#dio's steddie ramblings

[flowercrowngods]

It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.

Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.

It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.

Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.

Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.

It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.

It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.

Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.

They have a couch now. A sofa.

It's so fucking unreal.

He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.

And it feels really fucking big.

At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.

For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.

The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.

It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.

And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."

"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.

Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.

Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.

"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.

"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."

Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.

Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.

And it's so unreal.

"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."

Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Why's it crazy, angel?"

He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.

"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."

Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.

"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."

"We've got a couch now."

Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.

"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."

Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."

And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.

But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.

And they have each other.

They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.

In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.

Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

#steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie #steve x eddie #listen i have a couch now and if you know me you know that i get really fucking emo about the tiniest things #i fixed my lock with graphite btw when i was blackout drunk. it still fills me with so much joy #sorry tag list gang idk what this is but it wanted out #i could write fics/poems/whatever about the most mundane things until the end of my days tbh so today we have: couch #dio words #dio's steddie ramblings #the hurt/comfort is implied like you'll catch it when you reflect on the words but most importantly this is healing. and comfort. and fluff #and so much love and understanding it makes me wanna throw up

[thefreakandthehair]

A Steddie fanfiction. Rated E. 84k.

----

April 1986

“How’re you feeling, Ed?” Steve asks quietly, preserving the stillness of the night that surrounds them. 

“Think I’m alright, a little tired.” Eddie watches the gentle waves that ripple out from his shins kicking softly in the water. It’s been a long day, even he has to admit that, and he’s feeling… well, that’s the end of the sentence. He’s feeling. 

It’s the first time Eddie’s been around everyone all at once since the Upside Down and the kids, they mean well and he knows that, surrounded him with so much love that it’d become overwhelming. So had sitting upright, walking around, talking. The last hour or so, he’d gone ghost— transparent without actually disappearing— and the others followed his lead. Pretend you’ve vanished hard enough and the people around will you pretend, too. Except for Steve, he discovers.

It’s an odd thing though, preferring to be still, to be quiet, and he hates that the Upside Down has stolen this piece of himself, too. Steve’s assured him that it’s okay, that he’ll be his boisterous, loud, antsy self again when his body’s healed but it’s taking too long for Eddie’s liking. Or comfort. 

“You know it's normal, right? It’s a lot, Ed. You didn’t even have to stay out here the whole time, no one would’ve minded or blamed you.” Steve sits next to him, letting his feet slide in beside Eddie’s. Everyone else is inside— kids, parents, everyone who’s made the Harrington House their base while waiting for the government pay-outs and new homes. It’s late now, but Steve and Eddie take advantage of the silence as they so often do. 

“Yeah, yeah I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

Steve nods and lets his pinky touch the edge of Eddie’s, palm down on the cold, wet concrete. 

“You don’t, you’re right. I didn’t either. For what it’s worth though,” Steve takes a breath, thinks about how he wants to word this without making a confession he’s not yet ready for, “I like every version of you.” 

Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest and he watches the ripples from Steve’s legs blend into his. Huh, he thinks, something symbolic there. 

He doesn’t respond, just wraps his pinky around Steve’s. 

Coming soon to ao3: February 1, 6:00PM PST (3:00 PM EST)

Now Posted!

tagging people who've asked or have listened to me ramble on and on for months: @bayouteche @starrystevie @tuvens @rougenancy @ruthofrhythm @toburnup @sparklyslug @justspicysixthings @fruityfour @fruityfourgalore @fastcardotmp3 @flashyysins @stevethehairington @kkpwnall @buckleydiaz @strawberryspence @undreamingscatworld @seidenbros @legitcookie @aringofsalt @patheticgirlsteve @henrystars @sharpbutsoft @nailbatandrobin @harringtonisms @stardustonpages @corrodedcoughin @steddiebf @songbvrd @hexiewrites @courtjestermunson @wroteclassicaly @cheatghost @flowercrowngods @lesstat-de-lioncourt @withacapitalp @newton-pulsifer @quevadilla @strangersatellites @stevesbipanic @wynnyfryd @prettyboyandthemetalhead @gothbat99 @sidekick-hero @stevecarrington @aidaronan @stargyles @bmodiwrites @evergreennwilloww @steves-babysitter @pizzaqueen @ruvina-loz @lallagoupsidedown @phantypurple @counting-dollars-counting-stars @deehellcat @stardustonpages @unclewaynemunson @yournowheregirl @punkharringtxn @babyboyargyle

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #i cannot believe this has a posting date #the art that goes along with it is absolutely STUNNING and i can't wait for you guys to see it!!! #i've been rambling about this to anyone who would listen for months now and i'm just so emotional about it #i quit writing for terrible reasons 7 years ago and now i've written essentially a novel?? #i'm so excited to finally share this and also so so so terrified lmao #(i'd also like to give a little shoutout to dio for talking me out of a spiral like 10 minutes ago about this <333) #myfic #over the hills and far away #if i forgot to tag anyone i'm so sorry

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

here's the first part to a little domestic steddie thing that I don't have a name for yet, but I thought it up last night and couldn't sleep while I started planning it in my head.

highlights will include: friends to lovers, roommates, slice of life, getting together, hispanic!eddie (MY LOVE), i may sprinkle in the fact that Steve is HOH (but I haven't decided if i'd like him to be in this one), and possibly the first smut i'll have ever written 👀

this is just to get my thoughts out so go into this knowing that at Robin and Steve know that Eddie is Gay, Eddie and Steve know that Robin is gay, and only Robin knows that Steve thinks he's bi. You know, classic steddie fic things.

----------

“Okay, you guys, time to head out, no Dustin, you can’t stay the night.”

“Damn, how’d you know? Dustin asks, picking up his bag and shuffling toward the door to get his shoes on.

“Because you always ask.” Will admonishes his friend.

“Exactly. Thank you, Will.”

“I can’t believe the last session is next week.” Lucas says to himself, slipping on his shoes and ducking down quickly to arrange Max’s in front of her so she can get them on. 

“Oh no, what will we do then?” the Max in question snarks back. 

“You don’t even play, you can’t be sarcastic about it.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t be sarcastic about, Wheeler.” Max follows Mike out the door and smacks him in the shin with her cane.

“We will see you tomorrow Steve?” El asks, stopping at his side to look up at him with those curious eyes. 

“Of course, supergirl, it’s the ‘Everything’s Fine’ party.” He grins at her and she smiles back, moving to grab her shoes as well. Steve stops her “Everything is fine, right?”

She stares off into space for just a second, then smiles back up at him. “Yes. I do not feel any of the Upside Down or of One.”

Steve lets out the breath he always holds when he checks with one of what they are now calling “The Wonder Twins”, El and Will. “Thanks, El, sorry to always ask.”

“It is okay, Steve. I don’t mind.”

“Alright you lot, you heard Stevie. ¡Ya deja de chingar! Ándale, ándale!” Eddie yells at the kids, shoo-ing them out the front door and into his van while the other Hellfire guys get into Jeff’s car. They’d officially disbanded Hellfire after everything happened last year, but still meet for D&D (now at Steve’s house) under a still undecided name.

“No need to be rude, Eduardo, we’re going.” Erica taunts him.

Eddie seems to glitch out, “¿Sabes español?”

“Eso si.”

Eddie sucks his teeth, “Dios mio, now I gotta deal with that; alright, lets go, crotch-goblins, gotta get you home. Be back soon, cariño!” He yells to Steve, still on the front step before he points to Erica and shuts the door in her face.

“I still have no idea what he’s calling me. Why don’t you just tell me? You know spanish.” Steve asks Robin as he comes back inside and closes the door.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You literally translated secret russian code, is that not intruding?”

“Yeah, but like, they don’t matter. Eddie does.” He’s looking at her like she’s crazy. “It feels like spying on a friend.”

“Whatever you say, Buckley.”

“Just ask Eddie to teach you. He could use the practice”

“What do you mean? He’s fluent isn’t he?”

“Well, he really only has Wayne to speak spanish with regularly, sometimes me, but usually it’s english. He could start to lose it.”

“That can happen?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I don’t have many people to talk to in Italian, so that’s my worst language. I used to be fluent in that too but if I don’t use it, I lose it.” she shrugs and Steve takes that in. 

“I just want to know what he’s calling me, it’s not anything bad is it?”

She smiles softly at him, “No Dingus, it’s not bad. Promise.”

They clean up the rest of the stuff lying around from the kids being there, Robin is rambling on about something that happened at her last solo shift at work, and Steve’s trying to contain his nerves.

“Querido, Estoy en casa!” Eddie yells from the doorway when he gets back. “Now what’s this surprise?”

“Let me guess, ‘Honey, I’m home’?” Steve asks, rounding the corner from the kitchen, still drying his hands.

Eddie points at him, “You got it, Querido.” and gives him a wink before waltzing his way into the living room in front of Steve. 

Steve rolls his eyes fondly, and wills the heat that’d crept up on his face from being called ‘Honey’ away while he puts the towel back in the kitchen.

“Okay,” he claps his hands when he walks into the living room, his two friends sitting on the couch in front of him “I have a proposal for you.”

“Oh, Stevie! Of course I’ll marry you!” Eddie jumps up and immediately koalas onto Steve, causing him to take a stabilizing step backward.

“Not that kind of proposal, Eds.” Steve chuckles and goes to unwrap Eddie’s arms and legs from around him.

“So you’re not gonna make an honest woman outta me?” Robin says from the couch as Steve comes around the coffee table, Eddie still latched to his front.

“No, Robs, still not that kind of proposal, sorry.”

Steve finally gets Eddie’s limbs out from around him over the couch so he bounces to a landing on the couch next to Robin.

“That’s bogus..”

“Here.” Steve hands them each a manila folder from the mantle, each one with their name written on it in a thick black marker.

“Okay, here goes. So it’s been a year since Vecna, Will and El both haven’t felt hide nor hair of him since, and since these goddamn events usually happen at least once a year, I think we are in the clear.” He pauses to knock on the wooden coffee table. “So I figure now that Eddie is healed all the way, and he and Wayne are set up well enough again with their hush money, Max is doing pretty good at her physical therapy, the Byers are back in town with a not-dead Hopper….well.”

He gestures to their folders, and they both look down at the same time, like they’d forgotten they were there.

As they open them and start flipping through their stack of papers, Steve continues. “Robin, I know you wanted to take a gap year anyway, so I put down entry for the fall of ‘87 on the applications I sent in, I hope that’s okay.” She looks up at him in shock. “There’s a great International Relations program there too if you want to stay after you get your core classes out of the way? But there are a couple acceptance letters in there so you can take your pick. And I got a job at this little diner nearby to the campus just because I wanted to, but I will pay your way if you want since I’m the one who applied for you so you can just live off your hush money.”

“A-and Eddie, I asked around and there’s a great underground music scene that I think you’d fit right into, and I met a guy named Daryl who was real nice and owned a music shop down the road from the diner who is uhm…something? He wrote “call me” and his number on the flyer he gave me so I feel like it’d maybe be safe for you to work there i-if you wanted to, you know. You could also just live off your hush money. I don’t mind.”

Both of them are stock still and dead quiet. He finally looks down at them on the couch.

Both of their faces are blank, like they don’t know what it is they are supposed to feel, which, Steve supposes, is better than pissed off.

“Oh fuck, this was too much wasn’t it? Sorry, sorry, just pretend I didn’t say anything, I’ll just—“ he reaches for their papers and they both jerk away from him at the same time.

“Fuck off, this is my stack of papers, get your own!” Eddie yells at the same time Robin yells “No! I’m keeping these forever!” and Steve pulls his hands back in surrender.

“You still haven’t gotten to the proposal part, Dingus. What’s going on?”

“Oh! Uhm, I bought a house? In Indianapolis? My parents are staying away after the earthquake, and sold the house so I leave to sign the last papers and get the keys in two weeks. So that means Eddie can finish his D&D thing in time too.”

They’re quiet for a beat again, then Eddie asks “You bought a house?”

“Yeah, with the money I saved up from Scoops and Family Video, plus what my parents would leave..I only had to use a little bit of my government money in the end. It’s not much, and it needs work that’s why I got it as cheap as I did, but it has three bedrooms and two bathrooms, and—actually, I put pictures at the bottom of your stacks if you want to-“

They both shuffle their papers around until they find what they’re looking for. Then immediately look at the others’ like they are comparing notes.

“Robin, that’s the bedroom at the front of the house, it’s got two windows and one has a window seat, so you’ll get plenty of light, and Eddie, your bedroom is the one in the back corner, it’s only got one window but it’s pretty big and I thought that maybe you’d like that one since it just looks out into the woods like yours used to in your trailer. I was going to take the master, but Robin, if you want that instead so you don’t have to share a bathroom with one of us, that’s cool too, I don’t mind.” Steve rushes it all out.

“You want us to move with you?” Eddie’s voice is quiet, eyes wide.

“Uhm, yeah. I do. That’s the proposal. I figured I’d ask you guys to come with. That way we’re out of Hawkins but still close enough if something does happen,” Steve knocks on the coffee table again with two knuckles, “Robin can go to school, and hopefully Indy is far enough out of the way that Eddie can make a clean-ish start?

“And you don’t have to pay rent, It’s all paid for with cash so just maybe buy groceries, or help with the utilities? Or none of it! Like I said, I kinda just thrust this upon you, so no worries if you want to just mooch.” he huffs out a nervous laugh.

Eddie and Robin take a look at each other then Robin is shooting off the couch and (almost tripping) over the coffee table to latch onto Steve

“Of course I’m coming with you, Dingus, we’re two halves of a whole idiot, we gotta stick together.” She unhooks from him and starts wandering away up the stairs, talking about ‘We gotta tell Keith, and my mom is going to be so excited, but she’s definitely going to think I’m pregnant or something,’ like she’s going to pack away her overnight bag from the guest room and be ready to go just like that.

“Eddie? What about you? I get it if you don’t, but like I said, I figured you’d want to get out of here too an–” 

“Joder si, pendejo! I’m not gonna turn down a chance to get the fuck outta here!” He jumps up and crashes into Steve once again, squeezing him tight. “It means a lot that you’d want me to come with, Stevie.” He says quietly over Steve’s shoulder.

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie and stuffs his face into his curls, he smells like cinnamon. “Of course Eddie, anytime.”

Eddie pulls back with a soft smile, and gives Steve a look that makes him want to melt into a puddle. Eddie’s gaze flicks down momentarily, then there's a creak from the stairs and Eddie lets him go, backing towards the door. “I gotta go tell Wayne, he’s really going to be excited for me to get outta his hai–out from under his feet.”

Steve busts out laughing at that “I’m so gonna tell him that you said that.”

“You better not, pendejo, otherwise he’ll kill me dead and you’ll have one less roommate!” then Eddie’s turning and flying out the door to his van, taking off toward his and his uncle's new shared apartment. 

“Okay, that one’s bad.” Robin says when she’s come down the stairs.

“Pendejo?”

“Yeah, it means ‘asshole’.” She laughs at Steve’s hurt expression, “Oh don’t take it too seriously, Dingus, obviously he was saying it in a joking way.”

“I really need to learn spanish.”

---------

I translated the best I could, PLEASE tell me if something is off in translation:

"¡Ya deja de chingar! Ándale, ándale!" - basically, "Stop your bitching! Hurry up!"

“¿Sabes español?” - You know spanish?

"Eso si" - Yes indeed (my husband says this one a lot lmao)

"cariño" - sweetheart

"Dios mio" - oh my god

“Querido, Estoy en casa!” - Honey, I'm home! (Querido meaning honey, darling, love, etc.)

"Joder si, pendejo!" - Fuck yeah, asshole! (said affectionately :) )

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hispanic!eddie #hispanic!eddie munson #robin buckley #the party #st #stranger things #st ficlet #stranger things ficlet #fic #steddie fic #noelle writes

[estrellami-1]

Hey!!! So Steddie first date? Where do you think they would go and what would they do?

*rubs hands together* oh this is good.

Side note: I REALLY wanted to say April 25th. If you understand that, I love you.

Okay so. It kinda depends on who asks who, for me? Like if Eddie asks, he’s gonna take Steve somewhere quiet, intimate, maybe a picnic out by Lover’s Lake or the quarry or something. Or maybe they’d just drive, an hour out of town somewhere, find a nice field and lay there until dark, when day bleeds into twilight and it’s dark enough they can hold hands and light enough there’s that little thrill zinging through them about someone seeing. When twilight bleeds into night and Eddie lets Steve ramble about the stars and constellations, even if Eddie would rather look at Steve.

If Steve asks, I think it could go one of two ways. Or maybe three ways, since I’ve seen a lot of “what would King Steve do,” but. He’s not King Steve anymore. He’s just Steve, and just Steve, I think, would take Eddie out to Indy, maybe a gay bar, maybe a queer bookshop. Maybe neither, maybe he’d find a little shop with D&D things, and tell Eddie to go wild. Or I think he would take Eddie to a concert. Metallica, Dio, Judas Priest… really whoever’s playing close by.

I do think, whatever they do, they’d decide to do something they know the other would like. And they’d have fun because the person they’re there with is having fun, is fucking incandescent with it, and really, what better feeling is there? So Eddie doesn’t care that he’s laying on itchy grass, not when he’s got Steve’s hand in his and Steve’s voice in his ear. Steve doesn’t care that he has to wear earplugs, because Eddie’s practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing around and head-banging and almost falling over with how into it he is, the widest smile on his face as he grabs Steve’s arm and shakes it, just a little, like he’s trying to share his excitement via osmosis.

I think once they’ve been together for a bit, they save those dates for something big. Their dates become Steve surprising Eddie at the Hideout. They become Eddie showing up at Steve’s house with pizza and a movie (and, maybe, a joint or two). They become pillow forts and whispered 2am conversations and sleepy cereal mornings.

But what all those have in common is a kiss.

#this is absolutely just me rambling about my thoughts #and I thank you for it #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #asks #prompts #thank you friend! #starambles

[ablogcalledrevenge]

A Stranger Things Hanukkah Special!

A/N: Happy Hanukkah to all my fellow Jews out there! I’ve been reading so many sweet and lovely Steddie Christmas fics that I felt like contributing myself. I personally headcanon the Byers and Eddie as Jewish, so I wanted to write something festive of my own. I’ll be completely transparent and admit I didn’t actually watch season 4, just got the synopsis from multiple people, but just like OFMD, the Steddie brainrot is real. I hope you like it and may your holidays be full of warmth and love!

Eddie arrived around noon at Steve’s house just before he was about to jump in the shower. He came in holding a bag of onions in one hand and a small sack of potatoes in the other. He also had a backpack that looks full to bursting.

“Good afternoon Mr Harrington. I’ve come to hijack your Christmas party.” Eddie announced, bowing low on Steve’s doorstep. Rolling his eyes fondly, Steve let him in from the cold.

“You’re hijacking my Christmas party?” He deadpanned, watching Eddie unload his things and wash his hands at the sink in the kitchen. There were plain sugar cookies cooling on the counter; Steve was going to let all the kids decorate them during the party.

“Well, I was talking to Jonathan, you know Jonnyboy right Stevie? Anyway, we were talking and he mentioned how much El loves Christmas because it’s still really brand new to her and how Joyce actually started teaching her about Hanukkah back in Cali because the Byers are actually Jewish so El by extension is too. So then I was like, no way I’m Jewish too! I can help you guys celebrate Hanukkah! And then Jonathan was like, oh we should have a Hanukkah party. And then I said, fuck that, let’s just merge with Steve’s.” Eddie rambled, scrubbing at the potatoes while Steve watched, his brain trying to follow the conversation.

“So here you are?” Steve realized, a smile breaking out onto his face.

“So here I am!” Eddie replied, brandishing a potato with a cheeky grin. 

“Well my house is your oyster, so go crazy. I think it’s a great idea. I mean, shit Eddie I didn’t even know you were Jewish! We could have done this from the beginning.” Steve said, feeling a small spike of guilt as he gestured to his kitchen and beyond. 

“No worries Stevie, it’s not a big deal. I’m Jewish on my mom’s side so it’s not like it’s super obvious. Like why give people another reason to target me, y’know? I just think having a Christmas and Hanukkah party would be nice for El, and everyone else. So, I’m making latkes!” He explained, making himself at home in Steve’s kitchen. It made the guilt fade away into something warmer.

“I was actually about to take a shower and then run out to grab a few last minute things. You can use whatever you can find. There are bowls and plates in that cabinet and the cutting boards are in that one under the knife block.” Steve pointed out while Eddie gave him a jaunty salute. 

“No worries, big boy, I got this all under control. “He smiled, whipping out some cassettes from his backpack. Steve chuckled all the way up the stairs, the sound of Dio accompanying his shower.

~~~~~~~~

When Steve came back down the stairs, showered and dressed, the smell of oil and onions greeted him. Eddie had switched the music to something softer, still metal, but softer.

“Almost done?” He asked, startling Eddie in the middle of grating potatoes. The other boy flinched, and gave Steve an unimpressed glare. Then the pain caught up to him.

“Ah shit, cut my finger.” Eddie mumbled, a small dot of blood welling up on his knuckle. Steve sprung into action. He grabbed Eddie’s wrist, bringing his injured finger over to the sink to rinse in cold water. Then he grabbed his kitchen first aid kit, wisely kept under the sink, and dressed the minor wound with neosporin, a dinosaur bandage, and a soft kiss.

“Dinos huh?” Eddie asked, eyebrow raised.

“Oh shut up, it’s for the kids. Are you okay?” Steve shot back, blushing madly once he realized what he did. He was still holding Eddie’s hand as well. For some reason he didn’t want to let go. Not until Eddie assured him he was okay.

“Yeah I’m fine. It’s all part of the process anyway. You’re not making real latkes unless you cry or cut yourself. The blood adds flavor.”

“You got blood in the potatoes?!” Steve yelled, dropping Eddie’s hand and grabbing the bowl. He didn’t see any specks of red…

“Nah, probably not. That’s just an old wives’ saying, you know, to make the kids laugh when they hurt themselves while helping their moms.” Eddie replied, gently bumping his shoulder into Steve’s.

“Right, well, I’m going to head out before you give me a heart attack. Robin and the others should be here soon to finish decorating. I’ll be back in, like, an hour. Maybe a little more.” Steve said, grabbing his coat, scarf, and keys. Winter had officially come to Hawkins and he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Sounds good. Ooh, pick up some sour cream and applesauce while you’re out. We’ll need them for the latkes and you’re fresh out.” Eddie called over his shoulder. 

Steve nodded absently, tugging on his sneakers. Maybe a hat? Nah, he’d already done his hair and he didn’t want to have to do it again. 

He opened the door to a gust of wind that nearly knocked him on his ass, and felt all his hard work go to waste. 

“Hey, hold on. It’s cold out there. I know your hair is, like your thing, but I think protecting your whole head is a little more important.” Eddie teased, carefully placing a black knit hat over Steve’s head. It was the one he’d worn coming in and it smelled a little like tobacco smoke. They were very close and Steve could see the different shades of brown in Eddie’s eyes as he pulled the hat over his ears.

“There we go, nice and warm. See you in a bit.” Eddie said with finality, resting his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Struck with an almost uncontrollable urge to close the distance and kiss Eddie, Steve gave a shaky smile and pulled away. He didn’t look back as he closed the door behind him. The biting cold helped him remember what he needed to do and hopefully, eased the red he knew was on his cheeks.

~~~~~~~~

When Steve returned, bags in his arms, the house was full of light and noise. It seemed like almost everyone had come over during his absence and Eddie’s music had been replaced by the usual Christmas songs. 

Robin bounded over to him, Santa hat resting on her blonde head, and grabbed some of the bags. Then she took off the beanie Eddie had loaned him and replaced it with a Santa hat to match hers. Kissing her cheek in thanks, the two brought everything into the kitchen. One bag, Steve made sure to keep to himself.

Nancy and Jonathan greeted him as they started to empty the bags, putting things away. Eddie was at the stove, hair up in a messy ponytail. He gave a thumbs up when Steve showed him the sour cream and applesauce, lifting a golden brown latke out of the oil and onto a paper towel. 

“It smells great in here. I can’t wait to try them.” Steve said, stepping up close behind Eddie and peering over his shoulder.

“Thanks, it was my mom’s recipe. I’m actually so relieved they’re turning out so great. Last year I didn’t squeeze enough of the water out and they completely fell apart in the oil.”

“Ah rookie mistake but it happens to us all.” Jonathan piped up from his place leaning against the counter.

“Anyone want a beer?” Steve asked, opening his fridge to put away the sour cream. He got yeses from everyone, and pulled out a six pack. Someone screamed in the living room and every adult froze.

Then the sound of laughter reached them and Lucas yelled that El had to warn him before lifting him in the air. The adults in the kitchen relaxed, the fight going out of them like air in a balloon.

“I swear, these kids are gonna make me go grey.” Steve muttered, opening his beer. Once Eddie was done with the stove, he was going to pull out the mulled wine. He figured it would be nice for the older members of the party after dinner.

Dustin entered the kitchen, baseball hat firmly on his head. He was still dressed for the season though, sporting a handmade Christmas sweater that his mom had made him. It was bright red with green christmas trees and candy canes. Claudia had even weaved tinsel into the strands of the trees, making them sparkle. It was very charming and ridiculously ugly and Steve had a matching one upstairs.

“Is it almost time to eat? We finished decorating and I’m hungry.” He pouted, collapsing on the little table in the kitchen like he was too weak to stand. The others laughed.

“You see Eddie? This is your son.” Steve sighed, grabbing the plates and silverware. Eddie in turn, just cackled.

“Here, go make yourself useful and set the table for everyone.” Robin said, pointing to the plates and then to the dining room. Dustin gave a long suffering groan but did as he was told.

“And don’t forget a place for Argyle, he’s on his way.” Nancy called out, perfectly content to stay exactly where she was under Jonathan’s arm. Steve was just about to open his mouth and ask where the dude was, when the doorbell rang.

“I GOT IT!” Mike yelled skidding from the living room to the door in his fluffy socks. 

With the smell of pizza and sugar wafting, Argyle entered. His clothes were colorful and mismatching but still festive and Steve couldn’t help but laugh, his heart filled with that stupid Christmas joy everyone was always talking about.

“I brought the pizza and the jelly doughnuts dudes! So let’s eat, yeah?” He said, Mike leading him into the dining room to put down his boxes. Everyone, having heard his arrival, quickly ran to the table, eagerly awaiting the latkes. 

The adults in the kitchen joined them, leaving Steve and Eddie to each grab a platter. Eddie had the beautiful tower of latkes, while Steve spooned applesauce, sour cream, and jelly into bowls. 

The crowd cheered when the food was finally presented, everyone happily digging in. The quiet lasted for a few moments, everyone focused on putting their plate together and taking first bites. Then it exploded into the noise you’d expect from 7 kids and 6 adults. Heaps of praise were given to Eddie, everyone loving the latkes.

“These are way better than Mom’s.” Will whispered to his brother, causing them both to giggle. 

El asked for maple syrup at one point, which Steve got her, though he was confused.

“They’re pancakes? You eat pancakes with syrup right?” She asked sweetly, drowning said pancakes in it. Eddie laughed and took the syrup from her, adding it to his plate too.

“Right you are Supergirl! You can eat your latkes with whatever you want. I’ve even heard of some people using…” Here he paused for dramatic effect, “ketchup!” 

The whole table groaned as Eddie shuddered.

“Wait, that makes more sense than syrup. You eat French fries with ketchup, so why not latkes. It’s basically the same thing.”

“Try before you deny Steve-o.” Argyle piped up, a smear of sour cream on his chin. 

“Yeah, try before you deny!” El, Mike, and Will parroted back. 

“But it’s not just potato, there’s onion in it and- oh forget it. You guys are weird.” Steve sputtered, shaking his head. Eddie patted his knee under the table in a way that felt both condescending and settling. 

The group resumed eating their latkes and pizza, talking about holiday plans and hopes for the new year. Eddie told the story of Hanukkah as they ate, Jonathan and Will adding bits and pieces randomly. Someone, maybe Nancy, had lit candles in the middle of the table, giving the whole room a soft glow.

Steve glanced over at Robin sitting next to him, laughing at a barb Erica made towards Lucas, pizza grease on her fingers. Then he looked at Dustin, smiling wide, pearls on full display, while Max whispered something in El’s ear, the girl nodding in agreement. Finally he turned to Eddie on his other side, cutting up a latke and dipping it in syrup with a big smile on his face. He had taken his hair out of the ponytail from earlier and now it hung around his head in soft waves.

Steve wanted to do this every year. He wanted to do it every day. He wanted to do this with Eddie.

~~~~~~~~

Latkes and pizza eaten, the Party had migrated into the living room for presents and dessert. Steve was warming up the mulled wine when Eddie bounded in, looking for his backpack. 

“I figure we can light the menorah and then open presents. It’s dark enough that it’ll look really nice next to the tree.” He explained, pulling out a box of candles.

“Oh wait, don’t move, I’ll be right back!” Steve said, running up the stairs to his bedroom where he’d stashed the last bag from today. He ran back down, almost out of breath from how fast he moved and presented the bag to Eddie.

Looking confused and a little worried, Eddie opened the bag and pulled out a pretty gold candle holder. 

“It’s a menorah! I got it for you, for Hanukkah. I mean, I got you another present for Christmas but I felt bad that you weren’t getting anything for your holiday so I found it at the store and thought you’d like it. Do you like it?” Steve said, feeling his nerves creeping up on him. 

Eddie hadn’t moved, or changed his expression. He just stared down at his present in shock. 

“Oh fuck, I messed up, didn’t I? You hate it? I wasn’t supposed to get that for you, I was overstepping. You probably have a super nice one and I’m being rude. You can return it, I think the receipt’s in the bag…” He rambled, feeling more and more like Robin with every passing moment. What the hell, he used to be smooth! But instead he could feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as Eddie put down the candle holder and stepped closer to Steve. Shit, he was gonna get punched now.

But instead, Eddie gently grabbed his face, stopping the rant mid word and kissed him.

All of Steve’s thoughts froze dead in their tracks. Luckily his body seemed to pick up the pace faster than Steve, because after a moment of surprise, his arms came to wrap around Eddie’s shoulders. He didn’t know why Eddie was kissing him, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make the most of it.

Eventually, oxygen became important and they had to break apart. Eddie was flushed, smiling brightly. Steve knew he had a similar dopey look on his face.

“That’s not a menorah.” Eddie whispered, kissing Steve again all soft and sweet.

“It’s not? But it has the spots for your candles.” He pointed out, pulling away from Eddie to grab it. Laughing quietly, Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, resting a chin on his shoulder from behind.

“A menorah for Hanukkah needs 9 spots. One for each night and one for the helper candle, called a shamash. This one only has 6 but it’s beautiful and I appreciate the gesture. It means a lot that you wanted to get me something for Hanukkah.” Eddie said, kissing Steve’s cheek as he slumped against him.

“Well shit. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, giving said candle holder a glare. Eddie shook his head and turned Steve around.

“Nah, it’s perfect. It came from you and I love it.”

Steve leaned forward to kiss him again, feeling drunk with joy, when Robin’s voice echoed into the kitchen. 

“Hey what’s the hold up? The kids wanna open presents!”

Steve and Eddie laughed and unhappily pulled themselves apart. Eddie grabbed an actual menorah from his backpack and went into the living room while Steve poured out wine for everyone. They had candles to light and presents to open!

~~~~~~~~

Once everyone was in the living room and huddled around the fireplace mantle, they began. Jonathan pulled out a bag of yarmulkes, saved by Joyce over the years, for the boys to wear if they wanted. Steve got a gold satin one with the inscription Sammy and Ellen, A Golden Anniversary 1980. He hoped it brought him luck. Dustin put his on top of his baseball hat. (”It’s a gift from Suzie, I can’t take it off!”)

Eddie, Jonathan,  and Will said the prayers while lighting the candles, El and Nancy shakily following along. The sound was beautiful with all the different voices coming together. The prayer didn’t seem too complicated and it had a pretty rhythm. Eddie’s pinky brushed against Steve’s and linked for a moment which was probably Steve’s favorite part.

Candles lit and tree turned on, the kids flopped onto the floor to exchange presents. Steve may have gone a bit overboard this year, but the various squeals of delight made the hole in his wallet worth it. 

They drank the wine and ate the doughnuts, sufganiyot was what Eddie called it, as Will explained dreidel to them. 

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea. You guys can get pretty competitive...” Nancy said, looking wary.

“It’s not a competition if you know you’re gonna win.” Max scoffed, flicking her red hair over her shoulder. This started a lively debate about if dreidel was anything more than a game of chance. Eddie passed out gelt, one of which Argyle immediately unwrapped and ate. Considering there were so many of them, teams were picked.

Jonathan and Nancy. Will and Lucas. El and Max. Robin and Steve. Dustin and Mike. Eddie, Erica, and Argyle as the true wildcard team.

“You guys are going down!” Robin shouted, pointing at every other team.

“Oh please, like I’m going to lose to you. You still owe me ice cream.” Erica shot back, crossing her little arms across her chest.

They played for a good amount of time, Steve paying little attention to the clock on the wall. The candles in Eddie’s menorah slowly burned down as the Christmas lights twinkled. 

Finally, after much hemming and hawing and claims of cheating, one team stood victorious. 

El and Max sat behind the largest pile of gelt, smiling widely and looking very smug. Eddie proclaimed them the winners and scooped Max up, Jonathan following with El, and paraded them around the living room to cheers from their adoring fans.

Someone turned the radio back on, Christmas music playing quietly under the conversations. Steve, pressed up tight against Eddie on the couch, couldn’t remember a more enjoyable Christmas. Normally he’d spend the season alone, his parents coming home on the 25th to exchange gifts and then flit off to some fancy party. He’d gotten offers to spend the day with others, Robin and Dustin and his old friends, but he turned them down. He hated feeling like the odd man out. 

But now, with everyone in his home, warm and safe and happy, that feeling was gone. He was with his family, one that he had found and loved all by himself.

Plus Eddie, smelling like powdered sugar, oil, cinnamon, smoke, and all of Steve’s dreams rolled into one. Plus Eddie, who shared his heritage with all of them. Plus Eddie, who kissed him in the kitchen with the promise of more.

Finishing his cup of wine, Eddie leaned forward to place it on the coffee table, before laying back against the couch. His arm came up to wrap around Steve’s shoulders with a contented sigh. Steve mimicked the sound and snuggled deeper into the couch and Eddie.

Robin caught his eye and raised her eyebrow. Steve flushed and used their best friend/platonic soulmate mind reading powers to tell her they’d talk about it tomorrow. She gave the two of them a long, searching look, but apparently happy with what she saw, turned back to her conversation with Nancy.

~~~~~~~~

Much later, when everyone had left and the house was empty, Steve and Eddie cleaned up. They threw away wrapping paper and pizza boxes, picking up balls of metal gelt wrappers to toss as well. Eddie cleaned up the oil and the leftover potatoes. Steve boxed up food for Wayne and Keith, hoping to get in good with both. It was especially important now that he had a boyfriend.

Wait, did he?

“Does Hanukkah have any other traditions that we didn’t do?” He asked abruptly. Eddie wiped down the stovetop and made a noncommittal noise, focused on a stubborn grease mark.

“Like Christmas has tons of random traditions, does Hanukkah have those too?” He continued, resting his hands on his hips.

“Um well, I guess maybe if you’re Sephardic or from a completely different country. But as far as I know, we basically did everything for Hanukkah. We’re done for the night. Why? Was there something else you wanted to do?” Eddie asked, throwing out the paper towel.

“Well I wanted to know if Hanukkah had anything like mistletoe. I like mistletoe.” Steve whispered, suddenly embarrassed.

“I literally kissed you a few hours ago, you don’t need mistletoe if you want to do that again.” Eddie laughed, taking a step closer to Steve. 

“Yeah but it’s more romantic that way. Like I could kiss you”, which Steve did, “and then ask if you wanted to be my boyfriend. That would be so festive and romantic.”

Eddie sputtered and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his bare neck. 

“I don’t know. What you just did there was pretty romantic. Consider me wooed. Also yes, of course. I’ve been crushing on you since the moment you found me in the boathouse.” He admitted in the quiet of the kitchen. Steve’s heat soared and he lifted Eddie’s head to kiss him again.

“Happy Hanukkah Eddie. I had a really nice time tonight.”

“Happy Hanukkah Steve. Nes gadol haya poh.”

~~~~~~~~

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #happy hanukkah!! #this is unbeta'd so forgive any mistakes #jewish eddie munson

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

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

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

princemær

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

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

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

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

***

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

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

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

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

He… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any last wish?” 

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

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

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

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

So, does he have any last wish? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

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

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

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

[flowercrowngods]

Please a little peak of winter soldier or your ideas on it!! I need to expand on my obsession with your writing since I still need to mentally prepare for the time travel one 🤍🤍

hdhdhd please lower your expectations love 😂🤍 but here, as you wish, some kas!eddie winter soldier-esque thing 🫶 (cw blood and violence obviously)

Steve barely feels the impact when his body hits the floor, muddy and rotten and decaying as it is. He barely feels anything anymore, has gone numb even though he’s sure he’s still crying. There is not enough strength in his body to keep a hold of his bat, and watching it fall from his hand doesn’t feel real.

It’s a movie. This is a movie. A bad dream, a nightmare. One he can’t wake up from. One he refuses to wake up from. Not without Eddie.

An earth-shattering scream cuts through the dark, leaving Steve stunned and groaning as the creature’s cry sets alight his body, making him feel every cut, every bruise, every bleeding wound that start to make him feel lightheaded.

He tries to reach for the nail bat, his movements slow and sluggish, his head pounding, his body in agony, and his heart shattered and shattering still.

A foot lands on his wrist, making him cry out with a force he didn’t know he still had left in his body. A sign of life. A baby’s first cry; a terrified boy’s last scream.

The creature — Kas, as the kids call him, but they’re wrong, they’re wrong! It’s Eddie, it’s Ed, it’s—

Steve, he hears Robin’s voice echoing in his mind as he watches Eddie bend down to lift the bat, his face contorted with rage and determination. That’s not Eddie. That’s not the boy you—

I don’t care. If there’s a chance he’s still… It’s been months, Bobbie. He’s— It’s Eddie! I can’t… I can’t just… Let me try, okay?

“Eddie,” he rasps, bile rising in his throat as he does. Or maybe it’s blood. He coughs, attempting to roll onto his side but Kas only crunches his wrist underneath his foot, nearly overwhelming Steve with the pain that makes his vision go black for a second, two, three.

He blinks away the blood, sweat and tears, and looks up to meet eyes that used to be the prettiest, deepest brown he’s ever seen. Big, pretty doe eyes. But what he sees are the eyes of a predator.

What he sees is a face contorted with rage, with fear, with confusion. With pain.

Eddie’s hand around the nail bat shifts as Steve speaks, the nail studded shield falling from his other hand. Steve thinks about reaching for it, but what good would it bring?

“It’s okay, Eddie,” he rasps, wheezes, swallowing around the taste of iron. “The kids are safe. And you’ll be, too. They’re k— killing him. It’s okay. We’ll get you home.”

Kas screams again, his wail calling through the night, but there’s no one left to answer. No one but Steve, who whimpers.

He raises the bat. Ready to strike. And Steve knows. Knows that this is it. Distantly, he hopes that Eddie isn’t aware enough to witness this. Hopes that Kas’s memories won’t turn into Eddie’s when this is all over.

“It’s okay,” he croaks. “I—“

And then, with another pained, agonised scream, Eddie strikes.

🌷 credits go to @steveshairychest for giving me the brain worms for this scene way back when with this

#wrote this on the tram while blasting kenny loggins so if this is weird then that tracks actually #steddie fic #steddie #winter soldier kas eddie thing #sashays away to footloose #dio words #dio's steddie ramblings

[flowercrowngods]

It’s dark when Eddie comes home, but he knows Steve‘s home, working on all those damn essays and papers and whatever the horrors of academia might have in their repertoire for him today. Lights out might either be a really good sign or a really bad one. Eddies hoping for the latter as he pulls off his shoes and shucks his jacket.

He doesn’t call out to Steve, doesn’t want to wake him if he’s asleep or startle him if he’s overwhelmed, potentially making it worse. Eddie hates making it worse.

Stepping into the living room, he finds his love lying on the floor. Still, could be incredibly good or incredibly bad.

“Stevie,” he says gently, almost a whisper, and smiles when he gets a reaction rather immediately. It’s too dark to really see his eyes, but—

They catch the light just so when Steve moves his head to look at Eddie, and he can see unshed tears in them. His heart aches and he’s on the floor beside him in a heartbeat.

“Oh, love, hi,��� he says.

“Hi,” Steve says, smiling through the hoarseness of his voice. “Didn’t wanna turn on the lights.” He sniffs, reaching up to wipe at his face.

Eddie just shakes his head and lifts a hand to comb through Steve’s hair, ruffled and wild and absolutely adorable. “That’s fine, don’t worry about it. Lights are overrated anyway.” He leans down to kiss Steve’s forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. “Did the essays win?”

“No,” Steve says with a sigh, m reaching for Eddie’s hand to keep him close. “I won. But at what cost.”

Eddie snorts at that, a laugh bubbling out of his chest as he quickly lies down to join Steve, their fingers still laced in a gentle but secure grip.

“At the cost of me not having to wipe the floor tomorrow, so that’s actually great,” he jokes, revelling in Steve’s chuckle.

“You never wipe the floor, Eddie.”

“Hush, love. We’re having Floor Time.”

Steve sighs and makes it sound like cuddling close to Eddie and resting his beautiful head on the Black Sabbath print is the greatest hardship life could possibly throw at. God, Eddie loves him so fucking much.

“I love you so fucking much.”

“Hush, love,” Steve retaliates with a smile and a kiss to Eddie’s jaw. “We’re having Floor Time.”

So fucking much.

#steddie #steddie fic #domestic steddie #idk this is just steve overwhelmed with the horrors of academia and eddie ready to lie on the floor with him at any given time #i’m projecting because i didn’t get floor time and instead had to deep clean and mop the kitchen today :( #at least the floor smells nice now?? take care of your floors floortime people! 🤍 #dio words #dio's steddie ramblings

[flowercrowngods]

92 Steddie? 🥹

oooh thank you sunshine!! 🤍 i felt like giving this a different kind of approach, and modified it a little. hope it’s okay :3

92.  “I don’t know how to get it through to you. I’m not going anywhere.”

It starts as a threat.

“I don’t know how to get it through to you, Munson, but I’m not going anywhere. So you either quit sulking and get over the fact that you have to spend time with me while the others are busy with school and work, or—“

“Or what, Harrington?”

“Or you can continue to be a pain in the ass and make this worse for both of us.” Steve crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises a stern eyebrow at him. They’re both tired, Eddie knows, and maybe the constant jabs have gone on for long enough now.

He doesn’t want to hate Harrington. It’s just, the guy unsettles him. The way he never strikes up a conversation, never talks about himself, never takes his eyes off Eddie. He’s hovering, in that quiet but all-encompassing way he has that makes Eddie’s skin crawl.

Man, he doesn’t like the guy.

~*~

It turns into compassion.

Eddie is in pain, his body cramping and writhing as his mind carries him back into the Upside Down. It’s excruciating agony and he just wants the world to disappear, wants all the good things gone so the bad things don’t seem too bad anymore. He wants to swallow the light and cast the world in eternal darkness so he will never have to see his body again, distorted and hurting as it is.

He screams and groans and whines and thinks for a second that maybe he swallowed the world instead and took on all of its pain.

“Eddie.”

There’s a voice, steady like an anchor, but Eddie feels like he’ll rip the ship into the abyss if he clings to the anchor. He rolls away from Steve, pushes and kicks to turn the pain into energy, to turn the flashback into something real, to twist reality just a bit in his favour for once.

“I don’t— I don’t know if you can hear me. How to get it through to you, but… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Like a compass it guides him back. Like breaking the surface of reality, Eddie gasps a heaving breath.

“Just like that, Eddie, breathe for me. Good. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get you through this.”

Eddie isn’t inclined to believe him, but Harrington does stay. Even when Eddie falls asleep again he’s there, holding his hand in a secure grip. An anchor. And when Eddie wakes, he finds he didn’t tear the ship apart, didn’t sink it, didn’t give the abyss another thing to destroy.

“Not going anywhere,” Steve says, and Eddie does believe him this time. Squeezes his hand.

~*~

Then it’s a confession.

“You know, it’s just… I don’t know, it’s stupid.” Steve shrugs and paces his chin on his knees, looking up at Eddie from where he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch that has become Eddie’s home for the past few weeks.

“What’s stupid?”

“I feel like, see, I’m not going anywhere. My life, it’s just stagnant. And it’s stupid to feel that way because we literally just saved the world, but… What do you do when you’re done being the hero? What happens when the world needs you to just be a person but you never learned how to do that?”

And Eddie stares a bit. Is that why Steve never talked about himself? Because there’s all this guilt, all this failure of conventional expectations that weigh so heavy on him? Clearly he has given a great deal of thought to this, because there’s resignation lacing his voice, and the questions aren’t exactly casual. Not exactly great conversation starters.

“I don’t think that’s stupid,” he says at last. “Jesus, you all deserved better than what you had coming for you.”

“Says the one who almost died,” Steve retorts, but it’s with a small smile that Eddie feels ridiculously victorious over.

“Hey, I get to be nursed to health by Steve Harrington, don’t think it gets better than that.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but then there’s a blush on Steve’s cheeks and he sort of hides his face in his knees by looking away from Eddie. It’s cute. Ridiculously cute. Eddie finds himself wanting to comfort the boy. Run his fingers through his hair and tell him he’s not stupid. He’s still a hero.

What he does is reaching out a hand for Steve to take — which he does, rather immediately. Eddie tries not to think too hard about that. Steve meets his eyes again and Eddie just holds his hand for a second, watching the tension fall from his shoulders.

It does something with him, knowing that Steve trusts him. Knowing that he can make this happen.

“I’m not going anywhere either. Not for a long time, so, I don’t know. We can be pathetic company and sulk, or something.”

“Or something,” Steve chuckles, before giving him a grateful smile. “That sounds pretty good.”

It does. Or something.

~*~

At last, it’s a promise.

They’re lying on the floor, side by side, because this time it’s Steve who’s having a bad day and Eddie can finally return the favour.

He reaches out and tentatively wraps his fingers around Steve’s, because that’s apparently what they do now. Steve snaps out of whatever void he was stuck in and looks over, almost surprised to see Eddie here. Still here. Because it’s been three hours.

But Eddie just smiles. Steve shifts to look down at their hands, then back up at Eddie, a silent question clear in his eyes.

“Look, I don’t know how to get it through to you, Harrington. But I’m not going anywhere.”

And the little smile that breaks the frown makes Eddie glad that he didn’t swallow the sun, the light, the good things. He smiles back and then Steve shifts closer until their sides are touching and their heads resting together.

Neither of them is going anywhere. They know.

dialogue prompts

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #dio words #the dio constant of giving steve nonverbal floor time #this is somewhere between floaty and clunky — and while intended i hope it doesn’t read like shit xD #dio's steddie ramblings

[flowercrowngods]

Loving has always come natural to Steve, even though it was never encouraged. Life has always contradicted itself when it came to Steve Harrington and love, and he is very aware of that. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.

For years, all Steve wanted was to love and be loved, to be seen and understood and taken for who he is, to be accepted and cherished and important.

Or, that’s what he thought he wanted.

He has it now, with Eddie, and it could all be so wonderful, it could be everything Steve has ever wanted and more, because with Eddie it’s always more.

But the thing is, sometimes Eddie loves him a bit too much. It makes his skin tingle and itch when Eddie looks at him like Steve hung the moon, when his attention is entirely on Steve, when he leans in for a kiss first thing in the morning and last thing at night. All of Eddie loves all of Steve, and it makes him want to throw up sometimes.

Sometimes Steve wishes he would stop.

Because wanting to be loved is, as a concept, so much easier than being loved. The loneliness was more bearable than the constant mortification and vulnerability when Eddie touches him like he’s a frail thing, about to break any second now.

Sometimes Steve forgets to breathe with how much he wishes Eddie would look away or just see through him, not see Steve anymore, not know him anymore. He wants to hide. To leave. But he can’t live without Eddie. That’s a fact. He doesn’t want to live without Eddie.

And that’s where it gets complicated. Frustrating. Heart-wrenching. Because he can’t tell Eddie. Couldn’t possibly say I need you to love me less. He tried to ask Eddie about it once, about why him, what’s there to love? Because he doesn’t understand. But neither did Eddie, because he only got defensive on Steve’s behalf and went on a dramatic monologue about something or other that made Steve want to cry for all the wrong reasons.

So he doesn’t say anything when there’s a lump in his throat because Eddie cradled his cheek just so when they kissed and is now looking at him with an I love you so obvious on his eyes.

I know you do, Steve doesn’t say. And you have to stop, or I will break. Just let me love you. Don’t love me back. It’s a kinder way to fall apart. A kinder way to break.

He only kisses Eddie back and hopes he won’t have to hear the words tonight.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie angst #hurt no comfort #does that qualify as that #is there comfort to be found in the world when you cannot let yourself be loved? #anyway brought to you by a chronically unlovable dio who WILL break from tender touch #i kissed a girl last night and been miserable about it all day because my brain and body are allergic to affection actually #dio words #dio's steddie ramblings

[flowercrowngods]

Steve startles awake, disoriented and filled with a slight bout of panic — as always when he takes a nap that turns into five hours of deep sleep and catapults him right into the next dimension for a while there.

Heart racing, he blinks his dark bedroom into existence, and it takes him a while to realise where he is and what woke him up.

And then the landline phone on his nightstand rings again, and he exhales deeply before reaching for it with clumsy, sluggish movements.

“‘Ello?”

“Steve,” comes Eddie’s sing-song voice from the other end, washing over Steve in a soothing way that leaves him falling back into the pillows. He clutches the phone to his ear as he closes his eyes, the smile already forming at how happy Eddie sounds. He rarely sings Steve’s name like that. He should do it more often.

“Hi there.” His voice sounds like shit. Like he just took a — Jesus Christ, has it really been four hours? Well. He sounds exactly like someone who took a four-hour nap after a shit day at work would sound like.

There’s fumbling on the other end, but it stops suddenly. “Did I wake you? Shit man, I thought it was past nap time.”

“I don’t have nap time,” Steve grumbles, actually pouting at Eddie’s words and realising only a second too late how ridiculous he sounds.

“Sure, man, whatever you say. We all know you’re actually just a life-sized toddler.”

Steve sputters, sitting up against his headboard as he gradually wakes up. “Hey! Also, I don’t think you actually understand what life-sized means.”

“Yes, I do.”

Steve shakes his head at this ridiculous, ridiculous man. “What exactly do you think a non-life-sized toddler looks like, Eduardissimo?”

“Like Dustin.”

The answer is so quick and deadpan, Steve cannot contain the laugh that bursts out of him, waking him up quicker and gentler than anything else in the world could have, and he revels in the sound of Eddie joining him. He must look so smug right now, and so damn proud of himself. Steve wants to see him. Wants to kiss that smile right from his lips and replace it with something a lot more genuine.

“You’re an asshole,” he says instead, pulling his blanket further around him as he lifts his knees to sit more comfortably.

Eddie hums, still teasing somehow with just that noise, and Steve just can’t stop smiling. “You like me so much, Harrington.”

“Hmm,” he mirrors Eddie’s hum, but even he can hear the smile on his face. “Jury’s still out on that one, actually.”

“Any tendencies yet on the verdict?”

“Nope, they can’t decide.”

Eddie snorts at that, and Steve has no idea how that can sound so sweet. But it does. He buries his smile in his knees for a bit, the blanket hot around his burning cheeks. He’s hopeless.

“Well, let me know as soon as they do, yeah?”

“Will do,” he laughs, ruining all his attempts to sound solemn. “So what’s up? Why’d you call?”

“Oh!” And suddenly it’s like a switch has been flipped and Eddie doesn’t sound teasing and smug anymore, but instead just fucking giddy! “I have a bed now!”

Steve smiles at it. At that voice, that tone, that infectious emotion. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” More fumbling on the other end, and Steve can only imagine that Eddie is rolling around in his newly acquired bed.

Who’s the life-sized toddler now, hm?

“No more sleeping on the floor for this Munson boy, nuh-uh, my good sir! We are in possession of a bed now. A wooden bed, no fancy headboard or anything, just…”

“Just a bed,” Steve says, feeling like he’s about to burst into a million little particles of fondness and affection and the never-ending need to kiss Eddie. To hold him. To touch him in any way he can. “That’s great, Edsie.”

“It is, Stevesie.”

“Man, I hate you so much,” Steve squints at the ceiling and laughs, actually kicking his feet, the minute breeze providing a little relief for the heat in his face.

And Eddie has no business to sound so smug when he says, “Yeah, you do.”

A pause then, and it feels loaded even through the phone. Steve clutches it closer to his face, hoping stupidly that Eddie can feel it.

“You should come hate me in my new bed.”

Steve’s breath hitches, and his brain shuts off for a hot second there. Before he can overthink this, he decides to just… play along. And listen to what his heart has been telling him for months now.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, breathless still, but his whole body tingles with just these two words. With the possibility they bring. The offer that they are. The question. The everything that’s stored in them.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and he sounds just as breathless. “I mean, if— If you want to?”

“I do.” Steve swallows. “Right, uh— Right now?”

“Whenever.” And it sounds more like an As soon as possible.

“Okay,” Steve breathes, scrambling out of bed as quickly as possible, pulling off his shirt with the phone still pressed to his ear, letting out an embarrassing noise as it gets tangled in a mess of cord and fabric. He scrambles to free it, almost dropping it in the process. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

“To come look at my new bed?”

“Sure.”

On the other end, Eddie laughs again, but he still sounds just as breathless as Steve does. Just as excited. As fragile. Just as many fucking things.

“Alright,” Eddie murmurs, though Steve can still hear the smile. “I’ll see you then.”

And then he hangs up before either of them can get lost in their own heads about this sudden certainty of change. Steve is grateful for the steady noise of the dial tone reminding him that this is happening. But that nothing has to happen.

It’s a nice bed, he finds hours later, fingers combing through Eddie’s hair who’s cuddling him half asleep. It’s the best fucking bed he’s ever seen, if only because it led to this.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 (lmk if you want on or off)

#listen i have a bed now. assembled it yesterday (actually my brother did i just stood there and looked cute) #and i’m so happy and schmoopy (@myself for myself with myself by myself) about it #steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #dio’s steddie ramblings #look yet more fluff from me like wow who dis??? #dio words #i feel so anxious about the permanent tag list like do yall even wanna see silly little things like this 😭😭🙏

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #who did this to you #something has Shifted in this part and i wanna do a literary/meta analysis of it but i dont wanna ruin the fun or be annoying but hhh #also sorry if you don't like this bc it's so different from the other two but the sudden adrenaline crash will do that to ya #we'll get Blue back soon don't you worry 🤍 #also eddie's mind is running in circles and he doesn't have wayne to stop him this time sooo if this feels repetitive and redundant??? #then let's pretend it should read that way actually (and also eddie is an obsessive little guy he'll ruminate forever if he doesn't have #an outlet sooo) #also rambling fumbly robin going deadly still over an injured steve is the hill i will die on actually like that just makes me feral #dio words

[flowercrowngods]

“Baby?”

Steve lifts his head off the pillow to look at Eddie, his back arching in a much needed way after lying on his stomach for so long, and he ends up groaning appreciatively as he stretches his back a little more. It makes Eddie smile. All the small things do.

Overcome with sudden but gentle affection, Steve rolls over with a matching smile and comes to a stop lying halfway beneath Eddie, getting a glorious view of his deepening dimples.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Eddie says, his hand coming up to brush Steve’s hair out of his forehead. Steve leans into his warmth a little further, feeling so incredibly loved when Eddie looks at him like that.

It’s infinite, what he feels for Eddie. What he feels with Eddie.

“Oh? ‘Bout what?”

Eddie leans down and brushes a kiss to the tip of Steve’s nose. “You,” he says. “Me. Us.”

Steve hums, wrapping himself in Eddie’s scent as he buries his face in his chest, his arms trapped between them. He can’t move. Can hardly breathe. It’s perfect, and Eddie always indulges his cat-like tendencies, as he calls it.

“Tell me about your thoughts?”

A hand weaves its way into his hair, scratching wonderfully along his scalp in lazy, soothing patterns.

“I’m gonna put pillows on the walls for you.”

“Hmm?”

“When we have our own place. I’m gonna put pillows on the walls for you. In the kitchen even, so you can sit on the floor and still be comfy. You can have a little nook for floor time with Robin. And it’s gonna be padded with pillows, but the ones that are still solid. Only a little soft. Still grounding.” Eddie mumbles, a little lost in thought like he’s still imagining it all unfold.

Steve melts, first rolling further into him and then back, so he can look up and meet those soft, soft eyes.

“That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“All the time. Never wanna tell you about it so I won’t ruin the surprise, but, I don’t know. Wanted to tell you. You’re gonna have bougie-ass wall pillows, angel.”

And Steve doesn’t know how to handle this. How to take it all, take everything Eddie gives him and live his life an unchanged man. His heart is going to burst one of these days. It’s gonna burst and it’s gonna go everywhere, remind the world for all eternity of the love they shared. Built. Shaped and reshaped in all the ways they needed.

“Everything,” he says, his voice weak with the awe he feels, his own hand coming up to Eddie’s cheek.

“Hmm?” Eddie’s nuzzling the palm of his hand, brushing kiss over kiss to the centre.

“You’re— You’re everything. Can’t believe it sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Eddie teases, making Steve laugh for the first time in hours. It’s easy. God, it’s so easy.

“Don’t be so full of yourself.”

“Oh, I’m gonna be full of som—“

Laughing, Steve claps his hand over Eddie’s mouth, shutting him up and revelling in the giggle that follows before Eddie nips on his palm.

“I hate you,” Steve grins, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle.

“Yeah, well,” he hums, fond affection settling permanently on that pretty, pretty face. “‘M still gonna put pillows on the wall for you.”

Steve sighs, hoping to relieve some of the intensity he’s feeling. It’s overwhelming, even after all this time.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” Eddie whispers, hovering above him in an almost-kiss. “Endlessly.”

@puppy-steve i love you. i’d put pillows on the wall for you 🤍🌷

🤍 permanent tag list gang (i hope this is okay even though it’s only a tiny thing) (and maybe some reprieve from all my current angst): @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer (lmk if you want on or off)

#steddie fic #steddie #dio words #steve harrington #eddie munson #dio’s steddie ramblings #floor time #<- going back to my OG steddie ways even if it’s only implied #they’re soooo in love smh #cj i’m holding you ily so much i miss talking to you (i just suck) but pls this is for you i hope it makes things better 🥺🤍

[flowercrowngods]

a tiny thing for @eddiemonth day 06: crush & sincere

“I will crush you beneath my heel like vermin.”

Like thunder, the evil wizard’s voice rolls over the battlefield, leaving fear in the heart of everyone who’s alive enough to hear it and rattling the bones of those who aren’t.

Men and women alike, soldiers and knights and able bodied young men, watch with bated breath as Sir Steven, the bravest of them all, rises to his feet again beside the black-clad wizard, his grip on his trusty sword never wavering as he wipes blood and sweat from his face.

There he stands, heroic as ever, meeting the evil wizard’s eyes with a heated glare of his own.

“Try,” he says, standing his ground as his voice, too, is carried over the battlefield. Carried, indeed, for the wind blows in his favour, the sun shines only for him, and the ground beneath his feet holds him up like a trusted friend, a most beloved brother.

Sir Steven reaches towards his neck, feeling the band of leather against overheated skin, a charm resting just above his heart — right where it belongs.

The wizard doesn’t have what he has.

***

A soft chuckle abruptly changes the scenery and rips Eddie into a different world once more; sun glazed battlefields replaced with the darkness of his room, hard soil replaced with the softness of his bed, and a knight turns into a beautiful boy wearing his favourite shirt.

“A magic used guitar pick necklace? Is that what the evil wizard king doesn’t have?”

Steve’s eyes are closed but the smile on his lips shines bright, and Eddie can’t even be mad about the interruption. He reaches out a hand and trails his fingers through Steve’s hair, gently combing back the locks sticking to his sweaty forehead. The smile dims a little, turning into something more genuine.

“I can’t believe you interrupted me at the best part there, Stevie. I was going to make a heroic entrance as a dragon shifter, called to the knight simply by touching the charm.” He keeps up his slow and gentle caresses, his hands trialing down to Steve’s cheeks and neck, where Eddie’s necklace clings to overheated skin indeed. “It means a lot, you know, a charm like that.”

Steve hums, moving closer to Eddie, seeking his warmth and his touch alike, and Eddie can’t possibly refuse him.

“It could save the world, you mean?”

“Hmm. The world. A young boy’s heart. And everything in between.”

Steve blindly reaches for Eddie’s hand and brushes a kiss to his knuckles, and another for good measure.

There’s a weight to their words that’s not meant for moments like this, but it hangs in the air nonetheless, and Eddie breathes it in. The weight of a past survived and a future acknowledging that. Both of them shared like this moment. A promise.

“So what happens next? With Sir Steven and the evil wizard, and with Eddie the dragon shifter. That’s very fitting, by the way, you little hoarder,” Steve laughs, still keeping his eyes closed, and Eddie can’t help but join in, overwhelmed with affection for this boy.

This sunshine boy who’s having a bad day and a fever but still manages to be the most radiant thing in the world. This wonderful boy who asked Eddie to stay and tell him a story until he falls asleep.

“Don’t feel good? Do you wanna stay in bed, baby?”

“Yeah. Can you stay?”

“Of course. Cuddles?”

“Could you maybe… Could you tell me a story?

“I’ll tell you any story you want, sunshine.”

This incredible, insufferable boy who’s too nosy and too sassy for his own good, interrupting Eddie here and there to ask questions or give a snarky little comment that’s dripping with fondness whether he’ll admit it or not.

This boy. His boy. With the smile and the wild bed head and the insistent tug on Eddie’s hand to tell him what happens next.

And so Eddie continues his story about the evil wizard being defeated and the world celebrating the heroics of the knight and his dragon and their unlikely band of friends. If he adds a little Lord of the Rings imagery here and there, Steve won’t know about it anyway.

Before he reaches the end, Steve’s hand goes slack where it’s tangled with Eddie’s, and his breath evens out, the smile never quite fading from his lips. Eddie keeps talking, though his voice is hushed now and thick with a smile of his own now.

He loves him. God, he loves him so, so much, he can barely stand it.

“Good night, Stevie,” he whispers even though it’s barely three in the afternoon. He gets up and out of bed, tucking the blanket around Steve’s sleeping form and brushing one more kiss to his hair before sneaking out of the room on slow, quiet steps.

Outside, Wayne is reading a book on the porch, a cigarette in his hand. Eddie snatches one from the pack and leans over his old man to brush a kiss to his hair, too, feeling far too full of affection right now and needing to let it out. There is a sincerity inside him that needs to be shared.

Wayne lets out a gruff kind of hum, but Eddie isn’t so easily fooled, smiling as he lights his cig.

“How’s your boy?” Wayne asks.

“Asleep for now.”

“Good.” There’s a moment of silence between them and Eddie closes his eyes against the afternoon sun for a moment, drawn back to his story. “You let me know if he needs anything.”

“Of course. Thanks, Wayne.”

“Sure. Just wouldn’t wanna be crushed like vermin, is all.”

The laugh bubbles out of Eddie before he can help it, sincerity replaced by something lighter, something manageable for now as he lets his uncle bully him for telling ridiculous stories to the boy he loves so endlessly.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddiemonth #let them be soft your honour #dio words #a ridiculous little thing for my soft boys #eddie’s necklace saved the world bc he gave it to steve before the final battle telling him ‘i’m gonna need that back when it’s all over’ #and steve replied with ‘it’s a date munson.’ #dio’s steddie ramblings

[flowercrowngods]

thoughts thoughts thoughts i apologise it’s 2am i have to sorry @babyboymunson

Steve knows that Eddie has a whole library of characters. And when he says library, that’s not an understatement; because Eddie has a lot of them, and he keeps all his characters sheets incredibly organised. Even those for the NPCs.

He claims not to have favourites because, “They’re all my badass little idiot children, Stevie, don’t make me choose.”

So Steve doesn’t.

But the thing is, Steve has never been above choosing a favourite badass little idiot child — sure, it might have changed daily with the kids, but still! He has a favourite character of Eddie’s. One who survived the campaign, actually, to everyone’s utter disbelief both past and present.

It’s one of Eddie’s first, from before he started taking on the role as Dungeon Master more often than that of a player.

And when Steve first finds out about the character, reads his character sheet and sees the art Eddie had made for him, that is when he knows: one day he’ll find a way to marry this blushing disaster boy.

Sir Gonthar Veten, a human paladin with high charisma and uncharacteristically low strength, laughably low intelligence but hey, respectable wisdom modifier. “A bit of a wild card,” as Eddie has put it, pulling his hair in front of his face to hide his little smile or the absolutely besotted expression.

It doesn’t take him too long to find out that Gonthar is essentially based on him, and even his name is an anagram. Oh, Eddie had it bad! He teases him mercilessly, but they both know that’s Steve’s way of saying, “You nerd, you absolute nerd, I can’t believe it took me so long, but know that you’re the love of my life, too.”

So, in 1983, Eddie has a crush on Steve and is so mad about it, he made a DnD character about it.

In 1986, Steve kisses Eddie for the first time inside his new government-sponsored trailer and begins what will be the rest of his life.

In 2006, Steve buys Eddie a star for their anniversary, and Eddie laughs through the veil of tears when he sees what Steve named it.

“Sir Gonthar Veten,” he reads, grin so wide that it has to hurt. “Can’t believe you went and named a star after yourself, Stevie.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, stepping into Eddie’s space and pulling him close. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I did, Munson.”

“You’re so lame,” Eddie sniffles, and it’s the happiest little sound. “Thank you.”

Steve brushes a kiss to his forehead, his temple, his cheek, and finally his lips. “Happy anniversary, Eddie.”

#steddie #steddie fic #this is like all over the place but i just had to get the concept out someone else can go make it good and better #just eddie having an unattainable crush on steve and projecting onto dnd like we all don’t do the same with our blorbos okay #they’re in love your honour #dio words #buying stars probably wasn’t even a thing in 1996 but let me have this #nvm i made it 2006 now but like i’ll give this proper thought when it’s not 2:30am #dio’s steddie ramblings

[flowercrowngods]

Who even writes letters anymore?

It feels a little ridiculous, interrupting the process of baring his heart and soul to the paper, the pen, and the walls of his room, to ponder the frequency of the hand-written word. It makes him falter, though, the sentence half finished on the paper before him, his desk lit only with candles because it’s two on the morning and long past the time for any kind of lamps, desk and ceiling alike.

Who even writes letters anymore? Letters like this, somewhere between a confession of love and an apology. Emotions that don’t do well, being said out loud, and that do even worse in a text message.

The written word, ink on blank sheets of paper, weeks and months old and nowhere near finished yet, was invented for situations like this. For feelings like this.

For Steve. For Eddie. For Steve and Eddie.

The eternal What If. The little lump in his heart that feels so real even though it can’t be. The thought in the back of his mind, a calling presence that is imaginary at best. The vision of a future that is no more than wishful thinking.

And thinking, he does. Oh, does he think. And always, always about Eddie.

Eddie, who wasn’t brave enough to love him, and whom Steve never gave the space to be. Eddie, who did love him, but showed it in different ways than Steve was used to. And when he realised, when he recognised, it was all in hindsight.

They were both too scared. Twice. Scared and stupid and—

But Steve’s not scared now. It’s late, he knows, and it might be too late.

It’s fine if it’s too late, he writes, and he means it. But I want you to know. I need you to know. I want to be brave, and I‘d rather be brave too late than not at all.

There is no filter, he finds. The ink unforgiving and unjudgmental alike, guiding his hand across the page from one word to the next, until suddenly there are six of them, and Steve could keep going forever.

I want to love you. I think I want to love you, not just the idea of you. I want to give you the space you need and learn to love and be loved. I want to do it right. I want to take your hand and hold it. I spend days just thinking about holding your hand. Holding you.

It’s not a love letter. He doesn’t even mean to send it, just wants to get it all out and not have his friends tell him it’s a bad idea, tell him Eddie doesn’t deserve him, Eddie’s not right for him.

Steve doesn’t believe that.

He just wants a chance. A conversation. They never really talked — not the first time, and not four years later. He wants a real chance this time, wants to be brave and talk and see.

And he wants to give Eddie a chance, too. A chance to mess up, a chance to speak, a chance to be brave and talk and see for himself, and a chance, maybe, to try again.

For real this time.

So he writes the letter; doesn’t care if people even do this anymore. He does. For Eddie. That feels like it’s all that matters.

He ends the letter at the bottom of page six.

I’m not writing you because I want to get back with you. I’m writing because I need you to know that I can’t stop thinking about you. And because I want to talk. A lot. And because I think they’re all wrong.

And I’m writing because I spent the party last weekend looking for you, hoping to see you. My friend told me to finish this letter and send it if you mean so much. And you do. Endlessly.

But it’s okay if all this is one-sided. It’s okay if you don’t even read until this point. It’s okay if it’s too late.

Steve

He takes it with him the next day, just on a whim, not entirely sure if he’s gonna send it or throw it in the trash, the coil in his stomach lightened since the last word’s been written.

In the end, he misses his train back home and has to take the long way with the bus that’ll only take him halfway there. He decides to walk the rest, taking a detour and passing Eddie’s apartment building.

He finds the name Munson on the doorbell nameplate outside. He stares at the door, the drizzle picking up until it’s pouring, and still Steve is staring.

He tries the front door. Another whim. It’s not supposed to open. Someone unhooked the latch. It gives in to Steve’s gentle push, and warmth envelops him as he suddenly finds himself face to face with Eddie’s mailbox.

The letter is in his bag. Secure. Heavy.

His heart, however, is light as he fishes it out and slips it past the lid, the thump as it gently hits the bottom the only sound in the universe.

Outside, the rain is pouring.

Inside, Steve’s heart lies in Eddie’s mailbox.

#steddie fic #steddie #steddie drabble #dio words #they’re not even words i just needed to project #this is different from my usual style but that’s fine too it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense anyway i just needed to get it out #dio’s steddie ramblings