January | 500-1000 word drabble | Must be based on a song from Season 5 of Stranger Things.
February | Under 5000 words | Any love song from the 1950s, 1960s, or 1970s
March | 1000-2500 words | FREE SPACE. Any song can be used from any genre!
April | No word count minimum or maximum | Must be based on a song by Djo
May | 555 word count | This will be a microfic challenge. Any song from 2020 on can be used, but the word count MUST be 555 words according to wordcounter.net
June | 1000-3000 words | Must be based on a song used in Season 3 of Stranger Things
July | No word count limit | Must be based on a song from the 1980s
August | 500-2000 words | FREE SPACE. Any song can be used from any genre!
September | Under 5000 words | Must be based on a song by Sleep Token
October | 500-1000 words | Must be based on a song used in Season 4 of Stranger Things
November | No word count limit | FREE SPACE. Any song can be used from any genre!
December | 1000-5000 words | Must be based on a holiday song
Guidelines:
All posts should tag this blog so that we can like and reblog.
All posts should include a rating and any content warnings or tags that the author feels are relevant, as well as which song you chose for the prompt. All explicit content should be put under a "read more". Titles are optional, but highly suggested.
All fics should be Steddie focused with Steddie being the main pairing, but other pairings/friendships/characters are allowed and encouraged!
There will be an AO3 collection every month that will be mostly left unmoderated. Please do not add your fic there until you have been reblogged here or given express permission from blog moderator(s) to do so.
Chaptered fics in this challenge:
If you choose to do a chaptered fic for a song, please plan on posting the last chapter by the end of the last day of that month. You may tag this blog in every chapter update so that we can reblog them all, but please keep in mind that if chapters are posted outside of the month, we will no longer reblog them here. Your fic would still be added to the masterlist so it can be found by anyone who sees that post, but we are sticking to a very hard deadline of 11:59PM EST on the last day of every month.
If you have any questions (or song recs for a future month) please message this blog or @steddieas-shegoes.
rating: G | WC: 555 | ao3
CW: past parent death, processing grief
other tags: childhood steddie, steve is a sweetheart
☘️☘️☘️☘️🍀☘️☘️
“Found one!”
Eddie lifts his head, curls falling into his eyes. His fingers rake them aside, leaving streaks of dirt across his forehead. His incredulous smile is missing an incisor, its replacement no more than a nub sticking out of his gums. “Another one?”
Steve raises his treasure over his head. “I’m just good at finding ’em,” he replies, smug.
“Only ’cause you’re littler than me,” Eddie teases. “You’re littler, so you’re closer to the ground and you can see better.”
“Nuh-uh!” Steve shoots back. “It’s ’cause I’m lucky. Mama said so.”
“What does your mama know about four-leaf clovers?”
“She knows a lot of stuff.”
“About clovers?”
“About…a lot of stuff!”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Sure. Just like your old man.”
“No, he only knows a lot of stuff about doin’ business.” Steve straightens up to his full height and squares his shoulders. “He doesn’t know anything about clovers.”
Eddie doesn’t like it when Steve stands like that. It reminds him of Mr. Harrington, and that guy is, as Wayne would say, a piece of work.
Luckily, Steve relaxes back into his normal, hunched posture after a moment. He raises his clover—the third one he’s found, to Eddie’s increasingly frustrating zero—and studies it carefully. Without taking his eyes away from it, he tilts his head and asks, “Did your mama know a lot about clovers?”
It takes Eddie a second to answer. Not because he doesn’t want to talk about her, but because he doesn’t want to cry. Steve is used to it, and he’s good at being patient. That’s something else his mama told him, when he had to go to the hair salon with her last week. So instead of asking again, he silently begins to search for a fourth lucky clover while he waits for Eddie to gather his thoughts.
“She didn’t know a lot about plants,” Eddie finally says, “but she knew everything about birds.”
Steve stands up straight again, but this time it’s less like his dad. He looks like Steve now, grinning wide and looking like he’s about to start jumping up and down. “Birds?”
The reaction is exactly what Eddie expected. He smiles to himself, both at the memory of sitting on the back porch with his mom and at the knowledge that his new friend would have happily sat out there with them, absorbing everything he could about her beloved songbirds. “She could tell you what kind were close ’cause she knew what they all sounded like.”
“Whoa,” Steve says, awestruck.
“I might be able to find her binoculars. They must be with her stuff.” In truth, Eddie knows exactly where to find them. There’s a shoebox under his bed, the sneakers it once held replaced with his mother’s most important treasures: a diary he’ll eventually work up the nerve to read, a photo of her outside Granny Munson’s house with a huge belly (“That’s my first picture of you,” she once said, to make him giggle), her favorite yellow scarf…and of course, her birdwatching gear.
Steve patiently watches Eddie think for a while. But he’s six years old; there’s only so patient he can be. “You miss her?”
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.
There’s a moment of gentle silence between them. Then Steve says, “You wanna tell me more about her? She sounds nice.”
We’re currently about to open our third and last round of Beta Claims, and we’re opening this round for people who haven’t previously signed up for the bang but still want to participate.
We still have some amazing projects left unclaimed by betas and would love to have everyone paired up by the end of our third round.
A friendly reminder that there’s no previous requirement to join as a Beta, even if you haven’t done that kind of work before.
If you are interested in joining us this year, please fill out this form, and a mod will be in touch with you.
The third round in Beta Claims will happen May 24th, 12pm - 6pm PDT.
written for the @steddiesongfics may microfic challenge
song inspo: Schedule by Post Animal (Forward Motion Godyssey, 2020) | wc: 555 | rated: T | tags: established relationship, long distance relationship, the struggle of missing someone you love, light angst, happy ending | also on ao3
Steve knew it would be hard to miss him, just not how much he would struggle with the distance that feels like it's growing larger each day.
It had all seemed easier at the time, back when they talked it out and had all these beautiful ideas about how they would pass the time with regular visits, and phone calls, and letters. Certain it would all work out because a love like theirs could withstand it all.
And in the first three months, it really felt like it would.
They talked almost every night, and even though travelling back and forth between Chicago and New York quickly burned through what little money they had saved up for desperate times, it was worth spending just to fall into Eddie's arms. Never for long enough, with every goodbye feeling harder than the one before, but it was okay because they knew it would only be temporary.
But then their schedules started to misalign – more working hours to get by, more late night studies, and opportunities on Eddie's side that demanded his full attention, making it difficult to be each other's priority.
So now, seven months in, Steve barely even knows what Eddie is up to most days. Or nights. Because their everyday calls became Sunday catch-ups became short messages left on the answering machine.
It sucks. And it hurts. And it feels like they're drifting apart. Like they're living separate lives now, not just in different states.
Like maybe they've been naive to think they could chase individual dreams without losing each other along the way.
"We're really doing this, huh?" Eddie asks, his voice a quiet whisper against the top of his hair, Steve's head resting on his shoulder in the calm aftermath of a violent storm of emotions.
"Yeah, I guess so,” Steve sighs, still in disbelief that this is where they are now.
"Do you think you’ll ever regret it?" He asks and can hear Eddie smile when he answers, "I could never. What about you?"
Steve thinks about it for a moment, thinks about all the lonely days, all the tears, and all the stupid fights they had. Thinks about how it almost broke him and how it almost broke them up. But then he lifts his head and finds Eddie's loving eyes looking back, and doesn’t need any more reason to know it was all worth it.
"I love you," he finally says. "And I'd do it all again with you."
Yes, it was hard, unbearable at times, but they both know it was the right decision not to compromise their own dreams for the other out of fear of losing what they had. And in the end, they came out even stronger and deeper in love than before.
Steve fresh out of college with a hard earned degree that gives him the freedom to walk away from the clutches of his family name.
Eddie with one foot set in the music industry like he'd always hoped – not as a signed artist, not yet, but steadily working his way up towards his goal.
They're finally together again. New state, new apartment, new start. Back in each other's arms where they always belonged.
And when they kiss, it feels like all their time apart fades into nothing but a distant memory.
May Prompt: Song From 2020 On || Song: Keep Your Head Up by Djo (2020) | Word Count: 555 | Rating: E | CW: Erectile Dysfunction | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Lives, But Some Things Just Aren't Back to Normal Yet
It's not working. It's never working. Eddie's frustrated, and embarrassed.
Really fucking embarrassed.
Steve Harrington's between his thighs, and his dick is acting like it's too good for it. Old Eddie, Before Eddie, would have accidentally shot his load in Steve Harrington's eye before he even touched him if Steve got as close to his dick as he is right now. He was that easily overstimulated.
Now, he can't get stimulated at all.
Eddie slings his arm over his eyes.
Steve is nuzzling his soft cock. Kissing it. Fingertips trailing up Eddie's scarred thigh, before holding Eddie's dick in his mouth. Tongue flattened, pressing against him, nose buried in Eddie's pubes. His soft balls cradled in Steve's hand.
All the tricks being pulled out, for no goddamn reason.
"It ain't happening," Eddie finally says. It's never happening.
Steve pulls off, and his eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide. He looks horny as fuck, and Eddie doesn't understand why. Eddie's dick is soft. That shouldn't exactly make Steve feel good.
"You want me to stop?" Steve asks. His lips are red and slick. He's curling his fingertips against Eddie's thighs, like he's desperate to get back to it. He looks like a wet fucking dream but Eddie can't get wet to save his soul. It's tragic.
"Yeah," Eddie says, but he doesn't want him to stop at all. There's just no point in continuing.
Steve pulls away, resting back on his heels. Steve's big dick is hard, and leaking like a faucet. Steve reaches for it, and squeezes, trying to get it to go down. Eddie can see his thigh muscles are tense, flexed. He's trying to redirect all that blood.
Eddie doesn't want that. Erections shouldn't be wasted. They feel like a precious commodity these days.
"No, let me see you," Eddie says, and Eddie watches as Steve's thighs relax, as Steve strokes himself leisurely. Like he's in no hurry. No rush.
"Go ahead, touch yourself," Steve directs, and Eddie isn't sure he sees the point. If Steve Harrington couldn't get him hard, he's definitely not gonna be able to do it for himself.
"This is stupid," Eddie says, cupping his soft dick. He doesn't know if it's all in his head, or if something actually got fucked up down there. Blood vessels or nerves, whatever the bats gnawed on while trying to eat him alive.
None of the doctors warned him about this, and well, he's kind of pissed off. He's lost enough.
"It's not stupid," Steve says, "does it still feel good? Does it hurt?"
It doesn't hurt.
It feels good. Just not as good as he remembers.
"No, it feels good," Eddie answers.
"Good, then it'll happen. Or it won't. We can do other stuff. I could eat you out. Finger you," Steve says, like these are normal, everyday suggestions.
Eddie feels like his dick hardens a smidgen. It's probably in his goddamn head, but he'll pretend, and take it.
"Fuck you," Steve continues, and Eddie arches his head back against the pillows. "That's it," Steve coaches, and Eddie rubs his soft dick. "You just gotta keep your head up. I'm having fun, and you should be having fun, too."
Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut. He's having fun.
Steve Harrington is in his bed. If that's not fun, nothing could be.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics to follow along with the love! 🎵
for @steddiesongfics microfic may challenge, based on 'orbiter' by noah kahan
rated t | 555 words | no cw | tags: possibly unrequited love, but not actually unrequited love, friends to lovers, first kiss, post-vecna
🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑
The house is quiet tonight. Robin's on a date, her fifth or sixth with the same woman. Eddie's on a date, too. Another random person he met at the bar. Steve's lost count of the amount of first dates he has that end in him spending the night with someone he'll never see again. He isn't judging, he's just...heartbroken.
Because it didn't take long after they left Hawkins for Steve to realize that the protectiveness he felt towards Eddie, the racing of his heart and warmth in his stomach when they touched, the sinking in his gut when Eddie talked about being with someone else, meant he had much more than just friendly feelings for the man. He thought it was a proximity crush, as Robin so kindly put it when he talked to her about it.
"He's the only person other than me that you spend a lot of time with. You just need to get out there!"
But he tried that. He went on a few dates with women. One with a guy who played guitar in a band and had long curly hair, but didn't shine nearly as bright as Eddie. He hasn't tried again since that one went pretty badly.
He's alone with his thoughts, eating leftover pasta from the dinner he made with Eddie the night before. It was a new recipe that Eddie insisted on trying, and then ended up not liking it nearly as much as Steve. That's how it usually goes.
Steve smiles to himself at the memory of Eddie's hands on his hips, gently moving him out of the way every time he needed to get into a cabinet or drawer for something. He doesn't stop smiling as he remembers the way Eddie sat on the counter to steal bites of the pasta before Steve had it in bowls, convincing him he needed to make sure it was done before it was served.
The smile drops when he remembers Eddie telling him about his date while they washed dishes.
He knows he needs to be honest with Eddie about his feelings. Maybe it will ruin everything, or maybe it won't. He just needs to know one way or another.
He's here because Eddie needed to get out. He's stayed because he loves Eddie too much to leave.
He's stuck in his orbit and he has no idea if he even wants to be out of it.
---
He startles awake when the door slams closed. Steve sits up and wipes his eyes, trying to get them to focus.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up," Eddie says from next to the couch. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"Tried waiting up for you," Steve yawns. "Date go okay?"
Eddie snorts. "I'm here, aren't I?"
Do it now, Steve.
"Hungry?" Steve asks instead.
"Only if there's cereal."
Steve huffs a laugh and stands. "I can get you some."
While he eats, Eddie recounts every terrible moment of the date. Steve laughs along, unable to hide his amusement at how shitty it was.
"Gotta be a reason these dates suck, right?"
Steve takes a deep breath.
"Yeah." He leans in close. "Gotta be."
He finally kisses him.
Because if he's gonna lose Eddie either way, he wants to know what he'll be missing.
Steddie | Teen | 555
Written for @steddiesongfics
May Prompt: 555 words, any song from 2020 on
The song: Palms by The Maine
Available on ao3 here
Pretty boys, voodoo dolls, getting drunk and reading palms
The Maine, Palms
Tags: Fluff, Palm Reading, Happy Ending
They were on the floor of Steve's living room, more than a couple beers into the evening.
Steve giggled, his cheeks flushed with warmth and alcohol. "No, I'm serious," he said. "Robin taught me, gimme your hand."
"Okay, fine," Eddie chuckled, passing over his palm. The night felt good, hazy around the edges, like one of those old-timey vignette photos. It was just him and Steve, had been, for the past few hours. Like they were in their own private bubble. "You're the 'expert'."
"Damn right," Steve said, turning Eddie's hand over in his grip, the guitarist's palm facing up. "Okay, okay," Steve said, running his index finger over Eddie's lifeline. Eddie's fingers twitched at the touch, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. Steve's expression was intensely concentrated.
"You're gonna meet someone," Steve said, his words slurring together a little bit.
"Yeah?" Eddie asked, his smile widening a bit more. "What are they like?"
Steve glanced up at him, hazel eyes bright and beautiful. He'd always been beautiful, Eddie thought with a pang in his chest that he resolutely ignored. The ache was a familiar one; he'd gotten used to longing for things he couldn't have. Steve's gaze returned to Eddie's hand, holding it between both of his larger ones, peering closely at the lines on Eddie's palm.
Eddie had calluses there, too. Playing guitar for so long, working with his hands... all of it had left a mark on his skin. He wondered what Steve thought of them.
"Hmm," Steve hummed, turning Eddie's palm this way and that as if that would help him make sense of what he saw better. "Well, they're tall."
"Of course," Eddie said, starting to grin. "Handsome too, I'll bet?"
"Duh," Steve huffed, rolling his eyes. He went quiet for a moment, staring intently at Eddie's palm. His thumb brushed over Eddie's heartline. The soft touch sent a tingle up Eddie's arm. "They... care about you."
"That's good," Eddie murmured, watching Steve closely. He was really taking this whole palm reading thing seriously. "What else?"
"They uh, well they..." Steve cleared his throat, glancing up at Eddie with a carefree smile. "They're gonna reveal themselves when the time is right."
A strange feeling of disappointment welled. Eddie nodded, slipping his hand free of Steve's grasp to raise his beer to his lips. "Okay, your turn." He leaned forward, reaching for Steve's hand, flipping it over before the guy could protest. "Mm, uh huh," Eddie said. "Oh, looks like you're gonna meet someone, too."
"Yeah?" Steve asked softly. "What's he like?"
"He—" Eddie stopped abruptly, glancing up at Steve, his lips parted in surprise. Steve stared back at him steadily, an encouraging smile on his face. "He, uh, he's... he's... nervous."
Shit.
"Why's that?" Steve asked, leaning in towards him.
Eddie swallowed, only able to focus down at Steve's palm and not how much closer their faces were to each other's.
"He... doesn't know if you'd... even glance his way," Eddie mumbled, feeling heat rush into his cheeks. And it wasn't from the beer.
"Maybe I already have."
Eddie risked a glance up at him, his heart thudding erratically. Steve was still smiling at him, his eyes shining.
"Have you?" Eddie whispered.
Steve turned their hands over, pressing them palm-to-palm.
song inspo: Egg by Djo | rated: M | wc: 5.255 | tags: Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Bad coping mechanisms, Internal Conflict, Steve's dad is an asshole, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Angst with a Happy Ending, speedrunning from Strangers to (implied) Lovers | complete fic on ao3
It’s been two weeks.
Not the longest he’s gone without, but the urge seems stronger this time. Or maybe he’s just getting too used to it, like an addict whose tolerance gets higher with every hit.
The hits in his case are literal, so the effect isn’t quite the same – there’s no toxic chemicals running rampant through his bloodstream, no spiked poison altering his mind when the thrill kicks in. There’s no dejecting comedown or hard drop when he sobers, only various stages of ebbing sensation and fading colours.
It’s still a problem, though, this habitual abuse of adrenaline rushes and pain as catalysts for momentary satisfaction, where he’s less likely to overdose but just as much at risk of sustaining lasting damage.
Steve knows that. Doesn’t deny how utterly stupid it is to play Russian Roulette with fate and naively accept the potential consequences of his actions if things go sideways for one reason or another, even if the possibilities are endless.
And the thing is, Steve doesn’t even like to fight. He is not an aggressive person, not deep down in his core. But he needs it to feel, to counter the numbness, would otherwise drown in the grey sludge of his dull, unfulfilled life. Needs the physical reminder that he’s more than just an empty shell. That his body can bend and break and bleed because he’s alive, not just the ghost of someone who climbed too high and didn’t learn how to fly before the inevitable fall.
Steve is most content when he’s aching. When he can look in the mirror and finds that his exterior matches the inside, looking just as broken as he feels deep down.
That’s why he seeks out violence, causes trouble where needs to be none, always ready to throw the first punch just to get what he wants. A black eye, a throbbing lip, a pounding head – whatever he’s offered, he takes it with pleasure, gets high on the pain for as long as it lasts.
That’s why he goes out and drinks and picks fights with strangers, easy targets that fall all too willingly for his stupid game. Washed-up nobodies like him, with nothing to lose. Guys who will clash over nothing just to experience a feeling of superiority, claiming that tiny bit of fake ‘respect’ they’re so desperate for. Boosting their own broken egos with impacting fists, giving them the illusion of being in control for once in their life.
Steve gladly lets them have it. He doesn’t care about winning, he just wants to hurt.
Therapy would be the better choice than whatever fucked up shit he’s drawn to. But the thought of having to open up about everything that is wrong with him is so much scarier than the idea of ending up with another concussion or a broken nose. Or worse.
So he takes the risk. Because it’s the only way he knows how to cope.
for @steddiesongfics april prompt based on the djo song 'back on you'
rated t | 986 words | cw: mention of slurs, mild blood | tags: pre-relationship, implied getting together, flirting, hurt/comfort, post-vecna
🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙
There’s a bag of peas in the freezer for the nights like this.
The nights when Eddie doesn’t know when to quit and says the wrong thing to the wrong person.
The nights when Steve isn’t there to step in and stop it before it ends with fists flying and a body hitting the ground.
“What happened this time?” Steve asks as he presses the frozen bag to Eddie’s swollen and bruised cheekbone.
“Nothing. Just an asshole,” Eddie barely opens his mouth to talk, afraid to reopen the cut on his bottom lip that only just stopped bleeding a few minutes ago. “I didn’t even say anything this time.”
Steve gives him a knowing look. He almost definitely said something.
“I can’t always have your back, man,” Steve sighs. “You said you weren’t going out tonight, anyway.”
“I know.”
“So why—“
“Just forget it, Steve. I should’ve shut up and taken it, like everyone expects me to. I shouldn’t ever stick up for myself because it’ll just draw attention. I’ll just stay in my room and never come out and no one will ever have to look at me again.” Eddie groans when his lip starts bleeding as he talks. “This might need stitches.”
Steve’s heart breaks at his words. He knows it’s hard for Eddie. It’s hard for all of them sometimes. The government made a huge spectacle of thanking them for their efforts in saving Hawkins and now everyone is weird around them. But with Eddie, everyone still looks at him like he’s a murderer, a drug addict, a criminal, an idiot who couldn’t graduate high school. And they aren’t quiet about it, either.
It helps if he isn’t alone, especially if Steve is with him. People are at least quieter and don’t stare as long. But Steve had to work late tonight and Eddie apparently insisted on going to the bar alone.
“No one wants you to not defend yourself,” Steve starts. They’ve had this conversation before. It can’t hurt to have it again. “We just want you to be safe.”
“I get beat to shit if I say something, I get beat to shit if I don’t. I still don’t know why I need to stay in this shithole town when I’m suffering alone all the time.”
“You’re not alone. You’ve got all of us. You’ve got me,” Steve emphasizes, hopes that the words will finally fucking stick.
“Do I though?” Eddie huffs an unamused laugh. “You insist on me living here, gave me my own bedroom, said I don’t even need to pay rent because your parents paid off the house. You do this shit for me when I’m broken. You invite me to hang out with you and Robin all the time. But it’s because you pity me, right? You don’t want a guilty conscience so you help me. You don’t want the little sheep to be disappointed if you go back to your King Steve ways so you make sure to include me.”
“Eddie, no! You’re my friend.”
Eddie takes the bag from Steve’s hand and stands from the couch. “Right. I’ll be in my room trying to get my lip to stop bleeding.”
“Wait,” Steve stands and tries to stop him, but he’s already halfway through the doorway to the hall. “Can you at least let me do the stitches?”
“Since when do you know how to stitch someone up?”
“I technically don’t. But I can sew. Gotta be pretty similar,” Steve says with a half-smile. He doesn’t like this tension. It’s never like this with Eddie.
He’s always so laidback and funny and charming and flirty and—
“You’re comparing stitching my skin together to sewing a hole in your shirt?” Eddie faces him, blood dripping down his chin. “I don’t think that’s the same.”
“I guess we’ll find out together,” Steve shrugs.
“You’re impossible.”
“So are you.”
They’re both laughing as Eddie walks up to him again, one good eye big and round in apology.
“They were saying shitty stuff about Robin and I told them they don’t know what they’re talking about. Then they said…” Eddie sighs. “They said that of course another fairy would stick up for her and that they feel bad for you being dragged into this lifestyle. Apparently a few of the community college girls are trying to figure out how to get you to stop being friends with us so you can be who you ‘used to be.’”
“Well, who I used to be kinda sucked,” Steve starts. His heart beats fast as he thinks about Eddie sticking up for Robin. About how he’s gotten into trouble sticking up for all of them, not just himself. About how he stands between Steve and a crowd of people even though he’s the one at risk. About how there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to protect the ones he cares about, who have done everything to protect him in return. “And I kind of really like the company I keep.”
Eddie frowns. “You don’t have to say that about me.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You and Robin are my best friends,” Steve shrugs. “That won’t change just because some people want me to be an asshole.”
“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says like he doesn’t believe it.
“Eddie.” Steve steps closer, so close he can see the small dimple on his nose from where his sunglasses are too tight and have left a near-permanent mark on his skin. “I’m right here. I want you here and I want to be here. Okay?”
Eddie nods once and lets out a shaky breath. “Okay.”
“Can I get you cleaned up now?”
“Were you serious about stitching my lip? Because I think I’d rather call someone else,” Eddie jokes nervously.
Steve leans in, makes sure he’s close enough for Eddie to feel his breath against his lips.
April Prompt: Djo Songs || Song: Climax | Word Count: 834 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Future Fic, Alternate Universes, Making a Decision
I know you,
I swear I've seen your face before,
Must be true,
I saw it through the open door
Djo, Climax
Steve has a glass of wine in his hand, finally enjoying the night that they spent so long putting together. The engagement that had been so long coming. The party has been perfect, just as they planned it. His parents are swanning around, being attentive hosts. Everybody that's anybody is here. It was the invite of the year, and this isn't even the wedding yet.
Robin says something, and he turns his head, laughing. When he does, he catches a glimpse of something.
Someone.
Like, there's a door that's been left cracked open to, well. Somewhere else. It shimmers gold across the lawn of the estate they rented, calling out to him. A sliver of warm light, with someone moving around behind it.
He wants to run towards it.
He wants to run away from it.
But he can't do either. His limbs feel heavy, but he's frozen, staring. Trying to make sense of whatever the hell this is that he's seeing.
It cracks open a bit further.
"Steve?" Robin asks, and she sounds like an echo, like she's a million miles away. He's focused in on the door to somewhere that's been left open. He tilts his head to the side. That guy pacing back and forth looks like him. Older, rougher, dirtier, but him.
Wearing a baseball cap backwards, and fatigues like he's going to war. Like he's been in war for a long, long time.
Then, he pauses in the doorway, and puts his hands on his hips.
I know you.
It's definitely him. Then, the other version of him shifts, and another person crosses into the light.
The glass slips from Steve's hand, shattering on the concrete pavers under his feet. Wine seeping into his socks, into his tux pant legs. Everyone is shouting his name, but he's not here. Not now.
Long, dark hair tied up. A spear of some sort clutched in his hand, shaking it towards Older Steve. Like they're arguing, in a very familiar way.
I swear I've seen your face before. Déjà vu.
Robin is pulling on his sleeve, but he's locked-in. Frozen. Staring.
That's Eddie. He doesn't exactly know who Eddie is, but that's definitely him.
And that terrifies him.
Finally, he can move, and he takes off running. Shedding his expensive jacket as he goes, running as fast as the brand new dress shoes pinching his toes allow for, as if the door might slam closed before he gets there. He puts his hand on the edge of the open door, and up close, the light is blinding. It's warm against his palm, his fingers, as he tries to pry it open further.
It feels real. Like everything behind him has been a dream. Like, now he knows.
He tugs, pulls, trying to get it to open wide enough to go through. Because he suddenly feels that he needs to be over there. In the light. Wherever that is. That's where he belongs. Not here.
When it finally gives way, Steve careens inside, slamming into Older Steve and he's suddenly, somehow, inside him. A passenger, along for the ride. But he settles, and tries to get his bearings.
Hawkins.
The Upside Down.
Eddie.
Eddie.
A different version of Robin is off to the side, organizing a table of weapons with Nancy. No fancy dresses here. No engagement rings. No, this looks like a war zone, and like it's been that way for a long, long time.
"Steve. Are you even listening to me?" Eddie snaps.
Older Steve is still, and Steve can feel his hand clutching the bat handle in his hand. Like he's just sitting right under Older Steve's skin. A second Steve in different Steve wrapping.
His body hurts. He's never felt like this in his life. These kinds of aches and pains. Throbbing reminders of things Steve can't remember, because he didn't experience them. No, this Steve did.
"I feel weird," Older Steve says, and then they're both on the ground. Lights out.
When Steve comes to, he feels weird. Like his head is fuzzy, and swimming. Too full. His head is resting on Eddie's thigh, Eddie's hand cradling his head carefully.
Steve blinks his eyes, and Eddie's hand moves to his forehead.
"Hey, you with me?" Eddie asks, and when Steve opens his eyes, all he sees is a pair of very concerned brown eyes hovering. Eddie. Eddie's here.
Steve nods. He's okay.
Eddie makes him sit up, urging him to drink some water from a canteen. It tastes better than anything he's ever drank in his entire life.
"That was weird," Steve says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
And Eddie laughs, so Steve thinks that everything will be okay. It's just like he was hit with an overwhelming wall of information. A hallucination. A different life. One without the Upside Down. One that seemed like it should have been a perfect life, but it was one without Eddie.
Fuck that.
He'll take this one.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics to follow along with the love! 🎵
inspired by "Try Me" (Djo)
CW: mentioned/referenced sex and drug use
Rating: T | WC: 2,579 | ao3
Tags: pre-steddie, friends to lovers, angst with implied happy ending, jealousy, eddie has a crush (and is dealing with it Badly), self-esteem issues, stobin roommates, future fic
Steve isn’t jealous.
He’s not.
It’s just that this so-called “boyfriend” that Eddie brought to Dustin’s birthday party is fucking awful—Johnny or Jimmy or Joey or whatever his name is. Steve tried to talk to him a little while ago, and all the son of a bitch did was glare, offering short answers to every question Steve lobbed his way.
Steve has been stewing in the corner with a beer ever since.
Probably sensing his distress, Robin appears at his elbow, muttering, “That guy’s a piece of work, huh?”
Steve hums in response. He takes a swig from his bottle—the label halfway peeled off by his restless fingers.
She clinks her own bottle against his in an obvious attempt to draw his eye. He hadn’t even realized he was staring daggers at Eddie and Johnny/Jimmy/Joey until that moment.
“It’s not just you,” Robin reassures him. “Everybody else is skeeved out by him, too.”
“That so?” he mutters. “Then why doesn’t somebody kick him out?”
“Because Eddie would lose his shit,” she laughs. “Unless…”
He glares at her now. “Unless?”
She feigns nonchalance with a shrug. “I don’t know. I mean…I think you could probably get away with it.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m just saying, you’ve got some sway with our favorite freak. And seeing as you’ve been trying to murder the guy with your mind all night—”
“I’m not jealous.” Steve insists.
“Right. Sure.”
“I’m not!”
“You mean to tell me somebody else brought that little green monster that’s running around?”
He refuses to answer, taking another drink and resuming his attempts at emulating Jane’s ability to snap a man’s neck from across the room.
Robin sighs. “Look. I’m not gonna make you face your own feelings, dingus. But can you at least admit he’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve Eddie?”
Steve snorts. “Okay. Fine. He’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve Eddie.”
“Good. I’m glad you agree.” She elbows him. “So what are we gonna do about it?”
He rolls his eyes. “What can we do, Rob? Eddie’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”
“Sure, but he might not see what we see. Or hear what we hear,” she adds, her voice soft.
Steve turns back to her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well…okay,” she says, sighing again. “I overheard Jeremy on the phone with his friend.” She pauses, then admits, “Via the extension in your room.”
“You eavesdropped on Eddie’s boyfriend? Jesus Christ, this is why I said you weren’t allowed to have the room with the phone jack.”
“Will you just listen to me? They were talking about him.”
Steve freezes with his beer halfway to his mouth again. “What?”
“Jeremy and his friend were talking about Eddie. Laughing at him. Apparently they’re getting a steep discount on their pot as long as Eddie’s his, um…well, I think the word they used was ‘cocksleeve’?”
The edges of Steve’s vision start to go fuzzy and red. “What?” he repeats, fainter.
“I knew you’d be pissed,” Robin mutters.
“Uh, yeah. I’m pissed.” Steve glances back toward where Eddie and Jeremy are feeling each other up on the other side of the living room, and he swears he actually hears something in his mind snap. It’s the last thing he remembers when he’s suddenly next to them, yanking Jeremy away by the collar of his leather jacket.
Eddie’s startled voice calls out, “Stevie, what the hell?”
But he doesn’t have time to reply. He’s too busy wrestling with an indignant Jeremy and grumbling, “Get the fuck out of my apartment, you selfish prick.” As soon as the door is shut and bolted behind him, Steve turns and comes face-to-face with Eddie, anyway.
“What the fuck is going on, man? Why did you—?”
“He’s a jackass, Eddie,” Steve fumes. “Everybody here thinks so. You can do better than him.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Excuse me? You don’t think I can decide that for myself?”
“He’s not with you for the right reasons.”
“‘The right reasons’? And what might those be, oh wise and omnipotent expert in all things love?”
The sarcasm stings, but Steve ignores it. “Whatever they are, they’re sure as hell not what he was in it for.”
“‘Was’? Did you break up with him for me, too?” Eddie shoots back. Steve steps in front of the deadbolt when he makes a move for it, so he commands, “Get out of my way.”
Steve plants his feet. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Make me.”
“What is this, middle school? Move out of the fucking way so I can catch him and apologize for you acting like a lunatic,” Eddie says. “Some first impression you’re making, by the way. I mean, you’re supposed to be my friend, not some cockblocking asshole.”
“Sometimes a friend is a cockblocking asshole.”
“Oh, really?” It comes out on a dangerous, exasperated chuckle. “That’s what friends are for, huh? Acting like a dick and throwing my boyfriend out of parties?”
“When your boyfriend is just using you for sex and cheap drugs, then yes. That is what friends are for.”
Eddie takes a step back. He lets out a breathy, startled laugh. “What?”
Steve’s heart stops, threatening to shatter into a million pieces at the look on Eddie’s face. His features are frozen into a sort of disbelieving grimace, but there are tears welling up in those giant eyes of his.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Steve purses his lips and glances at the floor between them. “Sorry. I, uh…” He swallows, unable to look Eddie in the eye. “I could’ve put that better. It’s just that Robin heard him talking, and—”
“You know what? Never mind. I need some fucking air.” Eddie manages to worm his way past to unlock the door. Momentum sweeps Steve aside as it jerks open, leaving a gap wide enough for Eddie to slip out of the apartment.
“Eddie—”
As soon as he’s through, Eddie slams the door shut. Steve can hear him stomping down the hallway to the stairwell, his footfalls practically shaking the whole building.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, and he turns to look for Robin, seeking some guidance for cleaning up the mess his temper made.
“Hey.” Steve’s voice is soft. It’s almost like he doesn’t want Eddie to hear him.
Eddie doesn’t turn around, nor does he answer. He leans on the parapet and takes a long pull from his cigarette.
“The roof, huh?” Steve goes on with an anxious chuckle. “Thought I might find you up here.”
Eddie snorts, and smoke curls around his nose like he's a dragon. “Yeah, well, I know how much Robin hates anybody smoking in the apartment.” He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he stormed out of it five minutes ago.
He expects Steve to say something like “Is that all?” or accuse him of subconsciously waiting up here just for him, and he wouldn’t be off base if he did. Instead he just says, “Yeah.” He sidles up to the edge of the roof next to Eddie and produces his own pack of Newports. He pulls one out and seems to hesitate, but eventually asks, “Can I get a light? Left mine downstairs.”
Silently, Eddie pulls his lighter out of his pocket and tosses it in his direction.
Steve catches it easily and holds it out when he’s done. Through a cloud of fresh smoke, he mutters, “Thanks, Eds.”
Eds. Nobody else has ever really called him that, except for Wayne. But Steve picked it up so naturally, Eddie had hardly noticed. Apparently he’d been saying it for a long time before Dustin pointed it out, but from then on Eddie has clocked it every single time. He has a complicated relationship with that fact.
Almost as complicated as his relationship with the man himself.
It’s one he’s been desperately trying to parse for a year and a half, now. At first, he’d assumed they had a rapport a lot like the one Steve has with Robin. They hung out, talked shit, and went on little adventures whenever their friends could get a break from college life. Then he’d started to notice that more and more often, their “hanging out” meant cuddling while they watched a movie, or maybe getting high and talking about their deepest fears and wildest dreams—which still wasn’t far off from how Steve interacted with Robin, sans drugs.
The real problem came on an ordinary day of no real consequence, when Eddie turned to Steve and had the overwhelming urge to run his fingers through his hair and kiss him—the first real sign that he was falling for the guy.
That wouldn’t be so bad, if it weren’t for the fact that Steve is one of the best friends Eddie has ever had. Maybe the best, although he would never admit that to the band, or to Dustin. He wasn’t about to jeopardize the most important non-Wayne relationship, and he was terrified that if he didn’t do something to get over his crush on Steve, then he would do something stupid and it would all come crashing down around him.
So he found a boyfriend.
Eddie is painfully aware of his less-than-healthy romantic history. He’s never dated anyone who wanted more than mutually assured destruction, and he was under no real illusion that Jeremy was different. He was just there, and he wasn’t Steve.
Steve, whose smile lights up a room and all that cliché shit. Who laughs at Eddie’s dumbest jokes and genuinely tries to understand his interests, even when he doesn’t really get them. Who always knows when Eddie needs a night in, and who can see right through all his bullshit even when he’s built it up enough to fool even himself.
That was why he stormed out of the apartment. Not because he was mad about Steve insulting Jeremy, or even really because he’d kicked him out. He was upset that Steve was as perceptive as ever, and he was pissed at himself for putting that sad, disapproving look on Steve’s face.
Even now, the way Steve quietly stands there, smoking his cigarette and waiting for Eddie to initiate the conversation he knows they need to have…it’s like he has no idea how perfect he is.
Okay, Munson. Just bite the bullet and say something.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. He knows it’s barely audible over the wind, but he can’t make himself speak any louder. “For, uh…looking out for me.”
“If I’d known, I would’ve said something sooner.”
“I know.”
“Instead of, you know…causing a scene.”
“I know,” Eddie repeats softly. After another moment, he sighs and says, “If I’m being honest, I sort of had my suspicions. But, well, you know how these things go.”
“No, not really. How do they go?” Steve counters.
Without looking, Eddie knows the exact position of his eyebrow just by the tone of his voice. “Well, when a useless drug dealer and a selfish piece of shit like each other very much—”
“Useless?” Steve sounds livid, and Eddie thinks perhaps he shouldn’t find that as attractive as he does. “You’re not useless. Did he make you think that?”
“Fine. Not useless. Use whatever word you want: stupid, naive, cowardly…”
“I don’t want to use any of those words. Not for you.” Even his goddamn grumbling is cute when he adds, “That greedy, lowlife bastard, maybe. But never you.” His tone evens out, and he says, “I really am sorry, Eds. I should’ve just talked to you in private, or…or even just let you make your own decisions. I should’ve stayed out of it.”
Eddie grits his teeth, unable to take any more. “For fuck’s sake, Stevie. Why are you being so nice to me? I brought that asshole to your apartment, almost let him ruin Dustin’s birthday more than once, then acted like you weren’t totally justified in kicking him out for being a dick and a shitty boyfriend. Why the hell are you apologizing? I should be thanking you.”
“Thanking me? What—?”
“Man, I knew he was an ass. I knew it all along. Why do you think I was dating him in the first place?” He finally looks over at Steve and sees him absolutely bewildered. He looks like a golden retriever whose toy has just disappeared behind his handler’s back.
“Eds…why would you date someone who—?”
“Because I’m bad at dating, alright?” Eddie explodes, his voice echoing off the trees that surround the apartment complex. “Shitty relationships are all I know. And I needed a distraction. Something to do while I—”
When he cuts himself off, Steve tilts his head. “While you…what?”
Eddie swallows. He wants to look away, but he can’t find it in himself to break his gaze from Steve’s. Almost against his will, he says, “While I did my best to get over it.” Realizing his words didn’t make sense out loud, he shakes his head, finally squeezing his eyes shut, and clarifies, “I mean you. To get over you.”
Steve makes a small sound, somewhere between a choked gasp and a whispered oh. “I don’t…”
Eddie shuts his eyes impossibly tighter. He mumbles, “I know, you probably don’t want me like that, but—”
“No, I just don’t understand,” Steve interrupts. “Eds, why didn’t you say something?”
He cracks his eyes open and searches Steve’s expression for something other than confusion or concern. When he doesn’t find it, he sighs and says, “Because I didn’t want to fuck anything up between us? I mean, you know my history.” Then, saying it slowly as the truth comes to him, Eddie admits, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Steve laughs, startled and incredulous. “Hurt me?”
“Well…yeah.” Eddie says it like it’s obvious, complete with a shrug. “I’m a fuck-up, especially with guys. I didn’t want to risk things ending the same way with you as it always has.”
“Okay, but you’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“I care about you?” Steve says, still chuckling a little. “I’ve met some of your exes, Eds, and trust me when I say you weren’t the problem with any of those relationships. To be honest, I’m a little insulted you think I’m enough like them that it wouldn’t work out. None of those guys were in it for the long haul, but I’d love being your boyfriend if you’d let me. And you shouldn’t be so worried about hurting me. I’m willing to risk it.”
Eddie sighs. “You can do better than me, Stevie.”
Steve smirks. “You don’t think I can make that decision for myself?” he parrots.
Eddie feels heat in his cheeks, though he can’t tell whether it’s from the implication that Steve wants to date him, or from the shame and embarrassment of being called out on his hypocrisy. He purses his lips, crushes his cigarette butt under his boot, and mutters, “Point made.”
“So, now that you’re not parading around some guy who makes me want to pull my fucking hair out,” Steve says, “you want to go back to the party?” He shivers, takes a final drag from his cigarette, then stomps it out, too. “Maybe we can finish this conversation somewhere warmer.”
Eddie forces himself to make eye contact, and he’s reminded of another beautiful thing about Steve: one look from him, and everything feels like it’s going to be alright.
for @steddiesongfics march 2026 free space, and for @steddiebingo mixtape madness ("Razorblade Kiss" - HIM)
Rating: T | WC: 2,350 | ao3
CW: mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, drug & alcohol abuse
Tags: post ST4 canon divergence, suicidal steve, ambiguous steddie, undead/monster eddie, protective eddie, hopeful ending
this was originally supposed to be some kas!eddie smut, and it somehow turned into major angst? I'm really not sure how that happened.
also, disclaimer: the discussion steve and eddie have about suicide is similar to the one that happens in my own head when it gets dark in there. I have no idea if it's actually healthy or not, but hey - it's kept me alive!
It’s never immediately clear what wakes Steve up. He always looks around, bewildered, until his eyes fall on the figure crouched at the end of his bed.
The first time, he screamed. The second, he was convinced it was a vivid dream. By now, he’s used to it. A small part of him even looks forward to it, which probably isn’t healthy, but it almost definitely has something to do with the fact that his life has been thoroughly wrecked by all this Upside Down shit, anyway.
He never knows when Eddie will stop by, or even how he gets in. It’s not Eddie, really—just something wearing his face. Part of Steve thinks (hopes) some of him is left in there, and that’s why he shows up every once in a while. Maybe it’s a cry for help.
Or maybe this is Steve’s own personal hell.
Whatever the case, the thing shaped like Eddie comes into his room without a sound and waits until it sees Steve’s eyes shining in the dark. Only then does it speak in a gravelly tenor that mimics Eddie’s voice, but doesn’t quite hit the mark.
Tonight is no exception. Steve blinks at the figure, lit by the security lights that shine on the pool. They’re flickering, like they always do when this thing shows up.
“How’s it going, big boy?”
The words rattle around between Steve’s ears for a minute before he can process them, like his brain has to translate them from a language he barely knows.
As soon as his mind catches up, he sighs. “Well, you’re here,” he mumbles, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t know. Are you really Eddie?”
“Sure I am.”
He snorts and closes his eyes. “No you’re not.”
“So it’s one of those nights, huh?” the Eddie-thing teases. “What makes you so sure I’m not him?”
“Pretty sure we’ve been over this before.”
“Oh, plenty of times,” it says with a dismissive wave. “But I always appreciate the opportunity to point out the flaws in your logic.”
Yep. It is Steve’s personal hell.
For some reason, he’s unable to resist whenever the thing compels him to do something. “Okay, well, first off,” he grumbles as he sits up in bed, “Eddie is dead. We tried to save him—”
“Me,” the thing interrupts.
“We tried to save him,” Steve insists. “But he lost too much blood.” He still has nightmares about the blood alone; Dustin was covered in it. “Second, I don’t remember him having glowing red eyes.”
“Well, you never saw me at the full moon.”
He shakes his head. “Third, you don’t sound like him.”
“You saw the state of me, man. Damn bats almost ripped my throat out.” The thing sounds bitter about that one. It’s a nice touch.
“Fourth—”
“There’s a fourth one now?”
“—it doesn’t make any sense for him to come to me. Why wouldn’t Eddie go to Dustin, or even Lucas or Mike?”
“Well, that’s an easy one,” the thing scoffs. “I don’t want to scare the shit out of ’em.”
“But scaring the shit out of me is par for the course?”
“Au contraire, mon cheri. Quite the opposite, really.” It smirks. “Steve Harrington doesn’t scare easily.”
“I screamed like a little girl the first time you showed up,” Steve points out.
“Yeah, but then the next time you just assumed you were having a nightmare. Which…woof. If this is what your nightmares are usually like, you should see a therapist.”
“Gee. Thanks for the advice.”
“Seriously! I worry about you, Steven.”
“Is that why you show up unannounced all the time?”
“Actually, yeah. It kind of is.” The Eddie-thing sounds serious. It’s never sounded that serious before. The tone gives Steve pause.
He narrows his eyes. “What does that mean?”
The thing sighs. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“No. Really. What the fuck do you mean by that?”
It sighs again, staring at the bedspread. “Okay. Look. So…what did you do today?”
Steve’s brow furrows. Slowly, he recounts, “I worked at the radio station with Robin…”
“Where you almost electrocuted yourself trying to fix a loose power outlet.”
“Then we went to see Lucas at the hospital…”
“Didn’t Robin have to remind you to put on your seatbelt like three times?”
“And then after that I came home,” he finishes. “Spent all afternoon here.”
The thing raises its eyebrows and remarks, “You drank a fifth of straight bourbon by yourself.”
“So? Life sucks right now,” Steve counters. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t drink your troubles away if you could?”
“Did you even eat anything?”
He pauses. “No.”
“It’s a miracle you didn’t get alcohol poisoning, dude.”
“Okay, well, I didn’t,” Steve snaps.
“And then you chased it with fucking benzos.” The thing actually seems frustrated. “There’s a difference between drinking your troubles away and trying to kill yourself, Steve.”
“I’m not trying to kill myself.”
“Yes you fucking are! It’s the whole reason I’m here. The last time I showed up? That was the night you almost ‘fell’ off the radio tower. Remember that?”
Steve swallows. He does remember it. He’d been drinking that night, too, though he hadn’t been alone. It had been a rare occasion, with Murray showing up with some of his bootleg vodka and sharing it with the class. Then a tipsy Steve had bet everyone he could climb the tower in under a minute. In retrospect, nobody had really wanted him to try, but he’d insisted. He’d made it up without incident, but while he was at the top, looking out over the militarized zone that had once been his hometown, he found his clumsy sneakers on the railing. The thing that stopped him from clambering over it was Jonathan yelling up to him about showing off, because it reminded him that his friends were below, and it probably wouldn’t be great for them to see his brains splattered all over the ground.
“And the time before—that was the fucking Sweeney Todd incident.”
“What does that mean?” Steve asks, but even if he doesn’t get the reference, he’s pretty sure he knows.
The Eddie-thing’s eyes burn into his. Sure enough, it says, “The razor, Steve.”
It had started out as an accident. Steve had run out of disposable safety razors, and he couldn’t find any at Bradley’s or Melvald’s, so he’d resorted to using his dad’s old straight razor. It hadn’t been an easy adjustment; that was how he managed to dismiss the wound on his throat when Robin asked him about it. The reality was an especially deep nick that had brought a frightening thought into his mind in another moment of weakness. Now he’s got two thin, barely-healed scars, one longer than the other, intersecting the jagged one left by the same bats that killed Eddie.
“That’s not fair,” Steve says. “I stopped the bleeding on my own, and it hasn’t happened since. I’m not trying to kill myself. I saved myself.”
“It hasn’t happened since?” The Eddie-thing arches a skeptical eyebrow. “You wanna show me your wrist?”
Steve sets his jaw. “No.”
“How ’bout your leg?”
“No.”
“Why not? You worried about proving me right?”
“Look, what do you want from me?” he explodes. “Everything sucks right now. It sucks. If I really wanted to kill myself—and I don’t…why shouldn’t I? And why does some imaginary friend cooked up by a fucking mind-wizard care?”
The thing huffs. “Jesus Christ, what am I gonna have to do to get you to understand?! I. Am. Not. Imaginary.”
“Okay, then! Let’s pretend for a second you are real.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “Why the hell would Eddie care? He barely knows me.”
The expression on Eddie’s face is pure incredulity, with rage bubbling beneath the surface. “Barely know you? I fought monsters with you, asshole! I died for you!”
Steve glares, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“You wanna know why I would care whether you keep trying to hurt yourself? Because it hurts me. Every time you make yourself bleed or have to puke up whatever pharmacy you swallowed, it feels like I died for jack shit.”
“You did die for jack shit!” Steve shouts, and if it weren’t for his voice breaking, he might not have noticed he’s crying. “I told you not to be a hero, then you got yourself eaten by a bunch of mutant bats. And for what? So we could fail to kill Vecna. So Max could end up in a fucking coma. So Dustin could spend every day wishing it was him instead.”
“I did it for him, too,” the thing growls.
“He didn’t need you to die for him, Eddie.”
“So I am Eddie now?”
Steve ignores the attempt to deflect. “He needed you to be here with him. With us.”
“Just like he needs you.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious.” The growl has mellowed just enough to sound human again. “I did what I did to buy more time. If I didn’t do it, those bats would’ve gotten back to you and the girls, and god knows what would’ve happened then.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek, unable to think of a suitable argument.
Jumping on his hesitation, the thing that’s seeming more and more like the real Eddie goes on, “Suicide isn’t the easy way out you think it is. It’s actually the shittiest thing you could possibly do to a kid who already lost one person he really cares about. I don’t know what you believe in, but I do know that if you put him through that again, I will personally make your afterlife Hell whether or not it really exists.”
“I thought I was already there,” Steve mutters. “What makes you think showing up here to threaten me is helping? Every time I see your face, it’s like pouring salt in the wound.”
“If you’re not gonna talk to someone else about what’s going on, the only solution I have is to force you to talk to me. Besides, I’d say metaphorical salt in a metaphorical wound is better than opening a new one.”
“What?”
“How long has it been since you saw me?”
He thinks. “A month, I guess.” Then he rolls his eyes. “Oh, okay. So let me get this straight: I’m suicidal, and you coming to see me in the middle of the night is curing me. That makes perfect sense.”
“A whole month without any real self-destructive behavior.” Eddie’s lips draw up in a self-satisfied smirk. “That sounds like results to me.”
“Except, you know, when I think about you it does make me want to die.”
“Admitting you have a problem is the first step.” The singsong way the Eddie-thing speaks is so close to the voice Steve remembers, he almost bursts into tears. “Problem is, you gotta keep walking after that.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Why don’t you just carry me?”
Eddie blinks rapidly. “Was that a joke?”
“I guess it was,” Steve sighs.
“You know…I would carry you if I could, Steve. But I don’t think you’d enjoy that very much.”
“Why not?”
“You like your independence. You’re self-reliant to a fault, sometimes.”
“You’re one to talk,” he counters with a soft smile. It falls slowly. “I don’t really think that’s true, anyway. I don’t like it. It’s just—”
“Necessity.”
“Exactly.” He cocks his head. “How did you—?”
“I grew up the same way, between my dad being a deadbeat and Wayne working all the time. I mean, he did what he could, but in my world, self-sufficiency meant survival.” Eddie’s head turns, seeming to take in the sterility that always manages to seep into Steve’s room from the rest of the house, no matter how hard he tries to stop it. “Something tells me you’re from the same planet. Maybe a different side of it. The rich side. I come from the anti-conformist freak side of Planet Lonely.”
The glowing coals where Eddie’s doe-eyes used to be stare into space for a second. They look like taillights on a deserted road. It should be unsettling, but Steve finds the image oddly comforting.
Eventually, Eddie goes on, “Anyway. Point is, I wish you’d learn to let people help you. That way I wouldn’t have to sneak into your house at night to be your secret undead therapist.”
“You don’t have to sneak in, you know,” Steve says quietly. “And you don’t have to wait for me to…”
“Almost die?”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “In fact it might…uh…”
He clears his throat. Eddie doesn’t say a word; he simply stares expectantly, waiting for Steve to finish.
“H-Having a reminder of how much it hurts my friends might help keep it from happening again.” With a small chuckle, he adds, “And aside from Dustin, you’re the only one bold enough to say it out loud.”
“That’s one word for it.” A genuine smile makes its way across Eddie’s face—sad, but real. “How’s he doing, by the way?” He sounds like he knows, but he wants Steve to lie to make him feel better.
Steve isn’t about to do that. “He misses you,” he sighs. Making cautious eye contact, he pointedly adds, “Could probably use a visit.”
“Nah. I can’t do that to him.”
“You wouldn’t scare him. Not even with your Terminator eyes.”
Eddie must be really bothered, because he doesn’t even smile at the joke. Instead he mutters, “I know.”
“Then why don’t you go see him?”
“I’m afraid of him being pissed at me for what I did.”
Steve starts to tear up again. He wipes impatiently at his eyes and says, “He might be. But he’ll mostly be glad to see you.”
Suddenly Eddie seems small. “Would you go with me?”
“Of course,” Steve says after a moment, offering a gentle grin. “You need somebody there to run interference. Somebody he trusts. How else are you gonna convince him you’re real?”
written for day 13 of @steddielovemonth (i'm sooo late with this one, sorry) and this month's @steddiesongfics challenge
SLM prompt: basement, song inspo: Keep Your Love Locked by Paul Petersen (1962) | wc: 4.372 | rated: E | tags: Vampire Eddie Munson, Sexual Content, Blood Drinking, Keeping Secrets, Feelings Realisation, Love Confession | complete fic on ao3
The door is locked.
Steve knows it is, because he locked it himself, but checks a third time just to be sure, before he pockets the key.
He feels bad for doing this, feels cruel for leaving him down there, alone in the basement.
But it’s necessary.
Not because he doesn't trust Eddie, but because he is scared someone else might find him if he wanders around the house while Steve’s not here with him.
A postman, a nosy neighbour, or worse, the police - anyone is a potential threat. Steve won’t be gone for too long but it’s better to be safe than sorry. If someone finds Eddie, they’ll take him away. Will take him to a lab, or a prison, or maybe worse, they’ll kill him out of fear of the creature he represents.
And Steve isn’t going to take that risk.
Any stranger wouldn’t know that Eddie isn’t dangerous, not if he doesn’t need to be. That his looks are deceiving because behind the monstrous visage, is a kind soul that wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Well. That’s not entirely true.
But when he does, it’s only means to an end. Something he has to do to stay alive. It’s not his choice, it’s a need he can’t ignore, a hunger he can’t suppress, a now natural instinct that came as an additional feature with his new form of existence.
When he hurts Steve, it’s never out of malice. He never attacks him, never just takes without asking for permission first, never forces Steve to do anything he doesn’t want. Eddie would never abuse his trust and his willingness to offer himself as a donor, would never take more than he needs. Is always so careful that it drives Steve mad sometimes.
Truth is, out of the two, Steve is probably the bigger liability. Because he’s weaker than Eddie, not as strong-willed as the half-human monster he keeps locked up in his basement for his own safety.
Maybe he should be the one locked away.
Because Steve is greedy in a way that Eddie isn’t. Has become addicted to the feeling of Eddie’s fangs piercing his skin, of lips sucking at his throat to drain him of the precious red the beast in Eddie needs to thrive.
Just thinking about it makes his heart pump faster, conditioned to send blood rushing through his veins, hot and ready for consumption. It makes him shiver, sending a prickling sensation all across his body. Makes his skin heat up, cheeks burning with the insatiable desire to be taken.
The memory of last time is still fresh on his mind. Not even an hour ago, he sat in Eddie’s lap, cradled in his arms, coming down from a high no drug could ever grant him.
It’s a sensation unlike anything Steve’s ever experienced before, a feeling he wishes he could chase more often, and hold onto much longer. Wishes, selfishly, Eddie would lose himself just once, take just a tiny sip too much, suck on him just a second too long. But he never does. Only ever takes what’s needed, never for pleasure alone.
And so all Steve can do is wait, impatient and begrudgingly obedient, for the next time hunger calls Eddie’s lips to his throat.
It is all he can think about, all the time. Has this constant itch under his skin, right there, beneath the marks Eddie left the first time he drank from him. Scars that magically heal every time he’s done using him. Just two little dots, hidden in plain sight, barely noticeable amongst the scatter of moles adorning his body.
But Steve knows they’re there, finds them blindly with the tips of his fingers when he touches the side of his neck. And when he thinks about it hard enough, he can even feel the phantom heat of Eddie’s mouth on his skin. Can feel the pressure of soft lips closing around the open wound, and how his tongue moves against the throbbing vein, almost soothing in contrast to the sharp pain of teeth breaking skin.
It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, and maybe Steve is insane for finding pleasure in it, but he never feels more at ease than when Eddie feeds on him. When his body becomes all loose and pliant, and his mind starts to drift. When he gives up control and Eddie takes it, cherishes it like a gift, handling him with so much care it feels almost loving.
Steve knows he’s only serving a purpose but Eddie always makes him feel so special, worshipped in a way he’s never felt before. Offers his gratitude in form of praise and gentle caress when he holds him through the come-down. Makes sure he drinks water and has a snack after, and doesn’t leave him out of sight until he’s sure Steve is fine.
Makes him wonder sometimes, if that’s the human part of him shining through. If that is who Eddie was before he got turned into who he is now. And it makes him feel stupidly jealous of any partner Eddie might’ve had in his past, who he’d showered with all this attention, sweet and caring, probably reading their wishes from their lips.
Steve never had that. Not with Nancy, and certainly not with any other failed attempt on a relationship after that. But now with Eddie, doing what they do, he’s gotten a taste of what it’s like.
And the problem is, that he wants more of it.
Wants it all to himself, wants no one else to come between them. That’s why he keeps it a secret, hasn’t told anyone about the monster living in his house. Not even their friends know, not yet. Steve knows that it’s wrong, knows that sooner or later, he’ll have to confess. Has to come clean about the fact that Eddie is back, changed but alive. That he’s been back for some time, three weeks to be precise. Slowly adjusting, still trying to figure out what to do and where to go from here.
There is just too much at stake, and despite the guilt he feels for lying, his possessiveness over Eddie wins.
written for @steddiesongfics in february 2026: love songs from the 50s, 60s, or 70s. in a move that will surprise no one, I chose one from ABBA - "I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do"
Rating: G | WC: 1,369 | ao3
Tags: friends to lovers, love confessions, getting together, post-s4 eddie lives au, pre-s5
Hanging out with Steve Harrington is a lot easier than Eddie expected. They get along much better than he would’ve ever thought possible, all things considered. He and Steve have a surprising amount in common: awful dads, unshakable bonds of brotherhood with Dustin Henderson, knowledge of a terrifying mirror dimension full of bloodthirsty monsters, and—the one Eddie still has the most trouble wrapping his mind around—a tendency toward calling on each other for comfort.
The two of them spend a ton of time talking these days, in one place or another. Eddie’s van, Steve’s living room, the radio station; it doesn’t matter where, as long as they’re alone. At first they would drink or smoke while they did, but eventually they stopped needing anything else to feel comfortable with each other, so that now they can just launch into whatever’s bothering them without delay.
Steve called Eddie from the station as soon as Robin was gone, asking if he could come out there to talk. Eddie had surprised himself by knowing Steve would call before the phone even started ringing, just based on the timing of his sound effects during the show that afternoon. Sure enough, Steve sounded anxious on the phone, and Eddie left the notes for his next campaign on the kitchen table and hopped into his van.
He was surprised again when he arrived, though for the opposite reason. Driving to the de facto home base at the Squawk, Eddie expected to find Steve in the throes of the restless misery that comes with being cooped up in Hawkins, or even curled up in the corner with one of his debilitating headaches. Instead, he found Steve a bit nervous, but otherwise unbothered.
Now, from his spot on the couch, Eddie watches him walk back and forth across the room and asks, “What’s wrong, Harrington?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Steve says slowly. His soft tone is in odd juxtaposition to the patter of his still-pacing feet. “I just wanted to talk. To you.”
“Yeah? What about?”
He meets Eddie’s eye for a moment, and in that short time, Eddie realizes just how strange he’s acting. Maybe it’s the way he only seems to grow more anxious the longer he holds Eddie’s gaze, or the way his eyes dart away. Regardless, it saddens Eddie as much as it alarms him.
“Steve. It doesn’t seem like nothing’s wrong.”
“I just haven’t ever done this,” Steve says, as if that explains anything. “I mean, I guess I have, but not for a long time. And it’s never been like this. It’s never felt so…important, I guess.”
Eddie blinks up at him, trying to pick through his words to parse any real information from them. Eventually, he sighs and says, “Man, I’m a little lost. Are you—?”
“Eddie, I really like you,” Steve interrupts.
A beat of silence passes. Then Eddie narrows his eyes and says, “I…like you, too? I mean, we see each other every goddamn day. We’re friends. I thought that much was obvious by now.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Steve huffs, frustrated, as he finally stops pacing. “I’m talking about, like, being into you.”
Eddie stares. “Y-You mean like, taking me out on dates and making out and shit?”
Despite still looking like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, all that shit,” he echoes. He looks at his shoes and mumbles, “I like being around you, and more and more I keep wanting to just…”
When he trails off, Eddie raises his eyebrows. “To just…?”
“I keep wanting to just lean in and kiss you, man,” Steve sighs. “Like…remember the other night, when I came over because you couldn’t sleep? There was this moment where we were just looking at each other. Or last week, when you came with me to that doctor’s appointment and you knew exactly how to distract me while they were drawing blood. There’s something here, between us. Don’t you feel it?”
Chewing on his lip, Eddie does his best to process the words. He must sit there in silence for far too long, because though Steve doesn’t resume his pacing, he crosses his arms and starts shifting his weight back and forth like he can’t stand still.
Eventually, he speaks up again, uttering a simple, “Eddie, please say something.”
Eddie opens his mouth to do so, then realizes his throat is drier than a fucking desert. He swallows, clears it, and mutters, “I, uh…I’m thinking. Gimme another second.”
To his credit, Steve doesn’t push any more. He stands there, the human embodiment of anticipation, but he doesn’t say another word to derail Eddie’s train of thought. It’s a good thing, too, because that fucker is speeding through every station like it’s got no brakes.
Of course Eddie feels it—the gravity between them. He’s felt it since the beginning. But never in a million years did he think Steve would notice, let alone acknowledge it. He sees now how ridiculous a notion that was, because Steve notices everything. It’s why Eddie is so fond of him; he notices the slight change in Eddie’s body language that signals an oncoming panic attack, the way Eddie eats around the tomato in any dish, and his habit of fiddling with his rings when he’s bored. It’s almost like Steve can read his mind.
Forgetting Steve can’t actually read his mind, Eddie says, “I underestimated you.”
Steve’s brows come together. “What?”
“Sorry.” Eddie shakes his head. “I mean, I didn’t think it was so obvious. But, um…I do. I definitely feel it. I just assumed I was the only one of us who did.”
“Why would you think that?”
He smiles sheepishly. “Low self-esteem?”
Steve mirrors his smile with a gentle one. “Fair enough. I think that might be why it took me so long to bring it up.”
“Why now? What made you take initiative?”
“The truth?” He purses his lips. “I’ve been looking for the right words since the crawl last night.”
Eddie bites the inside of his cheek as he recalls sitting in the passenger seat of the Squawk van. The signal from Hopper’s tracker was fainter than usual, resulting in Steve and Dustin—both of them already in a bad mood—sniping at each other over it. Eddie ended up yelling at them to stop fighting, because he couldn’t keep listening to two of his favorite people insulting each other just because they’d had a stressful day.
“I appreciated you calling us out,” Steve goes on, “and for reminding me how much we mean to you. How much I mean to you. And I couldn’t ignore my feelings anymore.”
“You mean the world to me, Stevie,” Eddie says, without hesitation.
In an instant, all the tension visibly drains from Steve’s shoulders. He sinks onto the couch beside Eddie, and the look in his eyes is so hopeful and precious that Eddie worries he might shatter it accidentally, even though he has no intention to. “Can I?”
“Can you…?”
“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks. His expression is sweet and open; it takes Eddie’s breath away.
Eddie realizes he’s already leaning into Steve’s space, caught in that ever-present gravity. It feels like enough of an answer, but that doesn’t stop him from whispering, “Yeah.”
The meaning of this conversation doesn’t fully dawn on Eddie until their lips meet—cautious at first, but quickly gaining confidence. It’s when Steve’s hand cradles his jaw that the hunger overtakes him, and he feels his own hands tangling in Steve’s hair without any conscious input from his brain.
Steve hums, and his lips part. It encourages Eddie to go deeper, to keep exploring. He experiments with his teeth grazing Steve’s lip, followed by the tip of his tongue, and he’s rewarded with a soft whimper.
“Mm…Eddie,” Steve mumbles into his mouth. “Eddie.”
For his part, Eddie can’t pull himself away for long enough to say anything. So he does his best to make the kiss his answer. He tries to convey everything he’s been holding back for nearly a year, tries to tell Steve how happy he is to try something new with him.
For @steddiesongfics January 2026 challenge: Season 5 Songs. Prince, "When Doves Cry". 500 words. Dystopian future. Handjob, angst.
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Eddie climbs the fence, aware of metallic reverberations across the quarry. He clears the razor wire and jumps down, landing in a crouch. It’s a clear night. Beautiful, despite the circumstances.
Far away, he hears it – a stone dropping into the water below. He traces the direction it came from. Unable to make anything out in the dark, he starts to run in the direction of the sound.
Careful, he hears Steve whisper.
“We left careful in the rearview about six months back, Harrington,” Eddie says as he nears him.
Steve is dressed for a dinner party, Eddie thinks, unless that’s just how the Sons of Hawkins are dressing these days. He's wearing tailored trousers, a cashmere sweater. The only concession to the situation is his worn Reeboks. He must have slipped out without Richard noticing. So they have to be quick, as always.
Steve holds out his arms. Something lands behind Eddie with a soft thud but he’ll have to figure that out later. Right now, he’s burrowing into Steve’s chest, those broad hands holding him perfectly in place.
“Are we fucking or fighting tonight?” Steve says into Eddie’s hair, held back with a dirty bandana.
Part of him wants to fight. No matter what Steve says, he’s part of the twelve families controlling Hawkins, controlling the freshwater and the food supply, while the rest of the town is worked to the bone or worse. Except for Eddie, and his friends, who wait, and scheme, and plan their overthrow.
Steve says he’s on their side. That he’s working on the inside. But he left Eddie behind, to sleep in a house with heat and attend dinner parties and wear nice trousers. He left Eddie out here in the dark.
“Don’t,” Eddie says, instead of the fight he wants to have. “I’m sweaty and disgusting.”
Steve pulls back and palms the sides of Eddie’s face.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and kisses him. A kiss that belongs in a safe warm bed. A kiss that blots out all the horror Eddie is living through, at least for now.
Steve makes quick work of him, but he makes it count. He puts his hands all over Eddie’s grimy back, his trembling stomach. He shoves into his underwear beneath his open jeans, spits directly onto his cock.
“We’re making love on the beach,” he mutters into Eddie’s hair. “You’re fucking me in a sunlit field of flowers.”
Eddie wants to laugh, but he can’t. Instead he’s holding back tears. Everything he feels and wants to say is boiled down to a stifled call as Steve touches him, makes him come, and erases the whole world.
Only when he’s alone again, when Steve has run back into the night, does Eddie see the backpack, and look inside. Water bottles. Dried fruit. Six maps. Of Steve’s house, and other scion houses, and underground tunnels. A handwritten note.
I’m sorry, it says. The other six are coming. And then I’ll never leave you again.
