#tumblr fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starrayblogs · 4 months

Text

Not So Rock-Hearted || Floyd (Trolls) x Reader

a/n: hey! another one :3 lots of playful stuff in this chapter, i feel like i kinda wrote floyd out of character? but honestly if you really think about it, i don't think he was ever a shy guy so hm... well, have a fun read! likes and reblogs are appreciated as always

✩ previous chapter

ii. The Music's On

It’s the first day of the weekend. Barb agreed to let you ride to Pop Village every weekend to catch up with Viva, but that you’d need to be back by the morning of the weekday. Now you’re on your way to Pop Village with the sun high in the sky.

The sun was starting to set by the time you saw a pod. You pick up the speed on your motorcycle and start to see more pods. You’ve arrived back in Pop Village. Now, you have to look for Branch’s bunker. Poppy suggested having a party there to catch up quietly with just a small group.

You receive a few whispers and pointing fingers as you ride through the place, and you pick up the pace. You park your bike by a big stone, a bit further away from the pods, that has a rug that says ‘Go Away’. You chuckle at it.

“Now, where is Branch’s bunker?" You talk to yourself, stepping away from your bike to head to the village. Until you see a familiar troll with pink hair, not forgetting the white fade too. You raise your hand and give a small wave, which he returns with a smile. “Floyd, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. I just have a small question, do you know where Branch’s bunker is?” You ask.

“Oh, it’s… It’s right behind you.” He chuckles, pointing behind you.

You turn behind you and look at the rock up and down. “Pretty hardcore…” You give a nod of approval. “You got invited to the party too?” You turn back to him.

“Of course, I wanna catch up with my brothers.” Floyd walks past you to walk to the bunker. You follow behind him. You watch as he knocks on the rock, which produces a hollow sound like a door.

“Okay, this rock can’t bring me any more surprises.” You wave your arms away from you. A section of the rug slides open to reveal a set of eyes, causing a startled ‘what the!?’ to come out of you. Floyd hides his chuckle behind his hand.

“The rug had a surprise for you.” He comments.

“Real funny, Cotton Candy.” You roll your eyes at him while smirking before meeting the eyes under the rug.

“You two finally made it.” The entire rug slides away and reveals Branch, who motions for you two to hop down. You look to Floyd to see if he’d go first, but seeing as he doesn’t take the opportunity to jump right ahead, you jump in.

“You think you can follow that?” You cross your arms as you look up at him.

He lets out a snicker before jumping down like you. You give him a nod before turning to Branch. You watch him place the rug back in place before pulling a lever. The floor beneath you starts to move downward. “Man, you just get cooler.” You direct your eyes to Branch, leaning on the lever.

“Thank you.” Branch says, grateful, even giving a little bow. You chuckle.

The platform stops, and you notice that you’re back on the ground, in front of a small group. There’s JD, Bruce, and Clay all together and poking around the stuff on the walls. Viva and Poppy are sitting on the floor, talking and giggling with each other.

The three of you catch the attention of the rest, who cheer at your arrival. Viva hops from the floor and rushes to hug you. “You’re finally here! We can get this party started!” She moves her arm around your side, walking you with her to Poppy.

“Welcome! We brought snacks, oh- and there’s a karaoke machine if we want!” Poppy pats the floor next to her before pointing to the mentioned karaoke machine at the side. You hum, removing your guitar strap and propping the instrument against a nearby wall.

“Snacks? You guys should’ve told me, I would’ve brought something.” You chuckle, taking a seat next to Viva.

“Please, it’s okay! Here, have some menudo from Bruce’s cantina.” Poppy gets up as quickly as she returns with a bowl for you. You nod your head as a thanks, blowing away the steam.

“Oh my gosh, I have so many questions! First of all, hello? You’re a rock troll! How’s that work?” Viva asks, sitting cross-legged and leaning forward to you.

“Oh, me too. I would’ve never thought you were one of us.” Poppy adds, lying on her stomach with her face in her hands.

“Well, I don’t know either,” you shrug. “Since I got to Volcano Rock City, I never really sang or did pop anymore? Kinda left it behind me…” You take a bite of menudo, nodding your head in approval at its deliciousness.

“Why did you go to Volcano Rock City?” Viva asks.

“I didn’t. At first, I left Pop Village to look for you…” You look quietly at Viva for a while before clearing your throat. “I lost hope after a while, but I didn’t want to go back to Pop Village. I didn’t want to see King Peppy after he lied about no troll being left behind. Next thing I know, I'd get left behind if there was another attack.” You scoff until you notice both of their connections to the man. “No offense, by the way.”

“None taken!” Poppy and Viva say in unison. “I get it.”

You nod your head. “So, after a few days wandering about in the wild, Barb found me. Took me back to her place, and I learned all about the different kinds of trolls.” You take another bite. “Then, I got a sick makeover.” You motion to yourself with a smile.

“You know, I haven’t really heard the other kinds of music…” Viva purses her lips, making eye contact with you.

“Viva, no.” You laugh, pointing the spoon at her. “I doubt there’s even a rock song in that karaoke machine.” You scoop up some menudo into your mouth.

“But you have your guitar!” Viva protests, and you raise a brow at her while you chew.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve actually heard a full rock song either.” Poppy encourages Viva’s prompt, which causes you to facepalm. Both of them begin to place their hands together in a pleading motion.

“What’s all this about?” Clay approaches your little circle.

“They’re trying to get me to sing a song.” You roll your head back to meet his eyes, before lazily facing the two girls again. “Still not happening, by the way.”

“Aww, amiga, please! It’s been a while since I’ve heard you sing too!” Viva shakes her conjoined hands at you, and you laugh a little.

“My voice is gonna be completely different from what you remember.” You prolong the last vowel with a playful smirk. “You might not like it.”

“What’s this I hear about singing?” JD joins in, along with the other Brozone bros next to him. You let out a mix of a groan and a laugh.

Poppy giggles, sitting up properly. “You’ve got an audience now, come on! You can’t keep us away from that rock’n’roll!” She says, raising her fist in the air.

“Mhm, mhm, yeah.” You set your finished bowl of menudo to the side. Eventually, almost all of them start to encourage you to play a song, and you keep nodding your head in amusement until you make eye contact with Floyd.

There’s a small smile on his face that pulls at you.

You clear your throat and look away as the group quiets down for you to hear him speak. “You can’t follow up your stunt earlier?” He says with a teasing, but encouraging tone.

“Ha, of course, I can.” You send him a quick smile before rising from the floor, ruffling up your hair more as you make your way to pick up your guitar.

“Yes!” Viva cheers, even jumping from the ground a bit. “Wait, what stunt?” She turns to Floyd, who looks away and shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you about my voice.” You point at Viva as you wear your guitar strap, adjusting the strings to make sure they’re good to play. You watch as Brozone sits down next to the girls, forming a little audience in front of you.

“This is exciting.” Bruce comments, and you chuckle. “I wonder what rock sounds like.”

“It sounds like this.” You start to play the notes of the opening on your guitar, breaking eye contact with them to focus on the music. Your foot taps to the rhythm, and your body rocks a bit.

Here I am Rock you like a hurricane

You can hear the ‘oh’s and ‘wow’s from the trolls in front of you, making you smile a bit.

Here I am Rock you like a hurricane

You raise your head and exaggerate your expressions to the lyrics, leaning forward to interact with them.

My body is burning, it starts to shout Desire is coming, it breaks out loud Lust is in cages ‘til storm breaks loose

You smirk, pointing the headstock at a certain troll on the floor while you play the strings. You tilt your head to the side as you sing the following lyrics.

Just have to make it with someone I choose

You don’t look away when Floyd’s eyes noticeably widen, his posture straightening at the sudden pin of attention. You quickly pull the headstock away from him and focus back on performing the song, occasionally picking him out of the crowd again more often than the others.

You finish the riff and raise your head with a smirk, breathing heavily as you receive applause. “I hope you all enjoyed your premiere dose of rock’n’roll.” You pose the signature rock sign, before placing your guitar away again.

“That was…!” Viva starts, but she stammers to find a word, before letting a hand out to you. “What is it you say!?”

“Sick?” You smirk, placing a hand on your hip.

“That was sick!” Viva’s arms raise to the sky again, a grin on her face. “Your voice is so booming, I would’ve never thought you could sing like that back then!” She waves her hands happily.

Your smirk turns to a soft smile at her words. “Thanks, Veev.”

“I was totally not expecting that.” Clay comments. “That was awesome!”

You tilt your head toward him and cross your arms. “I think I get to encourage a performance now.” You smirk, which makes the troll’s eyes widen in surprise. “Brozone, right? I’ve never heard a single thing from you guys.” You remark, setting your guitar up on a wall.

You watch as the brothers look amongst each other, considering if they should perform or not. Your eyes drift from Clay to Floyd, who immediately meets your eye. You smirk.

“You think you can follow after me?” You ask, and he gives a sided smile with a tilted head, before turning to his brothers again.

“I mean, why not? It’s only fair.” He encourages them, receiving an affirming response.

“While the night’s young.” You spread your arms to the side as if handing them the stage, walking forward to sit with Poppy and Viva as the audience. “You too, you know?” You tell the girls.

“Oh psh, that’s easy.” Poppy giggles. You watch as the karaoke machine is messed with by JD, who is finding one of their old songs to sing.

Eventually, they conclude and position themselves for the song. As the karaoke is set to go, their harmony surprises you as it overpowers even the set instrumental of the machine.

You watch them perform with a relaxed smile, your hands leaning behind you as your head slightly bops to the beat.

Did anybody notice?

You watch as Floyd dances in the center, making eye contact with you. He extends his arm in your direction with a smile and a glint in his eye.

The energy just shifted When we dropped in, ooh Let it drop in

You let out a small laugh to yourself as your shoulders rise to your neck. Your smile only widens when you subconsciously find your eyes focused on him throughout the entire performance.

Viva purses her lips when she looks at you, who doesn’t even notice her gaze. She turns to her sister, nudging her side and glancing at you again. Poppy follows her eyes, looking at you and where you’re looking.

Poppy lets out a soft gasp, and Viva grins. Unknown to you, they gossip with each other while the music plays for the night.

✩ next chapter

#✩ starraywrites #✩ starraywrites nsrh #✩ starraywrites not so rock hearted #✩ starraywrites trolls band together #✩ starraywrites trolls #trolls #trolls band together #trolls floyd #floyd trolls #trolls floyd x reader #floyd x reader #silly #maybe flirting #viva and poppy?#definitely plotting something #me?#the author?#what could i possibly be plotting im so innocent cmon #tumblr fic

193 notes · View notes

medusapelagia · 4 months

Text

I love you

written for @steddiemicrofic

Rating: General Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Prompt: Hole WC: 404

“You have been on my couch for two days, can you tell me what happened? You know I respect your silence, but this is too much.”

Steve shakes his head, still buried under the blankets on Robin’s lumpy couch.

“If you don’t talk to me I can’t help you. Whatever it is I promise you we will fix it.”

“Not this. This is unfixable.” Steve murmurs “I have to emigrate. Leave the Country. Join the Foreign Legion.”

Robin sighs “I’m sure that the situation is not as dramatic as you say, just tell me what happened.”

“I told Eddie that I love him.” Steve whispers.

Robin almost chokes on her spit “You what?!”

“It was a lapsus!” he yells “We were on the phone and when I closed the call I said I love you.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.” Steve confirms “I want to dig a hole and bury myself. Eddie is going to mock me forever and I’m not strong enough to endure it.”

Robin sits on the couch and Steve curls up, giving her some space “Well, it’s not that bad. I mean, when I was six I called my teacher: mum. These things happen!”

“You were six! I’m twenty-four and I said I love you to my housemate!” he whines, feeling the familiar mix of anxiety and panic.

“We can move. Today. I don’t like Chicago. We could move to New York? Rome? Tokyo?”

Steve sighs “I fucked up.”

She shakes her head “You didn’t, but Eddie will not let you get away with it unless we have something more humiliating to use against him!”

“He is fucking perfect, Rob! He makes me laugh and helps him when I get migraines, he never gets angry and…”

“Steve?”

“Mh?”

“Have you considered the possibility that it wasn’t a lapsus?”

“Sorry?”

“I was wondering if maybe you… like him?”

“He is a boy!”

“So?”

Steve stares astonished at Robin then he throws the blankets away and runs back to his place, stopping in front of the door to catch his breath, but the door opens and Eddie is looking at him worriedly “You ok? I haven’t heard from you in two days…”

“I love you.”

“It’s not funny.”

“I do, it wasn’t a lapsus!”

“You sure? I mean…”

Steve kisses him with such passion that Eddie’s head hits the wooden door “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Eddie replies, kissing him back.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicrofic #myfanfic #tumblr fic #stranger things fanfiction #medusapelagia #steddiemicroficjanuary #medusapelagia fanfic

144 notes · View notes

hazbinsillynight · 2 months

Text

Soulbond AU

So I noticed you liked this AU of mine, so here it is! Random new info on the Soulbond AU!!

The bond had been weakened by the seven years they spent apart from each other, but it's still here, and it's not complete.

When Vox and Alastor fight at their reunion, it's like nothing had changed, and the bond is growing stronger than ever.

Due to that, there are some changes between the two Overlords.

Vox thinks he's going crazy. He suddenly gets a very pronounced taste for sinners flesh, and he just doesn't get why. Then his powers are getting weird. Sometimes, it's like he can't hold anything because his hands suddenly become intangible.

Once he could have sworn, he saw his shadow move on its own!

Alastor has some trouble as well. He just can't sleep anymore. It's like his mind is constantly trying to connect to something (Hell's database), and he just can't close an eye without hearing some random info about anyone.

Also, he can't touch anything metallic or living without feeling a power surge.

#hazbin hotel #radiostatic #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x vox #vox x alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #alastor #tumblr fic #soulbond au #au

100 notes · View notes

runninriot · 5 months

Text

Love Is A Polaroid Steddie ficlet | ~2k | cw: implied/referenced self-destructive behaviour, drinking, a little heartbreak before it gets better | happy sappy steddie & platonic stobin

inspired by the insanely talented @inklessletter 's #polaroid series (go check out their art right now!!!)

"Steeeve, please!" Robin begs. Literally begs.

Like, hands folded together as if in prayer, a pleading look in her eyes, expression as if she's in pain.

"Robs, no! I don't- that's stupid. I don't feel comfortable with you following us around to take pictures for your- whatever it is." He waves a hand at her dismissively.

"It's a project, Steve. For my Photography Studies course."

He should know, she already explained that. Told him something about visualizing love in its purest form. Told him she wants to take polaroid pictures of him and Eddie. No posing, just random shots whenever she feels like it. Pictures in black and white - something about using dark tones and deep contrasts to enhance the beauty of simple moments in their day to day life.

"Whatever. I still don't get why it has to be us?"

Steve is a little frustrated. She's been going on about her wonderful idea for a good few minutes now, not willing to drop the subject no matter how adamantly Steve declines. She knows how shy he gets when he knows someone is taking a picture of him. He hates how he always looks a little off, has never felt very photogenic. So, the mere thought of Robin capturing him in possibly awkward situations with his boyfriend makes his skin crawl.

"Well, first of all, you are my best friends, so it would mean a lot to have you be part of it. Plus, we live together so I wouldn’t be around you any more than I already am. You wouldn’t even notice. And you two are the perfect motive because-“ Robin’s eyes flicker down to her own feet, unable to hold his gaze.

Her face is suddenly painted with a faint crimson blush. Steve's furrowed brows smooth out and his expressions go soft again when he looks at his best friend's bashful little smile as she looks sheepishly back up at him.

"You are the perfect motive because I've never seen two people being so in love with each other. Makes me sick how soft and cute you two are, if I'm honest."

Robin chuckles and Steve snorts loudly, both rolling their eyes at the same time because God, when did Robin become such a sap?

"What you and Eddie have is love in its purest form. It’s unapologetic, honest, and real. It's all I ever want to find for myself. I'm fucking jealous of you, Steve!"

They laugh and Steve ignores the violent tug in his heart caused by her words.

What him and Eddie have really is special. He knows it's some kind of miracle that they've ended up where they are now. It wasn't always that easy. There were times when Steve wanted to just give up. When the world tumbled down and buried him under its weight. When he thought he could never have Eddie like that, wanted to rather die than live life without him.

When Steve realised he had fallen in love with his best friend, his best male friend, he panicked. Finding out he likes boys like he likes girls wasn't even the scariest part. What really took him out was the fear of losing Eddie if he ever told him the truth. For weeks he tried to push his feelings down, tried to cage them behind his ribs but all it did was make him suffer even more. Every time Eddie looked at him, he felt a sharp pain in his heart. Every time Eddie touched him, it left a searing sensation on his skin. Every time they were alone, Steve felt like he was losing his mind, desperately trying to fight the urge to kiss the boy so blissfully unaware of the heartache he caused him. He fought and suffered in silence until he couldn’t take it anymore and succumbed to the tormenting ache in his chest. Until he fell into a dark hole.

Steve drifted apart, dulling his feelings with unhealthy amounts of booze. Hunting for warm, willing bodies to sink into. Starving for touch and affection just to feel anything other than the grief-stricken pain of losing the lover he never even had to begin with.

Of course, his self-destructive behaviour hadn’t gone unnoticed by his friends. Robin tried everything in her power to get through to him. Offered advice and help for all the wrong problems because she couldn’t have known that the real issue was his own fucking mind and his inability to talk about what kept him up at night. What made him so angry and distant and numb.

And then there was Eddie. Sweet, kind, and caring Eddie who couldn’t keep watching his friend ruin his own life anymore. Who gave him an ultimatum – stop hurting yourself or I’ll leave.

Eddie’s words felt like a pistol held to his head, the determination in his teary eyes like a finger ready to pull the trigger. Steve knew he meant it, knew this was his last chance. He would lose the one person that meant everything to him.

“I can’t lose you, Eddie.”

“Then let me love you instead.”

He said the words like it was easy. Like it hadn’t nearly cost Steve his sanity to even think them.

Love.

Love you.

“I love you!”

Steve felt like he was startling awake from a nightmare. One of those where, once you’ve opened your eyes, you instantly forget its horrors. That’s what it felt like when his confession found its way out of his mouth, making the pain of the past months disperse into nothingness.

Eddie had been right there all this time.

Eddie, with tears running down his beautiful face, smiling lovingly at Steve. Eddie, who brought his hands up to each side of Steve’s face before he leaned down and sealed his lips with a bruising kiss. Despair and pain spilling from his mouth as he licked his way inside, forcefully pushing something else in their place. Filling Steve’s insides with warmth and light and happiness. Passion running through his veins, pumping love into his heart, restarting the rotten organ to pick up its once steady beat. Its rhythm hard and fast, growing in size so big Steve felt like it would burst right through his chest.

I. Love. You.

Three simple words were all it took.

All the pain, the suffering, the loveless nights, and dreadful days – they all vanished in the seconds it took to say them out loud.

Three simple words, that seemed so frightening in his mind, so loaded with too much meaning and not enough weight to truly express what he felt.

What he still feels.

Loving Eddie and be loved by him in return is so easy. It’s easy because it just comes naturally. It’s what makes their love so pure, so honest, and true. They have one heart beating in two separate bodies. They are a two-piece puzzle, their curves and edges shaped to fit. A perfect match.

Steve holds out his hands, waits for Robin to take them in hers, and pulls her into a hug.

“Eddie already said yes, hasn’t he?” Steve says through a defeated smile.

“Well, his exact words were ‘You’re gonna regret it, Bucks.’ And then he said something about being extra nasty and insufferable just to wind me up. But yeah, he’s on board.” Robin huffs out a laugh.

Steve pulls her tighter, laughs when he practically hears Eddie’s voice in his head, sees his mischievous grin before his inner eye.

Eddie loves to be the centre of attention. Loves to be in the spotlight. Of course, he would be happy to provide himself as vessel for Robin’s artistic outlet.

The things you do for love, Steve sighs before he agrees.

Polaroid #1

Movie night. The three friends are watching some old, trashy horror movie. Steve had a very stressful day at work, can barely keep his eyes open when they’re not even 15 minutes into the movie. He falls asleep on the couch, unbothered by Robin and Eddie’s bickering and laughing. When the movie comes to an end, Eddie leans down to Steve’s resting body, foreheads touching as he takes a moment to just listen to the other man’s calm breathing. ‘Hey baby,’ Eddie whispers softly, ‘time to get up.’ He kisses the tip of Steve’s nose, waits for him to slowly drift out of his deep slumber.

Steve smiles sleepily when he opens his eyes and sees Eddie’s face hovering over him, accepts the gentle press of Eddie’s lips against his own.

‘C’mon, darling. Let’s get you to bed.’

‘I’m not even tired anymore,’ Steve says, his face scrunched up when he yawns loudly.

‘Hmm, I know a way to tire you out, baby. Don’t worry,’ Eddie answers smugly, brushing their noses together before he kisses him again.

Robin makes a gagging sound, but smiles as she takes a picture to capture this soft little moment.

Polaroid #2

Sunday morning. They are all a little groggy from Robin’s early birthday celebrations last night. They’ve been out dancing, downing shot after shot, having an awesome time. Now, the buzz from the night before is gone and makes way for headaches and hangover munchies. Steve promised Robin pancakes in the morning and she’s desperate for him to finally get up and make them. She knocks on their bedroom door and steps in without waiting for an answer. The boys are still in bed. Eddie looks like he just woke up with his frazzled hair hanging into his face, lying half on top of Steve, rubbing his eyes. ‘Just five more minutes’, Steve grumbles, refuses to turn and get up.

It’s her Birthday, sure, and he promised her food she absolutely, definitely needs to soak up the remaining alcohol in her system – but she can give him another five minutes.

When she returns (exactly five minutes later), she captures Eddie and Steve still in bed. Eddie’s lips grazing the skin on his mole-speckled back with a dreamy look in his eyes, while Steve sighs in defeat ‘Alright, Robs. You win.’

The shutter clicks just before he turns around to throw a pillow at her head, causing Eddie to tumble to the side and nearly topple off the bed.

Polaroid #3

Robin sorts through the pile of polaroid pictures she’s taken over the last two weeks:

Steve and Eddie dancing in the kitchen to some dorky love song.

Steve resting between Eddie’s thighs where they lie cuddled up on the sofa, Eddie reading his favourite book to Steve.

Eddie trying and failing to make a handstand, Steve beside him, holding his belly from laughing so hard.

A picture of all three of them on Robin’s birthday, faces covered in whipped cream and chocolate syrup after devouring their pancakes like starving animals.

Eddie with his guitar in his lap, Steve sitting on the floor across from him. They share a loving look, eyes full of desire and devotion.

And then- Robin startles in shock. How did that get in here?

She knows she didn’t take that picture. She couldn’t have. Not with the way she already feels the deep blush creeping up her face because- Jesus! That’s entirely too personal. She feels like she’s invading their privacy just by looking at that. This surely isn’t meant for anyone’s eyes but theirs.

It’s not like they’re visibly naked but the position of their bodies leaves literally no room for speculations. One of Eddie’s hands wrapped around Steve’s throat and Steve looks like- well, he looks absolutely fucking blissful. Robin can practically hear the soft moans escaping his parted lips (How she knows what he sounds like, you ask? They swore to never ever talk about that incident ever again).

It looks like Eddie is kissing him. Or maybe he licks his skin. Maybe he whispers some dirty words into his ear, tells him how he’s going to wreck him – who knows? The point is, Robin doesn’t want to know because as much as she adores them, as much as she’s been prying on their sweet moments over the past weeks, there are things that should be kept between them.

She’s going to frame it and surprise them with it. (What she doesn’t know, is that Eddie sneaked that picture into her folder just to tease her. What she also doesn’t know is that there’s a whole collection of more of these kind of pictures hidden in a shoebox under their bed.)

#steddie ficlet #tumblr fic #inspired by #inklessletter #polaroid series

161 notes · View notes

sparkle-fiend · 1 year

Text

So I saw this prompt by @throwusaboner about the Harrington’s trading Steve to fae! Eddie for wealth and success, and I kind of ran with it.

***************************

He was Fae. A wild thing - a spirit of music and curiosity. Once upon a time, he amused himself by taking part in the world of mortals; walking among them and watching their lives, making the occasional bargain when it was interesting. But many long years had passed since that was the case. Most humans had forgotten his kind.

That's why he was so surprised to come across the offering in the woods. A splash of color laid out on a tree stump - expensive hothouse flowers in the middle of winter, bright against the grey bark and white snow. It kindled his curiosity.

He lingered, visiting the grove of trees again and again, finding new gifts every time: a bowl of milk and a loaf of sweet bread, an antique silver comb, a finely worked wool scarf. When he found the silver ring set with onyx, he finally decided to wait and greet whoever it was that seemed to be trying to summon one of the Fae.

They crunched through the crust of snow together, hand in hand. A handsome young couple, well-matched: the man was tall and broad, with a pleasing face despite the harsh clench of his jaw, and the woman had warm hazel eyes that glowed nearly golden in the late afternoon light. They stopped short at the sight of him, and the woman gasped out loud.

"So many gifts; you must have a request in mind. What would you ask of me, mortals?"

The man stepped forward boldly, meeting his eyes without hesitation. "I want riches and success to rival my father."

Money and power. Yawn.

"And what do you offer me in return?"

"My firstborn child," the man said, unflinching.

That was more interesting. There were plenty stories of Fae dealing for human children, but in reality, he’d never been offered such a price – not in all his long years. He looked to the woman, who only lowered her eyes and nodded.

He had been alone for a long time, wandering as a raven or a wolf, watching the changing world from its outskirts. It was perhaps a reckless deal to agree to - but he was a reckless creature. "I accept. On the last day of the child's 18th year, it will become mine."

Bargain made; he could have disappeared until the appointed time. But the notion struck him that it might be interesting to stay close, in a form that would let him interact as well as observe.

He didn't have to go far to find what he needed - another mortal, a woman longing for a child that her body couldn't give. Evelyn Munson was overjoyed by her little foundling baby – so happy she didn’t bother to ask too many questions.

He expected the human to feed him and shelter him. He didn’t expect her to have a passion for music that rivalled his own, or for her to name him Eddie, after her favorite song - which she sang to him every night while combing her fingers through his wild, dark curls. He didn’t expect her stories or games or her gentle hands guiding his small fingers over the strings of a guitar.

Most of all, he never could have expected the way she loved him – fierce and gentle at the same time, enduring in a way that was unfamiliar. The emotions of the Fae were flicker-quick, flashing like lightning – here and gone. Evelyn taught him a softer kind of love, enduring and constant as the stars.

If she ever guessed that her odd, eccentric child wasn't human, it never changed her feelings for him. When she died ten years later, he was devastated. He might have abandoned the mortal realm in his grief, if not for Wayne - who took him in and loved him just as well as Evelyn had.

And Steve, of course. Firstborn son of Richard and Margaret Harrington, the couple he'd bargained with in 1965. The boy was difficult to keep track of for the first few years - they lived very different lives, separated by more than just the distance of a town between them. Eddie hadn’t anticipated that when he embarked on his plan.

When he found Steve again, in the halls of Hawkins Middle School, Eddie was captivated. Steve was beautiful, with the best qualities of both parents: the promise of his father's broad shoulders and square jaw, his mother's warm hazel eyes. And he had a mischievous smile that was all his own. Unfortunately, he was in the grade below Eddie's, and there wasn't much opportunity to become friends.

It was worse in high school. Steve quickly climbed the ranks of popularity (unsurprising, since he'd inherited a portion of the charm given to his father as part of the bargain with Eddie). The handsome boy was surrounded by sycophants and flatterers, befriended by bullies. Eddie was bitterly disappointed to see Steve's indifference to the cruel antics of his so-called 'friends'. He started to worry he'd made a mistake. Richard Harrington was a hard man, callous and cruel - was it really any wonder his son was turning out the same way?

Then Steve fell in love with Nancy Wheeler, and things started to change. The obnoxious friends disappeared, and Steve seemed to be making a real effort to be kinder. Even his smile was different – brighter and sweeter, unfettered.

Eddie wasn't jealous (he was a little jealous). Steve could dabble with human girls all he liked, but it was Eddie's name - his true name - that was stamped on the boy's heart like a brand.

*******

When Eddie failed senior year, he wasn’t concerned. Repeating a year of high school meant staying close to Steve; with the added benefit of being able to stay in Hellfire Club, where he could keep playing Dungeons & Dragons (one of his favorite discoveries in the mortal world, second only to heavy metal music).

Three months after the start of Eddie's second senior year (two months after Steve's 18th birthday), Nancy and Steve broke up. A week after that, Steve and Eddie finally spoke to one another for the first time, at a house party thrown by Vicki Carmichael.

Eddie was surprised when he spotted Steve at the party, considering Vicki was friends with Carol and Tommy H. He was even more surprised when he got a clear view of Steve’s face – battered and mottled with bruises and cuts. Concerned, Eddie trailed after him as he snagged a solo cup full of spiked punch and slipped out the back door.

The rear patio was deserted, despite the cheerful strings of fairy lights illuminating the space. The night was young – none of the other partygoers were drunk enough yet to brave the chill November night air.

Eddie settled silently near Steve, sitting on the concrete retaining wall and ignoring the immediate cold seeping through the worn denim of his jeans. He flipped open his black lunchbox and pulled out a joint, nudging Steve’s arm before holding it out.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

“On the house,” Eddie said. “Consider it medicinal. Your face is, uh… pretty messed up.”

Steve snorted with laughter and then winced, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Yeah, no kidding.” He accepted the joint and tucked it behind his ear, and then took a long sip from his drink.

“What happened?” Eddie asked.

Tell me who did this to you, his heart screamed. Tell me who I have to kill. I will turn them into stone, into sand, into a vapor so fine it won’t even settle into dust. Steve was his, and he hated seeing him hurt.

Steve just sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Well I’ve got all night Harrington.”

Steve gave him the bare bones of a story which felt mostly true, except for all the empty spaces. Eddie wondered at those gaps – what was Steve hiding? The actual name of his attacker for one, although Eddie could guess who it was well enough. (Going forward, Billy Hargrove wouldn’t be able to get within 10 feet of Steve without experiencing a sense of debilitating nausea.)

After that, they started meeting on a somewhat regular basis. Hanging together on the fringes of parties, late night encounters at the quarry - Steve even came to the trailer a few times. Always with the excuse of smoking together, but the real goal was conversation and the easy companionship slowly growing between them. The more Eddie learned about Steve, the more he wanted to know. He was fascinating - like a puddle that appeared shallow until you stepped in and sank to your neck.

On one such night, sitting bundled in the back of Eddie's van, Steve told him about the implosion of his relationship with Nancy.

"She said it was all bullshit. I thought we were really in love, ya know? I was really in love."

Eddie did know. He could feel it - Steve's honesty. Just like he could sense the discordance of a lie when he used to pass the two of them in the hallway at school. It wasn't Nancy lying to Steve, not on purpose. It was Nancy lying to herself.

Steve talked about his relationship with his parents too. "They're so distant sometimes. Or uh, all the time, I guess. They're hardly ever home anymore."

Eddie felt a pang of remorse. He had nothing to do with the failure of Steve's relationship with Nancy (tempted though he may have been), but this hurt was one Eddie had some part in.

He'd made the bargain on a whim, a passing fancy. The Harrington's were an attractive couple, so it stood to reason their child would also be attractive. And he enjoyed the company of lovely mortals. The Fae were creatures of desire - hungry and passionate, often self-absorbed, distant from the concerns of mortals.

He hadn't thought beyond his desire for a companion. Never considered the child, or how his parents would treat him. Why grow attached to a baby with an expiration date? A son they had already given away; traded in exchange for wealth and fortune.

Maybe it didn’t matter. The sort of humans that would barter a child probably weren’t capable of real love. Not the kind of love he’d learned from Evelyn and Wayne.

His feelings for Steve were becoming all tangled up. There was desire, and a territorial sense of possessiveness, but there was also a growing sense of fondness and affection – and maybe something deeper. A feeling he had no concept of before he took a human form, and a human name.

*******

The school year ended. Steve graduated; Eddie did not. It stung a little the second time around - even though Eddie knew school had been the very last thing on his mind all year. Steve's father made a fuss about his son’s failure to get into college, even though Eddie knew the man didn't actually care. As a result, Steve ended up getting a job at the new mall (and Eddie developed a sudden, frequent craving for ice cream).

He wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen that summer; or he never would have driven two days out of state to see Accept play at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado. He was on his way home, still five hours out from Hawkins, when he sensed it. A darkness – something inhuman and strange, from a dimension outside both the mortal realm and the Otherworld of the Fae. It filled him with dread.

He could see the red glow of flames against the night clouds as soon as he reached Hawkins town limits, the acrid scent of smoke seeping in through the vents of his van. When he realized it was coming from Starcourt, he broke every speed limit, screeching into the parking lot to a scene of chaos – emergency vehicles and flashing lights everywhere, the fire department making a valiant attempt to contain the flames consuming the mall.

When Eddie was first adjusting to life as a human, he’d gone exploring in the woods behind the trailer park, enjoying the novelty of his new form. When Evelyn found him hours later, she was frantic, crying and cursing even as she squeezed him tight enough to bruise. He never understood the conflicting emotions – not until he finally laid eyes on Steve, sitting alone by the Beemer. The other boy looked beat to hell, squinting his one good eye as he looked up. When he recognized Eddie, his lips curled into a heart stopping smile. Eddie wanted to cry and curse like Evelyn had. He wanted to wrap the other boy in his arms and shield him from harm.

For the first time, Eddie found himself dreading the final day of Steve’s 18th year. He didn’t want a magical thrall anymore, devoid of free will or personality. He wanted Steve – wanted to love him the way humans loved.

The feeling got even worse with the start of his third senior year, when he finally got to meet some of the kids Steve was always talking about. He was adorable with them, like an overgrown puppy imprinted on by a bunch of ducklings, doing his best even when they bewildered him. He loved them selflessly, the way Evelyn once loved a baby she’d found in the woods.

When the appointed day arrived, Eddie ignored it. He went to school as usual, dutifully attending all his classes, and then Hellfire in the evening. It only required a minor nudge of magic to ensure the weather would be nice, so that the kids would ride their bikes home rather than get a ride from Steve.

He was clearing up after the game, snuffing all the candles out when the sound of a throat clearing startled him into turning around. Steve was standing, half hidden in shadow, watching him with hooded eyes.

"Jesus H. Christ, what are trying to do Harrington - give me a heart attack?" Eddie said.

Steve shrugged and moved closer, leaning against the game table. There were strange undercurrents of emotion moving around him, a crackling feeling of tension, like a storm looming over the horizon. "It's my birthday tomorrow."

Eddie's throat went dry. "If you're fishing for information on a surprise party, you're barking up the wrong tree. Henderson hasn't told me anything." He busied himself with clearing away his figures and notes, stuffing everything into his backpack without his usual meticulous care.

"My mom called."

That prompted Eddie to stop and look up. He was immediately pinned by Steve's intent gaze.

"She told me something... crazy. Apparently, my family is rich because my dad made a deal with one of the Fae?"

Eddie choked out a thin laugh. "Sounds like a fairy tale."

"Yeah, I thought so too. But she was serious about it. She told me the whole story, about how they left all kinds of gifts to summon the Fae. And one of those gifts was a ring that belonged to my grandmother."

Eddie couldn't stop himself from flinching and glancing down at his hand. At the silver ring set with onyx, which he'd held onto for twenty years.

Steve let out a long, shaky breath. "It's true, isn't it? You're the Fae."

Eddie can't lie. Not when confronted directly. "Yes."

“So how does this work? What… what happens now?”

Eddie shook his head, hands clutched into fists. “Nothing. I changed my mind.” He wasn’t expecting the hurt that flickered in those hazel eyes.

“Why?” Steve whispered.

“Because… I’m not the person I was before. And I care about you too much to trap you like that.” He pulled the silver and onyx ring off his finger and held it out. “You should have this back.”

Steve took the ring, turning it over in his fingers thoughtfully before tucking it into his pocket. Eddie thought he would go home then, but he didn’t. He stayed and helped Eddie finish cleaning up, and then followed him back to the trailer. They shared a joint, passing it back and forth while Eddie kept a subtle eye on his watch.

At the stroke of midnight, he let out a sigh as he felt the contract dissolve. “You’re free,” he said softly.

Steve leaned over Eddie in order to snuff the remains of the joint in the ash tray on the side table. When it was done, he didn’t go back to his own side of the sofa – he swung a leg over Eddie’s hips and settled in his lap while Eddie stared up at him, wide-eyed. Steve took hold of his left hand and kissed the back of it softly, before pulling the silver and onyx ring from his pocket. He slipped it back onto Eddie’s finger, right over the tan line.

“I want to make a bargain,” Steve said, holding his gaze steady.

“What would you ask of me?” Eddie whispered.

Steve ran his thumb over Eddie’s hand, still gripped between his own. “What would be the cost, to make you mine?”

Eddie drew in a sharp breath. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, considering. It was a reckless bargain – but it seemed he was still a reckless creature.

“Love me. Love me and I will belong to you forever.”

Steve smiled slow and sweet, like wildflower honey. “Well that’s easy.”

They sealed the deal with a kiss.

#tumblr fic #fae!eddie #Eddie Munson is a fae #steddie #Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson #my fic #this was very experimental #and kind of mutated on me #I have no idea if this is any good #long post

1K notes · View notes

cobrafantasies · 2 months

Text

Nothing feels better than lying in bed with Sam. Nothing feels better than feeling just the silk sheets on his bare skin, the breath of his boyfriend by his ear, and a fingertip making lazy trails across his chest.

It could almost put Bucky to sleep, his eyelids droop lower as Sam loops his finger in a circle, then stops around his collarbone.

“This one’s new,” Sam says, voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Bucky mumbles, not fully paying attention.

“This freckle, here,” Sam says, pushing his fingertip deeper into the skin. “It’s new.”

The freckle Sam’s pointing to is too close to his neck. Bucky can’t look down and see it, he doesn’t try to move anyway.

“You probably just don’t remember that one," Bucky argues noncommittedly.

“Nope. I’m certain,” Sam says, resting his head down on the cushion of Bucky’s left pec. “I know all your freckles.”

Bucky huffs out a breathy laugh. Sam must register the disbelief in it.

“You don’t believe me,” Sam says.

“Course not, how can you remember every single freckle on my body?”

Sam picks his head up, stares straight into Bucky’s eyes.

“Cause I kiss them every night. I’ve counted them, all fourteen.”

“Fourteen?”

“Now fifteen,” Sam says and puts his finger back on the one by Bucky’s neck. The one he just discovered tonight.

And that’s when the moment hits Bucky. Sam’s studied his body, paid such close attention to each inch so carefully, he’s even counted the imperfections.

It hits Bucky unexpectedly, makes his eyes water a little too quickly because he’s only had very bad people pay that close attention to him. He’s only had insane people write down every detail of his existence so they can’t forget them and even they didn’t count his freckles.

Bucky closes his eyes slowly hoping the tears will dissipate and hugs Sam against his chest to get his boyfriend’s eyes off him.

He considers for a moment whether he should admit that he’s touched by the sentiment. And he wants to believe he knows Sam’s body just as well, better than his own, but he fights the instinct instead.

“Stop counting my freckles,” Bucky murmurs.

He feels Sam smile against his skin, press a kiss to his collarbone, and then sigh.

“Can’t.”

Bucky's mouth pulls into a smile and that only makes him want to cry more but he swallows through the tightness in his throat. He only hugs Sam tighter.

He won't say it, he can't, but he knows how lucky he is. To have a man who's counted all fifteen of his freckles.

#sambucky #sambucky drabble #tumblr fic #my fics #mysambuckythoughts

122 notes · View notes

ralkana · 3 months

Text

Fluffbruary, Day 5

February 5: rescue | inertia | lullaby

Dream of the Endless / Hob Gadling

Rated M? Maybe T?

-----

Hob is desperate.

He is out of options. He is no longer a religious man, but he has prayed. His fate is inescapable.

Hob is trapped.

Dr. Atkins will not leave.

He's tried everything to get his new colleague out of his office. He's tried hints. He's tried exclaiming about how much work he has. He's tried ignoring the man and actually doing his work, but he could not focus, and his students deserve better than that. He's stood at the door expectantly, and Atkins stood just outside the door and kept talking. Hob has gone to the toilet, which was extremely awkward, as Atkins followed him in, kept talking, and then followed him back to his office.

Hob could simply leave, but it's his office! His lunch is here! He has 32 exams to mark and 3 lesson plans to finalize, and he is extremely thirsty but he does not want to make tea because he does not want Atkins to consider it an invitation to sit down again. Also, he's afraid that if he just leaves, Atkins will follow him out and all the way home, still talking.

Atkins is currently bemoaning his tragic love life and failed marriages, and Hob bites back a snarl as Atkins once again laments how all of his lovers have taken advantage of him because he is an empath. Clearly, the man is not, or he would already have been knocked flat by the hostility boiling under Hob's properly polite British demeanor. Get out get out GET OUT! he seethes.

Hob longs for assistance, longs for rescue, but the department is deserted, his colleagues' office doors closed, their window blinds down. He knows they're in there, the cowards, but it's obvious that all of them have already been exposed to their new resident bore, and no one warned Hob.

He yearns for a student to stop in, for a fire alarm, for a bloody earthquake, the building's boiler to explode. He glares at his phone, lying silent and dark on his desk. Why won't it ring?

"Music is my first love, though," Atkins says. For at least the fifth time. "And I want someone I can share that with. Concerts are not the same on one's own."

"Mm, yeah," Hob says listlessly.

There are footsteps in the hall. They stop before his door, and Hob's heart leaps like a startled hare.

"Hello, beloved, I am here for our lunch date. You were to call me after your class, were you not?"

God's wounds, thank you, love!

Hob lurches to pull open the half-open door, grabbing Dream's hand with both of his and clinging.

"Hello, darling, so sorry!" He presses a quick kiss to Dream's lips. "Time got away! Come in, come in!"

Pulling Dream into his office, he threads his arm in Dream's and keeps chattering at lightning speed. "Got so busy talking, you know how it is. Love, this is my new colleague, Dr. Atkins. Drew, this is my husband."

"Oh! Ah, pleasure to meet you," Atkins says, eyes wide as he stares at Dream. Every inch the dream king, Dream nods regally. Seeing Atkins take a breath to speak again, Hob jumps in once more.

"So sorry to rush you out, didn't realize what time it was, we've only got time for a short break, you understand. It was lovely chatting with you!"

If he lets Atkins get a word in, the man will never stop, and then Dream will say something unspeakably rude, and the only reason Hob hasn't already been unspeakably rude is that he still has to work with the man.

"Oh sure, no worries, " Atkins says as Hob herds him inelegantly out the door. "Chat later?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Absolutely," Hob says with a cheery grin as he shuts the door in Atkins' face and then locks it.

He slumps against it momentarily and then springs up to tug Dream into a searing kiss.

Dream rumbles in pleasure like a big cat, hands curving around Hob's waist to pull him close.

They only break apart when Hob gasps for breath. "Hello, love," he pants, tucking his face into Dream's neck. "You're my hero, did you know that?"

"Your daydreams of rescue were very loud, but they did not seem to call for a combative response. Is all well, beloved?" He glares at the closed door. "Is Andrew Atkins a threat?"

Hob snorts and reluctantly steps away to walk toward his desk. He has so much to do. "God, no. Only to my peace of mind and my schedule for the day, duck. New colleague, frightful bore, couldn't get rid of him. I tried everything. Nice bloke, but he would not stop talking. If I had to hear one more time about how he saw Queen at Wembley in '85, I would not have been responsible for my actions."

He daydreams a little vignette of sliding his sword out of a desk drawer far too small for it, grinning at Dream's small huff of laughter.

"I am glad to have come, if it averted unnecessary bloodshed," Dream says as he crosses the office. He leans against the corner of Hob's desk, ankles crossed, and smiles down at him. Hob swivels so that his knee knocks Dream's, and smiles back.

There is a brief moment of blessed silence, and Hob savors it.

"As your rescuer, I believe I deserve a reward, do I not?" Dream's voice is a purr, low and sultry, and it sends a shiver down Hob's spine.

"Oh, I will happily reward you tonight, love. Repeatedly, if you like."

"I am here now. For our lunch date. And I find myself ravenous."

"Dream, we're in my office!"

Dream says nothing, simply staring down at him hungrily, and Hob swallows.

"I am so behind, dove. Atkins was here forever, and I have - " It ends on a gasp as Dream straddles him. Hob's desk chair creaks alarmingly.

"So fickle in your gratitude, beloved," Dream murmurs in his ear, his hands in Hob's hair.

Hob glances at his pile of marking. He glances at the blinds, closed, and the door, locked. Ten minutes. He can take ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

END

-----

Thanks to @fluffbruary for the prompt and @ladytian for the cheerleading!

#dreamling #centennial husbands #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2024 #my fic #tumblr fic #fic challenges #my immortal sunshine boy #my sad wet king of cats

190 notes · View notes

scoupsahoy · 1 year

Text

leaving like a father, running like water

[crossposted to ao3]

It’s 1991 when Steve finally does what his father’s been telling him his entire life, which is: he grows up. Hawkins is stuck in time, a ticking time bomb, a place that’s never really needed him.

That’s okay. People needed him to stay for a while.

Robin needs him. Stuck to his side, constantly over his house, hardly going back to her own. He hears fighting from the inside for a while before he stops taking her back. Violence and vitriol and venom. And he needs Robin, too, needs her to be by his side, needs her to put him back together after the town splits down the middle.

It’s mainly her.

The kids needed him for a while, but they were always stronger. More magical. He was a piece of shit when he was their age, didn’t understand a single fucking thing, and they just knew. They’d lived entire lives right under his nose. They’d fought and won and lost and lost and lost and won, and they were always smarter than him anyway. More resilient.

And Hawkins can hardly be called a place anymore. It’s gray and rotten and barren, and the kids live there because they grew up on its streets and underneath them, but Steve. Steve has only been beaten down by this place, realizes he has to grow up somewhere else.

His parents give him the house and he sells it immediately. No one’s buying land in Hawkins, but it’s land, the town will take it, they’ll take anything they can get, and so will Steve.

They drive west until they hit Las Vegas and they get hitched at one of those sleazy casinos so people stop asking questions.

Steve dips Robin low and kisses her on the cheek behind a veil and the drunk witnesses don’t notice that her cackle is at the ridiculousness of people ever thinking they could be together. And hopefully in a while she’ll be one of those girls on the news wearing a shirt that says Lavender Menace but she could never have been that girl in Indiana.

And Steve. Well.

Before they really decide to leave, Steve gets drunk and hooks up with a guy he’s never met before and never seen again, a drummer in a little metal band playing just outside Indianapolis when he was convinced he was just testing a theory, and then Alexandria Brown, who had a fucking tongue piercing, just to make sure girls still get him off, and then Ronny Jackson, who was in AP Calc and a huge loud weirdo but otherwise gives him the best orgasm of his life. And he otherwise chases what Robin lovingly calls “the Munson High” until it clicks for him.

He leaves because without the kids to take care of, because he can’t play mother hen forever, Hawkins is nothing but a rotting open grave.

So they drive farther and hit San Francisco with ring pop rings and get a nice two bedroom apartment from a landlord who doesn’t ask questions, and that becomes home.

Steve is twenty four when he decides to grow up.

The problem with growing up is the growing part. Stretching his limbs and pounding at his muscles and working long hours lifting heavy boxes onto wobbly shelves for nine hours a day. He sees ghosts in the grocery store and monsters in dogs on a walk and it’s hard out here pretending this has been his only life. But at least there’s beer.

“Steve,” Robin flies through their front door, crumpled flier in hand, right when Steve cracks the can open. “Put that down.”

“Why?”

“We’re going out tonight. This was in our mailbox. I think it’s a gay club.” She smacks her hand on the counter, spread out over a piece of paper, probably too excited to realize there’s no way Steve would be able to read it.

He puts his beer down anyway before asking what should be an obvious question, because he actually isn’t trying to turn into his father, and because he’s a good friend. “Why would someone slip a flier for a gay club into our mailbox?”

“I think Addie and Rose from down the hall put it in there. Doesn’t matter. Go with me.”

And. Steve stares at his beer and the tiny television they got when they moved in so they wouldn’t die of boredom. They were going to watch Turner Classics or something because that’s what they always do on the weekend.

He looks back at sweet, hopeful Robin and sighs. “One of these days I’ll say no to you.”

“No you won’t,” she says, bright and shiny, runs into her closet of a room to get dressed and shouts through the apartment. “Also, for the record, you need to get laid!”

“Say it louder, I don’t think Addie and Rose heard you.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it, because we both know I will.”

So Steve puts on real clothes, nothing too nice, and runs a comb through his hair. It’s a bit longer now than it was when he was a kid, long enough to give him hat hair at work, short enough that he’s not immediately clocked as a freak.

On the walk there, Steve decides his primary goal is to make sure Robin has a good time. His secondary goal is to make sure neither of them get into too much trouble. And the third, if the first two goals go well, is to get head in the bathroom, or, if he’s really lucky, give head in the bathroom.

They haven’t been in San Francisco for very long, considering how long they stayed in Hawkins, but there are regulars in their neighborhood, people he recognizes from work, people he recognizes from the store. It’s like they’re making a life here, almost.

The bartender is a guy who’s jogging route passes in front of their apartment most mornings on their way to work. His grizzled face breaks into pleasant surprise when he gets his eye on them.

“Oh, I recognize you two,” he says, pointing two fingers at them. His voice has a midwest twang to it. Kind of reminds him of home, not that he needs reminding. “That married couple up by that one deli. You guys lost?”

“We’re not.. really married,” Robin says, in that ridiculously un-subtle way she tends to.

Steve shoots her a look. “We’re legally married.”

“Yes, but as friends,” she emphasizes, shakes her naked ring finger at the bartender before leaning both elbows onto the bar and resting her head on her fists. “Tell me, do women frequent this establishment?”

If anything, despite the anxiety burning Steve’s ears red, the bartender at least seems amused. He nods over to a corner of the club closer to the stage and she’s immediately off in that direction, leaving Steve alone on a barstool with a man who knows way too much about him now.

Most of the rest of the bar is empty. Being a club, most people are on the dance floor or in dark corners or against the stage. Steve’s always been the kind of guy to sit by the sidelines. At least, since he graduated.

“She seems quirky,” the bartender says, no malice in his voice, pouring a drink for another patron and sliding it down the bar.

“Yeah, try living with her.”

He heaves a belly-laugh that makes Steve make real eye contact with him for the first time since getting in. “I’m Ricardo.”

“Steve.” They shake hands, firm and friendly.

“Not lost, then?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so,” Ricardo says, though Steve does a quick check of his hair and his clothes, see if anything gives him away. And he must be tense, because he continues. “Hey, relax, let me make you a drink if you want. We don’t bite.”

That shocks a smile out of him, enough to ask for a rum and coke. And Ricardo nods, and Steve tries to remember how to be social again like he hasn’t spent the last five years exclusively hanging out with teenagers and Robin. “That’s a shame. About the biting.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I could introduce you to a friend. He’ll do anything if you ask nicely enough,” he laughs, handing over the drink.

Steve squashes down how flustered that makes him. Robin’s right. He does need to get laid.

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Thinking about it, you’re exactly the kind of guy he usually goes after.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know. Athletic. Good hair. Very normal looking,” Ricardo makes vague gestures at Steve’s general likeness and he tries not to take it personally. “He usually comes by on Saturdays. In case you were curious.”

“What’s his name?” Steve asks, even though he’ll probably forget, by the amount of rum he can taste in his drink and the way a man with more than one tattoo on his neck looks at him from down the bar.

He does manage to remember, because it’s kind of a weird name. And pretty quickly Steve decides that hooking up with someone in a bathroom isn’t too much trouble to get into at all, and Robin is loud and excitable across the club and he shouldn't worry about her too much anyway. So Jacob with the neck tattoos drags him into the bathroom by the hair at his nape and pushes Steve to his knees and the roughness of it gets him off without even being touched.

And his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised and he thinks about the guy named Winn who usually comes in on Saturdays, who likes guys that look like Steve, who will do anything if Steve asks nicely enough.

On the way out Robin has another girl’s lipstick on her teeth so she can’t say anything too scathing, but she does give him the Munson High stare.

He climbs into her bed that night because he has dreams about monsters and bats and open graves. He thinks about Eddie Munson after five years of him being gone, after only really a few days of knowing him, never knowing what he tasted like and chasing it anyway.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson died.

•

It’s 1991, deep into summer, and Steve sweats through his work uniform every single fucking day, takes twice as many showers as he can probably afford the water for, and sometimes it’s so hot in California that he starts to think he might be seeing things.

Robin tells him he’s been hit in the head too many times, which is objectively true, and if he were more self-preserving he’d probably benefit from going to a doctor about it. His father would call him crazy, he knows that, too.

Sometimes at work he’ll see a new-hire with Dustin’s curly hair, the style he had it in years ago when there was a chance he could grow up normal. And Steve will go home on those days and call the Henderson home phone until someone picks up and tells him he’s safe.

And lately, on Friday afternoons after work, when he goes straight from work to the grocery store to pick up whatever he can for dinner, he swears he catches a glimpse of Eddie. Just for a second. Like he’s a ghost.

And there are things wrong, always, the hair, his style, the walk, it has to be a hallucination.

Eddie’s been dead for five years, dead in a different state, in a different universe. And there’s no one to call when he gets home.

The feeling of it sits in his gut and festers like a poison. He doesn’t know why it’s getting worse since coming here. Chasing the Munson High.

They don’t go back to the club very often. They probably should. Robin needs to get laid just as badly as Steve does, but he’s never been the type to let loose when he felt responsible for someone else, not since Nancy. San Francisco is big and gay and new and it’s not quite home yet, and they’re from smalltown Hawkins, Indiana. He doesn’t know how to let his guard down.

But.

“We’re going out tonight,” Robin tells him, sitting next to Steve on their little couch with a sandwich and swinging her legs across his lap as a table.

“We are?”

She nods, smiles, speaks with a mouth full of food. “Yep. We’re going back to the club. And I’m the designated driver.”

“You don’t drive,” Steve blinks. “And we walk there.”

“Then I’m the designated walker. I’ll cart your little drunk self back home. Unless you go home with someone else, of course.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

Robin smiles her little Robin smile, the one where she’s clearly feeling pity, which she knows Steve hates, and will not apologize for it.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Your nightmares are back again. You’re worrying too much about me and everyone back home,” back in Hawkins, she means, their old home, “and it’s Saturday night and as your wife, I’m forcing you to go out and get drunk and get laid and stop worrying about other people for once.”

“There’s plenty of things to worry about, Robin,” Steve points out, even though it’s a losing battle.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. The apocalypse isn’t coming to San Francisco, and I’m pretty sure if it did I’d be able to handle it until you sobered up.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right.

Fuck. He knows she’s right.

So he lets Robin eat her sandwich and he gets changed into something that won’t make him die of heatstroke (because if he survived the past eight years and throws it all away in the basement of a club, he’s going to march into hell pissed off). And he makes himself look good and he wonders if Jacob with the neck tattoos is coming tonight, or maybe a drag performer, or maybe Winn who knows Ricardo.

They come up with a game plan on the way, because Steve is nothing without a game plan, basically the only thing that’s kept him alive this long. He’s going to get as plastered as he likes, and Robin is going to hopefully hook up with a drag king, and they are going to check in at midnight. And if Steve goes home with someone, he’s going to let her know before he goes, and he’s going to have a good time (this, she is adamant about), and he’s going to call her if he plans on spending the morning in bed.

Robin tells as much to Ricardo when they get in, orders Steve shots before setting his watch to go off at midnight like he’s fucking Cinderella. She looks Ricardo right in the eyes and demands him, “make sure he gets plastered.”

And get plastered Steve does.

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Ricardo says. “Not really your scene?”

Steve leans an elbow on the bar. “It’s not that. I like to be careful. I know that this is San Francisco, but still. We’re from Indiana.”

It’s a half-truth, at least. Indiana itself was part of the problem, it always was. Not safe for Robin, not safe for him. Steve always had to pick the safe option. Tonight is really the first time he’s not going to worry about it.

The world is a scary place, even without all the monsters. Ricardo must understand that. Steve takes another shot.

“Illinois.”

The liquor burns down his throat this time, hits him like a punch, “What?”

“I’m from outside Chicago,” Ricardo says, which explains the midwestern accent.

Steve breathes, the buzz starting in his chest. “How long did it take for you to get used to this?”

“Kid, we’re all still getting used to it.”

He takes another shot at that. He thinks about the things he’s getting used to, the new place and the new world and the way the world spins. The way the ground here isn’t cracked and rotten and part of hell. The way he doesn’t have to worry about getting an annual concussion, hopefully, if he watches out, if he follows his rules.

He thinks about Eddie, which is a bit funny, because he doesn’t think he’s tried to think about him in a long time. Sometimes it happens like that. You know about someone for years and then you know them for a few days and then.

Impact.

And if he’s being honest, he’s never going to get laid like this. Sitting miserable at the bar. It’s a club. There are people and performances and men that he doesn’t have to be afraid of.

Steve has to do more than just survive, now. It’s been eight years of surviving and he gets to live.

So he gets plastered. Sloppily so, finds Robin and kisses her wet on her forehead and lifts her up for the girls by the stage and wingmans until she’s giggling and slapping at him and threatening divorce.

He gets bullshit drunk, chases his Munson High, grinds against a man with lots of eyeliner, hair so long he’s pretty. He tells him so against his lips and his hips. Doesn’t learn his name before he’s sitting back at the bar, a moment that hardly sobers him.

He sits for a while and breathes and people-watches and talks to Ricardo, and there’s a man with sunglasses down the bar, staring right at him. His hair is cropped short and he’s covered in tattoos, and Steve flags Ricardo down.

“Am I really drunk or is that guy staring at me?”

Ricardo smiles, response sloshing around in Steve’s brain. “He’s definitely staring. I told you that you were his type.”

“Oh shit,” he says, “that’s Winn?”

Steve doesn’t stick around long enough to hear anything other than the confirmation. And if Winn gets tense, Steve is too drunk to notice. He wants to drink and he wants to make out and he wants this guy to do whatever he wants with him. He wants to flirt and get in his pants and go home with him. And he’s a reckless drunk and he’s okay with it.

“Hey,” he says when he sidles up, rests his elbows on the bar.

“Hey.”

His voice is gruff and deep, surprisingly so. And he looks out into the crowd for a bit, so Steve can peek behind his sunglasses to see what they’re hiding. “I was wondering if you were planning on buying me a drink.”

Winn smiles, and it’s bright, even if it isn’t huge. It looks shocked, unused, awkward in the lips like they’ll crack open. Steve wants to get bloody on them.

“Now why would I do that?”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Steve says, even if he doesn’t know that it’s true. It’s true enough. “And Ricardo told me that I’m just your type. Was wondering if you’d ever make a move.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t make a move of your own?” His voice wavers a bit, a teasing jolt, something familiar, weirdly.

Steve drags his eyes down Winn’s body, his plain black shirt, and dark wash jeans, and the lean muscle that sits underneath. “What do you think I came over here for?”

“You’ve got me there. But I don’t think I was staring at you.”

“I’m pretty sure you were.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m wearing sunglasses, so I could have been staring at anything,” Winn says, turns his shoulders towards Steve’s, like they’re closing in on each other.

“You’re looking at me now, at least.”

“That’s true.”

“Any chance you’ll be looking away any time soon?”

It’s fun. Their back and forth. He can tell Winn likes it too, cheeks red, even when the lights change to flash yellow and blue and green. His voice cracks higher for a half second. “None.”

There it is.

“Good,” Steve says, curls his fist into the front of his shirt and pulls Winn down to him. He can feel the snag of chest hair in his hand, swallows the little groan he lets out into his mouth. He wants to get drunk on that, too.

He knows how drunk he must be, out in the open like this. He knows how selfish this must be, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it. Steve wants.

Winn hesitates for a fraction of a second, the kind of second that drags on when you’re drunk, and then kisses back the kind of kiss that empties your entire mind. His tongue is hot, licks into his mouth like fire, and he doesn’t taste like liquor. It’s just cigarettes and sweat and Steve wants to drown in it.

It turns out that Winn is the take control type. The do whatever you want if you ask nicely enough type, if he’s remembering correctly. He’s solid and bone-crushing and not nearly close enough. Steve is desperate and hungry in a way he hasn’t let himself be in years, doesn’t care about the consequences, wants Winn to make a mark on him that won’t go away.

And Winn gets them both drinks, gets Steve just what he likes, takes his own shots like they’re nothing. He downs them like water and Steve stares at his throat like he wants to build a home inside of it.

There’s a little bit of talking, but mainly making out, and a lot of touching hip bones and exposed biceps and the tender skin at the juncture of Winn’s neck, and ordering drinks and feeling reckless and not giving a shit.

And then his hands are in Steve’s hair, pulling, kissing him again and again, and his knees nearly collapse right there.

“Take me home,” Steve finds himself saying. “Your home. Take me to your place.”

Winn laughs, a sharp sound, “You’re a little drunk, buddy.”

“Sober me up then,” Steve says, slides his free hand up Winn’s leg. He tests a theory. “Please?”

And that does something.

He is pretty drunk, and otherwise his blood isn’t particularly focused on his brain function as much as his dick, honestly. But still, Winn makes Steve dizzy with it, with want and need.

It’s quick and reckless. Steve tells Robin he’s going home with Winn, that he’ll call a cab in the morning, and she salutes him on his way out.

The air outside is just as stale and hot as the club, and Steve leans into Winn’s arm while they walk.

“I hate how hot it is here.”

“You might have come to the wrong place, big boy,” Eddie says. Or, well, Winn says it, but Steve stops short in his tracks, feeling like a tape getting rewound, cranked slowly. It’s five years ago all of a sudden, just for a second, and Winn catches Steve by the bicep and if Steve were feeling more like himself he might have flexed or flirted or something. “You alright?”

And he’s back in the present, skipped ahead with a scratch. “Yeah.”

“Don’t die of heatstroke on me. I have water at my apartment. It’s not far.”

It really isn’t far. Winn keeps his sunglasses on even though Steve can hardly see a foot in front of him as it is. He wonders for a second if Winn has real eyes, or if he sees through his lenses like screens. Or maybe he can’t see at all. That seems unlikely.

He wonders if Winn has Eddie’s eyes, too. Big and brown like he’d never seen before or seen since. The real Munson High: not a guy with long hair and rings and tattoos and weird interests, but a guy who looks at him like that, like Eddie did. Intense and sure and determined and unafraid.

“You remind me of someone,” Steve says, sloshed, uninhibited.

For all accounts, he should keep his mouth shut. Steve is actually trying to sleep with this guy, and he can’t imagine that comparing him to his admittedly life-changing but violently dead friend from five years ago is going to be appealing.

And this guy is cool, Steve tells him so. His style and his walk and his demeanor and how he tastes like cigarettes, the kind you roll yourself.

He thinks, maybe, keeping it lighthearted will be best. If this is the final destination of the Munson High, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Or scary the way seeing the ghost of him in his grocery store is.

Winn keeps him talking, though. “Someone nice?”

“Oh,” Steve blinks. He isn’t quite sure, which seems unfair, but he doubts Eddie thought Steve was all that nice either. “Maybe. He was nicer than me, maybe. He was good, I know that. We had a lot going on back when I knew him, but you have the same kind of smile. And manner of speaking. All that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steve is too drunk really to read into the way Winn’s posture changes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that they’re at Winn’s apartment already. It’s not far at all. In fact, Steve could probably make it back home in fifteen minutes if he wasn’t so far gone.

His apartment is small and a bit messy, and it’s quiet and a little impersonal. Not much on the walls, no pictures of family around. And sometimes it’s like that here, he’s learned. Not everyone has a Robin. But at least Winn has a Ricardo.

The entry space isn’t too warm. It’s actually nice and cool. Cooler than the club, certainly cooler than the outside. Like, Winn must have good air conditioning. “Jesus Christ, are you rich or something?”

“I can’t believe that you of all people would ask that,” Winn says. Steve doesn’t bother asking what that means but he wonders. He looks for hints in Winn’s sunglasses or the familiar weight of his hands.

“I feel like I can breathe,” Steve takes a deep breath and spins, almost topples over, and Winn catches him by the shoulders. Firm hands. Familiar. They’re familiar. “Woah, thank you.”

“Not a problem, dude.”

There it is again. That tone of voice. Steve has got to be fucking hallucinating, honestly, all of a sudden overcome by this pulling in his chest.

“Is dude really an appropriate thing to call someone you’re trying to sleep with?” He flirts, the only cylinder in his brain that’s firing like this. Everything else is fighting drunken confusion and Eddie and trauma. And it’s not fair that this is happening now.

Winn’s sunglasses are still on. “You’d be surprised, Stevie.”

He stumbles and trips over a cable and it feels like 1986 again and 1985 and 1984, and it’s a black and slimy vine, something that will slither around his neck and ankles and choke him out. And the next few hours are a confusing haze, because he collapses in Winn’s arms. He gets taken to the couch, a fucking ugly thing, and he can’t breathe and it’s humiliating.

It’s been a while since an episode like this. The first few weeks in San Francisco were like that, peeking around every corner, distrustful of every shadow. And the feeling of being back there mainly sticks to nightmares, something he can blame on his dreams.

But he got used to it. He got used to San Francisco and normal problems like being broke and hating your parents.

Steve knows what’s real and what isn’t. He’s smart. He hasn’t gone insane. He’s not crazy, except, he definitely looks crazy to this guy. This poor guy. Not-Eddie. Eddie’s not real. Or, not anymore.

He never should have come here. He should be with Robin. She knows what’s real too. She can talk him down. She’s good at it.

He can’t see for what feels like an hour or what he knows is realistically only a couple of minutes, and then he can, because Eddie or not-Eddie rubs circles into his back and puts a glass of ice water in his hands and tells him how cold it is. He narrates the droplets of condensation that track down his skin and into his watch, which still hasn’t gone off yet.

This is the longest night of his fucking life and that’s saying something, it’s saying too much.

“You’re okay, man,” Eddie or not-Eddie says, calm like he’s used to this feeling, when nobody could be. Nobody but the group of them who fought monsters in alternate dimensions, who were nearly killed off and then paid off by government organizations. It’s why Steve and Robin came here in the first place. To get away from it. Somewhere where no one would know. So they wouldn’t have to see the effects of it every day and breathe the awful polluted air.

A chill runs up his spine. The air conditioning whirrs. A thought comes to his mind: he likes it cold.

And he thinks he’s hyperventilating again, he must be, because Winn is concerned and takes off his sunglasses and Steve gets a good look at his eyes and they’re Eddie’s. Like he took them from him. Like the world is fucking with him, like they never won at all and this is Steve’s fucking ticking clock. Like the last five years weren’t real, like nothing is real.

By some grace of God, that’s too much for his brain to handle, and he passes out right there on Eddie’s couch in Eddie’s arms in San Francisco in 1991.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson almost died.

•

It’s 1991, and Steve wakes up hungover in a room he’s never been in before. It’s dark still, and his head is pounding, and he’s sure it’s from the alcohol. But it centers around his eyes like he’d been crying, something he doesn’t let himself do all that often, and it floods back.

His eyes barely adjust and there’s an old Metallica poster on the wall and a stack of books in the corner of the room and a guitar pick necklace hanging from the corner of a mirror and nothing else.

Nothing else recognizable, at least. Nothing else personal, not that Steve can really say he knew Eddie personally. It’s nothing like Eddie’s room at home five years ago, the one he had to clean out because Wayne and Dustin were too heartbroken to do it themselves. With his guitars and posters and fliers and lyrics and chord progressions. With his drugs that they threw back into Rick’s house. That he and Nancy made sure to keep far away from the kids, because God fucking forbid they touch them.

It’s too dark to tell if this is the Upside Down or one of those clock hallucinations or if it’s just night.

There’s no reason Eddie Munson should be alive.

There’s no reason, really, that Steve should have been thinking about him for so long, anyway. For thinking of Eddie as this special thing to him, a high he’s chased for years, a person he recognizes pieces of in strangers on the street. That must be what this is. Punishing him for not letting him go. When he hardly fucking knew the guy.

But that’s not right, either.

He’s shaking, and the bed creaks with it, and the door opens slowly, and he holds his breath until Eddie walks through.

Because Eddie walks through. His hair is cropped and his neck is scarred and his face is older. There aren’t rings or patches or buttons on leather and denim. He looks different and exactly the same, and the light from the other room floods from behind him like a halo, like he’s a ghost.

Steve knows that this can’t be his imagination, though, can’t be the effect of some spell or hypnotism or post-traumatic stress, because he’d never imagine Eddie like this. Barren.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Eddie says, like it’s a normal thing to say, like this is a normal thing to do, and Steve kind of wants to kill him again.

The light flickers on, bathes the room in an ugly yellow. “What did you do?”

“What?” Eddie stops short. Water spills over the rim of a glass Steve didn’t notice he was holding. “You had a panic attack and passed out. I brought you to a bed.”

Steve shakes his head. “You died! You died five years ago! What did you do? Did you make a deal with Vecna? With the guys at the lab?”

“Jesus, no!” Eddie steps forward and Steve tenses. His eyes flash, and they’re just as big and swirling as Steve remembers, but they’re dark, and he holds his other hand out, placating. Is he a vampire? Is Vecna even dead?

“Was any of it real? Is any of it over?”

Exdie crouches, and he takes off his shirt, and Steve must still be a little drunk because he stares at his chest and the curls of hair scattered around. But behind that, more clear now than it was in the club, is scarred, discolored patches of skin, poorly stitched together, healed but slowly. Painfully. The scratches and scars run lightly up his arms and his chest, up into deep pinks and reds at the base of his neck.

“I didn’t die,” Eddie says, patient, practiced, like he’d been prepared to be found out. Which begs the question: what was the fucking point? “I nearly died. I thought I died. But I didn’t.”

Steve fumes and he tries to follow and he stares at Eddie’s skin, thinks about all the people he couldn’t protect.

“We mourned you. Dustin was,” Jesus Christ, it hurts to think about, “torn in half. You let us all think you died, but you let him think you died. We would have helped you.”

Eddie stares like he’s brokenhearted, and Steve is done talking. His throat hurts and his head hurts and he’s too fucking old for this. He dares Eddie to explain himself.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He really did think he was going to. He’d already accepted it, and if Dustin got to live, he would have done it over and over again indefinitely. He would have relived the pain forever, and he knew it even when it was excruciating and he tasted blood and venom and whatever else.

The only thing he wouldn’t relive was Dustin’s face, dirty and tear-tracked and sobbing.

Eddie faded out and faded back in. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard the others come back, heard them tear Dustin off of him, heard the rumbling of thunder and the splitting of earth.

One thing Eddie learned when he was young, when his dad put his mom in the hospital, was that hearing goes last. The last moments wrapped up in loud silence.

He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but the screams and the cracking and the laughter from Vecna sounded a lot like hell, especially when it didn’t stop. When it kept going. When he thought he was dead.

But hell seemed to spit him back out.

Didn’t want him. Go figure.

He was hardly alive, though. Alive in the sense that he was sometimes conscious and his heart was chugging, pushing blood around his body.

And eventually, in Hawkins, real Hawkins, he crawled until he ended up in the Hendersons’ backyard. He’d heard a story once, right before he died, that Dustin had taken in a little monster until it could live on its own.

It was a long shot, but he was hoping the kid would be willing to do it again.

He was.

Eddie bled sludge onto the concrete of Dustin’s cellar, and Dustin stole antiseptic and gauze and painkillers from where they were keeping Max in the hospital and from the donation drives and wherever else, Eddie never knew. He soaked needles and string in hydrogen peroxide and sewed him up in the really gnarly gashes that wouldn’t scab over, placating Eddie with whatever was in his mother’s liquor cabinet.

And it was fucking hell.

He will never remember most of it.

But as soon as he could stand upright he cut his hair short and hitchhiked to Indianappolis and took a one-way bus to California and didn’t look back.

There was no way he could. Every step was a miracle. He was a man on the run.

But nobody except his uncle knew that his name was Edwin, that his mother’s maiden name was Langley. Nobody except Rick, who’d made him a fake ID before he got sent to prison so he could run off to San Francisco after he graduated, or after Wayne got sick of him, or after shit got really bad.

And well.

It killed the poor kid, he knew it, but he hoped that knowing he was alive would lessen the blow. Even if he swore him to secrecy. The kid was loyal. Could keep a secret.

Dustin is nothing if not stubborn. Packed Eddie’s bag with a note with his home phone number and a radio frequency and a threat, a promise, to tell the police exactly where he was if he didn’t confirm proof of life at least once a month.

An extremely charming scribbled note on a piece of paper he would keep in his bedside table that read: I WILL MAKE ELEVEN FIND YOU. LIVE.

So Eddie Munson – if you asked his ID, Edwin Langley – if you asked anyone else, Winn the Mechanic – didn’t die in Upside Down Hawkins, Indiana in 1986. He laid low for five years in San Francisco, a place where people run to all the fucking time and don’t ask questions, didn’t make too much money, didn’t make too many waves.

He got rid of anything that would identify him. That was the hard part. All Eddie Munson had was his identity. Was his band and his music and his club and his loud personality. And he’d never held himself back for anyone.

He figured, though, if he was going to hold himself back for something, it would be for the teenagers who fought monsters. Maybe, he thought, this way he’ll win. There’s no other way for them to win.

Eddie knew his odds. Every day was a stealth check. And for five years he rolled high enough. It helped staying mainly sober and playing the new performance of being mysterious and quiet. Like that was a new game in itself.

And then, one day, a drunk and traumatized Steve Harrington rolled high enough on investigation to crumble the whole thing down.

•

It’s 1991. And Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He was alive when Wayne and Steve organized a pathetic little funeral for him with sticks and pins and guitar picks buried into the ground on the right-side-up of where he got attacked by the bats. He was alive when Steve and Lucas spent nights in Dustin’s room, giving them a break from the hospital room and making sure they were doing okay.

For Christ sake, he held Dustin while they mourned.

Eddie was alive when Steve sort of pieced together why he was so heartbroken. When Robin asked why he kept Eddie’s jean jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, why he didn’t bury it or give it to Wayne. He was alive when Steve was confused and tired and drove out to Indianapolis and went down on some drummer with long hair and big eyes who called him baby and pretty and gave him a warning before coming down his throat.

When Robin coined the term Munson High.

And Jesus Christ, Steve is exhausted. He’s nauseous and dizzy and hungover and his mouth tastes like shit. He’s only pretty sure this whole thing isn’t an elaborate mind game.

“I don't understand, dude,” Steve says, running the palm of his hand flat down his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

Steve kind of wants to kill him again. “Why did you have to be dead? Why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Why didn’t you tell me? We were friends!” He clears his throat. “And why the fuck did you take me home tonight knowing damn well who I was?”

Eddie counts the questions off on his fingers, formulating his thoughts, and it’s infuriating to watch. Knowing that Eddie has had five years to think about this, and Steve is falling over on himself like a fucking idiot. Blindsided.

He speaks, and for some reason it sounds the exact same as it has in Steve’s memory, and it hurts. “The town wanted me dead, man. There were people coming after me with pitchforks, no questions asked, there was no saving me. Not after Jason died. Not after it broke national news. I couldn’t be missing or sent to jail or any of that shit. I had to be dead or they would kill me. And if they couldn’t kill me, they’d kill you guys for keeping me alive.”

Steve clenches his jaw and it sends the violent sting of a migraine into his eye. “We would have done it. We needed you–”

“That’s why you guys couldn’t know. You would try to fix it. If you knew I lived, you would patch me up and take me to your magical girl’s friends with the government and they would wave their wands, but I would be public enemy number one, and that was never going to change or get better,” Eddie says, a crack in his voice like he’s frustrated, like he has a right to be. “I’ve been public enemy number one since the kids in Hawkins found out who my dad was. It never fucking changes.

“I told Dustin because I knew he wouldn’t ask me to stay after I’d already made up my mind. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would. You would have asked me to stay and I would have done anything for you back then. And now, too. I just can’t say no to you, Stevie.

“But,” he finishes, “you needed to focus on the bigger picture. If you thought there was any shot I would make it, you would have taken it, and you would have gotten yourself killed.”

Steve breathes. He can’t do much to argue with that, but the parts of it that were personal, that made Steve feel like stained glass or the open mouth of a cave, like he was something Eddie could really see, those parts are hard to swallow.

“And?”

“And,” Eddie says. “I haven’t seen you in five years and I never got to kiss you back then, I never even thought of it as a possibility. And my cover was broken and I was drinking even though I don’t do that anymore, and you asked to go home with me, Steve. I already said I can’t say no to you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie relaxes into a position more familiar, barely. The ghost of a posture Steve recognizes from five years ago. He wonders if he’s still the same or different in Eddie’s eyes. “And I wouldn’t have slept with you under false pretenses, I just figured you’d rather not be in a dark little gay club when you realized I was Eddie.”

He’s a little too tired for this. A little too broken. It’s a little too much.

Steve wonders if he would feel his heart stop if it did. Or if it would just feel like the same dull ache he’s been feeling for five years. More than that. Since his world turned upside down.

“You’re stuck with me, now. You got that?”

Eddie smiles, and it’s something so massive and heart stopping and sickening that Steve worries if it’s real at all. It’s just different enough. Five years older. Relieved and real.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, waterlogged and broken and also whole.

Steve would hate to break this, but he glances at the clock and feels a tension about a fifteen minute walk away. “You’re going to have to deal with Robin, though. And Dustin is going to have to deal with me”

•

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana.

•

It’s 1991. Steve unlocks his apartment, cramped and kind of ugly, and full of life.

“Hey Rob?”

Robin calls from her little closet room. “No honey I’m home? Where has our love gone, Stevie?”

“Uh,” he shifts by the door. “I ran into someone last night.”

“I thought you went home with that Winn guy. Did he fuck your brains out? I should have told him about your history of concussions before I let you leave…” Robin trails off when she turns one of the snug corners of their apartment and makes eye contact with them.

And Steve can only imagine how they look to her, considering everything. Steve bringing home a man who looks more like Eddie Munson than is probably healthy for him. Looking exhausted, his eyes are chapped and red from last night. And Eddie looks kind of terrified, which he should. It’s a blessing that Nancy is on the other side of the country, because Eddie would be dirt in the fucking ground, probably.

“Hi,” Robin looks Eddie up and down with so much intensity that Steve can feel the heat of it. “I’m sorry. I’m Robin. I need to steal Steve away for just one minute.”

“Robin,” Steve manages. She looks away from Eddie and gives Steve a scathing Munson High stare. It quiets him.

Eddie speaks, though. That same old voice. “Robin.”

It’s pleading, almost. And it works. Steve and Robin joke about being able to read each others’ minds, but it’s like something really happens then. Exactly how he thought she’d react: confused, and then suspicious, and then almost angry.

“What is this?”

She doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just walks up to Eddie and pulls on the collar of his shirt. Steve looks too: the smattering of scars, years healed over but still gnarly, raised, skin crawling over itself like veins.

There’s this little quirk in the scars on Steve’s stomach, marks that never faded, speckles of black, like shards of venom from the bats stuck inside him. They play just underneath the pale scars on Eddie’s neck. And Robin’s face breaks.

“What the hell is this?

“I’m–” Steve thinks there’s going to be an apology from Eddie, half-formed, scared and desperate in a way that tears Steve’s heart in half even though it’s only just been mended. But Robin launches forward, unsteady on her feet, wraps both arms around his neck.

“You were gone,” Robin croaks into his skin. “I saw it.”

Eddie rubs her back, and Steve’s heart lurches at the memory of her and her brave face when they found Dustin hovering over his body.

“I’m sorry.”

“How are you here? Did they–” the government, the Lab, the Russians, the creatures, “did they take you away? Are you under witness protection? Who’s Winn?”

Eddie’s voice shakes while he explains it again, and Steve shakes while he hears it again, and Robin watches and listens with her usual intensity, careful and horrified and spinning cogs in her brain while she puts the pieces together. She’s always loved a mystery. A puzzle. She asks the right questions, gets the right answers.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face. This beautiful thing. It crumples the tiniest bit, and Steve’s always been attuned to these non-verbal signs, these warnings. So for a second, there’s a wet anguish in his eyes, and Robin’s fingers curl hard into his shirt like a threat, and Steve worries that whatever comes out of his mouth will be a lie.

It’s too much like 1986 and Eddie’s smiling at him, curly and beautiful, promising that he’s not a hero. Like it’s 1987 and Dustin is sitting at Eddie’s grave like he doesn’t know where he is. Like it’s 1988 and Steve on the phone with his parents, telling them things are fine. It’s 1989 and Steve is telling Robin that he’s fine. 1990: this town isn’t sucking the soul out of him, he can stay for the kids, he deserves one more year as a kid himself, he still has something to offer.

It’s 1991, and Steve knows how to lie, and he’s never been afraid of being lied to. He’s only ever been afraid of the truth.

–

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. There’s no big white spectacle event at the town’s once-gaudy now-dilapidated church, no priests or preachers. The bride never believed in all of that, and the rest of them haven’t bought into it for at least a decade.

It’s a small ceremony. Steve walks Max down the aisle. He whispers to her that Lucas started crying the moment he saw her, Max says she knew he would, and Steve laughs, delighted.

He drops her off and falls back into Lucas’ groomsmen line, punching him in the shoulder on the way, lands his hands on Dustin’s shoulders and squeezes.

He catches Robin’s eye on the other side of the aisle. She’s still wearing their wedding ring, but she’s playing with the lace on Nancy’s shoulder, and Nancy’s smiling in a way Steve’s never seen from her.

It’s been a decade free of evil in this town, and Steve doesn’t often come back, but it’s moments like this where Steve remembers that this was his home, once. There aren’t towns like this in California, smattered with woods, filled with people who have always known him, who he doesn’t have anything to lie about to.

Eddie’s there. He hasn’t been to Indiana since he crawled out ten years ago. He’s sitting, playing with hair he’s been growing back out for five years.

There’s a tattoo on his ring finger, now, black and sprawling.

Steve stares at it the entire time.

–

It’s 1991, and Steve is back in Eddie’s apartment. There’s a nice radio in the closet, and the two of them sit on the cool ground in front of it.

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off of Eddie in hours, what’s felt like years. He edges closer, like Eddie is a stray, like he’ll scamper away. And Eddie at least seems to understand. Press back, knowing there’s fear that he won’t.

He’s warm. That’s one of the most jarring things.

He still remembers how cold he felt, years ago, bleeding through his clothes, through Steve’s hands.

And now he’s warm and alive and Steve wants to be burned by him. Seared. He wants Eddie so close he leaves a mark.

Eddie turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow, “ready?” And he waits for Steve to nod before he turns on the radio and plays with the frequency.

“Obi-Wan to Luke checking in…” His eyes flicker up to Steve’s. “Over.”

Steve smiles. Of course Dustin is Luke. He’s almost surprised he isn’t Han.

It takes a few seconds for Dustin to respond, undeniably him, attempting to hide his excitement in the way he’s never been able to pull off. “Luke to Obi-Wan, confirming check-in. Is everything alright? We just spoke last week. Over.”

“Just peachy, young Skywalker. Though I do have a visitor. Over.”

“Are you compromised?” Dustin’s voice crackles with his natural intense panic. “Over.”

“No,” Steve leans into the microphone, keeping all points of contact with Eddie like he’ll float away. “But you are. Over.”

There’s a bit of amusement that Steve can see in Eddie’s eye, a smile that he can’t look away from. It makes this whole thing feel less massive. Everything’s felt massive for almost ten years, and Eddie just dissipates the whole thing. Like magic. Eddie’s fucking Houdini.

“Shit.”

“You didn’t say over. Over,” Eddie says, voice light.

It’s ridiculous, all of a sudden. Easy. Even though everything is an awful disaster, it’s easy.

“Shit… Over.”

–

In 1996 they stay at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis after the reception. They slow dance in the little space next to the bed, entirely sober, both of them. Drunk off each other, almost.

They don’t sleep, because they fuck like rabbits, and because Hawkins is still a little too haunted to get real rest, and because the Motel 6 is still a piece of shit even after rebuilding it in the 90’s.

The sun rises and it stays there.

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #tumblr fic

434 notes · View notes

missyourflight · 8 months

Note

omg hear me out: maxiel big eden au (scotty as dean?)

ANON YOU ARE SINGING THE SONG OF MY HEART

Follow me if you will to MONTANA

Daniel’s like a photographer in the big city and he comes back to his tiny hometown for family health crisis reasons. And it’s scary but not world-ending, but his mum’s so stressed and he hasn’t seen his sister’s kids in so long that he agrees to stay for a few weeks and be all together.

And he’s back in his high school room, under soft old flannel sheets, feeling tight in his skin again in a way he hasn’t in years.

His old truck is still in the garage but it makes all kinds of horrible noises when he starts it up. His mum tells him to take it to the general store, Max will fix it up for him, so he drives really gingerly into town and rattles to a stop outside the general store. For Big Eden enjoyers the old guys who hang around outside the store all day are Max’s gamer friends probably. He remembers Max a bit from school; Daniel was a few years ahead of him but round here everyone knows everyone near enough. The Max in his memory was kind of scrawny but this Max is sturdy, Daniel can see the muscles cording his forearms when he pushes up his sleeves.

Max takes a look at the truck, and when it makes a bad noise again he says, I think he didn’t like you leaving him so long, which makes Daniel laugh it’s such a weird thing to say. He watches Max work on the truck and sort of wanders round the store getting reacquainted with everything, the canned food and the beer in the fridge and the blankets on the wall, the racks of postcards. He could take better pictures than these.

Meanwhile due to the family health crisis everyone is rallying round so Max’s mum sends him over with a casserole or something. And Daniel’s mum makes him stay and eat with them and then Max goes back to his mum’s like, We have to keep making them food. And he keeps bringing food and staying for dinner, warm around the table with the family.

One night Daniel walks him out to his truck, laughing like, I haven’t eaten so much casserole in years. And Max is thinking, I bet he likes fancy New York food. So Max (secretly!) takes over making food for Daniel’s family and does some research and finds some things he thinks sound nice, and after he brings beef carpaccio three nights in a row Daniel is like, Maybe we should try and make something else? Together? Because he’s kind of going out of his mind with nothing to do, and also if Max keeps doing this unsupervised he’s going to turn into a werewolf or something with all the raw meat.

So that’s what they do, cooking together in Max’s little kitchen out the back of the general store, trying to decide on recipes they find online, making ratatouille and sticky ribs and gnocchi. Daniel suggests coq au vin like three hundred times in a horrible exaggerated accent until Max is laughing so hard he’s got a stitch. And they eat together every night and Daniel takes the rest back home to his family, humming to himself over the sound of the truck, so much smoother now since Max fixed it up.

Meanwhile Scotty is Daniel’s childhood best friend who is Also coincidentally back because he moderately injured himself snowboarding or something and his mum wants to fuss over him. Obviously they used to hook up in high school and now Scotty is engaged to a woman etc. And Daniel’s so happy to see him but there’s this ache underneath he can’t even look at.

On Sundays everyone goes to church. Sometimes Daniel twists around in his seat to see Max sitting in a row with his mum and his sister, one of her boys on his knee, their matching haircuts, and afterwards everyone stands outside while the kids run around, Max and Scotty eyeing each other warily. Every month or so there’s a dance in the town square, a band, and Daniel swings his niece around saying Bella, bellissima, tells Max he’s thinking about learning to play guitar.

And Daniel just stays, way longer than he’d planned. He cooks with Max, hangs around the general store making a nuisance of himself, drinks beers on the dock with Scotty. He does some photography workshops at the elementary school, has the kids lie on their backs to take pictures of the sky, blows up all their wonky beautiful shots of leaves and stones for them to pin on the walls. He works a bit, too, taking pictures of the landscape way better than the postcards at the general store, selling prints online, photographing at the rodeo. He could make a living here, he could make a life.

He thinks about it sometimes, how in some ways it’s easier to breathe in the city, how it’s getting easier and easier to breathe here, at home, under the wide sky. He takes so many pictures, of the leaves changing, of the lake at the back of his parents’ house, of the kids, of Scotty whooping in the stands at the rodeo; of Max, smiling shyly from under the brim of his hat; of Max, his hands working under the hood of a truck; of Max, his head tipped back laughing.

One night Max very bravely asks him, When do you think you’ll head back to the city, and Daniel grins at him like, I dunno, we didn’t make coq au vin yet. And Max lets himself start to hope, just a bit.

But then! There’s some sort of big city photography emergency so Daniel is sort of reluctantly like, I guess I have to go back. And his family arrange a send-off, just friends and food at the house the night before he flies.

The night before the party Daniel stands out back for a while looking at the lake until his mum says, Come and sit with me for a while. So he comes and sits on the swing with her and she says, It’s been so nice having you back, which, he already feels shitty for leaving again.

And then she says, Is Max coming by tomorrow? And Daniel’s like, I dunno, I mean I told him. Max had gone really quiet, when Daniel said he was leaving, looking down at his hands for a long moment until Daniel said, You better cook me something nice, and then he’d said, I will, of course.

His mum says, He’s such a sweet boy, and Daniel can only say, Yeah, because there’s this weird lump in his throat all of a sudden.

And then (because this is the Big Eden utopia where homophobia doesn’t exist etc) his mum is like, Did we teach you shame? Just rocking with him on the porch swing under a quilt while Daniel cries a bit.

The next day everyone’s at the house to say goodbye and Max hasn’t shown yet, Daniel keeps sticking his head out of the back door to check for him.

Scotty collars him in the kitchen when no one’s around, tugs him into the pantry. And he kisses Daniel, there in the tiny room with the musty old spice rack and the jars of preserves. And Daniel thinks, his mum didn’t teach him shame, but Scotty kind of did. In high school, under the bleachers, in the back of Daniel’s truck. Never where anyone might see.

Are you not getting married, he says, pulling back, and Scotty says, Yeah, but, his eyes raking over Daniel’s face. For old time’s sake. And Daniel’s leaving everything, and Max didn’t come, and he’d wanted Scotty for so long.

Someone opens the pantry door, quickly shuts it again at the sight of the two of them. Scotty freezes.

Daniel pushes out of the pantry and sees this big pot steaming on a trivet on the table, the door swinging behind Max as he bolts. He calls after him but it’s useless, Max is gone, and when he lifts the lid of the pot he’s hit with the rich rising smell of coq au vin. And it’s like there’s a rope around his heart he hadn’t known was there. Daniel has to go after him.

And there are about seven people blocking in his truck, his truck that Max fixed up, so he just starts running, pounding down the road as the sky darkens. And he’s a mess by the time he gets to the general store, he’s sweating everywhere, and all Max’s gamer friends are outside so mad at him but he pushes past them and finds Max, sitting at the table in the little kitchen with his head in his hands.

Max? His voice is all shot from running over here and Max looks up at him wide-eyed, that rope around Daniel’s heart pulling him until he’s on his knees on the kitchen floor, laying his head against Max’s leg. Max, he says again, the worn denim of Max’s jeans soft against his cheek as Max puts a wondering hand in his hair.

He says, I think I’m gonna stick around for a while, his heart well and truly lassoed, and Max says, Good, wiping Daniel’s eyes with the sleeve of his flannel.

At the next party in the square they dance together, and Daniel feels as big as the sky, the way Max is looking at him, kissing him in front of the stars and everyone they know.

And then they’re gay and in love forever in Montana under the open skies etc

#tumblr fic #333 #f1 #my fic #big eden au #asks

156 notes · View notes

medusapelagia · 8 months

Text

28 AU-gust: Royalty

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson WT: omegaverse, Omega Steve Harrington, Alpha Eddie Munson WC: 1794

“You are so lucky Steve! You will never have to go through the humiliating process of being presented to society to find your mate! You already have one!”

Steve sighs, he knows that being presented to society is a very stressful thing, but also being destined to a mate you have never seen doesn’t sound so exciting.

The only thing that he knows about his mate is that his name is Eddie that he is the nephew of King Wayne Munson and that his parents were lucky enough to get him engaged with the king's son as soon as he was born.

Something about an eclipse or a premonition or who knows what.

In any case, he is not going to be presented to society like all his friends. He will be kept hidden until the moment the king makes his appearance.

This means no more walking around the castle, no more threats from the kitchen, and no more time in the garden.

Robin is trying on another dress while Steve thinks that all that he will be able to do in the next few days will be staying in his room and staring from the little window in his chamber.

He is an omega, and omega can’t be trusted among so many alphas. That’s what his father said.

He sighs.

A week is not so long after all, right?

***

Three days and he is ready to climb up the wall.

Not only he can’t get out, but he can’t even see the servant and they are giving him his meals on a tray outside of his as if he was in jail!

When his father told him that no one could look at him he wasn’t joking.

He sighs.

Being an omega and being left alone for an entire week it’s almost a punishment. He needs love, and cuddles, and his friends, and at least Robin!

“Steve?” She calls from the garden.

Steve let out a little whimper from his bed, too sad and tired to get up and try to force open the closed window.

“Steve?” She calls again, worriedly, and then she starts to speak with another person “That's his room. Are you sure you can break it?”

An alpha’s voice full of pride replies “Of course I can. Tell your friend to stay away from the window.”

“Steve! Stay away from the window!” She yells, and then he hears a loud crash and sees a big rock falling next to his bed, followed by a curly dark-haired boy.

“Good morning princess, we came to your rescue!”

Steve’s heart starts to beat faster at the smell of the alpha's scent.

“Alpha?” He calls, trying to get up.

“My beautiful sweet omega.” He gets closer, brushing his hair away from his face “What have they done to you?” His eyes shine red for a moment, and Steve lets out a little whimper.

The dark-haired alpha hugs him even tighter, letting him inhale his scent directly from his bond gland.

“You are ok, omega. I’m going to take such good care of you.” He murmurs, still petting him like a scared dog.

“Is he ok?” Robin asks, getting closer to the window and trying to jump high enough to see inside the room.

“He is ok, but he is going to feel so much better when we take him out of this place.

“Alpha.” He calls again while the alpha picks him up like a baby.

Steve keeps his nose deep In the crook of the alpha’s neck, inhaling his lovely smell.

The alpha looks back at the window.

“Robin, do you think you can hold him if I pass him to you through the window?”

“Why? Is he unconscious? Oh my god, he is dead and you don’t want to tell me!”

“He is fine! Just, not in his finest shape but he’ll be ok. We just have to find a way to take him away from this fucking prison.”

They think for a moment and then Robin says “I will check who is supposed to bring him food and see if I manage to open the door!” She yells, running away while the young alpha keeps comforting Steve.

“Alpha, alpha.” He keeps calling like a litany, while he feels his body getting hotter and hotter.

He trembles. That’s not possible! He can get his heat right now and with an unknown alpha! His father is going to kill him.

“No one will touch you sweet thing.” The alpha murmurs in his ear, but when finally the door opens it is not Robin who is holding the key, but his father.

“I knew it! You are such a slut! Like all the omegas! You are such a disgrace to our family! An omega male it’s the worst thing that could have ever happened to our family! And now you are ruined! No one will want to mate a slut omega like you!” He screams, filling the air with angry pheromones.

Steve whines, hiding making himself even smaller in the alpha hold.

The young alpha’s eyes are red with fury “You are making him distressed. You left him alone in this room for days! What kind of alpha are you?” He yells at him, ready to fight for the omega that is clenching at him like a little clamp.

“The kind of alpha who doesn’t know how to treat an omega, clearly.”

Everyone turns and King Wayne Munson is glaring at Steve’s father from the corridor.

“My king!” He says getting on his knees “I tried my best to keep him away from any alpha, but this one was relentless.” He lowers his head “I’m sorry if he is not a good match for your nephew anymore. I will dispose of him! He will get punished and I’ll send in some retreat for broken omegas.”

“You will not do such a thing!” The young alpha growls and Steve’s father gets up suddenly.

“We are going to lose everything and you will pay the consequences as well young man!” He threatens him.

“Come here kid, and bring the omega.” The young alpha gets closer to the king and the man gently brushes some hair away from the omega’s face “How are you feeling pup?”

“It hurts.” He complains, feeling his body getting feverish.

“I’m sure it does but Eddie will take good care of you, you just have to hold on a little longer.”

Eddie, the young alpha, snarls at Steve’s father “What about him?” He asks and Steve stares at him. How could he talk like that to their king?

“I’ll take care of him. Now you have an omega to take care of. Does he have a nest?” He asks looking back at Steve’s room.

“I didn’t see any.”

The king doesn’t seem surprised “ You have to make one for him. I’ll have the servants bringing you some of his blankets. I should have taught you how to make a comfort nest, right?”

The boy nods in agreement and moves to the king’s chambers, the omega still wrapped in his arm,

“We can’t go there.” Steve murmurs “Those are the king’s chambers.”

“Oh sweet thing, you are too out of it, right?”

Steve doesn’t understand what he means so he keeps silent.

“Let’s make you a nice cozy nest and when you feel better we could talk.”

Steve nods, while his body starts to burn from the inside.

“Alpha…” he calls.

“I know baby… I know… just let it go… I got you.” he whispers in his ear.

Steve’s eyes fill with fear.

Feral. He is going fucking feral.

He tries to escape from Eddie’s grip, he doesn’t want to risk hurting him, but the boy holds him tight.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll be fine. I’ll be here with you all the time. I will not let anything happen to you.” he assured him.

“But you… if… if I’m going feral…”

“I’ll deal with it pup. Don’t worry. Just try to relax and let it go.”

Steve shakes his head, trying to clear his mind, but he is not lucid anymore.

“Come on. Let it go. I’m here with you.” and finally Steve surrenders to hormones that are making him crazy.

***

When Steve wakes up he doesn’t remember what happened, he just has a few flashes of being cuddled, loved, and fucked out of his mind. And now he is lying, naked, in a cozy little nest, and the alpha, his alpha, is singing in his ear.

“Hello there sweet thing, are you feeling any better?”

He nods, sniffing at the nest that now smells so familiar.

“Did I…. Did I hurt you?” he asks, ashamed, and the other boy smiles.

“I have dealt with worst.”

“I… I’ll always go feral?” he is terrified at the idea.

Eddie hugs him “I don’t know baby. I think that too many emotions triggered your body response and you weren’t ready for it, but I can’t assure you that you will not become feral next time. What can I assure you is that, no matter what, I’ll be at your side.” he replies looking him in the eyes.

Steve blushes and lowers his eyes, and then he looks around him and realizes that they are in the king’s chambers,

He startles but the alpha, Eddie, holds him tight “It’s ok. We can stay here. It’s my room, you know?”

His room? But that means…

Suddenly everything clicks and Steve tilts his head in submission.

“Don’t do that, sweet thing. You are going to be my mate and I’ll treat you like an equal.”

“But…”

“No buts, baby. Now, can you drink something for me?” He whispers, getting a cup close to Steve’s mouth.

While he drinks and eats Eddie tells him about how he had been searching for him for days because he could feel how miserable he was and that his friend Robin has finally helped him to get into his room.

“My uncle has dealt with your parents. They will never see you again if you are not the one asking to see them. And our mating ceremony will be private, not public. And who knows, maybe we will be blessed with a pup.” He concludes by kissing Steve’s flat stomach.

“Is this real? Are you really the king's nephew?”

He nods, cradling his head into his hands “I will repeat everything when you will feel more lucid honey. Why don’t you try to sleep a little more, uh?”

Steve nods, getting more comfortable in his mate’s arm.

He can’t believe that he is going to be mated to the king's nephew, but after he broke Steve’s window to save him, he would have probably mated him even if he was a housekeeper.

#tumblr fic #myfanfic #steddie #au gust 2023 #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fanfic #writing challenge #omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #royalty #medusapelagia fanfic #medusapelagia #my fanfic

332 notes · View notes