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Anna / 27 / she/her - mostly Stranger Things, Steddie, Mad Max, the Magnus Archives and literally anything I find remotely funny

[scoops-aboy86]

Modern AU fic idea titled “I Want Your Video” where Eddie Munson deals with bullies who harass him, his friends, or his sheepies by seducing them, taking videos of the sex, and blackmailing them into fucking off. So far it has a hundred percent success rate.

Enter Steve Harrington. He’s the most popular guy in school. Girls love him, teachers love him. Eddie doesn’t think about him much at all beyond selling at the parties he throws in his big house (no parents). But Steve has been watching Eddie, curious and eventually knowing once Tommy starts suddenly leaving the freaks and nerds of Hawkins High alone. When it comes to Steve, Tommy has no poker face; they’ve known each other for too long, and vice versa.

“Don’t,” Tommy warns when he catches Steve eyeing Eddie in the hallway. “He’ll only—It’s not worth it, man.”

But Tommy’s worst fear is being outed, and Steve isn’t sure he cares. Not now that he’s noticed Eddie’s dimpled grin, or the way he talks faster and faster and with his hands when he’s excited about something. Do you know how long it’s been since Steve’s been around someone who let themselves get properly excited about anything beyond who’s dating who or what happened on the court? Which, fine, he gets into that stuff too, but that’s not all he wants to feel engaged in.

He starts getting Eddie’s attention with mild jabs in the hallway—the verbal equivalent of pulling the guy’s pigtails. Nothing particularly cutting, but Eddie’s made his way through most of the popular guys at this point so he zeros in on it like a shark tasting blood in the water. (Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he wants a challenge—Steve likes to think of himself as a challenge. All the girls vying for his attention seem to have the same idea too, judging by how they stop returning his calls after a couple of dates.)

Eddie does his thing: drive-by flirting in the halls, taunting with just enough innuendo to titillate while still retaining plausible deniability. He’s fishing, seeing if Steve will take the bait. And Steve, feeling the thrill of the game in a way he hasn’t in a long time, takes it.

They hook up, and (because Steve knows what to look for) Eddie isn’t even that slick about setting his phone up to record it. He sucks Steve’s soul out through his dick, then looks comically shocked when Steve sits up, says “I’ve never done this before, so feel free to call out any pointers you might have,” and inexpertly but enthusiastically returns the favor.

The next time Steve taunts Eddie in the hallway, Eddie tugs him into the bathroom despite the ring of the tardy bell and lays out his usual terms: cut it out, or the video goes all over social media. But Steve interrupts his spiel to ask, “Did you watch it?”

Eddie’s cheeks start to color. “Well. I mean. To make sure it was obviously you, yeah.”

Steve hums in faux sympathy. “So sometimes you have to do this more than once for it to work? If they’re not recognizable in the video.” Eddie’s jaw drops, and Steve laughs. “Hey man, don’t worry about it. It’s pretty funny, actually. And I had a really good time. Actually, could you send it to me? Or come over again sometime, whatever you’re comfortable with. My parents really aren’t around much, as long as the front porch light is off the coast is clear.”

“… You’re bluffing,” Eddie tries, flustered. Trying for but not really achieving his usual bad boy bravado.

Steve responds by locking the bathroom door, snagging Eddie’s phone from his jacket pocket (the obligatory “I already backed up the file” goes duly ignored), and setting it up to record before putting it back in Eddie’s hand. Then he gets on his knees with a wink and a cheeky “Be sure to get my good side,” before making surprisingly quick work of Eddie’s complicated belt and going gloriously to town.

By lunchtime, Eddie plops down in his usual spot in the cafeteria still feeling shaken to his very core. After blowing him, Steve had persuaded him to unlock his phone so the dude could send himself both videos, and saved his own contact info as “Steve 🍆😜.” In the middle of second period, Steve had texted him an “Eddplant” joke. After third, it had been, “Hey, do you want to hang out sometime? Maybe a movie. Let me know what you like.”

Eddie can’t tell if the game has been turned around on him or if Steve is for real. He doesn’t know if Steve is asking about his preference in movies, associated snacks, or sex. Part of him hopes it’s sex, because Steve is a real quick study. Maybe he should start carrying condoms and lube around, just in case—no, that’s just his horny brain talking.

Or is it?

(It’s not, and Steve thinks it was a genius idea when it pays off later in the week.)

Permanent tag list (ask to be added/removed): @a-drop-of-magic @cosycryptid @cryptid-demon-antics @gambita7x @grtwdsmwhr

@hamiltonswiftie @hehimmommy @hiei-harringtonmunson @mascarponedaydreams @motherofpirates

@mrsjellymunson @sofadofax @stevesscoops @steviewashere @th30ra3k3n

@vampirebambi @wheneverfeasible @yesdangerpls @bananahoneycomb @connected-dots

@jinxispunk @readerlev @revevivant @subversivecynic @thelittlehereticsstuff

[toktopus-art]

so in love

[fifthnailinstevesbat]

The first time Steve kissed Eddie, he goes home and cries about it a little. Has kind of a full blown freak out in his room. He phones Robin, but can’t even get the words out to her. Just scrambles around the issue, saying No no I’m fine actually it’s nothing, I’m ok, it’s not a big deal, forget I called.

He was relatively fine when he left Eddie’s, but near the end of their hangout and post kiss, he did get a little quieter. Eddie noticed.

He decides to give Steve a call later into the night. His need to know what’s going on winning, over that reasonable voice in his mind telling him to just ‘leave it alone, it’s probably nothing’. The thing that really pushed him over the edge was the call he’d received from Robin a bit earlier, not long after Steve had left.

She asked if Steve was ok, if he seemed alright when they were together, and if anything happened to him. Eddie was dumbfounded, having no idea that something was wrong, then of course he’d started to spiral. Shit, had he gone too far? Did he read things wrong? He knows that Steve was the one to actually initiate their kiss, but maybe he’d been too forceful and made Steve feel like he had to? It sounds ridiculous, but he can’t stop himself from panicking.

Eddie calls Steve. His first attempt goes ignored. He gives it a minute, then tries again. Has always been a stubborn bastard, after all.

This time, it goes through.

He hears Steve clear his throat through the receiver.

“Hello?” He murmurs, unsure.

“Uh, hey Stevie!” Too chipper, Eddie! Damn, he’s bad at this. “Just wanted to check in. See if you were okay.”

Steve sighs.

“Did Robin speak to you?” He says, immediately calling him out.

Dammit. Those twin idiots and their sixth sense.

“No, she…” he goes to lie but not even he can fool himself into believing Steve won’t see right through it. Eddie exhales, and tries again. “Y-yeah. She did. Only because she said she was worried about you. She thought that… something happened, and that you weren’t ok.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and it makes Eddie grow anxious.

“Are you? Okay, I mean.”

“I’m…” he hesitates, “Yeah. I’m okay.” Though his voice sounds anything but.

Eddie waits for him to say a little more, but he doesn’t offer any further explanation, which keeps Eddie a little antsy.

“Good. Okay. Well that’s good, then. Um… but you know you could tell me, right? If you weren’t okay? If you were unsure or- or wanted to talk about something. If you were regretting anything—“

“Woah woah, stop. No, Ed’s. That’s not- No.” Steve cuts him off.

“No?” Eddie repeats nervously.

“It isn’t… I don’t regret anything.” Steve breathes into the phone, like he’s scared to admit it too loud.

Eddie gets it, he does, but it still gives a little sting to his heart.

“Oh.” Now, he’s just confused about what could be wrong then. He doesn’t regret it… so is it the Him of it all that’s got Steve freaked out?

“I’m just…” Steve continues, interrupting and cutting through the noise of Eddie’s mind.

“I’m so scared, Eddie.” He whispers.

And… Fuck. Eddie’s heart swells in sympathy. He knows that feeling.

“Steve,” he soothes, guard dropping instantly and bringing forth his long insatiable and ever present need to care for Steve Harrington.

“You’ve got nothing to be scared of. I-I’m sorry if I came on too strong, or anything. Took things too fast. It doesn’t have to happen again, if it’s too much.”

“No.” He interrupts, surprising Eddie with the suddenness of it. “Uh, no that’s um- that’s ok. That’s not what I meant.”

Eddie waits, listens. Giving Steve the space to explain, now really not sure that he’s getting it. And cautious not to put his foot in his mouth and get it wrong again. He hears Steve groan in frustration, like he too can’t figure out how to say what he’s trying to say.

“It’s not- this isn’t a you thing. You are… great. You’re perfect.” Steve admits, so softly. It makes Eddie blush.

“I’m just so scared of myself, Eddie.”

The blush turns into a frown.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, or who I am anymore. I’m so scared of what’s h-happening to me.” He stutters.

He sounds close to tears, fear evident in the way he talks. The way his voice is cracking far too much and how it’s pitched an octave higher than is natural for Steve.

Eddie wants to reach through the damn phone and hug him. Squeeze him tight and tell him it’s all gonna be ok, tell him how Steve is the one who’s perfect. How he has nothing to fear and how he is the most amazing guy Eddie has ever met.

“Nothings happening to you, Stevie.” He starts, carefully. “If you… if you like what you’re doing — then there is nothing wrong with how you might be ‘changing’. It’s ok to wanna… try some different things, than you maybe thought you would.”

He doesn’t get a response, so hesitantly, he continues.

“And, nobody knows what they’re doing. Not really. Everybody is just trying to figure their shit out. You’ve gotta give yourself the grace to do the same. You’re gonna be fine, darlin’. I promise.”

Steve’s breath hitches. He exhales, air stuttering from his lungs. “Fuck.”

Then, Eddie can’t really hear what’s going on. It sounds muffled, like somethings covered the receiver.

“Steve?”

More ruffling, then it clears and he hears Steve’s voice cut through the silence again.

“I just- it’s just so scary, Eddie.” He quietly sobs. Voice barely even there.

“I know. I know it is, man. I- I get it… do you-“ want me to come over? No, too much. Too forward.

“Do you want me to call Robin?”

Steve pauses.

“Uh- I don’t know. Maybe, yeah. Probably.”

“Ok, um. I’m gonna call her, alright? Tell her to head over?”

Steve just hums. Let’s out a quiet noise that sounds like an ‘alright’, and erupts into more breathy sobs and sharp inhales.

“Alright. Ok, I’m gonna call her now for you, Stevie. You’re gonna be fine, ok? You’re all good.” Eddie soothes, then waits another minute, and hesitantly hangs up the phone.

He runs a hand down his face then dials Buckleys number.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh. Right, yes, hey Eddie. What’s up?” She asks, barely hiding her concern, or disappointment that it was him on the phone, and not someone else. Likely that it wasn’t Steve.

“It’s Steve.” He explains. “He needs you, Buckley. I just got off the phone with him and I don’t think he’s doing too well-“

“Got it, I’m heading over. Thanks.”

The phone hangs up before Eddie’s even processed her response. He imagines that Robin is out the door in seconds.

Robin arrives at the Harrington house in record time. She lets herself in and wanders up the stairs to Steve’s room, finding him sitting against the wall with his legs pulled up tight to his chest. His head hangs low resting between his knees, and she can see how his body shakes with sobs.

“Steve, babe, I’m here. I’m here, you’re alright.” She drops to her knees and grips one hand on his shoulder, the other resting atop his hand and rubbing his knuckles back and forth.

Steve melts at the touch, shaking his head, and fully leans into her. Robin adjusts her hand to wrap fully around his back, bringing him in to carefully lay against her legs.

He pulls his own arms out to wrap around her torso.

“I don’t know what’s happening, Robs.” He mumbles into her shirt, dampening the cotton with tears. Like she fucking cares.

Robin runs a hand up and across his shoulder blades, the other resting over the back of his head. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He lets out another sob. She sits there holding him, waiting it out.

Eventually he calms down, and the silent cries start to become slow breathing. Steve readjusts his face, pressing his forehead into her legs as he groans and recollects himself.

“Jesus. I’m a fucking mess. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop,” she shakes him lightly. “Do not apologise, dingus. It’s just me. You’re allowed to be a mess with me.”

He lifts his head at that. His eyes are red, cheeks slightly puffy and damp with a shine of fallen tears. His hair looks overly carded through and messy, but he just looks at her with so much adoration. She would do anything for this loser.

“I love you.” He says, and it’s the easiest thing in the world for her to say it right back.

“I love you too.” She smiles, then nudges his leg with her own to prompt him. “Now tell me what the hell is going on.”

Steve sighs. “I kissed Eddie.” He looks up to scan her face for a reaction. Her eyes widen a little bit in surprise, but other than that she just nods for him to continue.

“And I…

I really fucking want to do it again.”

[scoops-aboy86]

Eddie coming out to Robin, and by inescapable extension Steve… as bi. He’s totally gay, but figures this will help make his attraction to Steve less obvious. Less inevitable-seeming to the token straight guy of their trio, with how much time they spend together now.

What he gets instead is a double-barrel blast of hazel Bambi eyes and, “You can like both? That’s… a thing?”

Suddenly Eddie’s plan to soft-launch his coming out with an “easier” sexuality to swallow and working his way up to admitting that it’s really just guys for him doesn’t seem so smart, because Steve is realizing he’s bi right in front of him and at some point Eddie is going to have to deal with the fact that it was a lie.

[kida--n]

why is steve’s face so hard to draw. oh idk maybe because you didn’t draw for three years and lost all your skills. who can say

[morganbritton132]

Eddie Munson and his pet ferret that sleeps in his jacket sleeve.

[morganbritton132]

Eddie, realizing that he didn't take his ferret out of his sweatshirt sleeve before leaving to school, turns to Steve like, "You wanna see my hairy noodle?"

Steve is just, "...sure."

Eddie wiggled his arm until his pet crawls out of his shirt and Steve is just like, "Oh. Thank god. I thought you were gonna get your cock out. Let me hold your hamster."

"He's a f-" Eddie loses his ferret and his mind because, "why did you say yes if you thought I was talking about my dick?"

[morganbritton132]

Steve, the next day: Munson, whip your little guy out. I wanna see it.

Robin 'just trying to get a drink from the water fountain' Buckley: ???????

Eddie: *conjures a ferret out of thin air*

Robin: Oh, thank god. I thought he was talking about your penis.

Eddie:

Eddie: A lot of people have been thinking about my dick lately.

[goodnight-mi]

God please bring my family back together

[shitdip]

It’s obvious I have vacation because I’m posting two days in a row! Here is Steve drying Eddie’s hair because Eddie refused to wash it so he can retain his metalhead look.

I’ve sadly felt my fixation on Steddie slipping, but I’ll be damned if I let it completely fall off. I don’t want it to, damn it >:(((((((

[corpsings]

textless version

[nancywheelesbian]

I think we should trap Eddie in the torment nexus of “Steve likes to cuddle up to me because he’s a very touchy friend. It’s driving me CRAZY but like. He knows I’m gay so it’s probably a really good sign that he’s comfy enough to be like that with me right. Not his fault that I’ve got a crush. But now I have to find a way to somehow ask Steve Harrington to stop touching me? How is this my life”

(Steve’s waiting so patiently for Eddie to ask him out and when he finally says “Steve I need to talk to you about something” he thinks it’s coming)

[precioussteveharrington]

Touch starved loverboy Steve who 90% of the time only gets any sort of touch if he initiates it. Feeling light as air when Eddie lets him cuddle up. Thrilled that maybe that means Eddie is letting him because he wants him too?

It's like the world started going in slow motion when he hears Eddie say “please don't touch me anymore” instead of I like you. There's the anxious swoop of his stomach. His heart thudding in his ears as his fingertips go numb, a buzzing in his head. He feels outside himself as he smiles and says “Oops, sure man. So sorry! No problem!” and he mumbles an excuse of some task he has to do in the other room real quick, and to go ahead and start the movie he's seen it before, and he'll be back soon with snacks after he switches out the laundry.

He makes sure to walk not run (RUN AWAY STEVIE BOY! RUN AWAY! LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO!) to lock himself in the laundry room. Presses his back against the door and anxiously runs his fingers through his hair. Then covers his mouth as he chokes back any devastated sound. He burns with embarrassment as every moment he glomed onto Eddie plays through his head. He thinks of how warm and wanted he felt in those moments, scoffs at how he's deluded himself, and now feels cold and empty with rejection. He curses himself for wanting too much, yet again. This sort of rejection isn't new, and he wonders how he never sees it coming, every single time. (Remembers being small and his parents snapping at him to let go of them when he was nervous in a large crowd of business associates of his father's, at a holiday party. His little heart racing when his hand was smacked away.) He wonders what about him makes people, he loves, not want to hold him.

[nancywheelesbian]

Steve just wanting to curl into a ball and die because how delusional WAS he? He thought Eddie liked him but he was actually spending all that time thinking “ugh why is Steve touching me” but being too nice to tell him to stop.

And Eddie can tell he hurt Steve’s feelings and he feels AWFUL about it but what can he do beyond tell Steve “you weren’t making me uncomfortable don’t worry, I just liked it too much” which would surely make Steve feel bad in a different way

[starthecozy]

For this WIP Wednesday: steddie having a cuddle session ❤️

[toktopus-art]

i love steddie summer

timelapse on patreon

[mialoveseddie]

Steve keeps letting himself into the wrong apartment because he’s drunk and his key’s under the mat and left vs right is hard at night. Unfortunately for Eddie Munson, his apartment is the one on the left. At first, Eddie’s freaked out coming home from an overnight shift to find a stranger on his couch. Then he realizes it’s just his attractive new neighbor. After the third break in Eddie stops trying to shove Steve out the door and just throws a blanket over him instead. It was supposed to be a one time thing. It wasn’t.

[nancywheelesbian]

How many fights would Steve have to completely roll over and forgive even when Eddie was definitely the one wrong for Eddie’s view to shift from “awww he’s so chill we always work it out” to “…..something sinister happened here”

[galileoleo]

my random steddie thought of the day:

what if: high school steddie, where Eddie is all too aware of the social hierarchy of Hawkins High and his standing in it—the lowest of the low—versus a Steve who either doesn't know or doesn't care. Eddie knows he's at the bottom of the food chain. Knows he's the first to eat shit when some jocks are hungering for some violence. Knows he's about as good as the dirt on their shoes, as far as they're concerned. And at the top of that mountain, just about the other side of the world, really, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. Double Team Captain. Mister Harrington Charm. They shouldn't EVER interact. It's against the laws of nature, or some shit, Eddie's sure. Which is probably why it seems like the world's imploding when Steve "The Hair" Harrington—Mister Harrington Charm, Double Team Captain, whatever the fuck else Gareth has on his endless list—asks him to prom.

It's probably a good thing they're alone, in the middle of the woods, on opposite sides of Eddie's favorite deal-making table, so no one's around to hear him yell, "What the fuck?" It echoes around the woods anyways, maybe louder than he meant to be, which is good, because it's definitely a 'what the fuck' moment. They've literally never spoken before. Actually, they've done less than spoken—they could live on opposite poles of the Earth, for all the interaction they've had. They don't share any classes. Hell, they don't even see each other in the halls. And now Steve Harrington is staring at him like he's actually waiting for an answer. Again: What the fuck?

A record scratches in his brain and yup, there’s Harrington’s voice again, smarmy little smile on his face, asking: “Will you go to prom with me?”

As in, Steve Harrington just asked, in this existence, in this reality, on this planet, for Eddie Munson to go to Hawkins High Senior Prom with him. For real.

For real?

No. No way.

Harrington’s joking, Eddie knows. Figures the day’d come he decides torturing Eddie is just as much fun as the rest of his shit-jock cronies made it out to be.

And then, suddenly, Eddie knows what it is. Has seen enough of those terrible movies on early-morning TV with Wayne. Has seen the same damn plot enough times to smell it coming from a mile away.

“You know what,” he says, leaning into Harrington’s space, too close, brimming with irritation and a disgusting desire to one-up the smug, cocky bastard, “You get me a bouquet of roses as black as your twisted, festering soul, and I’ll wear a pretty little dress for you, too.”

Harrington’s frown makes anger tighten Eddie’s jaw. “Do roses… grow in black?”

“I guess that’s for you to find out and for me to know, Harrington,” Eddie sneers. He gets up, snatches his lunchbox, and stalks back through the trees to school.

He throws a “fuck you” over his shoulder when Harrington calls out “Benny’s at six?” but doesn’t turn around because the last thing he needs is to eat shit tripping over a goddamn branch. As it is, he’s already waiting for any of Harrington’s little friends to appear out of the shadows and jump him. That’s how it goes, right?

Only, it doesn’t.

There’s no swirlies, no shoving into lockers, no missing clothes after gym, no brutal beatdown on late days after Hellfire. Eddie’s almost worried the meatheads have had too many concussions and forgot he was next on the hit list.

And then he realizes—oh. Oh no. They’re waiting for prom. Actual prom night to fucking flay him open on stage in front of the whole school or something equally psychotic. Drown him in the punch. Stomp him to death on the dance floor.

Clearly, they HAVE had too many concussions if they think Eddie would EVER show his face there. Fuck Harrington, and fuck his minions. Like Eddie’d make it that easy for them.

Except, in the days leading up to prom, weird things keep happening. And Eddie doesn’t know what to think about it.

There’s pudding at his spot at the head of the table. Once a week, because the cafeteria only has pudding once a week. Eddie loves cafeteria pudding.

Steve Harrington grins at him from across the goddamn cafeteria and Eddie’s gut curdles.

One of the Hellfire posters he puts up monthly (and is always shredded by first period’s end) is still up a week later. Sure, torn and taped back together, but it’s not slush in a toilet, either.

Steve Harrington tells him that he looks nice when he finds him smoking just outside the school, and Eddie’s skin itches like he needs to tear it off.

There’s a flower on the driver’s seat of his van the day he forgets to close the window all the way, a day-old daisy with the petals stained a dark blue, the yellow center dulled.

Steve Harrington says he’s got a nice voice and he’s really good at playing the guitar and Eddie wonders how the hell he knows that.

One day, Harrington drops down to sit on the curb next to him, in the parking lot of the shitty little convenience store that’s a five-minute walk from the trailer park. He passes over a pack of his fancy smokes and nabs one of Eddie’s cheap beers so they can drink and smoke together and neither of them say anything. Eddie wants to say it’s because he doesn’t want Harrington to realize exactly what he’s done and get his shit beer cans crushed over his head, but in truth, it’s because he can’t get a damn read on the guy.

Another, Harrington and Hargrove both come to school looking like they’ve been run over, then backed up over, and then run over again for good measure. Hargrove doesn’t haggle him for weed again, and Harrington still smiles at him from across the cafeteria like the pull of his cheek doesn’t make his broken nose and black eye smart.

Again: What the fuck?

He asks the guys. “What the hell is going on with Harrington?”

He doesn’t like how they look at him, mouths twisted and uncomfortable and unsure.

“Heard he and Hagan beat the shit out of each other a while ago. Haven’t talked since.”

Hagan. Not Hargrove. A while ago.

“Ditched Carol P. and Stacy C., too.”

…

What the fuck?

…

The day of prom comes. Vaguely, Eddie remembers: Benny’s at six. Yeah-fucking-right.

He doesn’t go. Doesn’t have a suit, anyway, and wouldn’t have gone even if he did. Obviously. He might be stupid, repeating senior year, but he’s not THAT stupid.

An hour later, the phone in the trailer rings. When he picks up, Gareth is on the other end of the line. Distantly, Eddie can hear the shitty pop that makes up the school’s prom mixtape.

“What’d Harrington’s face look like?” he asks. “Was he pissed?”

“He didn’t show,” Gareth admits. “I dunno, man, maybe he was being serious.”

Eddie’s laugh probably pisses off half the trailer park. He can’t hear Gareth’s through the phone. “Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t kill the messenger.”

“Messenger might get me killed,” Eddie bites back, and then he hangs up. He hopes the punch is spiked and Gareth gets so drunk he falls asleep in a bush.

He grabs his keys off his nightstand and the trailer door slams behind him when he leaves.

Outside Benny’s diner is dark, shadows over the parking lot, but Harrington’s beamer is still there, clear as day. Maroon and hideous. God-fucking-damnit.

Harrington is in the driver’s seat, arms crossed over his chest as his head lolls back against his seat, half-asleep and definitely getting there. He’s wearing a nice shirt and nice pants and his tie goes flying like a whip across his cheek when Eddie knocks his fist against the roof of the car.

“The hell’s your damage, Harrington?” He barks, before the guy can even get his bearings.

Harrington fumbles, flailing limbs punch a short blare out of his horn, and his tie ends up over his shoulder.

“Eddie, hi. Hi, Eddie.” There’s drool at the corner of his mouth. Eddie’s lips curl.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps again. Harrington’s window is half-down—he can definitely hear him.

“Um.” Harrington looks sheepish, now, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “It was—Benny’s at seven. I was waiting for you. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Eddie’s jaw tightens.

“It was Benny’s at seven, right? I thought it was Benny’s at six, at first, but I can’t really keep dates straight up here, anymore,” he knocks against his head with a knuckle, “All the pointless melon-splits of American sports, or whatever.”

Vaguely, Eddie remembers a long-winded rant on the top of a cafeteria table about the same subject.

“It was at six,” he acknowledges. “I didn’t bother showing up.”

“Oh.” Harrington’s eyes drop, take in his pajama pants and his threadbare tee. “But you did. Now.”

“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns the words over. “Call it a lapse of judgment.”

Harrington nods. He’s not looking at Eddie anymore. It sours something in his gut that he doesn’t acknowledge.

Eddie looks past him. In the passenger seat, a bouquet.

Of black roses.

Harrington’s fingertips are stained a shade darker, black stuck underneath his nails.

What the actual fuck.

“What the hell was your plan here, Harrington?”

Harrington blinks up at him with those stupid big eyes that Eddie definitely, absolutely hates.

“Dinner, and then, you know, prom? Isn’t that how is usually goes?” He asks, like Eddie would have any fucking clue.

Eddie grinds his teeth. “You realize you’ve wasted your only senior prom on this dumb joke, right? And I didn’t even fall for it? Way to have your priorities in order, King Steve.”

Harrington’s face scrunches. Eddie bites his tongue.

“I’ve had the misfortune of having two, and I didn’t subject myself to either. So you can cut the shit—”

“Wait, hold on,” Harrington cuts him off. “It wasn’t—what joke, Eddie?”

Oh. Oh no. If Gareth’s right, he’s gonna have to throw himself from the quarry cliffs.

“You know,” he spits, like it doesn’t affect him, that every last goddamn person in fucking Hawkins sees him as a freak, like a bug to torture and then squash, “Lure me to prom. Dump a bucket of pig’s blood over my head or however that movie goes.”

Harrington—Harrington looks horrified.

Well. The quarry’s always empty at seven in the evening.

“Even I’m not that dumb, man.” He ignores how the words come out, slower, an edge of uncertainty.

“That’s fucked up,” Harrington whispers, “There’s a movie like that? I wouldn’t—that’s not what I—”

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to get that.”

Harrington’s jaw shuts with a click, and they’re both quiet for a minute. And then, like a curse he doesn’t want to say aloud lest he bring it to life, Eddie asks, “That was you, wasn’t it? With the pudding and the posters and the flowers.”

“I broke Tommy’s nose when I caught him trying to let the air outta your tires, too,” he says, hollowly, like it doesn’t matter anymore.

Fuck.

There’s no one in the parking lot, and Eddie tells himself its the only reason he rounds the car and drops into the passenger side seat. The flowers are saved by Harrington’s quick reflexes, and Eddie kind of wants to curse him out for having his doors unlocked.

“Okay.” He hypes himself up like he’s seen Harrington do in PE, a quick breath in and out. “I didn’t know you were being serious. I thought it was just a dumb joke.”

“Yeah, I got that part.”

He twists his fingers together. “Those were for me, right?”

Harrington hums. Hands them over. “Kinda makes it worse, but sure. Yeah, they were for you.”

“Worse?”

Harrington laughs, scrubs a hand over his face. “I thought it’d be funny. You said you’d wear a dress if I got you black flowers, but I—I didn’t mean it that way. I just wanted to get you flowers you’d like.”

Fuck. Eddie does remember that, now.

The stems are still thorny and prick at his fingers when he hold them. He likes them better that way.

“You’ve been… practicing these,” he realizes. Remembers the little blue daisy.

“First ones came out a really gross kind of green,” Steve admits.

God fucking damn it.

“I don’t do prom,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Steve replies. Dry. Still isn’t looking over at Eddie.

“No, I mean—I wouldn’t have gone even if I’d thought you were being honest from the get-go. I don’t DO prom. It’s the death of counter-culture and individuality.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“What I’m saying is,” he takes a deep breath, a little part of him still praying Steve won’t punch his damn lights out, “I’m not gonna go to prom. Ever. That’s an invitation to douchebags like Hargrove and Hagan to split my skull open on the gym floor. I don’t want my last breath to be weeks-old jock socks.”

He ducks, tries to catch Steve’s gaze. Doesn’t manage. He ends up pressed against the dashboard like a moron.

“But there’s this bar I go to,” he continues, “It doesn’t really check ID. I think they’d go out of business if they did. They let us play on Tuesdays.”

“I know.”

He knows? Jesus fucking Christ. Maybe Eddie needs to buy the flowers. About six dozen. Fuck him.

His leg jostles, knocks against Steve’s door. He finally looks up.

“That’s more my speed,” he admits, in a big rush. “It’s… probably better than prom as a first date, anyways.”

Steve’s eyebrows jump up into that famous hair, perfectly styled. Eddie’s is a mane of despair and hopelessness, wilder than a tornado.

“Really?” he asks, like Eddie didn’t just say he’d thought he was a piece of shit in seven different ways. “That’s—you’d—really?”

“I mean, not right now,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve’s face drops. He hurries to amend, “I’m not really dressed for the occasion. But maybe, like… tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Steve repeats, and Eddie flushes. “That’s soon.”

“Or never,” he snaps, because he’s a goddamn moron, “That works too.”

Steve’s grin splits his face and Eddie has to look back at the flowers in his lap. “Tomorrow’s good,” he agrees, too easy.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, kicks the door open, probably leaves a scuff, but Steve doesn’t say a word. “Better be.”

Steve’s still grinning as he gets out of the car, slams the door closed, rounds the side again. He’s not scared of a gaggle of dipshits ready to jump him because they’re not there. And he’s got a bouquet of black roses pressed to his chest.

“See you then, Eddie,” Steve chirps, as Eddie climbs back into his own van, and Eddie—Eddie has to hide his smile behind a curtain of hair as he throws the piece of shit into reverse and backs out of Benny’s diner.

…

He leaves the flowers on their tiny kitchen counter and the next morning, Wayne’s put them in a vase Eddie didn’t know they had, with water and that weird flower-food crap and everything.

~

Steve's POV/Part 2 Here | AO3

[cherrysolitary]

It's 1993, LA. Eddie grew his bangs out and Steve got tanned and buff. (from the au I'm working on)

[quindjin]

Something something ripped bodice novel cover