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inoreuct · 6 months

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would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?

YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS

the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.

he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.

but he does.

and it gets worse.

zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.

and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.

still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.

…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.

sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.

his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.

his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”

sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”

he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.

he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”

sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.

his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.

zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.

“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”

sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.

"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.

this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.

"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"

"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"

zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."

sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."

"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."

"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."

"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"

sanji grits his teeth.

"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"

"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"

"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."

sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."

"what did you mean, then?"

he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."

the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."

it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."

it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.

"hey."

he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.

"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.

he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—

"look at me."

"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.

"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."

he can't.

he does.

zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"

sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—

"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."

the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."

just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.

he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."

"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"

"yes or no."

"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.

"yes or no."

sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."

he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.

"you are everything i want."

the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it—

"yes or no."

zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.

"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.

sanji breaks.

"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.

a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.

he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.

the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."

you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.

"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.

"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."

the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.

the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.

he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.

but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.

#er. this dragged me down the hill and i let it #this got so off-topic anon i apologise #but to be fair even after they start dating sanij gets absolutely HORRIFIC nosebleeds #like hello?? that man is hot as hell?? and he's MY man??? good lordy #cue him leaning against the wall in a dramatic swoon and yelling for zoro to catch him #(zoro does not catch him. sanji falls on his ass.)#(he does get a forehead kiss before zoro walks away cackling though so. a win is a win!)#black leg sanji #zosan #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #one piece sanji #one piece #ino writes #ino's ask box #sanji's issues deserve a tag of their own #my habit of segueing from chill fun rambling to emotionally damaging content should be studied. jesus christ.

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 4 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 60

Part 1 Part 59

The party is already in full swing by the time they pull up. Drunk high schoolers out on the lawn wearing more thought-out costumes than he and Eddie had managed. Their plans before Nancy accosted them in the hallway involved a pizza and a couple tapes from Family Video that Eddie swears he has to see.

It'd been Eddie’s idea; he’d shrugged on one of Steve’s preppy polos – his words, not Steve’s – and one of his acid-wash jeans, and pristine white sneakers, and called it good. Steve had gone along with the concept for lack of a better idea. He’d chosen his favorite Metallica shirt (the one with the hole in the armpit), a pair of Eddie’s black jeans, and Eddie's leather jacket. Eddie had grabbed his battle vest, pushing Steve's arms through it like he was a small child. It’d still been warm from Eddie’s own back.

To finish the look, Eddie had slid each ring off his fingers, matching them perfectly with their usual placements on his own hands. There was something about the way Eddie's hands felt, sliding up the vulnerable sides of Steve's fingers that made him shiver, goosebumps breaking out along his arms.

Eddie's hands had looked bare, almost risqué in their nakedness. Even now, while being packed in at all sides, Steve can't help looking down at them. He wants to push Eddie's hands into his jean pockets, hide the vulnerability of it from everyone else. He doesn't.

Almost the instant they walk through the door, Hargrove shouts, “King Bitch!” holding up his drink, as if to toast Steve’s arrival.

Tommy’s at his side, laughing like no one had ever said anything that funny in his life. Eddie’s fingers tighten around his wrist as he pulls him along.

Barbara and Nancy are hovering around the punch bowl, laughing. Nancy takes a sip of something that looks disturbingly red from her red plastic cup, and Barbara, while empty-handed, looks far happier than she had at Steve’s party all those months ago.

"Looks like they didn't need us at all!" Eddie calls loudly over the music.

Eddie’s bare fingers sneak under his sleeve to caress the skin of his inner wrist. Steve clenches his fist, relaxes it, wonders if Eddie can feel the flexing of his tendons beneath his palm.

“You came!” Nancy calls, handing her drink off to Barbara with a roll of her eyes, as she throws herself at both of them, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders and pulling them into her smaller frame. She looks down at the pair of them, brow furrowed. “What are you two even wearing?”

The angle hurts his back, even more so when he turns his head to raise an eyebrow at Eddie, who’s already doing the same. “Well, you see,” Eddie says, trying to eel out of her arms with little to no success. “I’m dressed as the king, and Steve’s my noble jester, of course!”

Nancy opens her mouth, looking up at him with a bitchy expression, but Steve interrupts her, “I said we would.” He says it loud enough to be heard over the thrumming music.

“Are you drunk?” Eddie asks, looking at Nancy with befuddlement. Steve can’t blame him. Nancy’s behavior toward him can usually be called catty at best. Not that Eddie doesn’t usually give as good as he gets, but it’s still bizarre to see Nancy’s arm wrapped so familiarly around him.

“No!” Nancy yells, at the same time Barbara says, “yes,” with an exasperated sigh.

“I only had two drinks. When she pulls out of the embrace, she’s already pouting. “I only had two drinks.

Steve holds his hand out toward Barbara, who hands over Nancy’s drink, even as the other girl complains. Steve takes a tentative sip, curious. It goes down like battery acid. It makes him lightheaded and queasy instantaneously. Probably just from the fumes.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks, sputtering. He rubs his tongue with his fingers, hoping to scrub the remnants of that taste off his tongue for good. Eddie’s hand, where it’s still wrapped around his wrist, nudges against his chin.

“It’s pure fuel,” Barbara replies, laughter audible in her tone, even as Nancy nods enthusiastically.

Steve, still grimacing at the lingering taste, drops his hand, rubbing his saliva off on his borrowed pants. “That’s rancid.”

“This is what the Kingdom has fallen to without their King,” Eddie says with a sigh. For some reason, his cheeks are pink, like he’d been the one drinking that garbage.

Steve shrugs, “Carol always used to mix the drinks.”

“Of course, she did,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes.

Barb nods in agreement, but Steve had made the mistake of handing Nancy back her drink, so she was immediately long-sufferingly trying to corral her friend to stop drinking.

Steve flows into the groove of partying quickly. He fades into the music, smiles at his friends, lets the waves flow over him. He’s happy, with Eddie by his side, and friends coming in and out of view.

Enter: Jonathan Byers.

Steve’s breathing picks up, and suddenly the pack of bodies is suffocating. He can feel sweat slick his forehead, and his vision goes a little fuzzy along the edges. He pushes past bodies with no regard, ignoring the startled complaints that follow in his wake.

Steve grabs the lapel of Jonathan’s shirt in both fists, like a kid afraid of losing his Mom in the store. And he is; he’s afraid.

“Where’s Will?” he asks, pulling Jonathan’s t-shirt, stretching out the collar around his neck.

Jonathan’s eyes widen. He reaches out, covering Steve’s hands on his shirt and squeezing. “He’s fine,” Jonathan says. “He’s trick-or-treating with his friends.” There are spots in Steve’s eyes. “Breath, dude.”

Steve inhales, ragged and aching. “You didn’t go with them?”

Before Jonathan can answer, Eddie is there, big palms on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing. He leans forward, whispers in Steve’s ear. “Let’s go outside, sweetheart.”

Steve nods, letting Eddie lead him past the throng of partygoers, pulling Jonathan along as well by the hem of his shirt, still clutched in one of Steve’s fists hard enough to hurt.

They emerge out on Tina’s back porch. It’s dark, but the fresh air hits Steve and his lungs finally expand.

“Jonathan?” Steve asks, wheezy and breathless.

Jonathan meets his eyes, quickly pulling something out of his pocket. When Steve looks down, it’s a walkie-talkie, the same kind the party is so fond of using.

“He begged me to go with his friends,” Jonathan says, talking fast like he’s afraid Steve will punch him if he doesn’t get the words out quickly enough. Or pass out on him. “I told him he’d have to radio in every half hour, on the dot, or I’d call Hop.”

Steve breaths in, breaths out, feels Eddie’s hand steadying the small of his back. “And he has been?” Steve asks.

Jonathan nods, slow, like any sudden movements will spook Steve.

“Well, then!” Eddie says, massaging Steve’s shoulders quick and dirty a few times until Steve melts into his hands. Steve’s bereft when he drops his hands to join their impromptu circle. Eddie digs around in Steve’s pocket, pulling out a pristine joint with a quirked brow. “I think some of us could maybe chill the fuck out right about now.”

Steve rolls his eyes when Eddie looks pointedly his way, but dutifully swipes the joint from Eddie’s hand. He slides it in his mouth, feels it stick to the inside of his lip as he leans forward for Eddie to light it.

The first hit sends him coughing. Jonathan claps his back companionably as he passes the joint to him. Jonathan, suspiciously, doesn’t cough at all. Neither does Eddie, but that’s to be expected.

A few more rounds of puff puff pass, and Steve’s so relaxed he flows onto the ground. Eddie laughs, passes the joint to Jonathan, and plops down beside Steve, patting his thigh.

Eddie’s smiling down at him in a way that makes Steve’s stomach populate with butterflies by the handful. He looks teasing, like he’s thinking of the best thing to say. Steve suddenly knows he’s going to speak and then he does. “Are you alright down there, princess?” he asks. “All calmed down?”

He swallows his desert-dry mouth and hopes his voice comes out clear. God forbid he fucks up so badly Eddie invites Jonathan to warm his bed instead. “Yeah,” he says, throat cracking around the word. In a bid to redeem himself, Steve clears his throat, swirling his spit around to help rehydrate. “I can see the future?” he says, voice lilting upward at the end like it’s a question.

Eddie leans forward, hand patting Steve’s cheek gently. It feels nice. Steve leans into the touch. “Are you serious?” he asks. “Is this another superpower thing?”

Steve wobbles one of his hands together in a wishy-washy gesture that his brain gets caught in. It feels nice, the stagnant night’s air smacking against his palm so he does it faster, smiling.

“He’s just high,” Jonathan says, turning just enough that Steve can see the bottom of his chin. He looks weird from down below. Gargantuan.

Eddie flops gracelessly beside him, burrowing the back of his head into Steve’s ribs. “Damn, so you can’t see the future?” he asks, whining. “We could use another Supergirl.”

Steve’s too busy watching Jonathan to argue over not knowing any supergirls again. Jonathan’s leaning against the railing, and Steve knows, suddenly, that he’s going to take another drag from the dwindling remnants of the joint. And then he does.

“I can see three seconds into the future,” he says wonderingly, still smiling.

Eddie burrows his head harder into Steve’s ribs until Steve brings his hand up to pet clumsily through his hair. “Ugh, you got my hopes up.”

“I’m a supergirl.”

Jonathan and Eddie are laughing at him, but Steve’s looking up at the shitty overhang above Tina’s wonderous porch and wishing it was gone. He wants to see the sky, the stars splashing out above him. He wants to pluck them from the sky and put them, still flaming, into Eddie’s hair.

He wants.

Something answers his wishes. The overhang is gone, rotted away from above him so the white specks can rain down on his face. He holds up his hand, hoping it’ll be cold enough for snow. Even with the red sky, even with Eddie gone from beside him, Steve hopes.

But when he brings it down to his eyes, the stuff smears along his palm, just like ash. Maybe he can’t see into the future. He would’ve seen this.

He would’ve predicted the way the shadows stripe themselves across his face, blotting out all the red in the worst way possible. He would’ve predicted the way that thing seems to move without moving at all.

He didn’t.

Steve sobs, just once. And then, Steve does what he does best: he runs.

Part 61

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

#steve harrington #steddie #my fic #eddie munson #steddie upsidedown au #one of my favorite parts so far #nancy is so fun to work on in this bc while she's had SOME character development bc of the Upside-Down #this is very much still closer to season 1 nancy. none of this has touched her. all of her people are here. no one she cares greatly about #has been killed or hurt #so she's just having fun and studying and hanging out with her friend and boyfriend #also headcanon that barb took Steve's advise and just started hanging out with jon and nancy #shes part of their relationship like. tangentially now #plus Nancy's shiny new boyfriend feelings have worn off enough that she remembered she has friends

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