, he's not sure he loves. He wants to be present, wants to feel everything that Steve does.

Looking down, and there's the start of bruises forming on his thighs, his chest. Hickeys, and bite marks. Eddie runs his fingers over the deepest indention, feeling the impression of each of Steve's teeth, branding his skin. 

And Eddie barely remembers getting them, and that makes him feel a little sad again. But, overall, he's good.

When Eddie come out in his robe, Steve's standing at the stove, stirring something in a skillet that smells fucking awesome, and Eddie watches from the kitchen bar, sipping on a glass of water. Rehydrating, as Steve demanded with a grin.

Then, Steve's walking over with the skillet in hand, and Eddie leans back from the empty plate sitting in front of him, letting Steve scrape a heaping pile of food onto his plate.

"Thank you," Eddie says, and picks up his fork, digging in. It's some sort of taco casserole, he thinks, and it's really good for something Steve's thrown together in the middle of the night. 

Steve puts some on his own plate, and then comes around the counter to sit next to him.

Picking up his own fork, and working his hand under Eddie's robe to find bare skin, resting his free hand on Eddie's thigh. It's nothing, but somehow everything, and Eddie loves him. Everything about him, and he can't stop the affection from exploding in his chest.

Eddie covers Steve's hand with his own, and looks over at him and smiles.

Steve smiles back, and then winks.

And Eddie laughs, deep from his chest, feeling light. Loved.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @subeddieweek and follow along with the fun! 🖤

This is my last entry for the week-long event, and if you want see my other fics for the other days, they can all be found in this tag.

A couple of my fics for the event were filtered out and not included in the subeddieweek tag, as well as my own tag for the event. I must have been too dirty those days, I guess, lol.

So, here's everything else of mine for the week:

Day One Day Two Day Three Day Four Day Five Day Six

#thisapplepielife: short fic #subeddieweek #thisapplepielife: subeddieweek #steddie fic #sub eddie munson

[hairmetal666]

3 Times Eddie has a Secret + 1 Time Steve Does

I.

Erica Sinclair wants to throw a Valentine's Day party, and woe betide anyone coming between Erica and an idea. Eddie's happy to show up, spend some time with the kids, Robin, and Steve (though he's with the latter pair all the time), and mostly doesn't think much about it. That is until, two weeks out, Max shows up at his trailer with that look on her face, and he knows he's in for it, though he's not sure why.

He gives her a little bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Max?"

"You're going to Erica's party, Munson." Her hands go to her hips and her brow pinches. It's such a Steve Harrington pose it knocks something loose in Eddie's chest. "And you aren't going to say one word about conformists and sheep."

He rolls his eyes, sighs hard. "I'm surprised at you, Mayfield. Didn't have you pegged as a candy hearts type of gal."

"It's for Erica." The tip of her sneaker scuffs at the earth. "And Lucas likes it."

Eddie bites his lip to stifle his smile. They're so fucking cute.

"I suppose I can put in an appearance."

"And be on your best behavior?"

"Scout's Honor."

"You weren't a scout," she grumbles.

"Nope. But still. I'll do it for Little Sinclair."

It shouldn't bother him, the assumption that he'd be a shit about Valentine's Day. He's worked really hard to cultivate an image and it doesn't exactly scream "Be Mine." And yes, yeah, sure, the Munson Doctrine doesn't go in for the holiday, and his cynical heart blah-blah-blah. It's just that. Well, he sort of enjoys the love part.

And later that night, in the safety of his dark bedroom, he acknowledges that he wouldn't mind having a date on Valentine's Day. It would be--well, it would be nice to have someone buy him flowers or chocolates, or even--ugh--a gross, sappy, sentimental card. He wants to have reservations at Enzo's, wants to go see a terrible romcom after, wants to go home and fall into bed with the person he loves. And it isn't metal, or even very cool, but he wants to be showered with affection, celebrated, fucking loved.

He wants so much his entire body aches with it.

II.

Eddie's at Family Video, rifling through the candy that he knows Steve just reorganized.

"What are you looking for, Munson?" Robin asks. She's half-engrossed in the paperwork in front of her.

Eddie's half listening, watching Steve re-shelve New Releases. He's focused on the VHSs in his arms, so Eddie has ample opportunity to admire the bunch and stretch of his shoulder muscles as he reaches to the top of the wall.

"I don't know," he nibbles on his lip. "Something that's not so," he wiggles his hand through the air.

"Romantic?" She guesses.

"No," he shakes his head. "I mean--"

"You mean?" She's focused on him now, must have caught him watching Steve, and he hopes she doesn't make it a big deal.

"Something," he says. "Um. Just something different."

And what he means is a movie for a guy like him where love doesn't have to be a distant dream. Where he can have feelings for someone and it isn't potentially dangerous.

So, he smiles and shrugs. Grabs the tape closest to his hand. "Guess I'll just take this."

"Well, this is definitely different, Eddie," she says. She narrows her eyes at him, like he's a new language she's learning, but he scampers out before she can say anything.

The movie he grabbed without looking is Cocoon and he can't even pretend interest, so he's not exactly disappointed when someone knocks at his door a few hours later. He's expecting Max, maybe Steve, but startles a little at Robin. She pushes past him and into the trailer.

"Good to see you too, Buckley."

She ignores him. "I have something to tell you. You and Steve are the only people who know."

"Okay?" His eyes are so wide it kind of hurts.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm gay."

"What?" He shrieks, doesn't know why. He's always kind of known.

Robin responds by swatting at him, and they bat at one another with the tips of their fingers.

"Nancy?" He asks once they calm down.

"Shut-up," Robin flushes a dark red.

"It's the guns right?"

It's her turn to shriek, and she gets a solid punch in on his shoulder. They wrestle around, until Eddie pulls away, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead.

"I'm--" he's never said the words to another person. Uncle Wayne just sort of knew and you don't really have to talk at any of the bars he goes to in Indy. "I'm gay too," he tells Robin.

She beams at him. "Cool."

"Cool." He fiddles with his rings. "Harrington knows about you?"

"He was the first person I told."

"You aren't going to tell him about me?"

She leans her head on his shoulder. "Of course not. But he'd be okay, if you wanted to tell him."

He can't help but scoff. "It's different for lesbians, Buckley. Straight guys can be into that."

She scoffs right back. "Steve isn't like that and you know it."

She's right. He does. But the fear runs deep. Especially especially because it's Steve. And Eddie couldn't handle any of things that might happen if Robin is wrong.

"Thanks, Bucks," he says. He leans his head against hers, hugs her close.

III.

Erica's party is happening at Steve's and Eddie shows up at the appointed time, with the appointed cupcakes (baked from a box, frosted from a can).

The kids are shouting in the living room, but his eyes automatically find Steve in the kitchen. He has a a towel draped over his shoulder, hair disheveled, and is mixing Tropical Punch and Sprite into a serving bowl.

"How'd you end up hosting?" Eddie asks.

Steve smiles, a bashful little thing. "Erica called me this morning and yelled until I agreed."

"Pushover," Eddie teases.

"Oh, and you just made those cupcakes for fun, Munson?"

"Shut-up, Harrington." Eddie knocks their shoulders together. "They're ugly as shit. Didn't know there was an art to frosting cupcakes."

"I think I can help. You mind?"

Steve grabs some plastic spatula looking thing, gets to work with a focused determination that has him biting at his lip. Heat kicks in Eddie's blood, makes it so he can't watch. Instead, he slides a finger into the icing.

"Hey! What--? Munson!" Steve yells, as Eddie brushes the pink frosting onto Steve's cheekbone.

"Got ya!" He dances out of reach.

They bob and weave and dodge through the kitchen, laughing and yelling, until Steve has Eddie pressed against the cabinets, no escape. They're close, breathing hard and pink-faced. He can't help glancing down at the plush softness of Steve's mouth, can't help noticing Steve's eyes track the movement. Time pauses, stutters, and the distance between them closes.

"Steve!" Dustin shouts. "What's taking so long?"

The tension breaks and Eddie escapes into the living room, desperate to convince himself it wasn't a moment, that Steve isn't interested. Wishes his heart was a little more cynical, after all.

The party is fun. There are games and snacks and crafts. He gets roped into playing Mystery Date and tries and fails to not notice Steve bent over, playing Twister, left hand on red, right hand on green.

When they start doing crafts, Steve is hard at work on a Valentine.

"What you making, Stevie?" Eddie asks. He cranes his neck to see.

"Back off, Munson."

"Got someone you've been admiring, big boy?"

Steve goes pink and Eddie can't tell if it's the nickname or his question.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

And since Eddie really, really would, he jumps towards Steve, trying to sneak a peek. Steve laughs, hard and kind of surprised, before hunching over the card.

"None of your business, Eddie." But Steve is flushed and smiling.

Eddie pouts. "You know how much I love knowing things."

Steve looks at him. Like, looks at him, and Eddie goes warm all over.

"Maybe if you're a good boy today, you'll get to know later, yeah?"

Good boy does things. It makes Eddie's heart stop, his breathing slow, re-routes all the blood in his body south. He can only gasp and nod, sure his eyes are weirdly glazed.

Good boy. He's not sure if he hears another word spoken to him for the rest of the day.

IV.

The party draws to a close. For once in their lives, the actual parents are driving their kids around and Robin hitches a ride with the Hopper-Byers, leaving Eddie and Steve on clean-up.

"Wanna stick around, Munson? Watch a movie? Think I have a joint leftover from last week."

"Course, Stevie, how could I say no to such a generous offer."

"I think you're making fun of me, but I don't understand why."

Eddie laughs. "Totally genuine, sweetheart. Cross my heart." Steve smiles at that, his eyes turning the color of honey.

Eddie is so, so fucked.

They get situated on the couch and Steve says, "Have you been good today?"

"Huh?" Eddie can't breathe.

"I said you could see what I was making if you were good today. Were you?"

Eddie can't speak, can't think, can't move. His brain is throbbing. This has to be a dream. No way Steve is actually asking that.

But Steve is looking at him and somehow he has the presence of mind to fucking nod, and then Steve is handing him a red construction paper heart and a rose with petals so purple they're almost black.

He's hallucinating. That's what this is. He got some laced weed and now his wildest fantasy is playing out in his head.

The Valentine has a white lace doily thing glued to it and it says, in glitter:

"Roses are red,

Violets are Blue;

Eddie Munson,

I really like you"

His eyes fall on Steve. He perceives him, the way a pink flush sits high on his cheekbones, the shine in his eyes, the tremble in his hands.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Eddie isn't hallucinating. He's not dreaming. He's--

"Steve," he sounds a wreck.

"It's--Eddie, it's okay if you don't like me back. I just--I've liked you for a while and Robin thought I should tell you, and--"

"Steve," he says again, stands this time. "Can I kiss you?" It's a miracle he gets the words out.

"God, yes, please," Steve nearly whines.

Eddie pulls him in close, slotting their mouths together. Steve tastes like Tropical Punch and frosting and he makes a little noise as Eddie nips at his lip.

And that's it, that's all it takes. Eddie is gone, ruined, Valentine's celebrator until the end of time, lost forever to Steve-goddamn-Harrington.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #one shot #valentine's day #3+1 things #secret valentine #valentine's party #erica sinclair #robin buckley #the party #max mayfield #mutual pining #fluff #they're in love your honor #eddie munson has a praise kink #good boy #secret crushes