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steviewashere · 3 months

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Make a Touchdown on My Heart

Rating: General CW: Doesn't Apply For This One! Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Neurodivergent Steve Harrington, Super Bowl XXII, Steve Harrington is a Sports Nerd, Domestic Fluff, Comfort/No Hurt, Fluff, Dialogue Heavy (Some facts in here may be inaccurate, I am not a sports enthusiast. All of these came from the internet, so blame it if I'm wrong.) For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is being seen and known."

💕—————💕

It’s January, 1988. Their apartment is warm and lit by amber bulbs. Four in the afternoon in Chicago, work days over, dinner slow cooking in the crockpot on the counter. Eddie’s already dressed down in pajamas, grabbing a couple beers from their fridge, waiting for Steve to arrive home. Domestic. He’s been domesticated. He’s warm with contentment.

The plan is that Steve is going to get home, change out of his Family Video get up (because, yes, the video store has followed him to Illinois), get into his sweats and a Denver Bronco’s t-shirt, rush to get his sneakers back on, and hurry over to the local sports bar to yell over the Super Bowl. It’s been discussed. Marked on the calendar. Steve’s been excited for the last several months, practically bubbling with passion at the mere thought that one of his favorite teams made it to the “big game” as he described it to Eddie.

Now, Eddie’s no sports guy. He really, really, really isn’t. But he’d grown up with Wayne watching football. Tuning the television to ABC, right at the top of six, Miller in hand, bowl of chips in the other. Eddie usually resigned himself to a night of sitting on the couch, clueless to the sports world around him, probably nose deep in campaign notes. But he’s not in Indiana. He’s not listening to Wayne’s gruff commentary as he prepares for a night in with football. He’s in Illinois with his boyfriend, Steve Harrington—sports extraordinaire, quite literally.

Steve does this wonderfully adorable thing where he pulls out his new copy of Sports Illustrated or tunes in on their little kitchen radio or flips to whatever game is on, he rattles on about statistics and new players and his predictions—what team he thinks will make it to playoffs, which players will retire that year, how many touchdowns a team will get. It’s his favorite thing to talk about. Well, it could be any sport. He knows quite a bit about literally any sport.

“Who had the most strikeouts in 1984?” Eddie had asked one evening.

Without any preamble, Steve had shot him with, “Dwight Gooden, New York Mets.”

So, yeah, Steve knows his shit. At least in Eddie’s humble opinion.

Which is why, even though Eddie will probably get super bored, he’s got the TV remote ready. Just waiting on Steve’s quick arrival.

And, not too long later, keys are jingling outside of their apartment’s front door, impatient steps marching in place on the porch. “Just come in, babe! It’s unlocked!” Eddie shouts, chuckling under his breath.

In comes Steve, a whirlwind of energy. He sheds his coat by the front door, snowflakes falling from his shoulders and the top of his beanie. The coat doesn’t even make it over a chair, is just chucked down to the hardwood. Ripping the hat off his head reveals the most glorious and awful hedgehog style Eddie’s ever seen. But that doesn’t even seem to phase Steve. He just runs a hand through his hair, knocking his glasses askew (yes, glasses, Eddie’s wet dream), quickly wetting his lips with his tongue. He’s already talking a mile a minute.

“Happy hour got moved up an hour at the bar! There’s a whole block taken up by cars.” His voice gets farther and farther away the more he retreats to their bedroom. There’s some rustling around as he looks for his sweatpants. “Bunch of Redskins fans all meeting there, feels like! Gonna be the only one with a Broncos shirt. It’s insane, Eds! They’re all talking about how Doug Williams is gonna lead the Redskins to victory. Which, I’ll give it to them, he’s awesome! He’s one of the best quarterbacks I’ve seen in a long time. Honestly, he’ll probably make history with this game.”

Steve reenters the living space, still chatting up a storm, eyes wandering for his yet to be obtained sweats. Eddie’s got a hand over his mouth, chuckling lowly into his cupped palm. He’s such a dork, he can’t help but think.

He continues on, oblivious to Eddie's adoration snickering. “I’m really excited to see how this goes. Y’know how there was a players strike this season?” He’s asking rhetorically because he usually doesn’t get a response from Eddie, but he nods anyway, because he does know. It’s all Steve’s talked about. “Season was shortened, but…Considering how the Redskins are doing? This might be a crazy game. And also—Wait.” Steve stops short in front of Eddie in the entryway of their small kitchen. He sniffs the air.

“It’s bean dip, babe,” Eddie answers already knowing. “I—uh—I made it for you, for tonight.”

“But I’m not gonna be home? I’ll be up the street?”

Eddie shrugs. “Or…you could be here? With me?” He enters Steve’s space, wiggling the TV remote in his grip. “I put the dip in this morning after you left for work. Went out to the store and picked up a case of Millers. Your sweatpants are in the dryer, I’m warming them up. Just in case the cold creeps under the door, you know how it gets.”

And that makes Steve shut up really fast. His mouth hangs open in silent awe. Hands limp at his sides. Then, all at once, his eyes light up and a smile stretches over his face. “You wanna watch the Super Bowl with me?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, baby. You’ve been talking about it for a while and…I don’t know, you’re so excited, I knew that I couldn’t take that from you. Make you leave the house and not bear witness to your whole—“ He waves a hand over Steve’s bouncing in place body. His flapping hands, the jump to his feet as he quite literally bounces on the tips of his toes. “—Look at you right now! You’re like a dog waiting for me to throw the ball. How could I not watch it with you?” He grabs Steve by his left elbow and drags them over to the couch.

Finally, he turns the television on, flips it over to ABC, and plops the remote in Steve’s lap. He’s still jittering out of his skin.

“You want to watch the game with me,” he states, once more in awe. “Because I get excited? But—You don’t like football? You’re gonna get bored.”

Once again, Eddie shrugs. “So what if I get bored? I don’t need to watch the game, I just need to watch you. I’ll know how to react based on how you do. So far, it sounds like the Redskins are gonna be a pain in the ass for you, right?”

“You remembered the name of the team?”

Eddie scoffs. “Of course I do! I listen to you when you talk about your sports stuff. You’ve been moaning and groaning about the Redskins’ new star quarterback for a while now. You think I don’t enjoy sitting next to you on the couch when you read off the stats in your magazines? Baby, it’s the highlight of my day.”

Steve’s eyes soften, they glisten, surprisingly. “Really? You don’t mind when I talk about my sports things? Even when…Even when it isn’t that interesting to you?”

“Loving you means loving what you love,” Eddie simply states. “Just like when you let me ramble about campaign notes and how infuriating it’s been to find a new Dungeons & Dragons group.” He wraps an arm over Steve’s shoulders, drawing him in close. His free hand cradles Steve’s right cheek, it’s wet under his palm. “Why you cryin’ sweet thing?” He murmurs.

It’s Steve’s turn to shrug. He sniffs back a gross wad of snot. “Nobody ever liked listening to me talk about it, I don’t know. Used to watch the games alone. Hated that.”

Leaning in, Eddie pecks Steve’s forehead. “Well, that changes starting tonight, alright? So, go grab your sweats from the dryer, slip into your Broncos shirt, settle in on the couch. I’ll get us some food, crack open our beers, and you can shout and slap my chest all you want about your game. How’s that sound?”

“Like you know me really well,” Steve answers.

“Good, baby,” he whispers. “Love knowing you. Love loving you.”

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 5 #Super Bowl XXII #domestic fluff #domestic steddie #neurodivergent Steve Harrington #Comfort/No Hurt #Fluff

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

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also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

#welcome to projection central #hand wrote this during a lecture today bc i was bored and realised a lot of ppl write/hc eddie as autistic and w adhd #but usually those are the only kinda neurodivergencies i see in fan content #(pretend thats a word)#but then i thought eddie having tics would make sense for his character and i have Experience to write from so #(disclaimer i was not bullied in school nor was i removed from classes (unless i left on my accord bc i wanted to hide in the bathroom))#(some kids teased me or mimicked me or told me to 'do it again' but i dealt w them)#(and the one kid that was really a dick ended up being rly nice by the time we graduated he's cool)#(and i got lucky w my teachers i think they were all very sweet and considerate)#(but i thought this story would make sense and go along with eddies story in the canon)#anyway give eddie tics #anotther hc that his tics calm down/stop when he's playing guitar and playing d&d #mine arent as bad as they were in high school but back then (and on bad days now) they usually calm down #when im focused on something or doing something i enjoy (ie drawing or painting or st)#steddie #steddie oneshot #eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot

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itsghostdoll · 2 years

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Steve refusing to play DnD with the party because of dyscalculia. Dustin and Eddie have invited him countless times to join them in their campaigns, but Steve always gives some shitty excuse like he has to cover for Robin at the video store or something.

Dustin and Eddie think it's because he's still worried about mantaining the "King Steve image" but in reality Steve's just terrified of being laughed at by supergenious children, because Eddie told him DnD had a lot of math and he sucks at that.

#steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington #dyscalculic steve harrington #steve stranger things #steddie #adhd steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddiegrove #am i projecting?#yes definitely #stranger things netflix #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #angst prompt #neurodivergent steve harrington

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imfinereallyy · 1 year

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El puts her finger to her lips in a shush motion when Eddie walks through the apartment's front door.

“Hey, Ellie Bellie, what are you doing here?” Eddie whispers, toeing off his sneakers.

“Me and Steve were supposed to do makeovers at Dad's. But he did not come. He called, saying he did not feel good. So I came here instead.”

It’s then that Eddie notices a sleeping Steve on El’s lap. Her fingers delicately playing with his hair. The room is darker than usual, too—nothing but the warm table lamp and the silent tv to light up the room. Eddie’s shoulders slump in realization. “Migraine? That’s the third one this month.”

El nods pausing at a particular gnarl in Steve’s hair. Steve hums in his sleep as El works at it. “I worry about his head.”

“Me too, super girl. Thank you for coming; you didn’t have to.”

Although El’s vocabulary has improved massively over the years, she sometimes struggles to vocalize her feelings. Eddie can see it happening right now as her eyebrows furrow together. Her difficulties with emotions remind Eddie of Steve. He knows the two of them have been working on it together. “I knew you would be at work. And Robin is at school now. Too far to call. I wanted to help.”

Eddie walks over to the two of them, scoops up Steve’s legs, and settles on the couch as he lays Steve’s legs over his own. “You did, El. You’re a really good sister.”

El brightens up slightly. Her concern is still there, but a dimple at the side of her cheek makes an appearance. “Thank you Eddie.” El pauses for a moment before speaking again. “Will he be okay?”

Eddie’s heart seizes at the affection El has for Steve. Some days he thinks she might give Eddie and Robin a run for their money in the “who loves Steve most” department. Eddie doesn’t feel upset about it, though. They all give Steve the different kinds of love he deserves. Robin gives him the steady, unwavering, platonic love that doesn’t ask for anything in return. Eddie gives Steve the passionate, romantic, deep love that would do anything to make him smile.

And El? She gives Steve a familial kind of love. Gentle but firm. Her lovd for Steve makes one wonder if maybe they really do share a bloodline. Bound together by family.

So when El gets all worried, Eddie knows she comes from a good place. From the best of places. “Yea, El, he’ll be okay. Just a migraine. I think he’s getting a lot lately because the EMT training is a lot. I think some downtime with you, though, was the perfect cure.” He rubs her hair back and forth in a brotherly motion.

El sighs and puts her head on Eddie’s shoulder. They both watch the silent tv for a bit before El speaks again, “He was upset. Said he disappointed me. He did not. He is allowed to have bad days. Hop taught me that. I do not think he knows that this makes me happy. Spending time.” El looks down at Steve again, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“When he’s feeling better, maybe tell him that. Can’t really argue with him while he’s down.” Eddie giggles, trying to hide the wetness in his eyes.

Steve stirs below them for a moment before saying, “El? Eds?”

El shushes Steve, “Do not worry, we are here. Always here.” El rubs Steve’s temples, easing him back to close his eyes.

Eddie strokes Steve’s ankle, “Not going anywhere, Stevie. We got you.”

The three of them fall asleep on the couch, not waking until the sun dips in through the windows the next morning.

———

is this a series? It might be. Just can’t enough of el + Steve sibling dynamic, and you guys seem to enjoy it too :) here’s more Eddie and El interaction, but about their love for this boy. Also much softer, less funny. But I really liked the idea of this. Okay I’ll be quiet now.

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hotluncheddie · 1 year

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'but like, why do you like it so much?'

steve passes eddie the blunt; fingers, shoulders and thighs brushing or pushed flush as they're slumped on eddies floor. a black sabbath record plays softly in the background.

steve just can't seem to understand metal, or maybe he just can't understand how loud it always gets in his head when he listens to it. maybe he's just sensitive, after so many monster fights. if things are quiet, he's grateful.

eddie huffs, side eyeing steve a little as he shifts around. eddie's always moving, fidgeting, its just who he is and steve likes that. likes how reliable eddie moving around is, shifting in and out of his space. but right now he seems a little more on edge than usual. or than is usual after a couple shared blunts.

'stevie, its. its just good. it makes me feel good okay?' eddie spins his rings and puts a knuckle in his mouth. steve watched the movement. eddie has nice lips... and hands.

''i had a fucking, like, counselor of whatever once tell me that i needed things to help me focus and help me relax and help me if i ever felt overwhelmed or whatever. i only saw them like twice but they said music could do that for some people and i guess metal did it for me.' eddie shoves all this out onto steve in a slightly panicked way. which is the last thing steve wants. the last thing either of them need is more stress.

steve smiles at him, trying to show how completely none judgy he feels right now. 'okay.. so it makes you relax? all the noise. it helps?' he wants to understand. so so bad, steve just wants to understand the eddie munson he met after the upside down got closed, after life was put back together. eddie is really great and steve just, he feels good with eddie.

'yeah i like, need stuff sometime. need to move and feel a certain way to kinda scratch an itch i get in like, my bones. sometimes its a fucking ball ache, nothing helps. i can get so stressed out i wanna rip my skin off.' eddie says it with such a humourless laugh steves heart breaks a little. 'that's kinda part of why i took so long to graduate. can't focus in class if your skin is crawling, can't remember to do homework if you get home and gotta like, rock back and forth while staring at a wall for two hours just to feel like yourself again.' eddie is staring at the carpet now, eyes unfocused. steve wants to hear more, just so maybe he can help. maybe make it a little better one day. eddie deserves that.

'shit' ...okay so maybe steve is a little too high to help with words right now. but he stays pressed up next to eddie, hooks an ankle around he leg, keeps him close. hopes he keeps talking. that steve just being there is enough.

steve gets a little, tentative, smile out of eddie. his soul soars.

'you ever been to a live gig stevie?' steve shakes his head, no one ever comes to their little town and he honestly never really liked anyone enough to treck over to indi or chicago to see anything there.

'live music does it the best. just fucking letting go and feeling. all the noise and the bodies washing over you, getting inside you. its fucking magic.' eddie is smiling properly again, thank god steve thinks. he never wants to see eddie frown ever again.

'like, when you head bang, or go in a mosh pit, or just fucking sway to the music just right. it like sets all my insides right. like i'm all put together correct and it feels so good. feel like a hug maybe. like soothing or whatever, like so good over and over again. but everyone is doing it, all together. so you, you don't look like a freak you know?' oh no, he's frowning again. oh god, steve needs to fix it. eddies big cow eyes look sad again.

'mmm when i used to run laps, i'd get to a point where i was so tired it'd feel, like really good? like i could only focus on breathing in and out and everything else went quiet. is it. is it kinda like that ed's?' steve is too high for this. it feels important, and all he can come up with is this? fuck, harrington! your fumbling the ball here!

but eddie smiles at him, smiles all sweet and syrupy and his eyes are so pretty. steve is a goner. a big, too high goner for eddie musnon and his big dumb sparkly brown eyes.

'a little yeah stevie. a little something like that.' eddie is still twisting his rings and his leg is bouncing against the carpet and if he needs that to feel good steve hopes eddie never stops moving. hope he fidgets forever if it feels good, feels right.

'um, next time, next show, can i come too?' steve hadn't planned on inviting himself to a metal gig when he came over earlier, but found a lot of rational thought went out the window when he was around eddie. 'you show me what feels good yeah? wanna feel it too ed's.'

eddie looks at him with so much disbelief, steve is sure he fucked uo somehow. backtrack poised on his tongue, but eddie giggles, fucking giggles at him. steves heart melts out of his ass.

'ooh baby. i'll pop you concert cherry for sure!' eddie is cackling now, delighted it seems at the idea of steve at one of his gigs.. steve thinks eddie has a great laugh.

---

the blunt is long dead and steve is well on his way to passing out. he, he needs to get on the bed. get on the bed and try to not cuddle eddie too hard... a little is okay though.

'um steve? um thanks, by the way. for not like, thinking i'm weird or whatever, for what i said. those things i gotta do, i can't always help it? so thanks, for not thinking i'm a freak.'

steve tuggs eddie by the arm. too sleepy to talk, and not much to say anyway. tugs eddie up onto the mattress with him, up on the mattress and slings an arm over his stomach, a leg over both of eddies.

'never a freak ed's. ‘kay? never ever' steve falls asleep then and there, nestled in eddie munsons sheets, right where he belongs.

eddie can't help pressing a chased kiss to steves forehead. the big, kind, brave steve harrington asleep in his bed.

#steddie #steve x eddie #can u tell i just got back from a concert #this was not drafted like normal so i hope its okay?? i just wrote it #autistic eddie munson #kinda kinda #i dunno #hotlunch #my fic #neurodivergent eddie munson #drabbles

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isbuckybarnesokay · 1 year

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Eddie kicks his feet and dances around when he's happy. It's something Steve notices early on.

Robin throws Eddie a free ice cream one afternoon while he's sitting on the counter at Family Video. Steve has to dodge out of the way of Eddie's flailing boots.

When Steve and Robin move into their new apartment together, they have the whole gang over for a housewarming party. In the later evening, Eddie winds up perched on the railing of their tiny balcony, deep in a heated conversation with Mike about the last session of their D&D campaign.

Steve pauses at Eddie's side, hands him a beer, and unthinkingly throws an arm around his shoulder. Immediately, Eddie's feet start moving. Oh, Steve thinks, is that because of me?

He begins to test it. Steve shows up to Eddie's place with flowers the next day, grinning to himself at the little jig Eddie does in response. Even basic compliments work, he discovers. Basic touch, too.

The day Steve finally kisses Eddie, he only just moves aside in time to avoid getting kicked in the balls.

#steddie #headcanon #isbuckybarnesokay #i just think that neurodivergent eddie #<333 #steve harrington #eddie munson

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xenon-demon · 1 year

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Something something steddie role swap AU. Steve and Eddie swap places for the final fight against Vecna (because you don’t really need to be able to play the guitar to make a distraction with one, and Steve is already injured while Eddie is Not), things proceed as in canon - the bats get in, Steve is self-sacrificial because that’s the Steve Harrington Agenda™, Steve gets himself killed.

Dustin has to watch his older brother die in his arms. Robin has to come back from a fight that she’s pretty sure they lost to find the other half of her soul is gone. Lucas finds out that not only has he lost Max, but he’s also lost his role model, one of his biggest supporters. Eddie is stuck in a town that’s falling apart, filled with people that hate him, and the only people who will understand are mourning someone Eddie barely knew. Someone whose shoes Eddie is never going to be able to fill, even when he feels like he has to try because that’s what he does; protect his people. And no matter how fucked the circumstances that got them here are, he’s decided these are his people now.

(They have to be, now that not even Uncle Wayne can calm him down when he has the nightmares, seeing Chrissy’s lifeless eyes staring down at him as he hears her bones crunch and twist-)

Eddie can’t breathe with how the gaping absence of Steve Harrington is threatening to swallow him whole. It’s always there, in the way Robin is isolating herself, sleeping over in Steve’s empty house whenever she can, and no one can get her to talk about it. It’s in the way Dustin, overcome with grief, keeps oscillating between blaming Eddie for agreeing to switch places and blaming himself for suggesting it in the first place. It’s in the way Eddie wonders sometimes, as he turns the events of Spring Break over in his mind, if maybe there was something there, or could have been something - and then he’s immediately overcome with guilt, because he’s lusting after a ghost. A ghost of someone he didn’t even know, really, as he’s learning more and more every day about the ways Steve has changed since high school.

So after a few weeks of this, especially with the added stress of Hawkins falling apart at the seams and being constantly invaded by hellbeasts from the gaping portals all over town, Eddie does what he does best.

He runs away.

He doesn’t even think about where he’s going, just puts one foot in front of the other - even as he crosses over a portal into the Upside Down, one near the trailer park, he doesn’t let himself stop and think. If he does that, he’s going to have a panic attack, and having one of those here in Hell is absolutely going to get him killed, the otherworldly hisses and screams echoing around him amongst the trees are a pretty potent reminder-

There’s a snap behind him, sounding way too close for comfort. Eddie spins around, heart racing in his chest, tensed and ready to run if he has to.

There’s nothing there. Nothing living, at least, because Eddie can see a broken branch just dangling down from one of the trees he just walked past. From this far away, it looks like something has pulled down on it, snapping the top part of the branch and leaving it attached at the bottom by just a thin layer of wood. It’s such a tenuous connection that the branch is bobbing slightly under the weight of gravity, and it looks like at some point it might just break under its own weight.

The main problem with this is that it was definitely a whole, intact branch when he first walked past it.

Eddie finds himself taking a few steps forward without really thinking about it. As he gets closer, his heartbeat gets louder and louder until he can hear it pounding in his ears. He feels a deep sense of wrongness here, like something - someone, maybe - is watching him, waiting for some kind of trigger. It crawls up his spine like a spider, making his skin crawl, his shoulders twitching involuntarily.

The feeling only intensifies when he’s within arms reach of the broken branch. It’s like a block of ice gets dropped into his chest, the way he suddenly goes cold; from this distance, he can see the branch is thicker than his upper arm. Whatever it was that did this, it’s stronger than a human, that’s for sure. Eddie feels the sharp buzz of panic begin to settle over his body, is dimly aware of a hysterical noise starting to bubble up within him-

The breath is slammed out of his lungs, too quickly to even scream. At the same time, he feels pain bloom across his upper body from being grabbed by the shoulder and shoved up against the tree. Eddie feels pinpricks of pain all up his back, his thin Iron Maiden t-shirt doing little to protect his skin from the tree bark.

Eddie’s eyes are screwed tight as he waits for the inevitable; he’s seen enough of this place to know he doesn’t want to see whatever it is that’s about to kill him. He feels something sharp scrape against his neck, followed by a pressure along the underside of his jaw, and his last coherent thought is, Jesus Christ, can’t believe I’m leaving Henderson fatherless.

Except... he doesn’t die. Eddie Munson keeps breathing, quick and shallow gasps with his eyes still tightly shut. It doesn’t make any sense, his brain can’t even begin to process what’s happening to him, so after a few seconds - when he’s sure he’s actually still alive, and not just having a delayed reaction to being eaten - Eddie opens his eyes. Immediately he feels like throwing up.

Because there in front of him, mere inches away from his face, face twisted into an utterly chilling smile, is Steve Harrington.

Or at least - something that was Steve Harrington, once upon a time. The creature now in front of Eddie has- christ, where does Eddie even begin. He doesn’t know where to look first, his brain overloading trying to take it all in - Steve has fangs now, that Eddie’s certain of, sharpened canines that jut out under Steve’s top lip and glint whenever lightning crackles overhead. He can see streaks of what looks like dried blood trailing down Steve’s chin from the fangs, following his neck downwards until they’re lost in the ring of scar tissue and dried blood at the base of his neck where he got choked by the demobats.

Most captivating of all, though, are Steve’s eyes. Once he makes eye contact, Eddie can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away. Steve’s eyes have always looked pretty to Eddie, in that strange middle ground where they look brown in some lights and almost green in others, but now they shine with a soft golden glow in the darkness. He’s not quite sure, it’s hard to focus enough to be sure, but Eddie thinks his pupils are no longer human-like, instead vertical slits like a cat’s eye.

Now that Eddie’s made eye contact, out his peripheral vision he sees Steve’s grin grow impossibly wider. At the same time, that pressure around his neck gets worse momentarily as Steve squeezes, oh fuck, he has his hand around Eddie’s throat. That sharp prickling sensation is back again, too, and Christ Almighty he’s pretty sure Steve has fucking claws.

Steve leans in even closer, and Eddie feels his breath fan across his face as he drawls, “Did you miss me too, baby?”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie au #steddie fic #kas!steve #steve harrington as kas the bloody handed #this is an idea i've had kicking around my head for a WHILE and i have so many more thoughts #and scenes that play out in my head like actual scenes from the show #so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ASK ME ABOUT THIS AU OH MY GOD #and if you have any fic recs or anything of kas!steve PLEASE HAND THEM OVER #will probably write more of this at some point but god knows when because the demands of tertiary education #and also crippling neurodivergency #are cruel masters #steve also has the prehensile demobat tails btw #i feel like that's important to mention #he does not have wings but he does have the tails + claws + fangs + super strength + cool glowy eyes (i'm sure that's not important *wink*)#kas!steve harrington #kas steve harrington #kas!steve au #charlie writes things #gravity (kas!steve au)

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fandomcentralsposts · 7 months

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There is a new Joe Keery interview (done before the sag-aftra strike) coming out next month and we got a little preview and he mentions he has ADD!!

This is so personal to me I have ADD and now I can write Steve with ADHD a lot more 🤸‍♀️

#joe keery #stranger things #steve harrington #neurodivergent #neurodivergent steve harrington #adhd #attention deficit hyperactivity disorder #adhd celebrities #steddie #djo #stranger things headcanons #Steve Harrington has ADHD

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your-stranger-halfblood-things · 1 year

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Eddie and Jargyle get Steve into drugs and then we have the four stoner boyfriends who are all dating each other. And then their best friends- Ronance obviously, the ones who keep them out of trouble

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autistic-mike-wheeler · 2 years

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sick and tired of hearing about the script i’m back to making memes here you go

#this is meant on behalf of robin eddie will el and jonathan btw #but it can really go either way #there’s more neurodivergent stranger things characters than there are memes about scriptgate #also joyce and dustin have adhd it’s not in the post it’s just important to me that you know that #robin buckley #ronance #eddie munson #steddie #will byers #byler #el hopper #elmax #jonathan byers #jancy

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steviewashere · 2 months

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The Sound of Silence

Rating: General CW: Internalized Ableism, Quick Mention of the 'R' Word (It's Not Written, Quite Literally as 'R' Word)Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute Steve Harrington, Negative Self Talk, Miscommunication, Mean Eddie Munson (For a Split Second It's Part of the Miscommunication and the Plot), Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Neurodivergent Steve Harrington (Implied), Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sweetheart

I should say before this that a lot of Steve's thinking here, a lot of the metaphors and such used, are from personal experience. They are things I think about myself when I'm mute. So be civil and kind about this piece.

💛—————💛

Steve Harrington is a man of few words on most days. He does talk, he loves talking sometimes, has so many things to share. But on a lot of occasions, Steve can’t muster the strength to say hello. Can only make sounds, hums and gasps and subtle clicks. And often times, he hides away when he gets to that point. He’s been like this for as long as he can remember. Though, the first time it happened, he’s not sure what really caused it. Just that something was too much, or he was too little and then it all began. There had been therapists and specialists and urgent care doctors. A lot of conversations between him and his parents that often ended in him being yelled at. Something about him too far left of ‘normal’. And he knew, when the bad stuff came, that part of him may just be this way.

Now, years later, he can put some recognition to what silences him. Sometimes it’s the lack of comfortable sleep the night before. Or it’s the social energy completely drained out of him. Or it’s a particular jab that somebody makes. The raised voice that pushes him over the edge. A nightmare so harsh it rips him of not only the ability to mutter whole sentences, but also the ability to crawl out of bed.

He’s only clarified this with a select handful of people. The people in his life that were closest to him or that would understand. Robin was the second. Words written on a steno pad in the middle of the night, three days in a row where he hadn’t been sleeping properly, nightmares of a cold bunker and rough hands. Notes passed in quiet lulls, pencil scratches the only sound. She only looked at him with a sort of empathy he’s never been privy to. Her eyebrows scrunched in concentration as she focused solely on conversation in written text. He didn’t have to beg with her, which he thanked whatever god gave him her presence in the first place. Then, it was Nancy before their breakup. She could just tell. Her notes accommodated him. Space he took up was always welcoming. And her voice carried softly to his ears, gossip and pet names and gentle praise. Even if she broke his heart some time later, he would always remember her better than alcohol stained and too tipsy to make sense. Max was most recent. She, surprisingly, didn’t tease him for it. Didn’t make him feel bad. More sad than anything. Her voice was raspy in her hospital bed, “I’ll be your voice, Steve. You can be my eyes.” He could see the white, nearly iridescent glaze that permanently altered the blue color underneath. There were no words exchanged after that, but he placed his hand in hers and squeezed.

The others either didn’t notice or were too intimidating to tell. It’s not that they’re scary. But they can be harsh about certain things. And he just wasn’t ready. His voice, the absence of his words, have always been a soft, insecure, and vulnerable part to him. Laying out his cards face up on the table was too much.

But he probably should’ve considered Eddie to be one of those people that he can trust. Especially since Steve lets him move in, take up space in a spare bedroom, rummage through his cupboards. Maybe because they’re roommates. Maybe because they’re friends. Maybe because Steve wants more.

———— It was a bad night. An even worse day.

The images flashed under his eyelids every time he blinked. Blood and loose skin and wet muscles. Echoing screeches of those creatures that ruined his nearly blank torso. That sadness rippling from Dustin. His wobbling lip, wet eyes, the snotty nose, and strained yells for help. Steve’s stomach turns with every subtle movement of his body. Every single time he stretches, the scars moving with him.

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have gone to work. Not when he woke up, throat scratchy and the seizing of his chest overwhelmingly intense with every sobbing gasp. Or when he realized, the energy somewhere else, that mustering words was the heaviest burden to bear. He shouldn’t have gone to work, where he gets yelled at for not communicating. For not counting out the change. For not selling the new movies. Where he’s called things he’s heard since he was a little boy, ‘Dumb’ and ‘Stupid’ and the infamous ‘R’ word.

He’s out of it by the time he’s able to sit down in the driver’s seat of the car. Part of him wants to bang the softest parts of his palms on the harsh, stiff leather of the steering wheel. Another piece of him wants to lean down into those same hands, pressed into the sockets of his eyes hard enough to speckle his sight with black spots, and cry until there’s nothing else to do but go home. There’s the encroaching need to scream, to hum behind his lips, wiggle his arms until they’re too tired to move, too heavy to lift, a worse burden than speaking. But he knows that it’s too open to break down in Family Video’s parking lot. So his drive home is ninety percent heaving breaths and squeezing the steering wheel to remind him he’s nearly back to his bed; his safety away from the world, somewhere where he can recharge, power through this, get back on track.

Though, he’s drained when he goes home. Exhausted. Beaten down to just a bag of meat and blood and bones. The Beemer is parked in the driveway. And he jiggles his keys in the door. And slips his shoes off, hangs up his jacket, places his wallet in the little dish in the foyer. Each step of shedding his work skin like tiptoeing on a bed of nails. Barely even makes it two steps before he’s bombarded by Eddie’s constant, erratic, and chaotic nature.

“Hey, Stevie!” he crows. “I made dinner while you were on your way back. It’s on the stovetop, covered it in foil so that it retains the heat. Oh, and I did the laundry, cleaned up our bathrooms a little bit. Made progress with the physical therapist on my bad leg and I—“

Steve sighs heavily through his nose, blinks sluggishly, and places his palm out to stop Eddie. He tries to say anything, something. But all he does is open his mouth, squeak in the back of his throat, promptly close back up, and sag. Shakes his head, sidesteps, and clambers to his bedroom.

Undressing himself like wrestling with bears. Climbing under his covers as if his comforter is a taut iron sheet. He can already sense it, the shift from charismatic Steve Harrington to odd Steve Harrington. Can’t even suppress the aching, sizzling pang that shoots through. Naked skin to his cold bedsheets. Blanket heavy. The darkness of his bedroom will coddle and consume him, he’s sure.

Tomorrow is another day to try again. And maybe he’ll finally be able to explain himself.

But of course it’s not that simple. Of course his eyes are crusted over and burning like he spent the entire night crying. His whole body aches. And, unsurprisingly, there’s no way to conjure words from deep in his chest. Just whistled little breaths. Coming short and strained from his nose. He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Blearily, he wonders how Eddie’s doing. If the dinner from last night made it to the fridge. Wonders if the phone has rung at all, because he should be going to work.

He tries it. Tries speaking to the lonely, cold, inky blackness of his room. As if seeking for a light. The sounds strain and garble. Like his emotions are honey and he’s gargling. Choking on it. It hurts. He wonders if speaking should be like death, like a demobat tail wrapped around his tender skin, squeezing with razor blade spikes, tugging on him as stiff and thick ropes. Wonders if Eddie can hear him struggling.

Wonders if Eddie can sense him as a shadow in his own darkness, half of a man, barely a person. Thinks that there’s a million ways to explain himself, the words on paper as he did with Robin, or if Eddie will pick him up like dead star fragments and piece him back together as Nancy did, if he’ll just have to wait this out and whisper it in the fragile, sterile, fluorescent light of his childhood home—it’s a hospital in a way, maybe Eddie can perform the role of Max. Steve would offer his legs to take over for Eddie’s bad one, if he’ll be the boisterous noise that should be croaking from him any moment.

Futile, however much he wants it to work. Steve curls himself tighter in his blanket and goes back to sleep.

Tomorrow will be another day. And he’ll be a full person again, tomorrow.

Some day, surely, he thinks on day three.

And the same on day four.

And when he can smell his skin like molded vegetables in the drawer of his fridge, only then does he stand on doe like legs, awkwardly ambling to the shower. He is twenty years old, mute as the day he was born—breathless and making noise if only to mark his presence; he thinks of himself as the stain on his bedspread, that is his presence, he’s sure. Twenty years old, moving like the toddler his mother was worried about. Crawling backwards. Unable to lift his head on his own for too long. He wonders a lot in the silence of his own existence. It doesn’t end now, in the shower with steam clearing his nasal passages. Ponders, Will I always be this way?

Surely.

The dirt swirls in invisible tornadoes down the drain. Those are his words. Still gone. Through the pipes and out to the sewer. He stands on the plush rug protecting the warm soles of his feet from the cold tile. An overly used towel, threadbare and rough, wrapped around his waist. He slips into pajamas easily enough. Hair sopping and wilted into his eyes.

Tentative creaks down the stairs. Shuffling if only to take up space. Frozen to his spot in the kitchen doorway. There, in the kitchen, shrouded in amber light with a warm mug of what appears to be hot chocolate, is Eddie. He looks up from the pale brown liquid in his cup. His eyes are richer than that of what he drinks. And Steve is startled by how sad, though ferociously angry they are.

“I know this is your house and you’re allowed to do whatever the fuck you want, but you can’t just be a piece of shit to me,” Eddie rasps. His voice is nearly hollow. Penetrated by shrapnel between his teeth. And Steve also wonders if that’s what he’ll sound like after this. This limbo he can’t control. “Seriously, Steve. I thought you were, like, changed or something. Thought you were supposed to be this good guy now. Not a douchebag, remember?”

‘Douchebag’ spits from him like acid. Steve is burning. He is sizzling. Can’t help the trembling in his hands. Or the subtle, missed by Eddie, flinch that forces him back a step.

He looks away from those molten eyes of Eddie’s. Towards the floor. At his bare feet. Going cold against the hardwood. Wants to throw it all up. The explanation. His thoughts. Every little other thing about him that’s always made him some sort of spectacle in his parent’s marriage. Am I the cold, he asks to nobody in particular, or am I the body drowning in it?

Eddie sniffles. Clears his throat. Sighs disappointingly.

Steve is five years old. His dad is sitting at the table. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eight years old, covered in mud and pink lines from being scuffed on the concrete. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eighteen years old, bloodied, beaten blue, sweaty, and soot on his new shoes. He is being scolded for not speaking up.

He is traumatized. And he is tired. And he can’t explain, no matter how much he wants.

“Maybe I should’ve expected this,” Eddie mutters, “being friends with Steve Harrington was always a sort of fantasy anyway, right? Who could like a freak?”

It’s not loud, though it disrupts the quiet Steve thought could never be broken again. He sobs. Wretched and screeching. The tears like a flash flood. His chest caving in. All the sounds escaping him, garbled and messy and drowning. He is drowning. He is different. He’s a freak. And Eddie must know, but not like Nancy does. Or he must have found something, the steno pad. Must’ve talked to Max, something.

He collapses into one of the dining chairs. A heaping mess of blood and skin and bones and meat. Just this. He is this with nothing to explain for it.

Out of the corner of his eye, though blurry, he sees Eddie stand from his chair. Making some sort of aborted movement. And, without much thinking, Steve scrambles his hands forward, wrapping them tight on Eddie’s forearms, tugging him in too close. Forcing him to stumble into his knobby knees. Fingers still squeezing, fingernails biting into Eddie’s soft skin.

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Eddie’s whispering, “Stevie, hey.” He crouches down, arms encased in Steve’s terrible hold. It’s almost hard to picture, the space and positions between them. Eddie’s wobbling on his own feet, probably sore and aching on his bad leg. Though, there’s a palm warm on Steve’s cheek. Wiping away at the tears. Trying to, at least; more keep streaming. Fingers carefully scooting into his hairline. Massaging on his scalp, pruning with the cold water in his hair. “Steve,” he murmurs, “hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. That was—I’m sorry, Steve. I really am. That wasn’t okay.”

He doesn’t know what comes from him next to cause Eddie’s eyes to widen in both surprise and horror, but it must be something awful. A scream. Loud and piercing and high pitched. Shooting from him like a bullet, shattering everything between them. Shrapnel from between his teeth.

Eddie frees from Steve’s grasp, wrapping his arms around his shaking back, bringing him in gently. Rocking him from side to side until he’s only whimpering. Petting down Steve’s hiccuping back. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers against Steve’s ear. “I was being mean. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Eventually, he pulls back some. Putting a small amount of space between their bodies. Steve is shaking from it all. Unable to do much. Eddie soothes a hand down his left arm. “Tell me what’s going on? How come you’ve been pulling away?”

Steve shakes his head. Placing a tired and limp hand on his throat.

“You lose your voice? Are you sick?” Again, Steve shakes his head. And Eddie goes quiet for a few slow moments. Until, a lightbulb seems to shine bright and shatter over his hair, amber light still causing him to glow, despite it all. He scrambles up off the floor. Squeezes Steve’s shoulders. Lightly says, “Stay here, okay? I’m gonna go find a pen and some paper. Be right back.”

When he’s back at Steve’s chair, the both of them significantly calmer, a brand new steno pad is in his hands. He hands it off with a chewed up ballpoint pen. “Tell me by writing it down.”

And so Steve does. Gives it back. Lets Eddie read his chicken scratch scrawl.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ is the first thing. Followed by, ‘I’ve been like this since I was a little kid. When things get bad or I just don’t have the energy, it’s like my body forgets how to talk.’

“Oh,” Eddie whispers. He blinks at the paper and looks up to Steve. A sad little smile flashes on his face. “Okay, Steve. I—I think I get it. Kind of like when my day gets really busy and then when I go home, I just shut myself in my room and listen to music until I fall asleep. Kinda like that?”

Steve shrugs and reaches for the paper again. Writing, ‘Sort of. But it’s for a long time. Like…You know now. Sometimes I don’t talk for weeks. Sometimes it’s a few hours. But I get like this a lot.’ When he’s finished and Eddie goes to speak again, Steve immediately writes some more. Eddie’s mouth shuts with the soft click of his teeth.

‘Am I really a freak?’ Is what Eddie reads next.

His head shoots up from the paper. Eyes impossibly wider than they’ve ever been. Startled and desperate and unbearably sad. “No,” he murmurs quickly. “No, Steve, you’re not a freak. What makes you think that?”

The pad trembles in Steve’s grasp. He doesn’t want to write it, wouldn’t even want to speak it. But still, he sketches, ’You asked me, “Who could like a freak?”’ He tilts his head at his own words. Ducks back in, his hands shaking too much and his eyes moist. ‘It’s okay if you think so. I’m kind of used to it.’

Eddie snatches the paper from Steve’s offered grip. He swallows heavily and locks eyes with him, they’re still so sad. He wonders if that’s what Eddie’s seeing, too. “Stevie, no,” he whispers. “No, I was talking about myself. I thought you were mad at me. Thought you didn’t like me. I don’t think of you that way.”

Steve nods, sagging with relief. And with it a few tears spring loose from his eyes. A hand softly cups his jaw, thumbing at his fat hot tears. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Not mad,” he forces, his voice like raw, out of the box grits. It hurts, but he swallows. “You are my friend,” he musters before falling silent again.

A soft, sad hum emanates from Eddie. His hand tenses on Steve’s skin, but it holds to him gently, like he never wants to let go. “You’re mine, too, you know that? I’m genuinely sorry for what I said,” Eddie says. The apology sweet and drenching. “That wasn’t okay of me. I’m sorry.”

There’s no words Steve can press from within him. He lays his hand over Eddie’s and squeezes. Eyes now open and darting between Eddie’s own. He pushes their joined hands further into his cheek, sighing with it. Boneless in his chair.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I understand, sweetheart. I get you now.” His thumb soothes more. Petting—caressing Steve in a way that makes his stomach flutter. “We’ll get you through this,” he promises, “I won’t go anywhere.”

💛—————💛

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #selectively mute steve harrington #neurodivergent steve harrington #angst and hurt/comfort

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s-cordelia-mae · 1 year

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Why can I defend Steve about not being dumb with all my heart because I can see myself in him and recognise the same traits and my learning disabilities in him and I can see it and defend him but I can’t keep that same energy for myself why am I like this

#stranger things #steve harrington #joe keery #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things season 4 #steve stranger things #adhd #adhd memory problems #neurodivergent steve harrington #learning disability

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izzy2210 · 5 months

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NEEEWWWW BANNERRRR

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sleepyeye17 · 1 year

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Neurodivergent Love Languages: Crush my Soul Back Into my Body

This series of fics is inspired by a post by amythest@neurowonderful. The post is on the five Neurodivergent love languages: Infodumping, parallel play, support swapping, ‘crush my soul back into my body,’ and ‘I found this cool object and thought of you’. This is the third fic in the series, and the love language is Crush my Soul. Neurowonderful defines this as “deep pressure input good!! Provides proprioceptive input and can soothe body stress responses (always get consent).”

I honestly don’t know where the idea of the snuggle machine came from, although I think it might have been something we did as kids. It feels like my dad’s style.

Steve comes to Eddie’s apartment straight from work. It’s been a shit day, and he just wants to hold his man.

Several families announced that they would be boycotting the family video as long as he and Robin worked there. Keith had been supportive in his own bitter and sarcastic way, but Steve still feels like a used tissue.

“Hey Sunshine,” Eddie says when he opens the door. He’s wrapped in a blanket, and looks soft and warm. Steve kisses him and starts to feel a little bit of the days weight slide off his shoulders.

“You look cozy,” he murmurs.

“You look like depressed Charlie Brown.”

Steve toes off his shoes and follows Eddie back to the bedroom.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Eddie stands in front of him, grinning. “Do you need to get pressure washed in the snuggle machine?”

Steve looks at Eddie like he’s just turned inside out.

“Is that a… sex thing?”

“No. It's something my uncle did when I was a kid. It’s like being hugged by a washing machine. Do you want to try?”

“Um. I guess?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

That’s all the encouragement Eddie needs. He pulls the blanket off the bed and throws it over Steve’s head.

“Hey! What—“

Eddie jumps on top of Steve and starts rubbing fast hard circles all over him, while shouting “WUMBA WUMBA WUMBA WUMBA!!”

“What the fuck!” Steve is completely bewildered, but he’s laughing.

“SPIN CYCLE!” Eddie shouts, and starts running around Steve, brushing his hands roughly up and down Steve's blanket-covered body.

“What is happening?!”

“Now time for the wringer!”

“WHAT!”

Eddie leaps on top of Steve, squeezing him as tight as he can, and toppling them both onto the bed. They’re both laughing too hard for any sound to come out, and they cling to each other, gasping.

“What— the fuck— was that?” Steve wheezes, wiping tears out of his eyes.

“You feel better?”

“I mean… yeah?”

Eddie grins triumphantly.

“When I was a kid, like six or seven, I’d freak out with soft touches,” he explains. “I couldn’t do hugs or anything. But my uncle realized that I loved wrestling and stuff. I enjoyed being… I dunno, thrown around? I thought it was really funny. So he invented the snuggle washer.”

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie and squeezes him back.

“Mm. It’s ridiculous.”

“It works though,” Eddie says.

Steve kisses Eddie’s forehead, his cheek, his mouth. Eddie is so familiar to him, now, they fit together like they were built that way. Steve takes a deep breath. His chest hurts from laughing.

“God, I love you.”

The words are out before he knows he’s saying them.

Eddie pulls back and stares at Steve wide-eyed for a second. Then he buries his face in a pillow and makes a sound halfway between a squeak and a giggle. Steve frowns. It’s not quite the reaction he’d hoped for. Of course, it’s not the worst response he’s gotten, either.

“Do you really?” Eddie asks, his voice slightly muffled.

“Yeah.”

Eddie makes that noise again.

“What’s that sound mean?” Steve asks, trying not to sound defensive.

“Sorry.” Eddie looks up at Steve, bright red and beaming. He’s still half buried in the pillow. “I love you too.”

“You don’t have to say that just because I—“

“Oh shut up, I’m just really fucking happy and I need a minute.”

Steve pulls Eddie back on top of him.

“Mm kay.”

They lie in silence for a minute, listening to their breath. Steve plays with Eddie’s hair.

Then Eddie starts giggling.

“What’s so funny?”

“You loooove me,” Eddie teases in a singsong voice. Steve smiles.

“Uh huh.”

“Stevie is in loooove.”

“That’s right.”

“Stevie and Eddie sittin in a tree…”

Steve flicks Eddie’s earlobe, making Eddie titter.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say it back at all,” Steve says.

“Seriously? I haven’t been exactly hiding my feelings. I literally wrote a song called falling for the bat king.”

“That could’ve been about anyone.” Steve can feel Eddie shaking with laughter. “No, it’s just… I’ve only told two people I loved them before. And nobody has ever said it to me.”

Eddie sits up so fast he accidentally knees Steve in the stomach.

“Ow, what the—“

“Nobody has ever said it to you?” Eddie asks.

“No. Nancy was… well. We were being closely monitored, and she had to be with me to keep up appearances. But you know. It was complicated.”

“Sure.”

“And then Robin… well.”

“She’s Robin. Yeah.” Eddie grinned. “You always go for the nerds and the freaks, don’t you.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie took Steve’s face in his hands. His grip was firm and solid. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly fierce.

“I’m going to tell you I love you every day. Every hour. You’re going to get so sick of me saying it. I’ll put it on a billboard. I’ll tattoo it on my forehead.”

“Your bangs will cover it.”

“I’ll shave my head.”

Steve gasps.

“You’d better not.”

Eddie lies back down with a contented smile.

“God, I really do love you,” Eddie said. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for ages.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was worried that I might slip and say it in a moment of passion and freak you out.”

“Really!”

“the first time we kissed I was like don’t say it you freak.”

“The first time?!”

“I said it would freak you out. And you already told me you loved me, so you can't take it back now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

#steddie #steddie fluff #steve harrington #steve x eddie #Joe Quinn #joseph quinn #joe keery #steve harrington adhd #eddie munson adhd #neurodivergent love languages #its the neurodivergency #neurodivergent eddie munson #uncle wayne is the best #eddie munson is a little monster child #disaster eddie munson #bi disaster steve harrington #deep pressure therapy #squeeze my pain away #snuggles

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