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piratefishmama · 11 months

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Nest | Part 1

A Steddie A/B/O ficlet

One of the main things that all alphas within the clinic needed to be able to do every single time without fail, was to ignore the scent of an omega in heat. It took an impressive amount of self-control, not to slip into rut, that only happened in porn, but to maintain their cool, to maintain professionalism, to ensure their patients felt safe around the stranger they’d be spending the majority of their time with during their stay, where they’d be at their most vulnerable.

They had to be able to trust the alpha they were assigned to. Trust that they wouldn’t be taken advantage of when they succumbed to their most primal of instincts.

That being said… being hit by a wall of pure earthy, woodsy scents outside the number 69, maybe he paused at the doorway for a second longer than he normally would have.

He shook his head clear, then knocked three times on the door “Mr… uh…” he checked the clipboard “Munson?” wait… Munson? He knew that name… that was a familiar name. “May I come in?” There was no bulldozing into an Omega’s space at Nest. Even if it wasn’t their home, their rooms at the clinic were their space, and would remain their space until their time ended there. Alphas and Betas alike needed permission to enter.

There was a brief shuffling sound behind the door for a moment, before a quiet “yeah c’mon in” reached his ears. Steve rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, in and then out, then opened the door and oh… oh that…

That was… wow.

That was an Omega experiencing the early stages of heat, or pre-heat, notable by a strong scent permeating the air meant to draw a partner in. It was meant to be enticing, it was meant to cloud the senses, to rile an Alpha up. It wasn’t the first pre-heat scent Steve had experienced, working in an environment like that, he knew it was basically just a hulked up version of the omega’s natural scent, but it was the nicest one he’d ever smelled. Kind of familiar too.

Earthy. Like camping in the forest, dirt, moss, nature at its finest. No amount of aftershave or cologne could cover it and in Steve’s humble opinion, why would anyone want to?

Okay. Professionalism. He was a professional. He’d completed his qualifications, passed all manner of psych evaluations, he was basically the golden boy of Nest’s Alpha staff, he could handle a pre-heat scent, the door closed behind him.

“He—” oof was that his voice? He coughed, clearing his throat, regarding the omega in the room with a warm smile. “Hello, my name is—"

“Holy shit—Harrington?” Steve paused. Munson. Munson. E. Munson. Eddie Munson. Oh fuck. He knew that name, of course he knew that name.

Hawkins wasn’t exactly a large town. Eddie had originally been in the year above him, jumping on tables, louder than life, an off-putting kind of Omega.

Then he’d been in the same year as him, still jumping on tables, louder than life, still making Alpha’s and Beta’s alike cringe at the idea of being anywhere near him, and then he’d been in the year below him still in school after still not graduating.

Apparently he’d finally managed to graduate that third attempt.

No amount of fresh earthy scent could possibly mask the fact that this omega, was a nightmare. There was nothing soft about him, nothing homely or gentle, he was loud, unapologetically so, he was largely expressive, he was nerdy, and theatrical, he liked to be the centre of attention at all times, or at least he seemed that way, and he could be violent if provoked.

Among many other outbursts, the most notable being that he'd slammed Billy Hargrove’s head against a locker hard enough to give the guy a goddamn concussion after he’d witnessed him harassing one of his nerdy little pack.

An Omega wasn’t supposed to stand up to an Alpha. He’d just walked up behind him, grabbed his head, and slammed it against the locker. No warning, no threat, he’d just snapped. Knocked the guy out cold then hurried his pack away.

He was everything an Omega stereotypically wasn’t supposed to be. “Munson.”

“Well, uh… this is a thing that’s happening then I guess.”

Steve bristled a little at the tone, arms folding over his chest, clipboard held against his chest. “You asked for me by name.” This wasn’t how the meet and greet was supposed to go by any means, Steve was supposed to show him around the room, was supposed to walk him through the amenities he had at his disposal, was supposed to explain how things would go, how the camera system worked, but Eddie had never conformed to normal, had he?

“I asked for Steve, I didn’t know you’d be THIS Steve. Gareth didn’t know your last name, dude, it’s not like he had a lot of experience seeing you in Highschool.” Right. Eddie wouldn’t have asked for him had he known. Because why would Eddie have asked for him, why would anyone stuck on highschooler Bullshit Steve ever ask for him to help them, why would anyo— “Whoa dude! Dude, chill out, god, don’t you guys wear patches?” He was holding his nose, wafting the air in front of him as if it’d personally offended him.

Steve had never been made to feel wrong at his job before. Never been made to feel unwanted there before.

“Not around Omegas in the clinic no, because Alpha pheromones when used correctly can make an omega’s heat easier, something which obviously I’m not going to be able to do for you since you’re clearly against it being me helping you. I’ll just— I’ll have someone else assigned to you. Our patients comfort is of the utmost importance.” Surely someone else had to be free, right?

He turned on his heel, missing the wide eyed panicked expression that crossed Eddie’s face by a fraction of a second. He didn’t miss the switch in scent though, the panic. It caused him to pause just long enough for Eddie to blurt out “Wait!!” Steve turned back to face him again, brows raised, expectant. “Listen—I’m… we don’t have bad history, Harrington… me an you, there’s no bad blood there, you were never shit to anyone I knew, or me… my only gripe about you was from shit I heard second-hand an-an I know what that’s like… everyone thinkin they know eeeverything about you cause they’ve heard a few rumours. Gareth… he vouched for you, he’s one of my youngest pups.” Pup. Pup. Steve tilted his head a slight to the left, so that’s how that little pack worked, hm? “He said you took care of him, helped him make Galgrun, right?”

“The dwarf with the big hammer, yeah?”

“Haha, Steve Harrington saying dwarf. Weirdest day of my life. But yeah. Dwarf with a big hammer and a height complex, it’s a funny character” he’d ran it by Eddie the second he’d gotten back home, jumped on the phone and called him about it, went through everything with him to see if he could include it in the next campaign since his previous character had met with a terrible fate. “I’m…” Eddie took a breath, shaky, nervous—Steve read it for what it was, knew what he was going to say before he even said it “I’m scared… last time I—I nearly hurt my uncle, he—he’s just a Beta, but he tried to help and—”

Betas could help in a pinch, they could bring an Omega back to their senses in high stress situations, but they’d only continue to be of ongoing help if the Omega saw them as a mate.

Familial ties could only help so much and for only so long.

“It wasn’t what your Omega needed, was it?” Eddie shook his head “thought of him as an intruder in your nest?” A nod. “Have you ever had an alpha near for your heat?” The clipboard had said no, but… sometimes Omegas didn’t want things recorded in paperwork for their own safety.

“No… I mean, my dad was an alpha, but he was gone before my first heat so—no, an it’s not like they’re linin up…” no, they weren’t. Alphas and Betas alike tended to steer clear of Eddie Munson. Feral not so little thing that he was.

“…Okay. Are you sure you’re comfortable with it being me helping you through this?”

He thought there’d be a pause, hesitance, he thought Eddie would um and ah about it, but no, Eddie was very quick to nod, nod and say “yes! Yes, if you’re half as comforting as Gareth said you were then… yeah. Please?” He’d have to send Gareth some cookies or something, since he’d clearly been saying lovely things.

“Alright, let’s get you through the welcome packet and then we’ll start with the basics, okay?”

“Okay.”

Part 3

#PirateWrites #Steddie #CW: A/B/O #No Upside Down AU #Omegaverse #Omega!Eddie Munson #Alpha!Steve Harrington #NestFiclet

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figthefruitfaeth · 9 months

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108 "is that my shirt?" with the pairing of your choice please zoey <3

my dear beloved lou—i love this prompt so much, thank you <3 please know i listened to moon river by frank ocean for the entirety of its creation. I hope you like it

steddie | pre-slash/confession (kinda) | 868 words

Eddie takes a deep breath.

Blue. That's what it feels like. Spring fresh cornflowers in his lungs, the edges of an inky indigo sky staining his fingertips. Blue is the breath he takes, the old ceramic bowl of cereal he's got clutched to his chest, the veins under his skin.

It's the color of Steve's shirt.

Eddie shifts—presses his back fully against the window frame, the cold seeping through the thin cotton a welcome relief from the heat of the day. He keeps his head titled out towards the street, but his eyes are focused in.

Steve is on the opposite end of the window, head resting against the glass, his own bowl of cereal balanced carefully on both knees. Eddie watches the last of the day curling into his collarbone, the tips of his bangs. His chest moving in slow and easy breaths, eyes just slivers of hazel in the light. A sleepy cat, perfectly content.

Yet despite the quiet peace of the moment, Eddie feels it. Has felt it all day. Something sticking, unsettled in himself. Sleep in the corner of his eyes, the dry coarse grind of sand in his back molars. He's blamed it on the weed, paranoia lurking in the silence between the hum and ding of the microwaved nachos they'd made earlier—his mind trying to makeup for a body that had, for once, slowed down.

But that didn't stop himself from feeling it, from knowing something is off—no, Eddie shakes his head—different.

Something is different about Steve.

Steve, very carefully, spoons a mouthful of mushy multi-grain into his mouth. Grimaces, then does it again. A drop of milk lands on his shirt, seeping into fabric quicker than it landed. A spot of midnight in a sea of navy.

His shirt is blue. Which, all things considered, isn't different at all. Though he tends to favor the warmer side of the wheel chart, Steve's wardrobe is a rainbow of colors. From steel blue jackets to violet sweaters, Eddie's seen him in it all.

Mouth closed, his tongue runs along his teeth, twists against the edges of the back. Can't quite reach the end.

A dark blue t-shirt. A little big, not swallowed in fabric but less form fitting than most of his clothes. Old, maybe second or even third hand if the edges of the sleeves are anything to go by. Or the image splashed on the chest, which is really only a memory of a design—speckled silver to grey in uneven patches. There's still one letter legible, a sharp 't' dead in the middle.

It looks a bit like a band t-shirt, reminds Eddie of the shirts Wayne gave him when he first moved in, before they could go the Salvation Army together. Smoke and oil clinging to the threads, a reference to a song he'd only heard once on the radio, but stuck. Settled the buzz in his head, let his body move and mean something more than disappointment. Staring in the mirror, hair barely more than a buzzcut, navy stark against his pale skin—

”Is that my shirt?”

His voice is too loud, accidentally overshot by both the shock and last half hour of silence. Steve doesn't seem to be as affected, turning his head against the glass to face Eddie with a smooth nonchalance.

“Yeah,“ he says. Eddie looks at him, brows raised. Steve looks back, bloodshot eyes blinking slowly, seemingly feeling a one word explanation is all he needs.

Eddie searches for something, anything to say, ends up with a choked cough, and then, “Why?” Which—stupid, stupid, stupid.

Glacial blue, Steve looks down at his (his or his? theirs?) shirt, then back up at Eddie.

“Must've gotten it mixed up.”

Must've gotten it mixed up.

What.

Eddie blinks. Feels a bit like a dog as he shakes his head, mouth opening and then closing up tight in quick succession. There's no way Steve Harrington mixed up his clothes. The man spends 30 minutes a night picking out his outfit for the next day. He missed a group movie cause he couldn't find the right jacket. He almost had a conniption when Dustin tried to wash his colors with his whites.

Steve always wears the gold and red striped socks when he needs a bit of luck and never just throws something on. Steve doesn't ‘mix up’ clothes, not unless he's dying, not unless it means something—

Oh.

“Oh,” he says out loud, dumbly.

Steve smiles like their afternoon—a hazy, sticky sweet honey in his hands.

“Yeah.”

And then Steve winks, and turns back to the window.

Eddie bites his lip, feels his mouth tearing away into a smile anyway. Turns back to the outside before he does something crazy, shovels in another spoonful of nearly disintegrated cereal, watches night settle in. Lights from other, distant homes click on, warm yellow windows bobbing along in the pitch black darkness.

In the morning, when the sky lives up to its infamous hue, and the weed has left them their usual jittery, overthinking selves—Eddie will ask him other questions, will need more replies filled with complex, compound sentences.

Eddie takes a deep breath.

Navy.

And for now, that's enough.

writing prompts!

#my work #my writing #steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #ask game #writing prompt #eee this was so lovely to write and i really hope it makes sense #they're in love ur honor okay #brought to you by frank ocean's moon river and ikea sparkling pear juice

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kennahjune · 5 months

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OOOOO

Hello Hi Yes

I’ve only seen this done once before but I seriously wanna put my own twist on it.

Steve, Tommy, Eddie and Billy who all get stuck in the school post s3 pre s4 after being cornered by a demogorgan and not having anywhere else to go.

But like— the twist; there’s no Billy (he’s dead, sorry) and it’s Corroded Coffin instead. Yes Tommy’s still there because I crave Stommy friendship.

So they’re all caught up at the high school after school for one thing or another, and they all end up meeting in front of the front office while trying to leave but then Tommy and Eddie get into an argument over something dumb and then a demogorgan hits and Steve’s like in charge and shit idk.

And there’s a part where Eddie’s like “THATS NOT WHAT A DEMOGORGAN IS!” and Steve is like “I DONT FUCKING CARE BCAUSE EITHER WAY ITS GONNA BITE YOUR FUCKING FAVE OFF”

And there’s another part I really wanna write where Tommy is panicking really bad to the point of a full blown panic attack and Steve is like “I’ve got this” and calms him down as easy as spelling his name.

And another part where Steve gets a really bad cut or smth on his leg and Eddie and Tommy have to physically hold his ass down to get him to cooperate.

There’s much gay tension, obviously.

And Eddie and Tommy bickering. Lots of that.

And then there’s this one part where Steve finally gets his walkie to work (cause it wasn’t before for some reason) and he calls role call and Eddie and CC are like “HENDERSON? WHEELER?? SINCLAIR???”

Idk man, I just need Stommy redemption, Eddie and Tommy bickering, and Steddie getting together under fucked up circumstances. Also CC interacting with Tommy and Steve in a positive light is such a funny thought to me idk why.

But yeah that’s it. Might write it, might not. Idk yet but it’s def out there now.

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formosusiniquis · 4 months

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intrada (sugar plum holly and her cavalier)

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Holly Wheeler; Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler WC: 5708 | G | Tags/Themes: ballet, references to The Nutcracker, pre-relationship steddie, good babysitter Steve Harrington AO3

It was supposed to be a date that would merge their interests, something that had seemed classy enough for Nancy and athletic enough that Steve thought it would keep his interest. Supposed to be, in that when Steve had gotten the tickets -- begged his mom first for her and his dad’s season ticket seats and then for help finding a good seat when she said she wasn’t about to waste a sixty dollar ticket on a date -- he wasn’t even sure if it was the kind of thing Nancy would like. A year and a half into their relationship and he was only just realizing how surface level their conversations were, either talking about work or treating every conversation like an interview and parceling out information like they were afraid to reveal too much about themselves. So he was really working off of a jewelry box he vaguely remembered from her bedroom when he bought tickets for a ballet that wouldn’t even happen for another five months.

He wanted to have them when she got to Indianapolis, something to look forward to for their first Christmas together in the city. The Nutcracker, a classic supposedly but if anyone would know its cultural significance he figured it would be Nance.

And Steve isn’t an idiot, okay. He knows that Nancy isn’t exactly thrilled to be in Indianapolis, knows that she’s not happy to be at her safety school and not Emerson. Imagines having to wait to see if she made it up the waitlist all summer wasn’t the greatest experience; and he has to imagine because any time he wanted to talk to her about it she blew him off to focus on alternatives and next steps.

That’s why he does it. Hopes that having something to look forward to at the end of her first semester will help. Hopes that this is the first of many Christmases together, maybe a tradition that they can keep up. Going to the ballet together every year until eventually they’re bringing their daughter along with them. Maybe it’s too early to think about kids, but this is the kind of future he prefers to imagine over future careers and what he’s going to do with the degree he’s stumbling his way through. So he thinks about Nancy with pinned back curls in a nice dress humming along to songs they hear every year.

It was supposed to be that. Until it turns out that their relationship really couldn’t withstand being in the same city as one another. Until he’s forced to confront the hindsight that they never really talked about anything significant in the year they were doing long distance. Until Nancy tells him that she’s transferring next semester, and she isn’t interested in doing long distance; that she isn’t interested in continuing their relationship at all.

So Steve resigns himself to just being out the money for the two tickets. It’s not like he’s going to go to a ballet by himself, and it seems shitty to bring another girl to something that he imagined becoming a staple of his romantic future with Nancy. It’s not the first time Steve has cut his losses. (But he’ll die before he tells his mom she was right about not giving him her good seats.)

He honestly kind of forgets about the whole thing. Finals week has just ended. He’s pretty sure he flunked the one actual business course he took this semester to keep his dad happy, and he’s trying to figure out if he can change his major without screwing his whole life up. He’s ready to have a few weeks off.

Then Karen Wheeler calls.

Karen is a nice lady, though if he’s honest he’s not that upset that she isn’t going to be his future mother-in-law. She’s a little… flighty, as his mother would say with a backhanded smile. He privately thinks she sometimes forgets that she has three kids, losing track of one or the other at any given time. So maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised when she calls him two months after her daughter broke his heart begging him to take Holly to the ballet.

“Nancy mentioned it off hand months ago, and Holly hasn’t stopped talking about it since. I know it’s a big ask,” she had said in a tone that made it very clear she didn’t entirely care and would think poorly of him if he answered the wrong way, “but if you still have those tickets it would mean the world if you could take Holly.” He hadn’t missed the emphasis on the you either. Clearly Karen had no interest in making the trip to Indianapolis and he hadn’t needed to ask about Ted.

He didn't think of himself as a pushover, but he did think of little, blonde, six year old Holly: too quiet and too shy for her age. Fighting to be seen by a negligent dad and a mom who loves her children, but cares about appearances just enough to be blind. And he finds himself saying, “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Wheeler, but could you meet me somewhere halfway?”

It’s not until they’re settled into their seats -- on the floor but in the back, a booth behind them occupied by a pretty boy in a headset that Steve refuses to look at for too long -- that he realizes that he has no idea what this show is even about. Holly has been quiet since he picked her up, the least surprising thing about this trip right above Mike glaring at him from the passenger seat of Karen’s car as he moved Holly’s booster seat, but she’s studiously flipping through the little booklet the usher handed them on their way to their seats.

“Thank you for bringing me, Steve. I’m sorry Nancy didn’t want to come.” It is somehow simultaneously the longest and worst thing Holly has ever said to him.

“I’d rather see it with you, Holly Jolly.”

He’s saved from having to find anything else to say by the lights around them dimming, a prerecorded voice letting them know that any photography is forbidden and to expect a fifteen minute intermission, a bright and bouncing song picks up once the talking stops. He relaxes in his seat a little, relieved to get a few minutes before he’s expected to entertain a six year old that he’s spent more time with today than he had the entire time he and Nancy had dated.

Now Steve, contrary to what he very much knows is the popular opinion, isn’t just a jock. He knows there’s no talking in ballet. He’s even been to one before this, when he was still a cute novelty in his suit and bowtie accompanying his parents to the theater. What he is, according to his old nanny, every teacher he’s ever had, and about half of his exes, is a selective listener.

It’s not his fault though that his brain instinctively cues into different sounds. The buzz of the light above him louder -- and more interesting -- than a lesson on factorials. The sound of someone’s relationship imploding hard to tune out no matter how interested he is in his own conversation. So of course the sound of someone talking cuts straight through classical music.

“Someone remind David he needs to smile at his partner, he looks like he’s dreaming of a murder suicide.”

And it wasn’t hard to find exactly who the voice behind him was talking about. The only frowning face at this Victorian party who was glaring daggers at the magician who was bringing in new dancers.

“Well he should know better than to sleep around the cast shouldn’t he, Birdie?”

A practiced reader of body language, Steve could almost see, underneath the choreography, the traces of impropriety. David’s undisguised glare. The wistful way the woman in blue tracked him around the stage. The woman in pink who mooned at the woman in blue. It made him wonder what kind of things were going on backstage.

He expects that to be in. He doesn’t really do theater much, too many memories of pinched arms and snarling trips home, but he does remember the one rule is no talking. But it doesn’t stop, barely slows.

“If Mark sets himself on fire doing this stupid firepaper magic shit do we get to go home early?

“Sure, Robbie Bobby, I’ll swap out for the Rat King last show of the run. Jay can do my job and I’ll do his.

“Five bucks someone slips on the snow as they exit.”

He wants to know if that stranger wins the bet but the curtain closes and Holly is shy and asking Steve where the bathroom is. So instead of working up the nerve to turn and talk to the man behind him, he’s smiling his best mom-charming smile and asking the first woman with kids he finds to take his guest into the girl’s room.

By the time she’s out of line, and Steve buys her the doll and the novelty sucker she’d been pretending she wasn’t looking at, they slip back into their seats as the lights dim again. No chance to make his own witty jokes or observations, break the ice and show off some of the Harrington charm.

The first dance goes by with little fanfare and Steve’s almost disappointed. Holly is wiggling excitedly in her seat next to him, clutching her own little nutcracker, and he’s not even paying attention to the stupid show that’s got her so excited because he’s too focused on a snarky stranger he’d only even looked at once.

“Jeezus christ, is Tom stuffing his dance belt? That’s some Bowie level shit happening up there.”

He had almost given up, so it figures the guy decides to speak up once Steve’s attention started to shift back to the stage. He nearly chokes on his own tongue, eyes darting straight down to the issue in question. Holly, the sweetest kid he’s ever met, pats his back softly, hesitantly, like she’s only seen the gesture before. “There’s a water fountain by the bathroom,” she tells him in a library whisper, “I can stay here and not move.”

“I’m okay Hols,” he lies, ignoring the itchy, squeezing feeling at the back of his throat and forcing the cough away.

It’s easy to do when there's something else to focus on, “No, Lizzie, I’m not going to shut up. No one cares if I’m occupying the channel.” The stranger seems to be gearing himself up for a monologue, “I’m not going to miss my cue, I am the cue. Robin’s not going to miss her cue because it’s to music. Her cue doesn’t exist without me and she knows all of these songs and what note her cue goes with because it’s the eighth fucking time we’ve done it this week. If you or props have something you’ve got to say clearly you can get a word in edgewise.”

A few numbers go by after that, quiet except for the occasional professional, “Light cue, go.”

And then a song he actually sort of recognizes starts. A pretty strawberry blonde with a dainty smile tip toes and spins across the stage to plucked strings. Holly is enchanted, perched at the edge of her seat she reaches a hand over to clutch at Steve’s sleeve. A ‘tell me someone in the world is experiencing this moment with me’ sort of gesture. Awestruck and world rocked, stars in her eyes. Any resentment, any hard feelings that might have still lingered at babysitting evaporated. He got to be the person that let Holly experience this. A moment just for her, no family to take second place for.

The dancer on stage spins, clearing the floor in a series of tight, controlled rotations. Her arms guiding each step, swinging out and pulling her in, the driving force of her momentum. She’s moving fast, it’s an impressive display. Something shoots off in the opposite direction of that controlled turn, almost distracting in its break from that clean motion.

“Tell Props Chris just lost an earring.

“Fine, tell Wardrobe then.

“I’m not being a creep, I know she’s your girlfriend, Birdie. I merely observed her earring launching across the stage like an arrow from an elven bow.”

It’s like catching half of an Abbott and Costello act, like who’s on first being done through a telephone. It’s a strange sort of connection, listening in on a conversation that isn’t meant for him. He thinks for a sad second that he hasn’t ever had a friendship like this.

The show is wrapping up, dancers from scenes past making their way through for quick appearances. Holly is vibrating in her seat. Dancers in intricate costumes glide across the stage to bow toward the petite dancer in the nightgown and the strawberry blonde, Chris, beside her. A few moments later it's finished, the lights rising up around them and he shifts his primary focus back to Holly.

In the middle of the room, they had the best view of the stage and the longest wait to leave. Steve tries to be subtle as he shifts Holly in front of him, afraid of losing her if she's out of his eyeline. He doesn't want to baby her by making her hold his hand. She's wiggling in place, but she keeps herself small. Careful not to bump into the people slowly moving out of the aisle in front of them.

“Hols,” he starts to whisper, not wanting to embarrass her before he asks if she needs to hit the bathroom again.

But she grabs his sleeve in a child's iron grip, "Steve, I want to meet the princess."

It turns out, it's hard to find a way to tell an excited kid that there aren't meet and greets after a show like this. Pleading blue eyes and a nervous smile looking up at him, desperate but scared to ask for too much. The least he can do is try.

The guy behind them is still there.

The back of their line, Steve isn't holding anyone up by taking a minute to look. He's lithe, all in black. Hair pulled up in a half-assed bun, a headset tangled in the curls. He's wrapping up a thick cord, Steve couldn't guess why, but it draws focus to a toned arm that he's curling it around.

“Hey man,” the booth is a little bit above them, forcing Steve to rise up on the tips of his own toes to make sure he's visible, “I know you're working but I wanted to ask. The girl at the end- I, uh, I overheard you say she's your friend's girlfriend is there anyway you could convince her to come meet us.”

The guy startled a bit, probably surprised at being addressed. If he’s embarrassed at being overheard it barely shows a soft flush that could be from the warmth of the room. "The girl at the end?”

"The princess,” Holly shouts, bouncing up and down to try to see over the lip that blocks her view of the booth.

A change falls over the guy, his smile softens and eyes widen. He carefully drapes himself across the board of buttons and sliders to look Holly in the eyes. "Oh she's even better than a princess, she's a fairy. The sugar plum fairy. Is this your first time seeing the show with your dad?”

“Steve's not my dad.” She tells him with a little giggle, no doubt comparing Steve and Ted in her brain.

“Holly is my ex-girlfriend’s little sister.” He places his emphasis carefully.

“There’s a lot happening in that sentence.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, my Lady Holly, I bet I could convince Chrissy to meet a fan.” He promises with a flourish, “As long as your companion doesn't care that her faithful company will definitely be there the whole time.”

“Are you part of the group?” Steve asks, confident enough in his read of the situation to lay on a bit of charm. Letting his eyes trail down the sprawl of the guy's back. A thrill of victory at the little nod he gets back. “Then I won't mind at all.”

“Rockin’ Robin, tell me you still have your headset on?” He directs into his headset, “Great, remember that favor you and Chris owe me? I've got a fair princess who would like to meet our dear Sugar Plum Fairy.”

There's a lengthy pause. Even without the music playing the response is too quiet to be made out through his headset. “I don't see how that's relevant.” He hisses, “and she didn't ask to see an awful hag so you don't really even need to be there.”

His face clears after a second, looking to Steve like he wants them both to pretend that the earlier conversation hadn't been overheard. “Go through that door at the end of the front row right beside the stage.” The auditorium has cleared out enough he's got a clear view of the door the guy points to. “You'll end up in a hallway with a locked door at the end, wait there.”

“And if someone asks us why we're waiting there?” Steve asks, “I can tell them..?”

“Eddie, I'm- I Eddie Munson told you to wait there, if someone stops you before I get there.”

It's hard not to grin now that he has a name, Eddie, so he doesn’t bother. He puts on his best smile, the boyish and winsome one that always flusters whoever it's directed at, at least a little. Eddie is no exception looking back down at his work quickly. Steve takes a little pity, turning his attention back down to Holly.

She's twisting in place, hands clasped in front of her, as she stares off into space. He feels bad immediately, too familiar with what it's like to be a kid forced to entertain yourself while adults talk above your head.“C’mon, Holly Jolly, let's go wait for your fairy.”

She takes his hand the second it's offered, swinging it back and forth, humming one of the songs from the show. “Steve, do you think she's a fairy like Tinkerbell or a fairy princess like Barbie?”

“I don't know Hols, what do you think?”

“Tinkerbell is kinda mean to Wendy, but she can do magic and fly. But Barbie is really nice so if she were a fairy she'd be a fairy princess and have a crown and help people.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes! And this fairy looked nice when she was dancing, but it didn't look like she had a crown. Can you be a fairy princess without a crown?”

Holly was buzzing, bouncing in place, clearly over whatever earlier nerves she'd had about talking to him. With her back to the door that they were told to wait by, she’s started listing all the different jobs Barbie has had and why they should make a fairy princess doll -- Karen’s homemade Barbie clothes, he learns, are not as well made as the hand me downs from Erica and Mrs. Sinclair, so she needs the real thing. Holly misses the way the door creaks open, the woman from onstage inching her way out of the half opened exit.

Chrissy presses a finger to her lips, happy to help her surprise Holly, Steve keeps listening to her talk about why there should be a Barbie movie. He only nearly ruins the surprise when the dancer pushes down on the front of her saucer like skirt and it smacks her in the back as it flies up, letting her exit the back room.

Focused on her story, Holly doesn’t notice as the woman crouches down beside her. Not until she says, “This must be the princess I was told about.”

The screech she lets out is so joyful he almost doesn’t mind that his ears are ringing. Steve finds his smile mirrored on a freckle-faced girl dressed in the same all black as Eddie who is sliding out the door now as well. She sidles up to Steve, letting Holly have her moment with the fairy uninterrupted. “And you must be the prince charming.”

“Shut up, shut up,” Eddie pants, coming to a bent over rest beside Steve, “whatever she’s saying ignore it. Fuck.”

“You jogged like twenty feet,” the girl says, clearly unimpressed.

“Sorry Nancy Reagan, I say yes every time.”

“There are children present, have some class, Munson.”

The child in question could be on another planet, that’s how much she’s aware of their existence, Steve thinks.

“I have class every Monday, Wednesday, Friday; Saturdays are fair game.”

“Oh! That’s why you look so familiar,” the girl says, she’s looking at Steve now but he’s not really sure why. “We were in the same Communications and Public Speaking class, Prince Charming. Steve, right?”

He did have that class last semester, the only one technically tied to the business major his dad wanted him to have that he actually passed. “I, yes- sorry I don’t. I spent most of that class zoned out waiting for my turn to speak.”

“No, yeah, I figured. You sat a row in front of me and always looked shocked when you got called on, then you’d brush your bagel crumbs all over the floor when you’d go to speak.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not really sure what to say to that especially not when it’s being said right in front of a guy he was kind of into.

“Birdie holds the strangest grudges in the history of the world, take it as a sign of respect, Big Boy. She hated me for half of our music theory class because my handwriting didn’t look like it matched my general demeanor.”

“No, I hated you because you always smell like weed and never do the homework but somehow are still the professor’s favorite. And I still hate you for all of those things, but your unfortunate personality grew like mold on my girl- I mean grew on,” her face takes on a look of panic as she pivots her word choice. It’s confusing, at first, until he realizes he’s the source of panic. A familiar joke made with a friend, forgetting the new, possibly untrustworthy stranger until too late.

The siren song of new friends and a possible date is alluring, but with Holly in the room he does have to be careful of what gets back to her parents. He remembers Ted’s political alignments and gossip tends to reach his parents faster than he can. So he does his best at assurance, “Chrissy, right, she seems cool. It was nice of you guys to do this, Holly is probably only a little bit more into fairies than I am.”

Eddie sputters beside him, hard to tell if it’s a good sign or if Steve has just royally fucked up his chances at anything; but if it means easing Robin’s fears of queerbashing he’ll ruin his chance for a date every time.

“Into fairies,” Robin asks, nodding over to Chrissy, who’s showing Holly how she balances on the tips of her toes, “or…”

“I’m light in my loafers, or half, light in one-”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Eddie supplies.

“Right.”

“Worst way anyone has ever described being bisexual,” Robin says.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Eddie says.

“It was not.”

“I really appreciate this,” Steve says again to avoid the argument. Chrissy is helping Holly spin around on the toes of her patent leather mary janes, she’s giggling as Chrissy holds her pointed finger helping her twirl and twirl. “How’d you all get involved in all this? You’re still in school.”

“They always need a little help around the holidays, normally the theater kids get first dibs but there’s only like five tech kids and they’re all working the school show so the music department gets next go.” Robin explains.

“Chis is a prodigy so she put in a word for us specifically,” Eddie adds. Before he leers and leans deep into Steve’s space, it’s not an unwelcome move. “Unless that was you fishing for friends, Big Boy. Trying to figure out if you’ll see us on campus?”

“Oh,” Robin exclaims, like the thought had never occurred to her. “Are you finished with your gen eds? Wait, what's your major? Eddie, show off your party trick.”

He isn’t a total loser, so he doesn’t fidget or blush as Eddie runs his heady brown eyes up and down the length of him, taking him in. “Business and Marketing,” he declares after a second, but he doesn’t sound sold on it.

“I’ve been thinking about changing it,” Steve isn’t sure if he’s admitting Eddie’s right or just trying out what it sounds like to admit that he’s sick of being everything he’s supposed to be instead of what he likes. “I took Children’s Psychology for the whatever requirement and it was a million times more interesting than Intro to Econ.”

It feels like it’s going well. When Nancy broke things off Steve had resigned himself to finishing out college without any real friends, dating around and hoping for something that stuck. Here with these people, he can feel something starting. He wants to take that feeling and capitalize on it, follow through on something so another good thing doesn’t slip away from him.

That’s not the kind of luck that he has though.

“Steve,” Holly buzzes, grabbing his hand with no hesitation, “Fairy Chrissy said that I can be a dancer too! Can Santa bring me shoes like hers?”

Christmas is a week away, if Stever were guessing, he’d say the Wheelers have had Holly’s presents picked out and put away for most of the month. “I don’t know, Hols, Christmas is pretty close and the North Pole is pretty far. Do you think the mailman would have time to get all the way up there?”

Her shoulders slump, making Steve immediately feel like the worst person in the universe for crushing her dreams. “He's watching though, so I bet he saw you ask right now,” he does his best to smile, hoping it's comforting since it feels tight-lipped and desperate.

“Yeah!” She brightens, starts to hum along to the song just a little off pitch, getting more excited as she goes until she's murmuring, “Knows if you've been bad or good.”

“Hey Holly Jolly, why don't you tell Fairy Chrissy bye and thank you. We don't wanna be late to meet your mom.”

She's still singing but she nods, turning and shuffling back to Chrissy, still a few steps away.

“Would she know where to get those, Chrissy, the shoes that Holly would need?” He asks Eddie and Robin in a whisper, hoping Holly is distracted enough by her goodbyes that she won't hear.

“Are you..?” Eddie asks, a blush staining the tops of his exposed ears. “Ex-girlfriend?”

The emphasis catches his attention and, yeah, he can see how that looks. “Her parents aren't going to drive up to the city before Christmas, but the town over does lessons.” Barriers to entry, that's what his marketing classes called it, maybe he did learn something. He wants to make it as easy as possible for Holly to get what she wants. “She's a good kid, she should get what she wants for Christmas.”

That blush spreads, bleeding down from his ears across his cheeks. “You're a good dude.”

“Steve, I said bye. Do we have to leave now?” Holly asks.

“Let me say bye too, Hols, and we'll grab a treat before we meet your Mom.”

There's a pen tucked behind Robin's ear that he snags before he can second guess what he's about to do. Grabbing her arm first, he scrawls his number across it. “I've got a place off campus, no roommates if you ever want someplace to hangout or to study,” he tells her.

He grabs Eddie's hand next, rubbing his thumb along the palm and slowly writing the same number on his arm too. Keeping a hold of his hand for as long as he can. “I've got a place off campus, no roommates, if you ever want to come by and do something, have dinner?” He'll start there, let his interest be noted, and hope that Eddie is the type to like guys who dive in head first heedless of the water below.

Steve can already imagine a future where he's sneaking into the booth with Eddie. Watching shows he's never heard of before with a warm commentary murmured into his ear. Gossip and behind the scenes rumor, distracting him from a plot that's less important than the company. Maybe next year, after double dates and a growing closeness, he'll be able to sneak Holly backstage and she can meet other dancers too.

Maybe next year, he'll be convincing Eddie, and the girls he hopes will be his new friends, to drive down to Hawkins with him to watch Holly do jumps and spins of her own in their small town showcase. Eddie was good with Holly, Steve hopes it isn't a fluke, he's always wanted kids.

He's probably getting ahead of himself. Falling into the same trap he'd built with Nancy that had gotten him here in the first place. The romantic in him wants to spin this all as fate, it could be true after all.

Steve takes Holly's hand, they both wave goodbye, and leave the empty arts center. The winter sky is lit up by a full moon, fat snowflakes slowly float down to the ground beside them as they head back to his car, and for the first time since Nancy broke up with him he feels good about the future.

It's a long drive back to the McDonalds where he's meeting Karen, with Holly already dozing in the back seat, it's time that he can sit and be happy. Regardless of whether there's a message blinking on his machine to welcome him back home or not; what was supposed to be a relationship compromise ended up being the most fun he's had in weeks. So maybe Chrissy will tell him where to get Holly's shoes, maybe Robin will invite him for coffee or swing by to compare classes, and -- if he's really lucky -- maybe Eddie will invite himself over for dinner.

But, as he hums along to the waltz whose melody lingers in the back of his mind, the possibilities are something to look forward to.

#steddie #good babysitter steve harrington #my fic #steve and holly #steddie fic #holly wheeler #apologizing for my sins against nancy wheeler i'm sorry i needed plot #but also wait listing and getting rejected from first choices happens even if you are wonderful and smart #secondly know that steve does get holly her ballet shoes and then worries it's weird and everyone gets a present from “santa”#mike complains to the guys about the comics steve gets him (but also doesn't let anyone else touch them cause they're his)#and dustin has the epiphany that there's a cool adult figure that's now available in indy that he can use #mostly to explore stores and stuff that hawkins doesn't have without his mom cramping his style #babysitter steve and the henderfam bros forever in every universe

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steviesummer · 5 months

Text

Dealing with Demodogs

written for @steddiemicrofic's December prompt - ‘pine’ also works for today's prompt for @steddieholidaydrabbles - 'Royalty AU' wc: 508 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: pre-Steddie

“Dustin, I though you said you knew the way?” Steve could hear the unfamiliar voice carry through the pines surrounding his home.

Dustin’s voice he knew. “It’s your kingdom, Eddie, shouldn’t you know every place and resident?”

“I’m sorry, did you just suggest that anyone could know everything about the Enchanted Forest?”

Steve’s eyebrows rose, not at the realization that King Eadwine of all people was apparently searching him out, but that Dustin, usually so intelligent, would make such a basic mistake. He may not have been from here originally, but Dustin was usually more knowledgeable. In any case, he apparently had royalty approaching, so he might as well meet them at the door - if only because it made him look all knowing. Especially because Dustin hadn’t quite figured out his little trick.

He heard their arguing quiet as he put the kettle on and opened the door just before they could knock. “Come in, I’ve just started tea.” When the duo just stared at him for a moment, a small smirk found its way onto his face. “Unless I am wrong and you weren’t here to ask for my help?”

That seemed to shake both of them from their shock. “Tea sounds wonderful.” King Eadwine accepted, following him inside. He shooed two of his cats off the table so they could sit.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” He asked. “Unless the problem is Dustin, in which case I can’t help you, Your Majesty.”

“Hey!” Dustin objected, but the King grinned, clearly familiar with the younger man’s quirks.

“Please, call me Eddie.”

“Steve.”

“I wish it were as simple as Dustin’s ego, but alas, I am here to request your help on a slightly more serious matter. There have been reports of strange creatures along the Southern border. Dustin said you had helped him with something similar in the past - four legged with no eyes or fur and their head opens like a flower full of teeth?” Steve frowned, knowing exactly what Eddie was referring to.

“Demodogs. How many?” He mourned the loss of the lighter atmosphere, but shifted easily into crisis mode, already thinking about logistics.

“There have been 5 sightings, though only three seen together at a time. We can’t be completely sure, of course, but it does seem to be a fairly small group of them.” Eddie explained, before Dustin jumped in.

“Max and Lucas went ahead to get more information, but you were the one who actually dealt with them last time. And you know how we only thought there was one but it ended up being a whole pack. I don’t think the situation is the same, but better safe than sorry, right?”

Steve remembered the entire experience far too clearly. So much for an easy favor. He sighed, getting up. He waved Eddie and Dustin off. “Finish your tea. I’ll get my bat and a few other things. I’ll have to let Nancy and Robin know I’m gone as well. The sooner we leave, the sooner its done.”

#steddie #fic #mine #for anyone who has read the series #yes this is absolutely inspired by The Enchanted Forest Chronicles #with Steve being the very sensible witch #Nancy is basically Cimorene but dating Robin who is another princess #their dragons live in caves right next door to each other #no one is a wizard because they are the worst #also had to come up with a weird name that would still work to get shortened to eddie

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steviewashere · 20 days

Note

3, 7, 14, 20, 29 Numbers for the Drabble! Can I get really angsty here with like Eddie being depressed and almost dying and Steve saving him?!

Okay, I don't know if I went the route you were thinking, but I tried. Also, I definitely think I went a different way with the 'saving' thing, but here we go. This also got way longer than a drabble.

3: "Please, don’t leave.”, 7: "I almost lost you.", 14: "Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”, 20: "You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”, and 29: "I thought you were dead.”

CW: Implied/Referenced Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Eddie's Sacrifice Being Referred to as a Suicide Attempt

Established Steddie, Pre-Season Four Relationship

——— A voice low and raspy floats through his head. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” it says. There’s a pressure to Eddie’s hand. The firm squeeze of somebody else. Somebody who doesn’t remind him of his uncle. He can’t pinpoint who it is exactly, but it’s somebody familiar. A person who knows him, most likely. A person who’s willing to talk to him in the in-between of somewhere and nowhere.

Though, it’s not the first time he comes to hear this phrase. Uttered to him day in and day out. A constant reminder that he’s not gone, but he’s not there. Not with this person. This somebody that seems to care about him. And he should know, because their voice is familiar. Strong and urgent and pleading and soft, all at once. It’s the burn of a mid-winter fire in his backyard, tossing butt-ends of cigarettes into its mix, drinking spiked eggnog until he can’t sense the numbness of his cheeks and is lost in the glorious laughter between him and his uncle. It’s the push come to shove.

The shove that he needs to wake up. And wake up he does. Startled and groggy, too. Choking in the back of his throat. Jump the wire with hands out in front of him, clawing at his mouth, at the contraption stuffed down his throat. Then, in a blur of motion and noise and light, it’s gone.

He can breathe. He can blink. He can smack his dry lips and suck down on the plastic straw offered out to him. Offered to him by a shaky hand that doesn’t have the same rugged, aged quality to them that his uncle’s do. He can see, so he looks. Up the person’s arm and to this stranger’s face.

Yet, he’s not a stranger. No, not at all. It’s Steve.

Steve Harrington, the guy he’d been kissing back at his trailer nearly every night before the bullshit came to bulldoze him. The guy he’d held on the couch when he had concussions number one and two. The guy that makes him cry.

The cup and straw is set aside hastily. Outstretched hand to his uninjured cheek. And a thumb, steady and warm wiping at his tears. “I gotcha, baby,” Steve murmurs. Leans tight and close, pressed warm against Eddie’s side. And kisses at his overheating skin, at the tear tracks, and his hiccuping chest. “I gotcha,” he coos again. “I almost lost you, but I have you. I have you.”

Days move like that. Nearly like that. Eddie wakes up sobbing and choking, too warm and agitated. And Steve holds his face, kisses his cheeks, and brushes back his hair.

It works until it doesn’t.

When he’s discharged, he moves into a drab apartment. Too far from his childhood home. Away from a room that was brimming with him and his love for all the people and all the things he’s ever known. He’s lost everything. Lost tattoos, patches of smooth skin, books with margin notes, tapes and records, poster and banners, clothes and old stuffed animals. It’s all gone from him. Anything he’s saved from his and Steve’s time together, that’s all away from him, too.

Even as he unpacks the boxes of things that replace that of which he’s lost, it doesn’t soothe him. Nothing does. He had expected to never see the daylight again. To have left everything behind, with Wayne and Steve and the other people he’s come to know. That he wouldn’t have to see it again, but even if he had to, it would still be there. But nothing is. Then, he doesn’t graduate. Doesn’t even want to try again; just tells everybody, “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll get my GED or something, y’know? Maybe just go to trade school.”

Though, he knows that’s a lie, too.

Because he’s ten times worse off than he was before. Nothing to stick to his name. A distance that stretches between him and everything he’s ever had. It’s noticeable in the way he’s prone to lash out more. Prone to laying in bed, tight under his blanket, not doing anything. How quiet and how unnerving he’s become. Staring off at nothing, caught in flashbacks and blinking lights, holding to himself tightly as if he can will the normal to creep back into his body. He figured if he had died, sure there would be a bad taste to his name, but at least he wouldn’t have to keep making up for things he didn’t do. He wouldn’t have to justify who he is. Or find a way to hide in broad sunlight.

Everything he’s ever known is twisted backwards and shoved up where the sun doesn’t shine. He tries to do the things he loved, but all that it reminds him of is playing a demented concert, creatures come to life, bites and scars and blood and screaming. And death. Sometimes, he wonders why he didn’t just die down there. How he survived.

So, he asks. He asks because it’s his story, too. He deserves to know, right?

It’s during a stay-in date night at his new apartment that he asks. “Hey, Steve?” And part of him grimaces at the last time he used those words, in that exact progression, in the moment that should’ve been his last.

Steve startles on the couch. Untucks himself from under Eddie’s arm. And full body faces him. Wide eyes, tight mouth, and wrinkled brow.

“Nobody’s told me how I…how I managed to survive. Will you tell me?” He asks quietly. Even his voice is as tired as his brain is. He used to be good at masking this. The waves of discontent that flood from his body every once in a while. It was manageable because it was just about his parents, or his living situation, or the bullies at school. But now it’s just him. It’s him as a whole, as a person who shouldn’t have lived. How nobody’s written Zombie Boy on the side of his van, he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure about a damn thing anymore.

But instead of answering, Steve just shakes his head. Tries to tuck back in close.

Eddie won’t have it. He scoots farther away. More distance. Why is there more distance? His emotions are haywire, he knows that. Something sparking red inside his chest, ready to light up in bright shades of orange through his mouth. “Why not?” He questions, though it falls flat and bitter. “Tell me,” he demands. Has practically skipped over the pleading stages, he’s done begging.

“I—“ And something in Steve’s eyes harden. Jaw setting with an unsubtle twitch. “I can’t tell you, Eddie,” he bites.

“You won’t tell me,” he accuses. “Which, I don’t get why you won’t. It’s something I want to know, don’t make me go to Dustin. Or Robin. They’ll fucking tell me.” The words fall from his mouth dark and slow. Dripping from him like the hot churn of tar. And he should regret how sour his tone has already gone, based on the hurt creeping into Steve’s face.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs. “Please don’t make me fight you on this right now. I—I literally can’t bring myself to say it. It’s…I shouldn’t even have to explain this to you, but it was one of the worst moments of my life. Is that not enough of a reason for you?” He could take this all back, really should, but Eddie just shakes his head stubbornly. Furrows his eyebrows and wags his hand as if to gesture for Steve to keep going. Instead, Steve stands from the couch and makes way to the door, hand stretched out for his sneakers. “I’m not fighting with you,” he states calmly. “I know that you’ve been curious or…or that you’ve been trying to come back to yourself or whatever, but it’s not something I’m willing to share. And it’s certainly not something I want to argue with you about.”

“Whatever,” Eddie scoffs. “It’s probably bullshit anyway.” The fight leaves him all at once. As he leans into the couch, head at his lap, picking at his sweatpants. He sniffs, an attempt to rescind the tears that want to fall down his face.

But instead of leaving, Steve stays by the door and sighs. “Why do you want to know so bad?” He asks. Before Eddie can give him the same response, Steve quickly adds, “Don’t tell me that it’s ‘part of your story’ or whatever. I know it is. It’s just…Something’s different about this.”

He used to be unreadable. Unfathomable. Jumping between all kinds of things, unable to pinpoint him in a single way. But he shrugs. Goes quiet again. And mutters, “Just go, Steve. It doesn’t matter.” Even if he wants to say something about how he was supposed to die, or how he should’ve. Even if he wants to show all his cards: I’m lost, I’m different and everybody can tell, I’m falling apart, I’m close to death anyway.

Steve still doesn’t move.

“Go, Steve. I said that it doesn’t matter,” Eddie snaps. He raises his head. And for some reason, Steve is still there. Concerned and confused and sad all at once. He hates it. “I’m not gonna make you talk about it! Why are you still standing there?! You can go! I’ll find out one of these days, so stop looking at me like that!” He shouts. And he hates that, too. But he lets himself loud and angry, red faced and harsh lines. Because why won’t Steve just—

“You’re being a real dickhead, you know that?” Steve asks rhetorically. “I’m trying to save myself the fucking heartache I went through, and you—What, you think bullying words out of me is going to get you an answer?! I just don’t get why you’re so curious about what I saw! You’ve never pushed before, y’know, back during Starcourt or after Billy or whatever, but now it’s—“

Eddie groans and stands. Interrupting with his own words, “I’m not forcing you anymore, so let’s just drop it!”

“—Why does it matter in the first place?! You know what you did! It’s nothing different from—“

“Nothing different?! God, do you hear yourself?!”

“—Seriously, why does this matter so bad?! I don’t get it—“

“Because…Because I—“

“I thought you were dead!” Steve screams, just as Eddie shouts back:

“I wanted to die down there!”

And then the room fills with suffocating silence. As they stand merely four feet apart from each other. Wide eyed, red in the face, shaking. Immediately, Eddie looks down to the floor as Steve stops closer. Stepping back when he thinks they get too close to touching.

He doesn’t say anything about wanting to die, even now. Doesn’t say how even when Steve is doting on him, massaging his scars with lotion, taking care of him all sweet like—Eddie still wants to crawl outside of his skin and bury himself under the ground. Won’t say something about how he thought about all the ways in which he should’ve died, or could’ve died, or could still die now. Won’t.

Now, he understands why Steve can’t talk. Because he’s realizing he can’t talk either.

Steve’s voice is wet and heartbreaking when he asks, “What? Baby, why would you…”

Eddie just shakes his head. Heaves his own little wet thing. A sigh or a sob, it’s hard to tell. “I shouldn’t have pushed, I’m sorry,” he says first. “Please…Please go, Steve. I think I should lay down.”

“Hey, wait—No, Eds,” Steve calls out, his hand brushing briefly with Eddie’s wrist. But he can’t grasp. Not with how Eddie turns away, down the hallway, and slams his bedroom door behind him.

They don’t see each other for a week after that.

Eddie stays closed up and silent in his bedroom. Under his comforter. Unmoving. Briefly gets up to go to the bathroom. In which he tries to avoid how his uncle stares at him. Doesn’t want to eat, can’t bring himself to eat. Not with the guilt that fills his stomach anyway. Steve shouldn’t have heard that. Shouldn’t know that that part exists inside of Eddie, but it does. And it festers.

Festers uncaring that Eddie doesn’t want to feel this way. Just lingers heavy on his shoulders, tight in his belly, grumbling in his chest. It, that desire, tingles in his fingertips. As he takes his medications, holding onto the plastic bottles longer than he needs to. When he carries a cigarette between his two fingers, eyeing the embers sparking over his bare skin. It’s in the haunting images in his nightmares, where he lays bloody and exhausted and finally in solitude. But he wakes up sobbing anyway. Grasping to his elbows, rocking back and forth in his bed, biting down on his comforter or his blanket as to not wake up Wayne.

It’s still there when he sees Steve next.

A knock to his bedroom door, hesitant and small. Then, the bustle of movement clambering through. His shadow standing over the end of Eddie’s bed. “Eds?” Steve’s voice is low and cautious, standing on eggshells. “Baby? I—uh—I got a call from Wayne saying you were…That you weren’t feeling good. Just wanted to check on you.” Eddie pulls his head out from under his blanket and just blinks at Steve. He takes that as some sort of cue, though, and comes closer. Hesitantly sitting on the edge of the bed. He lays his right hand over Eddie’s forehead and frowns. “You don’t feel warm or anything. How aren’t you feeling good?” He asks. And his face is all too soft. A little smile. The creases at the corners of his eyes. How his body language is still so sweet and caring and…It just doesn’t make sense with how Eddie treated him last.

So, without a response to give, Eddie allows himself to weep. A quiet thing at first, but that bubbles and pops and explodes from out of him in the next moment. Tumbling from him admits blubbering, apologies and terrible explanations and how he didn’t mean to push. Steve startles lightly, pulls his hand away, but doesn’t get very far. Eddie plunges his hand out from under the blanket, grabs to Steve’s retreating hand, and holds on firmly. “Please, don’t go,” he pleads, “Don’t go, Steve. I don’t—I can’t—“

Carefully, Steve burrows himself into Eddie’s blanket. Flush against Eddie’s torso. Arms wrapping around his shaking shoulders. Lips to his forehead, murmuring, “Hey, hey, Eds. You’re okay. I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.” And when Eddie’s crying only gets louder, Steve squeezes impossibly tighter. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always, Eds. I’m right here with you,” he attempts to placate.

When the crying gets hoarse and Steve’s words are just sticky kisses to Eddie’s forehead, does he calm down. Sniffing loud, burrowing in close to Steve’s warmth, scratching his chin with his wild and unwashed hair. “I didn’t mean to say it that way,” he mumbles, “It’s true, but I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

Steve lets out a carefully measured breath. “I just hope that you don’t think like that now,” he murmurs. A tinge of sadness at the edges of his voice.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and the scream in his chest. The quiver in his palms and the thoughts in his head, he tries to steady. Of course this isn’t easy. “I do, sometimes. I don’t like it, though. And I’d never…But I thought my life was over at that point, you have to understand that, Steve,” he begins to explain. “And like—My life now, I may have some things. I may have you still and Uncle Wayne. I have Dustin and Mike and Lucas, our game and whatnot. But I can’t…Things that used to matter to me, they don’t mean anything at all. They just make me think of that place. It’s just…My life feels drastically different now and like there’s nothing to fix it.”

Above him, where Steve’s chin rests on the top of his head, he hears and feels the hum Steve emanates. He swipes one hand down the center of Eddie’s back. The other holding tight to the back of his head. “I think fix is the wrong word. Maybe just…You just need to be guided. But I don’t think I’m the right person to do that.”

“I know,” Eddie mutters. “I’ll have to find something because I’m not putting the people around me through—I’m not going to let you lose me,” he states determinedly. “Just please don’t go. And know that I really am sorry, that I am grateful for what you’ve done for me, but I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“It sucked,” Steve admits. “But I’m right here with you. By your side through the thick of it. And I forgive you, as long as you stick by me.”

All Eddie can do is burrow in closer, nod, and let himself succumb to Steve’s warmth. To be saved from near death is one thing, but to be held away from it is another. And Steve has done that for him. He kisses Steve’s chest, where his heart is, and makes a silent promise that he will find a better tomorrow for himself.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #angst and hurt/comfort #very angsty #arguments and making up

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slv-333 · 14 days

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Need to write at least a one shot where eddie sings "cooler than me", the cover from ethan fields.

Im thinking pre s3 steddie have a thing going on, steve ends up breaking it up when shit starts to get serious with the upside down, steves worried eddie will get involved and tries to break things up without hurting his feelings but eddie wont let it go cause its obvious something is going on with him and steve wont tell him. So insteard he says some bully shit, eddies not cool enough for him, he doesnt want to be seen around with trailer trash, he doesnt belong in his life. Obviously eddies hurt as fuck, mostly cause steve had been great for the past months untill like 2 weeks ago. Ofc he goes home and writes about it, hes angry, hurt, confused. Eddie doesnt plan to sing the song on stage like ever, but when steve comes around the hideout to try and apologize when he knows eddie will be playing, oh he HAS to sing that song. The band knows it as they play it sometimes during practice, dont really know the meaning of it, and eddie wont telll them, but as steve harrington walks in with his dark shades to cover up a bruised eye and a short haired girl by his side, they sure have an idea of who the song is about.

#eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #robin buckley #corroded coffin #steve and eddie

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fastcardotmp3 · 3 months

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“A person doesn't get those from being trampled,” Eddie keeps on going, keeps digging their communal grave, “you weren't just trampled in the panic, did-- did the mall even-- no, it burned, we saw on TV, but--” “Eddie, stop.” » Steddie // Rated T // Pre-S4 // 2.3k » Febuwhump #3: Rope Burns & "You lied to me" » Febuwhump Masterlist

read on ao3 // preview under the cut

“I think you should stay here for a few days,” he breathes, thumb chasing the tear that drips when Steve squeezes his eyes shut against the suggestion. He’s lying on his good shoulder facing Eddie. He can smell the remnants of the chain smoking Eddie had been doing out the cracked window during the hour or so he had thought Steve was sleeping. “I think maybe you shouldn’t be home alone for a little while.”

Steve hums at the back of his throat, broken and crackling with the force of holding himself back. He wants to crawl into Eddie’s lap, straddle him and kiss him as deep and as long as he ever has, because it’s ending. He knows its ending, but he can’t stop it, so he has to just make do with the moments he has left before it all—

“Here, can you take this off to sleep?” Eddie nudges a finger between the strap of Steve's sling and the place it digs into his collar bone, like he's checking the tightness, like his biggest concern is Steve's comfort. “Come on, sit up and I'll help you with it.”

Steve lets himself be maneuvered, relishes in it in a way that only doubles down on the pit of guilt bubbling with toxicity in his gut. It feels good, feels steady, and even still Steve needs Eddie to know that, “you don't have to do this.”

Eddie isn't looking at him, focusing on moving slow as he figures out the buckles on Steve's sling and eases it away from his body. Those eyes though. Those eyes are big enough to feel captured by them even without their direct attention.

“Yes, I do.”

“Ed—”

“Wayne had the news on and the death count kept going up and you weren't answering your phone and—” he cuts himself off, gripping the sling in his lap where he sits criss-crossed facing Steve and halfway slumped in on himself, chest all but heaving, “I'm doing this. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve croaks, unable to do anything but agree in this quiet bubble of vulnerability Eddie has built between them.

#dot fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington whump #febuwhump 2024 #dot does febuwhump #pre s4 steddie #a little steve h/c for your tuesday!

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sp0o0kylights · 1 month

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There were a lot of things Mike hated in life.

The demogorgon, and how it had essentially destroyed his life.

Brenner, and the madhouse laboratory El had survived.

How each and every one of his friends now did something weird--were weird, because flashing lights or fireworks or some stupid tune a toy horse played dragged up memories that made their eyes flat and faces hollow.

Most of all though, Mike hated how much they relied on Steve.

There was no reason he should be the person to call when it started pouring and no one wanted to bike home from AV.

Steve wasn’t Nancy, or Jonathan, or a parent--he wasn’t even dating anyone related to any of the Party anymore so what excuse did he have to keep hanging around?

(Even if Jonathan was always working, and Nancy was always busy with some club or homework, and everyone’s parents all seemed to be in a race of who could get back to normal the fastest…)

They should at least try to get a hold of other people, instead of constantly going to Steve first.

“Why?” Dusitn had scoffed at him the last time this had happened, feeding quarters into a phone and staring at Mike like he was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not gonna waste money just to hear your sister tell us no again when we all know Steve will do it.”

Which was perhaps the most infuriating part of it all.

That Steve would do it.

Show up and help them, even if he bitched the whole time.

Hell, Steve Harrington knew more about Mike’s life offhand than Nancy did, and that made him want to punch a wall more days than it didn’t. Why the hell was Steve so involved?

It was stupid.

Weird, even! They weren’t friends, (even if Dustin and Max and El of all people said the opposite) he wasn’t being paid to babysit, (Mike had double checked; going round to ask Ma Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair, only to get an earful of how wonderful Steve was from both.) he had no reason to hang around!

It didn’t make sense that Steve could be harassed into picking them up from school.

Would take them to get ice cream, or hand over extra quarters for the arcade. He even gave out advice like some kind of--brother that Mike had never wanted.

Above all?

Mike hated that when he needed someone, the number he punched in on automatic was Steve’s.

“I need you to come get me.” He said into the receiver, mad at himself and the world, but mostly mad that beyond the normal amount of squawking Steve did, he shut up and came.

Drove up in his rich boy car, stepping out and herding Mike into it like the rain hadn’t already seeped into his bones.

“You wanna tell me why you snuck into a bar two towns over?” Steve asked, long after Mike had slung himself into the passenger seat, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“No.”

One of Steve’s hands went right to his hair, running through it before adjusting the mess he’d just made.

It was a nervous habit, and Mike hated that he knew that too.

“Okay, well.” Steve’s hand fell back to the steering wheel, clenching tight around it. “Next time you want to do something dumb could you at least come talk to me about it beforehand?”

“What the hell would that do?” Mike bitched, staring firmly out of the window.

“Not waste my gas for starters.” Steve bitched right back. “But I dunno man, we could have taken some bats and gone and wailed on cars in the junkyard and talked or some shit, not--whatever this all was.”

‘This all’ was accompanied by a wave of his hand, indicating not just the bar Mike had been standing in front of, but his general sopping wet state.

“You’d actually go to the junkyard with me?” Mike challenged, doubtful.

Steve made a face. “Did you lose your hearing in there? I just said--.”

“Why?” Mike interrupted. “Why the fuck would you come out with me?”

Matching his entire aggressive tone, Steve said; “Because it’s better than trying to sneak into the one local gay bar when you’re barely fourteen, Michael.”

And that?

Steve being oddly aware of shit he really shouldn’t have?

Mike hated that too.

“You knew what the bar was?” He asked, his voice coming out much smaller than he intended.

“Everyone knows what that bar is, except it’s more of a biker bar than a gay bar.” Steve shot back--which did actually explain about ten different questions Mike had about the place. “Also, language you little shit.”

Under his breath, Steve continued in a muttered; “I swear I’m going to start carrying around soap.”

“You cuss more than we do.” Mike responded, and if his own voice was a little strangled as he fought back the sudden swell of tears, then that was between him and God.

He was not crying in front of Steve Harrington, he outright refused.

“The point I’m making is that there are way better bars to sneak into. That one’s not nearly as welcoming as people make it out to be, probably because they’re sick of all the rumors.”

Steve seemed to realize what he was implying because he quickly added; “Not that you should be sneaking into any bars at all!”

“You’re not my mom.” Mike’s voice turned wet as he lost his battle with his throat, voice cracking as he failed to choke the tears back.

“No shit Wheeler.” Steve said, and at least he was good enough not to call attention to Mike’s crying.

If he had, Mike was pretty sure he’d just up and die of embarrassment, right there.

“I don’t get why you care.” He muttered, angrily swiping at his eyes.

“I didn’t keep you alive this long just so you could die of something stupid.” Steve countered easily.

Which was kinda fair, if you thought about it.

Mike very much did not want to think about it.

Any of it.

Ever.

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” He asked after a painfully long moment.

Long enough that Steve had begun fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station as they drove back that wasn’t wailing country or gospel music.

“I’m not a narc, so no.”

“Not about the bar.”

Now Steve just looked confused.

Probably because he was, because he was without a doubt the stupidest almost adult Mike knew.

(Not that he could say that out loud--last time he had, Max had made one of her pissy faces and then El got mad because Max was, which led to a break up, which led to Mike having to beg his way back into his girlfriend’s good graces while explaining that he hadn’t meant it like that.

“How did you mean it then?” Max demanded, and Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge that entire conversation but he had, on grounds that untangling his own emotions regarding stupid Steve made him want to pull his hair out and scream.)

“What about then?”

“You know. Don’t make me say it.” Mike absolutely didn’t plead, even if it did sort of, kind of, sound like pleading.

Steve flicked his eyes away from the road to give one long, weird look at Mike. The same one he gave Dustin when he went off on a rant about Cerebro or Lucas when he started discussing the stats of different D&D weapons.

Unlike those times, Steve’s face cleared.

“Oh.” He said, blinking, and Mike could practically see the light bulb flash above his head.

Then;

“Nah.”

Mike waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting as Steve went back to searching through radio channels, as if that was the end of the conversation.

It couldn't be the end of this conversation.

Not when this was the part that was eating Mike alive.

He didn’t know if this was Steve repressing it on purpose or if this was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life if he kept trying to figure his own head out, but either way, he knew he had a choice to make.

To let the unspoken part of today die quietly. Go unsaid, and remain unsaid, for all eternity--or he could let it out.

Shove the “gay” part of “gay bar” in Steve’s stupid, jock face.

Make him acknowledge it, even if it got Mike kicked out of the car, and who cared if it did?

Steve wasn’t the person who should have picked him up anyway.

The anger climbed higher and higher in his chest, tears and rage combining until Mike spat it all out, furious.

“You’re not going to ask if I’m gay?”

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but Mike saw his eyebrow cocking anyway, given how he was currently glaring a hole in the side of the older teen’s head.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” Mike bit out automatically. “Yes. I don’t know!”

Steve’s hand found its way back into his hair.

“Okay then.” Steve paused, clearly fishing for something to say.

Gleefully, Mike watched him struggle.

“Do you like guys?” He managed finally, looking like he was navigating a minefield more than just talking.

“I don’t know.” Mike stressed, sinking lower in his seat. “Why do you think I was at the bar? I was trying to figure it out!”

“Honestly I assumed this was some sort of stupid dare--but!” Steve held up a finger, before Mike could interrupt, “But let’s--shit, hold on, I had a speech for this but I kinda wasn’t expecting to use it this soon. Um.”

“You have a speech for me being gay?”

“Not for you.” Steve rolled his eyes. “For--in general! It was an in general, just in case speech!”

He rounded on Mike, for longer than the younger was comfortable with given Steve took his eyes off the road to do it. “Okay--you can like boobies, you can like, uh--not boobies, and that’s fine! It’s all totally fine!”

“You are not making it sound like it’s fine.” Mike said, feeling like he’d been taken out by hearing Steve say the word “boobies.”

Gross, gross, gross.

“Well it is.” Steve said, in a tone that felt like he was two seconds from adding in a smarmy ‘so there!’ at the end.

“But I’m dating El.” Mike whined, which really, was both the heart of the matter and the eye of the storm that had been growing in his head for months now. “I can’t be gay if I like her.”

“Don’t you guys break up and get together like four times a week?”

“No, that's Max and Lucas, El and I are stable.” Mike scoffed. “Or we--we were stable.”

Before he started to have thoughts about people that weren't his girlfriend.

Or women.

“Stable for being in middle school, sure.” Steve snorted. “You don’t just have to like one or the other you know. You can like dudes and chicks at the same time.”

Which Mike did not know, on account of being fourteen.

He did his absolute damndest not to show that realization, instead adding that to the list of reasons why he hated Steve Harrington too.

Steve shouldn't be the one teaching him about who you could like!

“The point is that who you end up loving isn’t a problem.” Steve finally looked back to the road. “Other people might be an issue, and those people we can punch in the face so long as the cops aren’t looking, which isn’t part of the speech so let’s not tell people I said that part, but whatever you do choose, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Steve’s voice went firm, as he apparently recalled his speech or something close enough to it because his next words sounded a little rehearsed. “You have people who are here for you, no matter what. Okay?”

Oh God, Mike was crying again.

He wanted to punch Steve in his stupid face.

Wanted to hold onto the fury he'd built inside himself. Thrash around, throw himself out of the car, get away from the emotions that felt too big for his chest to contain.

Instead he felt it all break on Steve's acceptance. On word's he didn't know he needed to hear until they'd been spoken, and sniffed out a quiet; “Okay.”

Steve of course had to take it too far by reaching over and patting his knee, which they both regretted judging by how quickly Steve took his hand back and the face Mike made at his hand--but it…

It was appreciated, even amongst all Mike's rage.

Steve was appreciated.

Not that Mike would ever, on pain of death, tell him that.

Neither said a word for a while, Steve finally landing on a radio that was playing some Top 40 hit, Tears for Fears singing about ruling the world while Mike found himself trying to rebuild his own once again, tired of it having shattered so many times over.

At least he finally felt better, even if he refused to admit Steve was the reason for it.

He wasn’t quite done though.

There was a piece Steve had skipped over, that Mike felt was critically important, if only because it was partly the reason he was having thoughts about being gay in the first place.

He had to know if Steve saw it too.

That it wasn’t just him and his stupid head, making up things that weren’t there.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Who was the speech for?”

Steve sighed.

“Rule one of the whole queer thing Wheeler, you don’t out other people.”

Like there were written rules or something.

(Maybe there were, it wasn't like Mike knew.)

“Was it Will?” Mike asked, and pretended like he didn’t desperately want the answer to be yes.

Steve didn’t say a thing, but the fact he nearly took the car off the road was a pretty solid answer in itself.

“We’re not playing guessing games about other people’s sexualites!” He yelped, hands gripping the steering wheel as Mike felt a wave of relief crash through him.

Will was--maybe, possibly, also--queer too.

Which didn’t make this any better but it--wasn’t the not preferred outcome, either.

(It wasn’t just Mike struggling alone, trying to figure out if his best friend wanted to be more than that, if El was breaking up with him and more and more because she wanted to be less than a girlfriend, if things were changing and he would have no one--)

“I’m not out here picking Will up from a gay bar dipshit, I’m picking you up, and this is your reminder that next time, you should just come talk to me!” Steve ranted.

Mike snorted.

He absolutely hated Steve Harrington, but--

“Fine.” He said, talking so low he could barely be heard. “I will.”

--maybe Mike did have someone in his corner after all.

Even if it was just Steve.

xXx

Bonus:

“Between you and me, that kid is gayer than a two dollar bill.”

“Wow Robin,” Steve teased, “Isn’t that like, a slur or whatever?”

He snickered when she rolled her eyes and threw a roll of stickers his way.

“I’m just saying. Did you see the way he was looking at you when you were showing off your stupid biceps?” Robin said, nudging her shoulder into Steve’s. “Will’s gonna have a rude awakening later if he hasn’t already.”

Steve nudged her back, but kept his gaze on the Party as they trooped their way from Family Video to the arcade next door, the realization that they now had connections for free rentals making them downright gleeful.

Will was the last one in, and Steve watched him hurry so as to not be left behind.

He didn’t like to worry about the dipshits, but Robin was just putting voice to a thought Steve knew he wasn’t the first person to have.

And if he noticed it, then it didn't exactly bode well as being kept a secret.

“Should we like…talk to him about that?” He asked after a long moment, turning to face Robin.

“Us?” She pointed at herself, before turning her finger on Steve. “Why us?”

“Well you’re into girls.” He gave her a pointed look, glad that the store was empty of everyone but them so he could actually voice all this. “And I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I’m sure he wants to know you’re fine with it.” Robin taunted, but she had her thinking face on, eyes out to the middle distance. “I barely know him. You barely know him--he’s the quietest out of all your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” Steve argued automatically. “They're like a weird cross between shitty siblings and that kid in your class who never leaves you alone.”

A fact Steve no longer took for granted, even if he made it sound like the worst thing ever.

“I just think it’d be nice if he knew that he had people in his corner, you know? Who supported him and shit.”

“Steve, you compared my crush to a muppet, that wasn’t supportive.” Robin countered, but it too was on automatic.

Softer she admitted; “You’re right though. If I had known other queer people, if I had known people would accept me...it would have made things a lot easier.”

A very long pause, in which both of them stewed for a moment, before Robin abruptly slapped her hand down on the table.

“Okay, you got me. We're doing it, and I'm making us a speech.”

“A speech?”

“Yes dingus, a speech. I know you, you’re terrible when you’re put on the spot with this kinda thing, and trust me with things like this the moment will be spontaneous.”

“It’s Will, how spontaneous can it be?” Steve challenged back. “Getting a dinner order out of him is a chore.”

“Stop whining and hand me that notepad. Im telling you its gonna happen when you least expect it and then you're gonna thank me later.”

“It better not happen without you.” Steve sighed, but passed the notepad over.

God the things he did for those stupid kids.

Bonus x2

Steve would later go on to use the speech on himself, in a gas station bathroom mirror, eyes wide and freaked out after Eddie Munson called him Big Boy in a van they stole, while Robin snickered behind him.

He would turn on her, snapping that she; “Help me with this dammit!”

In return she’d remind him that Tammy might sing like a muppet but Eddie was the guy who stepped on lunches while giving speeches at lunch and sticking his tongue out, and “Really Steve, I think I won best gay awakening, here.”

Which would promptly start an argument regarding how it wasn’t a competition, which would continue for another fifteen or so odd years before finding its way as a reference into both of their speeches as each other’s best man.

Nancy and Eddie wouldn’t get it at either wedding, but Mike would.

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steddieholidaydrabbles · 5 months

Text

Week 1 Masterlist

Week one is done and you guys have been doing an incredible job! Whether you pre-wrote and scheduled posts or have been writing every single day, you deserve a hug and forehead kiss!

Please check below for the full masterlist of week one. Check the tags on them (especially for Came Back Wrong day, that was a heck of a round of submissions) and don't forget to support writers and artists by reblogging their work!

DAY 1 - OPEN MIC NIGHT

a bit of tear inducing nerd music by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: modern au, fluff, lotr references, steve harrington can sing, smitten!eddie munson, nerd!steve harrington

your heart sings to mine by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: alcohol, implied/referenced recreational drug use | tags: mutual pining, idiots to lovers, love confessions in the rain

You Say Bark, I Say Bite by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: language, smoking | tags: pre-s4, pre-steddie, platonic stobin, corroden coffin

checking it twice by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: coffee shop au, modern setting, established relationship

Untitled by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: open mic, karaoke, queer bar, holiday season, Christmas

A song for the night by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | no cw | tags: pre-steddie

I want you to want me by @sidekick-hero | Rated T | no cw | tags: exes, open but hopeful ending

open mic by @yellowsweater-bluevest (art)

DAY 2 - CAME BACK WRONG

beautiful in all its wrongness by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | cw: kas!eddie, angst, self-sacrificing steve | tags: one-sided crush (or is it?)

hide away by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: mentions of blood, canon-typical violence | tags: vampire eddie munson, emotional reunion, soul bond

sometimes dead is better by @thisapplepielife | Rated M | cw: canon death, monster!eddie, body horror | tags: horror, hurt/no comfort, dark, pet sematary vibes, dead dove:do no eat, post-s4, steve pov

Untitled by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: steve harrington has bad parents, found family, christmas cards, holiday cards, return to sender

In the ruins by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | cw: apocalypse, off-screen character death, imprisonment, body horror, blood and gore, hurt/no comfort, starvation, vampirism | tags: darkfic, came back wrong, vecna won, unreliable narrator

Break it first by just-my-latest-hyperfixation with art by @house-of-the-moving-image | Rated M | cw: mind-control, brainwashing, possessive behavior, referenced character death, aftermath of trauma, aftermath of injury, kidnapping | tags: kas!eddie munson, dark eddie munson

a small surprise by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | cw: steve has bad parents, diet culture | tags: de-aged steve harrington

peppermint chocolate by @cranberrymoons | Rated M | no cw | tags: vampire eddie, morning fluff, established relationship

disoriented and afraid by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | cw: major character death, vampire eddie, dark, dead dove: do not eat | tags: post-s4

ruins of a future once held sure by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | cw: major injury | tags: hurt eddie munson, angst, grief, injury recovery, hopeful ending, pre-steddie, post-vecna

let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one by @sidekick-hero | Rated T | no cw | tags: fluff, first kiss, kas!eddie

his lips still blue by @klausinamarink | Rated T | cw: hypothermia, supposed character death | tags: established relationship, supernatural/horror vibes

DAY 3 - MUTUAL PINING

Pining for the Fjords by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | no cw | tags: matchmaker robin, monty python references, getting together, kissing, bisexual steve harrington, eddie munson lives

if you call me back by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | cw: angst with a happy ending, mention of being drunk | tags: mutual pining, long distance friends, friends to lovers

Loving from afar by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | no cw | tags: mutual pining, pre-steddie

Obviously by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: brief period-typical internalized homophobia | tags: dual pov, post-season 4, idiots in love, just make a move already, platonic stobin, eddie and gareth are best friends

Take my hand (we'll make it, i swear) by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation with art by @house-of-the-moving-image | Rated G | cw: steve getting vecna'd, some violent imagery | tags: idiots in love, fluff and angst

speak a little louder by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: fluff, flirting, nerds in a basement

Stolen Pine by @redlegumes | Rated E | no cw | tags: idiots in love, pining, christmas tree without glasses, light theft

DAY 4 - MEET CUTE AT WORK

stumbling into you by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: sexual innuendo, semi-public handsy making out | tags: making out, getting together, rock star eddie munson, modern au

Art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Punch me out by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated E | cw: Blowjobs, dirty talk, slight degradation kink | tags: no UD au, company christmas party, bathroom sex

Get a Grip on Yourself, Munson by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | no cw | tags: transfem stevie harrington, trasnmasc eddie munson, dad eddie munson, everyone's bi, fluff, flirting

Baby, You Can Drive My Car by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: weed, language | tags: mechanic!eddie, business guy!steve, fluffy meet cute

Cats know best by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | cw: mention of animal injury and amputation | tags: pre-steddie

hey sweetheart by @cranberrymoons | Rated E | no cw | tags: modern au, line cook eddie, waiter steve, hooking up

There can only be one Santa driving a DeLorean by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: mechanic au, matching sweaters, bad flirting

Love Over Box Labels by @klausinamarink | Rated G | no cw | tags: modern au, no Upside Down, the romanticisms of working at warehouses

DAY 5 - FREE SPACE (DOMESTIC FLUFF)

never take it for granted, this domestic bliss by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: domestic fluff, singing, baking

won't ever learn by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | no cw | tags: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, steddie dads

The biggest, brightest, gaudiest display in all of Indiana by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated G | cw: one slight mention of PTSD | tags: Post-Vecna, everybody lives, pining, steve harrington has a crush on eddie munson, christmas

A Solid Plan by @thisapplepielife | Rated E | cw: sexual content | tags: established relationship, teamwork makes the dream work, if you build it: he will come, idiots in love, silly sex mishaps, first apartment, flat pack furniture

the scrooge who stole christmas by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw

Breakfast in bed by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

DAY 6 - COOKING TOGETHER

powdered sugar nose by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: food as a way to flirt, allusions to sex, fade to black sex | tags: established relationship, fluff, subtle praise kink

Art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Hungry for you by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | cw: sexually explicit language | tags: No UD AU, modern au, record shop owner!eddie, restaurant owner!steve, sexual tension, top steve, bottom eddie

Mixing it up (Moving us on) by @katyawriteswhump | Rated T | cw: alcohol and drug use, implied chronic pain/illness, angst | tags: fluff

Catch Fire by @thisapplepielife | Rated M | no cw | tags: established relationship, idiots in love, first home, cooking mishaps

Life lesson: Never share a kitchen. by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | cw: angst, ambiguous ending

have a cup(cake) of cheer by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: future fic, rockstar eddie, teacher steve, evil pta moms

Tradition by @maxinemaxmayfield | Rated T | no cw | tags: first kiss, post-s4, getting together, friends to lovers

and they dance by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: domestic fluff, established steddie

Crepes and Cake Batter by @klausinamarink | Rated G | cw: post-domestic argument | tags: stress baking, hurt/comfort, sad steve

DAY 7 - HANUKKAH

the fifth night by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | no cw | tags: non-practicing jewish eddie, getting together, first kiss, flirting

You Know Why by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | no cw | tags: canon divergence post-s4, eddie munson lives, gift giving, mutual attraction, flirting and wooing

Kindling the light by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | no cw | tags: jewish steve harrington

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddieholidaydrabbles #stranger things #masterlist

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inairbinad · 1 year

Text

I Don't Think It's Contagious

5.3k words, also on ao3

Just some Pre-Season 2 Platonic (obviously) Stobin-centric fluff because they deserved to be friends sooner. With Steddie and Buckingham pining sprinkled in. All part of my magical fairy dust AU where Barb lives. Never Quite as it Seems helps to set this up, but it's not necessary to read first.

Life had gotten weird for Robin in the tail end of her sophomore year at Hawkins High. Weird because not only had she and Barb revived their friendship, but eventually Barb also confided in Robin that she was a lesbian, and dating Nancy Wheeler. It was the first inkling that Robin had ever gotten that she might not be terribly alone in this godforsaken town, which was nice, if not wildly surprising. Then, to top that particularly stunning revelation off and to really make Robin feel like maybe she’d lost her mind, she ended up friends with Steve Harrington, of all people.

The revelation that Steve was capable of caring about people other than himself had come one dragging afternoon in the spring of '84. One minute things were normal; Robin was minding her own business and trying to get her shit from her locker and get out of there as quickly as possible. The mundanity got tossed like a salad, however, when Tommy H and Carol decided they wanted to cause a scene and harass Steve for deigning to talk to Barb. It seemed less about Barb, and more like she was just unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire of the ongoing chill between Steve and his former minions. No one really knew why the three of them were on the outs these days, beyond the fact that back in November, Steve had abruptly started hanging out more with Jonathan Byers than he ever did Tommy H. anymore.

Robin watched the whole exchange while half-hiding behind her locker door, flinching at Carol tossing the d-word around, and then nearly having a stroke as Steve stood up for Barb. Even though Carol had just loudly declared for everyone to hear that she thought Barb had stolen Steve’s girlfriend. Steve shrugged it off, and said he’d rather be friends with Barb than the pair of goons that had followed him around like puppies for as long as Robin could remember.

That night, Robin tried to call Barb for the first time in years just to check on her. Whether what Carol had said was true or not didn’t really matter, and at the time Robin had no idea either way. Regardless, she felt the keen sting of being called out like that in front of a huge crowd of people, feeling the blow hit a little too close to home. Barb hadn’t answered her call, but Robin couldn’t exactly blame her there, either.

Then Steve and Barb had showed up the next morning, blasting We Are Family through the windows of Steve’s fancy car, and the former King had cemented his new reputation. No longer was he known as royalty, or The Hair. No, now he was Steve “Dyke Defender” Harrington, and he apparently wore that badge proudly.

It was enough to make Robin wonder if maybe there was something more to Bagel Crumb Boy.

Eventually, Barb got back to Robin, and they started talking again like no time had passed at all. Not only because eventually Barb admitted to Robin that the rumors about her hadn’t exactly been wrong, but also because Robin hadn’t realized how much she’d missed having Barb to talk to. Even though she hadn’t been brave enough to come out herself, yet, she knew Barb would be in her corner regardless, and that gave Robin a sense of peace she’d never really known before.

————

Now that it was the fall and she was starting her junior year, most mornings Robin woke up trying to make sense of how her life had changed so drastically. After a summer of hanging around each other thanks to the persuasive powers of Barb, somehow Robin had reached the point where she could consider herself Steve Harrington’s friend. That was surprising enough on its own, but she also liked him. He was funny, and they had startlingly similar senses of humor, and he really seemed to give a shit about Robin and her feelings, which was new.

Somehow, by complete accident, she’d ended up in a group of friends that felt like kindred spirits.

Before Robin knew it, she was in a world where she sat next to Steve Harrington at lunch every day, laughing at his corny jokes and watching him try to flirt with whatever girls still liked him, post-dethroning. There were still a lot more of them than Robin thought were strictly warranted, but that might have been her old friend jealousy perking up to say hello.

Today was different, though.

Today Steve was hung up on a boy. Or several, rather.

“Did you and Jonathan have a fight, or something?” Barb asked, following Steve’s gaze to where Jonathan Byers stood in the lunch line. Robin assumed that, like most days, he was only briefly stopping by to grab his food before taking it somewhere he wouldn’t have to interact with people much.

Sometimes Jonathan sat with them, too. But usually he used their lunch break to decompress and go take photos of something before he got thrust back under the fluorescent lights and rigidly dull boredom of a classroom.

It was one of the reasons Robin found Jonathan wildly relatable.

Robin still wasn't sure how exactly the little foursome of Steve, Jonathan, Nancy, and Barb had ended up being the best of friends, seemingly overnight, but she was pretty sure she'd get the whole story eventually.

“What?” Steve asked, startling at the sound of Barb’s voice alone, even though she was nearly talking at a whisper.

“You’re staring,” Barb pointed out. “And looking kind of miserable about it.”

“Oh. Well,” Steve chewed his lip, then quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying the four of them any attention. They weren’t, because they were largely irrelevant, as far as social circles went. “We didn’t have a fight. I’ve just been having some…thoughts.”

“Dangerous,” Robin quipped, and Steve shot her a half-hearted glare. She took a little bit of pride in watching how the corner of his mouth twitched into a tiny smile all the same.

“What kind of thoughts?” Nancy asked, though she had that look on her face that she got when she already knew the answer.

“The kind that make me wonder if I’ve been hanging around you two too much,” Steve muttered. Robin snorted, knowing exactly where this was going.

“I don’t think it’s contagious, dingus,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. Although, even though Robin wasn’t out to any of the others yet, she did wonder if maybe their collective queerness drew them together like a magnet.

“What is?” Barb asked, not yet up to speed.

That was another thing about Steve—he and Robin seemed to ride the same wavelength at all times. Whenever the two of them thought something was obvious, it usually took an extra explainer for the others.

“I just think he’s cute, is all,” Steve sighed, and Barb’s eyes went wide. Not because they hadn’t talked about Steve’s realization that he was also attracted to boys already. They’d actually spent a good chunk of the summer on that revelation, particularly on rather scorching days spent lounging at the pool while Steve stared agog at most people who walked by. He’d ask Robin, ironically enough, if he was crazy when he found a particular guy attractive. She’d done her best to pretend to have taste in boys, in the name of being supportive while staying safely ensconced in her own closet. Nancy's way of showing support, by contrast, was doing enough research to convince Steve that being bisexual was, indeed, a thing.

Today, Barb merely seemed surprised to hear Jonathan’s name mentioned in the context of Steve's thoroughly examined sexuality crisis.

Nancy started easily nodding along, taking in Jonathan’s profile from afar. Eventually she said, “I can see that."

“You can?” Barb asked her girlfriend, her surprise growing bigger still.

“Yeah,” Nancy shrugged.

Barb stared between Steve, who was absently picking the crust off his sandwich and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, and Nancy, who was obviously trying not to laugh at Barb’s reaction. Finally, Barb landed back on Steve.

“You want to date Jonathan?” she whispered so low that Robin could barely even hear her, despite the fact that they all had their heads bowed together across the width of the lunch table.

“I didn’t say that!” Steve countered quickly. “I just…am noticing more, now, who I think is cute around here. Or letting myself notice, I guess.”

“Who else are we talking?” Robin asked with her eyebrows raised. She was honestly still flabbergasted that this was even something Steve talked with her about at all, given that she wasn’t out to him yet, either. But apparently all of her gay friends seemed to trust Robin to keep their secrets. It was enough to make her wonder if they had some idea about her, anyway.

“I mean, that new guy is hot,” Steve admitted as he leaned back in his chair. “He seems kind of like an asshole, though.”

“Definitely is one,” Barb muttered. “He’s already got Tommy and those guys hanging off him.”

“Right, see?” Steve huffed. “That's why I’m very much in a look but don’t touch mode right now.”

“Really? There’s no one at all you’d want to shove into a locker and make out with?” Barb asked. She had a glint in her eye that let Robin know Barb already had a candidate in mind, and she just wanted Steve to own up to it. The way Steve glared at her before determinedly starting at his sandwich again told Robin that he knew that, too.

“Okay, fine. Maybe this guy in my English class.” Steve mumbled it so thoroughly that it all came out as one syllable, though. Barb and Nancy immediately turned to Robin for her to translate.

“This guy in his English class,” Robin obliged, enunciating to the best of her ability.

“Say it a little louder, Rob,” Steve grumbled at her.

“Okay, dingus. THIS GUY—” she started at an absurd volume, but Steve clapped a hand over her mouth with a truly tortured sounding sigh. It perked Robin up innumerably.

“You should talk to him,” Nancy suggested, cheerfully redirecting them with practiced skill.

Steve was already shaking his head, though. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Barb asked.

Because even if he did, he runs the risk of getting shoved into a locker himself, but in the bad way. And probably much worse, if he’s too obvious about it, Robin thought cynically. She kept her mouth shut, though.

“Because he probably hates me,” Steve said.

Robin rather sourly admitted to herself that this was likely true, too. At least, it probably was if this guy hadn’t already been one of King Steve’s worshipers. And if he was one of those, that likely meant he didn’t deserve the actual Steve that Robin had come to know.

Weird, Robin told herself. She still couldn’t adjust to liking this guy enough to think he deserved the best a boyfriend or girlfriend could give him. But she did.

“Why would he hate you?” Nancy asked.

“Because most smart people around here do,” Steve said glumly. “And he’s really smart.”

“Um,” Barb cleared her throat, then leveled Steve with a stern look. “You’re sitting with possibly three of the smartest people you’ll ever meet, Steve. None of us hate you.”

“But you all used to,” Steve pointed out flatly.

“And now we know you,” Barb argued. “And that changes things. Right, Robin?”

Barb kicked her under the table, and Robin jolted up out of her slouch.

“Right!” Robin agreed. Even though she wasn’t entirely aware of how to deal with this new version of Steve Harrington, she had begrudgingly admitted that she actually liked him a lot quite a while ago. “You’re much less of an asshole than I thought.”

“Thank you,” Steve deadpanned.

“You’re welcome,” Robin said in as chipper a tone she could muster. “They’re right, though.”

“About?”

“The mystery man,” Robin clarified, even though she couldn’t believe she was doing it. This felt like playing with fire, but the funny thing about that was that it still warmed her heart. “If you talk to him, get to know him, he won’t hate you. Maybe he already doesn’t.”

————

After school, Robin was having particular trouble wrestling her bike lock open. She really needed a new one, but she also couldn’t afford it. She was about thirty seconds from giving up and walking when Steve crouched down beside her.

“Need some help?” He asked, flashing that annoyingly charming smile of his at her before he got to work unsticking the lock. He didn’t wait for Robin’s reply, she noticed. She didn’t argue, though, instead choosing to watch the way some of his stupid hair flopped over his forehead while he freed her bike from its prison. The lock finally popped open with a click. “There.”

“Thanks,” Robin said, taking Steve’s offered hand as she dragged herself up off the ground. He held on to her for just a fraction too long, probably aware that Robin took at least an extra two-to-three seconds to get her bearings compared to everyone else.

“No problem,” Steve smiled again, then leaned against the brick wall of the school. Robin tensed. She only ever saw Steve lean against things when he was flirting. “You want a ride? We can go get some ice cream, or something?”

“Um,” She stalled, now seeing his helping hand and the gentle grip on her waist in an entirely different light. Especially when he kept smiling at her like that. “What happened to the guy from English class?”

“What?” Steve asked, pinching his eyebrows together in confusion.

Robin didn’t quite feel like waiting for whatever telepathic thing they had going on to kick in, so she just said it outright.

“Just because I don’t think you’re a douchebag anymore doesn’t mean I think we should date, is all,” Robin managed to get out.

“Um,” Steve scratched his neck and let out a small squeak of a laugh. He looked almost apologetic, and Robin realized she’d probably taken a wayward turn, somewhere. “I wasn’t asking you out. Just thought we could…hang out. Like friends do? Like we do?”

“Oh,” Robin said, feeling like an idiot all of a sudden. She’d gone and had a minor freak out just because Steve leaned against something. She thought maybe the only way to stop the mad awkwardness spreading like a virus through her mind was to tell him the truth, and soon. It was starting to make Robin paranoid, letting people think she was straight. Which was ironic, because it used to be the other way around.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded with a small smile. “Oh.”

Robin shuffled her feet uncomfortably, feeling like maybe she owed him an apology now, but Steve saved her the trouble.

“So. Ice cream?” he asked again, still wanting to hang around her for some reason.

“Sure! Right. But, um,” Robin chewed her bottom lip. “What about my bike?”

“It’ll fit in the trunk,” Steve shrugged, then nodded in the direction of his car, inviting Robin to follow.

“How come I’m the only one you let eat in here?” Robin asked around a mouthful of mint chip, twenty minutes later. They were sitting in Steve’s car in the parking lot of the local ice cream shop, since Steve insisted their cookie dough was better than anything Dairy Queen could come up with. “I’m the clumsiest person you know, waving the messiest thing you can eat around your leather interior.”

“Buffalo wings are the messiest thing you can eat,” Steve corrected her with a grin. “Or maybe crab legs. Not ice cream in a cup.”

“Okay, rich boy,” Robin groaned. “Answer the question.”

Steve rolled his eyes at her and shoved another spoonful of ice cream in his face before he bothered to reply.

“You might be the clumsiest person I know,” he admitted without fanfare, “but I also happen to like you the best.”

“What?” Robin asked, nearly choking. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Steve scoffed like that should have been obvious to Robin. It totally wasn’t, though, especially since he wasn’t trying to hit on her.

“Why?” she blurted.

“You’re cool,” Steve started, but had to pause in light of how loudly Robin snorted. He didn’t argue with her disbelief, though. He just kept going. “You’re funny, you’re crazy smart, you’re always honest, and you don’t fuck around with people’s feelings. I’m always laughing with you, even when no one else gets our jokes. You’re kind of my best friend, Robin.”

Robin really didn’t know what to make of that, except for the fact that she was surprised to find she felt the same way. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t give him some shit for it, though.

“Oh, am I?” She asked, tone teasing.

“Yes,” Steve grumbled. “Am I not yours?”

“Pft,” Robin blew out a puff of air. “Not even close.”

“No?” Steve gasped, putting on a pout now.

“Nope,” Robin said simply.

“Not even top five?”

“Eeeeh,” Robin wobbled her hand midair, like maybe Steve could tip the scales if he tried harder.

“You’re meaner than I thought,” he said flatly, but couldn’t hold a grin off his face for too long. Neither could Robin.

“You’re nicer than I thought,” she countered. Steve chuckled to start, a soft appreciative little laugh. But then they made eye-contact and lost control of themselves. They tumbled into silly, senseless laughter, just spurring each other deeper into whatever they both found so hilarious in that moment. Robin wasn’t even sure that she knew, beyond maybe being on a sugar high. She only knew Steve’s laughter was contagious.

It always made her feel lighter, to be around him like this. So by the time they both calmed down, she decided to be upfront with him.

“I haven’t really had a best friend,” Robin admitted. “Not for a long time, anyway. Maybe not since Barb, the first time around.”

“The last best friend I had was a dickhead, so,” Steve lifted one shoulder in a shrug, “maybe they're overrated.”

“They’re not,” Robin disagreed, hiding a smile by staring down at the spoon in her hand. Eventually she was brave enough to look back up at Steve, to find he looked both confused and hopeful all at once. It was pretty cute, in an overwhelmingly platonic sort of way. “You’re mine, too, dingus.”

Steve’s smile was all-encompassing, taking over his whole face in an instant. Robin still didn’t know how to handle the little bubble of warmth in her chest that it gave her, so she gave him an affectionate punch on the arm, and changed the subject.

“Speaking of which. Do you have notes from Click’s class?” Robin asked of the only class they shared together. For the second year in a row, the powers that be at Hawkins High decided that Steve and Robin were on the same skill level for learning history. Robin wasn’t sure what that said about either of them.

“Um, no?” Steve answered, surprised like it was the first time someone had ever asked him for notes. “No one’s ever asked for my notes, before.”

Robin bit down on a laugh, not wanting him to misconstrue it as her thinking he was stupid when it was really just his voicing her exact thoughts again. They’d only declared each other to be best friends all of a minute ago, but Robin knew Steve was sensitive about that. In fact, she was kind of surprised he didn’t have notes.

“How is that possible?” she asked. “You’re constantly writing in that class!”

“Doodling, mostly,” Steve laughed. “Why don’t you have notes, smarty pants?”

“Oh, I haven’t been paying attention in there all semester,” Robin answered a little too quickly. Now she’d have to come up with a reason for that, because Steve was absolutely pursing his lips to ask.

“Why not?”

“No reason…” Robin hedged. Just because they were best friends didn’t mean she was quite sure how to admit that she liked girls, and that Tammy Thompson so thoroughly distracted Robin that she turned into a bumbling buffoon at every turn. For two semesters running.

Steve could have pressed it, Robin even expected him to, but he took his time finishing his cookie dough before saying another word. Then he surprised her.

“Want to know a secret?” he asked, smiling at Robin conspiratorially.

“Obviously,” Robin said.

“The guy from English? He’s in history with us, too,” Steve admitted, and Robin felt her eyebrows shoot off her forehead and into orbit. She barely had time to squeak before Steve continued with a worried look on his face. “Don’t tell Barb or Nance, though. Barb already suspects who it is and if she finds out for real she’s gonna make me talk to him. Like that would ever go anywhere.”

That was a lot to process, but Robin didn’t really feel the need to make it clear she understood the concept of a secret. Of course she wasn’t going to tell anyone else. Instead, she asked, “Why are you so hellbent on thinking this guy hates you?”

For some reason, Steve’s mouth pinched right after Robin said hellbent, and she thought there might be a clue to suss out there. She started sorting through her mental Rolodex of everyone else that was in that class with them. The problem was she rarely paid attention to anyone but Tammy in those hours, let alone any guys. Usually Robin’s lens of focus was limited to the chain of her staring at Tammy staring at Steve. Apparently she’d have to extend that to see who Steve was staring at, too.

Robin picked at the last dredges of her ice cream and wondered if maybe anyone would ever stare at her.

“It’s not just that,” Steve sighed. “I mean. Even if he doesn’t hate me, and we end up friends? It’s not like I can actually shove him against a locker and make out with him.”

“Well, maybe not with anyone around,” Robin amended.

“What are the odds of him being into dudes, too?” Steve let out a bitter laugh. “I mean, really. This is Hawkins.”

“I wouldn’t make too many assumptions there, Steve,” Robin all but whispered. Even knowing she was about to tell Steve the truth, all of it, and knowing she was safe to, Robin still felt her throat closing up around the words.

“Why not?” Steve asked softly, not missing how her demeanor had changed for a second.

Robin took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush.

“Because apparently there are more of us around than I realized,” Robin said, turning to give Steve a tight smile. She managed to keep her tears from spilling over, which she counted as a win. Robin sat there, holding her breath and waiting, as Steve paused to absorb what she was saying. At first Robin thought she hadn’t been clear enough, but Steve mouthed the word ‘us’ to himself, and his eyes widened as he put the pieces together.

“Oh,” he breathed, before breaking out in another little smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Robin nodded. She felt like her whole body was full of pins and needles.

“That’s cool,” Steve mirrored her nod, smiling at Robin like she really was his favorite person. It finally made her relax again.

“Thanks,” Robin chuckled. "I know you're a staunch defender of us lesbians."

"That's me," Steve deadpanned, but offered Robin a wry smile. She reached across the center console to ruffle his hair, relishing the relief of having finally said it aloud to someone flooding through her. Steve made an affronted noise, quickly turning to fix his hair in the mirror, and Robin just laughed at him harder.

“Is there anyone that you want to shove up against a locker?” Steve parried once he felt he had his pride and joy back under control. When Robin’s only response was a groan, his eyes lit up again. “Ooooh! Who!”

“Nope,” Robin rejected this idea on principle, shaking her head furiously as she did.

“Oh, come on,” Steve whined, really pouting now. “I’ll tell you mine!”

“I already know yours,” Robin scoffed, bluffing. To compensate, she rolled down her window and threw her empty ice cream cup into the trash can they were parked next to. Then she folded her arms across her chest and tried to give Steve a stern look.

“Nah,” Steve shook his head after narrowing his eyes at her for a beat. “You don’t know.”

He was right, of course, but Robin was sure she could figure it out if only she gave it enough thought. So she stared Steve down, thinking about the kind of people she already knew he found attractive. Nancy, for one, but that wasn’t entirely helpful considering he tended to like any pretty girl. He did tend to skew towards brunettes, though. Then of course there was the Jonathan revelation, which was interesting. Robin would have assumed Steve liked more polished types, like him. But the new guy, Billy something or other, wasn’t exactly preppy, either. His whole vibe screamed badass, even if it wasn’t necessarily in a good way. There were better options for pretty but with leather in Hawkins, even Robin had to admit.

Then Robin remembered how Steve’s mouth pinched when she’d said hellbent. Almost like he thought she might say hellfire. She broke out in a victorious grin, already knowing she had Steve figured out.

“Eddie Munson?!” she half-shrieked. Even if Robin hadn’t already been sure, the way the tips of Steve’s ears turned pink would have convinced her.

“How did you…?” He didn’t even bother to finish the sentence, opting instead to stare at Robin, mouth agape.

A whole litany of examples of proof came flooding into Robin’s mind at that point, like that bit of information clicking had opened a door to all the shit she must have subconsciously picked up on and filed away when she was wondering what Tammy Thompson’s lip gloss tasted like.

She was happy to list them for Steve’s benefit.

“You stare, for one,” Robin said, ticking off fingers. “You laugh at his obnoxious jokes, even when no one else does. I’ve seen him make you blush, more than once, come to think of it. And you kind of have a type.”

Steve just kept staring at her, without objection. Robin thought maybe she could stun him out of his silence, since that was how she’d put him in it in the first place.

“For what it’s worth? I think you have a shot,” she said. Robin didn’t know much about picking queer men out from a crowd, obviously, but Munson spent a whole lot of his time paying attention to Steve, too.

That only seemed to stun Steve further, though. He grunted, sort of, though it sounded a little bit like a whimper. Then he turned the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. It didn’t seem like they were headed anywhere in particular, but Robin didn’t mind.

After a few more minutes of silence, Robin was starting to worry that she’d broken his brain when Steve finally spoke again.

“You don’t have to tell me who you like,” Steve said simply, rescinding his earlier demands. It seemed like he was actually starting to drive in the direction of her house, now. “But I am glad that you told me about you.”

“Me too, dingus,” Robin said. It was possible she’d never meant anything more sincerely.

By the time Steve pulled up beside the curb outside her house, Robin threw caution to the wind.

“Tammy Thompson,” she admitted aloud, for the first time ever. Somehow it was more nerve-wracking than telling Steve she was gay at all.

“What?” he half-yelled, twisting around in the driver’s seat to face her. “How? Why?”

“She’s pretty!” Robin defended her taste as much as Tammy. She kind of thought that would have been enough for Steve, but he was still eyeing her skeptically. So she added, “And she can sing.”

“She sounds like a muppet, but okay,” Steve drawled.

“She does not!” Robin exclaimed. Despite her indignation, she couldn’t quite keep the laugh out of her voice. Steve caught it, and laughed with her.

“She totally does,” he chuckled, then tilted his head at her. “I totally thought you were gonna say someone like…I don’t know. Chrissy Cunningham.”

“Chrissy Cunningham doesn’t even know I exist,” Robin said scornfully. “Talk about playing above my league.”

Steve was wildly shaking his head back and forth, though.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope,” he said. “No talk like that in my car. You’re very much worthy of a Chrissy Cunningham. Plus, even if she doesn’t know you now, I bet she’d want to. She likes everybody, as long as you’re not a complete asshole.”

“So does that mean she hates you, then?” Robin opted for the joke instead of continuing to debate the merits of her switching to crushing on everyone’s favorite cheerleader.

“Asshole!” Steve volleyed back at her with a laugh.

“And me too, apparently,” Robin grinned.

————

Robin still didn’t have any notes for Mrs. Click’s class, so she was really trying to focus on anything but Tammy, and Steve, and now Eddie, so she could actually take in some of this crap she had to memorize long enough to repeat it back on a test.

It wasn’t going great, because now she was invested in the Steve and Eddie story line. Particularly since they were passing notes back and forth at the moment. Every time Steve bit his lip or tinted slightly pink, Robin was dying to know what they were saying to each other. But every time she kicked the back of Steve’s chair to try and get his attention, he shooed her off and went back to scribbling out a reply to Eddie.

Eddie, for his part, seemed equally affected by Steve, as he frequently slouched even lower in his chair or hid a smile behind his ever-growing hair whenever he read one of Steve’s replies.

They were almost sickeningly cute. She was happy they were getting along, at the very least, but it seemed like flirting from where she was sitting.

“Oh, you’re asking for it, big boy,” Eddie said then, looking up from whatever Steve had written last with a little bit of astonishment in his eyes.

Robin rolled hers. Definitely flirting.

Even though she was happy for Steve, it still sent a pang of jealousy coursing through her. She wondered if Steve was just abnormally lucky, or if she wasn’t looking in the right places for a crush that might acknowledge her. When she realized she was drifting away from the point of this class again—history, not finding a girlfriend—she gripped her pencil so hard it snapped the tip off.

Groaning aloud over it, Robin leaned over to try and find another one in her bag. Before she got it fully unzipped, though, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Robin looked up to find none other than Chrissy Cunningham smiling down at her over the edge of her desk. Robin stared up at her for half a beat too long, noticing how Chrissy's signature ponytail dangled over her shoulder and gave Robin a lungful of the citrusy smell of her shampoo.

“Here,” she said, offering Robin a spare pencil. Hesitantly—probably too hesitantly—Robin reached up and accepted it. She was pretty sure she was gaping at Chrissy’s having acknowledged her, though, because Chrissy laughed a little nervously.

“Sorry, I was staring a little,” she whispered. Then she paused, eyes widening, and course corrected. “At your bracelet, I mean! It’s really pretty, by the way. Um. So I noticed the—” Chrissy stopped to mime snapping a pencil in half, adding a little cracking noise along with it.

It was adorable enough to be a whole new kind of distracting.

“Right,” Robin managed a smile that she hoped was friendly and not completely creepy. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Chrissy smiled again.

This time, Steve had to kick Robin’s desk to get her to even remember what world she was living in.

#platonic stobin #steddie #buckingham #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #stranger things #fanfic #dani's drafts #petals!verse

79 notes · View notes