In this scenario, Steve became friends with Chrissy after the breakup with Nancy. . .Steve had strolled into the gym where the cheerleaders were practicing in full uniform.
Steve: *hands on his hips* Alright, ladies, Chrissy has asked me to sub in as head cheerleader for this afternoon. Tell me - yes, Grace?
Grace: You know we have uniforms for male cheerleaders, right?
Steve: Couldn't find them. Anyway, I know all of your routines, but Chrissy -
The doors to the gym opened, and Chrissy came in. She froze at the sight of Steve.
Chrissy: What are you doing?
Steve: You asked me to fill in for you.
Chrissy: *laughing* I was being sarcastic, Steve! Get out of here!
Steve: *scoffs* Just for that, you're not getting this uniform back.
As Steve walked out of the gym with his bag in hand, he heard the whispers and smirked.
Grace: Damn it. He fills out the skirt better than I do.
As Steve strolled into the hallway, he passed by one of the classrooms that Hellfire was using. He stopped when he heard a loud shriek that sounded like Eddie Munson. He brushed it off and moved on. Meanwhile. . .
Jeff: You're seeing things again, Eddie. Why would Steve Harrington be wearing a cheerleader uniform?
Eddie: I swear on Gandalf's staff that I saw -
Gareth: Oh, man, are you tasting your own product again?
I’m ngl killing Chrissy off was such an L move, she had SO MUCH potential, pls. Especially if she became part of the core group, like, we could’ve gotten something so spicy like what if she was a love interest for both Robin and Steve and we had this lingering tension in their relationship bc they both like her but don’t wanna mess up their friendship??? She could’ve been a good friend to Max and could’ve helped her through her Vecna attacks since she’d experienced them before, too. Could’ve been another quality female character along with Robin and Nancy. Her and Eddie could’ve been cute together. There’s SO MUCH they could’ve done; imo what they should’ve done is ditch the Vickie idea and had Chrissy be Robin’s love interest instead, bc she actually had trauma and a backstory that naturally connected her to Vecna without it seeming forced.
It was a blast as always to work with @kallisto-k again on some Buckingham goodness (with a healthy side of Stareth and Mungroveway~) for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang 😊
It is a gift for the sweet @mixsethaddams 😊❤️💕
Part II NSFW / Part III
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Banner - Cocktails and Companions by DragonsIre - 25.04.2026
Done using Photoshop for the effects and free assets, for the lights and shadows effect, the bisexual lighting, for the title and credits, and an ink pen for the watermark
AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post
Banner as is - a booth with a table, there are differents drinks, chicken wings with napkins, an ashtray with packs of cigarettes and zippo lighters & the girls handbags, with light effects - Cocktails and Companions by DragonsIre - 25.04.2026
Done using Photoshop for the effects and free assets, for the lights and shadows effect, the bisexual lighting, and an ink pen for the watermark
AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post
Banner as is - a booth with a table, there are differents drinks, chicken wings with napkins, an ashtray with packs of cigarettes and zippo lighters & the girls handbags - Cocktails and Companions by DragonsIre - 25.04.2026
Done using Photoshop for the effects and free assets, for the lights and shadows effect and an ink pen for the watermark
AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post
Divider - Cocktails Drinks - Cocktails and Companions by DragonsIre - 25.04.2026
Done using Photoshop for the effects and free assets, and an ink pen for the watermark
AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post
Bartender!Robin flirting with Chrissy while serving her, with light effects - Cocktails and Companions by DragonsIre - 25.04.2026
Done using ink pens, alcohol markers, watercolors, colored pencils, gel pens, graphite pencils and Photoshop for the background, foreground, the drinks, the jewelry, the glitter effect on Chrissy's dress and for the bisexual lighting
AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post
Bartender!Robin flirting with Chrissy while serving her - Cocktails and Companions by DragonsIre - 25.04.2026
Done using ink pens, alcohol markers, watercolors, colored pencils, gel pens, graphite pencils and Photoshop for the background, foreground, the drinks, the jewelry and the glitter effect on Chrissy's dress
AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post
T | Steve/Chrissy, Robin/Chrissy, Steve & Robin (V shape polyarmory) | 4.5k words | ao3 | canon divergent season 4 rewrite, pre-relationship, hurt/comfort, happy ending, weird-as-shit stobin | cws: referenced eating disorder, implied depression, implied suicidal ideation, referenced drugs
Tumblr Fic Masterlist
happy holidays @stellarspecter !!! hows it feel to be THE reason i like this rarepair so much that i had to hold myself back from trying to do a whole chrissy lives s4 rewrite? I tried to be subtle but i also just HAD to reread your stuff while brainstorming this, hope you like it!!! 💕💕💕
<< betaed by @kikidoesfanfic im so sorry idk how i forgot to credit your help but god you helped so much thank you dhmxhmxngdng
also dividers by @/saradika-graphics >>
Chrissy kind of wants to cry.
Her body always seems to want to do that at the first hint of peace she can find. In a bathroom stall, at the rotting picnic table behind the school, and now in the basement at Nancy Wheeler’s house, surrounded by still, sleeping bodies. She can’t help but find their presence soothing, even if their warmth doesn’t reach the cold vinyl of her sleeping bag, even if the gentle rhythm of their breathing can’t be heard over the sound of Olivia Newton-John’s voice clogging her ears.
Would the song even work if she got sick of hearing it so much? Can any song keep her safe if she keeps associating music with life-or-death?
Chrissy’s supposed to be sleeping, or supposed to be trying, at least. But she can’t hear the huffs, can’t feel any warmth, can’t even smell over the stench of highschool boy’s body spray— so Chrissy doesn’t try to sleep, even if she has a comparatively easy song to fall asleep to. She just watches, still as if she were out like they are, watching those tiny movements in the bodies around her.
Chests rise and fall slowly, languid unlike any other moment from the day. Some people twitch or stir—just barely—as their bodies dream, hopefully of something far removed from everything that’s happening now. It’s only half the room in her line of sight, but something about watching even just a part of the life around her makes it easier to feel the rest of it there.
It’s nice. Really nice, compared to the past twenty-four hours. And for some twisted reason, that makes tears prick at Chrissy’s eyes.
Her song starts again, a rhythmic melody that had made her sway in her seat the first dozen times she listened to it today. A melody that somehow—even after literal hours of hearing it over and over and over and over and over—still takes her to a time unblemished enough to keep her from letting Vecna end it all.
The beginning instruments all cut off so Olivia can start singing, new instruments coming in to replace them, but they’re not the same. Chrissy swallows, but a tear still falls, tickling her skin down towards her ear before it stops, falling and soaking into the flattened pillow that smells like the same musty body spray as the rest of this cruddy basement.
“Chrissy,” a voice whispers from behind her, said like it isn’t the first time they’ve called, barely audible over her music. Chrissy pushes up slightly, just enough to look behind her, to find Steve sitting up and keeping watch on the couch, leaning towards Chrissy as much as he can with Robin sleeping on his lap. His eyes stay focused on her through the dark, looking maybe for rolled back eyes or waiting for her to start muttering in tongues, but Chrissy only looks back and waits.
“You okay?” he whispers through the dark, again just barely loud enough. Chrissy nods to him, and turns down her music a notch or two.
Steve keeps looking like she never responded. Maybe—hopefully—because it's too dark to see and not because he expects a different answer with enough waiting. Chrissy swallows a lump in her throat, and answers again.
“I'm okay.”
Steve hears her—he has to—but he keeps looking at her that same way. Attentive, and a little on edge.
Chrissy slides one side of her headphones off her ear so she can hear her own whispers.
“I’m fine, I promise.” She says, loud enough that he has to hear her—or believe her—yet still low enough to mask the way her throat tightens around the words.
Steve hums, a soft thing that blends with the sounds of the room, but Chrissy can make it out.
“Come up here.” He whispers, nodding over to the small sliver of couch left next to him, just big enough to fit her. Or, big enough if she were like Robin and could just half-lay on pretty people without feeling electricity seize her body from head to toe. Chrissy opens her mouth to politely decline and save both of them the awkwardness, but Steve picks that moment to look away—look down to Robin—and lift her ever so slightly, ever so gently, to scoot them over and make the space next to him more comfortable.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Chrissy whispers but finds herself getting up anyway, padding over quietly as Steve settles, Robin slumping back down onto his lap without stirring.
“It’s no big deal,” He mutters, a soft smile pulling at his lips, still looking down at Robin, “She sleeps like the dead like this.”
Chrissy hums, and Steve looks up.
“Or– like a baby, I guess is a better word for it right now.”
“It’s fine.” Chrissy insists, taking a seat next to him, settling into the corner with a respectable distance between them– a distance that the rest of her doesn’t seem to pick up on, unfortunately, but respectable at the very least.
Steve hums and watches her, trying to do it subtly out of the corner of his eye, but even just a day around the real Steve is enough for her to know what worry looks like on him.
Fortunately for her, he doesn’t push. And when Chrissy busies herself with getting comfortable in her new couch corner, Steve looks away, absently combing through Robin’s hair as he plays casual.
“Rough sleeping with music always in your ears?” Steve asks, a lightness of humor there that she wishes was the only thing tied to that question.
“Not too bad, actually.” she says, pairing it with a little smile and hoping it’ll convince them both that she’s alright. “Especially out of all the other songs from Grease. The walkman itself is probably more annoying.”
“Yeah, my ears do not envy you there.” Steve huffs, smiling a little, making Chrissy’s smile come a little easier before they both run out of things to say and the levity falls off both their faces. Chrissy’s dropping faster with no eyes on her to keep up the charade for, while Steve’s falls slowly, slips into neutral as he gets caught up in thought once again.
Chrissy gets to keep a few moments to herself before she catches Steve glancing at her again through the corner of her eye. She pretends not to notice, holds her neutrality for a few nauseating seconds before she sighs, closing her eyes and drawing her knees to her chest in a way that turns the subtle glance into full-force attention.
“Do you think…” She starts, but finds the words stopping before they can get out of her head. Does he think she’ll die? Obviously he’s not going to tell her if he does.
“Eh, sometimes.” Steve answers, shrugging lightly in a way that's playful but not flippant enough to derail the conversation.
Chrissy huffs from the tinge of amusement, then tries again.
“Have you wondered what would happen if we got tired of our songs?”
“Not yet, to be honest. But I figure we’d try to find new ones.” He says, quick enough that it feels like a simple answer to him. But even still he considers it, even if it’s just to show her he’s taking her worries seriously. “I mean, if the whole point is picking a song that reminds you about what’s good in life, I’d figure there’s got to be at least a decent handful of them that’d work.”
Chrissy hums, resting her head onto her knees as she considers. It feels like a simple enough thing, just find songs that remind you of good things, but as she combs through the library in her head, she’s not sure she has as many of those as the others do. Or at the very least, not ones that haven't been sullied by other memories or the things she’s learned since then. Birthday parties with a Chrissy that didn’t think twice about what was in those cakes, sleepovers with girls that had a lot more to say in the halls than they did in their bedrooms. She should count herself lucky that out of all the songs she had loved, she still had one of her favorites.
Though she supposes she should also count herself lucky for even being alive right now. If circumstances were different, she might’ve genuinely felt it.
“To be honest, I’m more worried about how Max doesn’t seem bothered by listening to the same thing nonstop.” Steve chimes in again, that sweet little note of humor back, and though it still makes her smile—truly smile, at both the humor and the intent behind it—it can’t fully lift her out of the headspace she keeps crawling into.
Still Chrissy hums along with him, the sweetness she puts into her voice just as erosive as the added sugars she keeps an eye out for.
“The magic of a really good artist, I guess.”
“Maybe. Though I know I’d still get tired of it no matter who’s voice I’m blasting.” Steve replies, tone light as if he didn’t notice how fake her tone was, and just that thought grants Chrissy an ounce of real levity.
“Even Freddie Mercury.” Chrissy asks with teasing scrutiny.
“I plead the fifth.” Steve smiles mischievously, and when Chrissy raises a suspicious eyebrow at him, he lets out a small but genuine laugh that Chrissy wants to mirror desperately.
Steve hushes himself quickly enough, but Robin still stirs in his lap, groaning and tucking her face down into the denim of Steve’s jeans as if they were somehow comfortable enough to put her back to sleep. But then again, Chrissy figures they don’t have to be, as Steve’s hand finds it’s way back to her hair again, carding his fingers gently and intentionally as Robin stills and soon returns to slow, sedated breathing.
Steve sighs, not tense or aggravated, just restful, like the mood of before was so calm that any change in it counted as disturbance. And then within seconds, he’s back, glancing once over to Chrissy again before looking back at Robin as he continues.
“Rob’s probably the type to be fine listening to most of her music over and over.” He hums, “Not that she needs it. The second she even thought that music might be it she shoved all the tapes she could find into her bag—including our manager’s, actually—”
“Your manager’s?”
“Yeah, Keith’s in for a bit of a surprise soon.” Steve laughs again, “Point is, though,” Steve looks back at her with a new, almost concerning level of sincerity once again veiled as small-talk. “Robin has a pretty good stash of other music in her bag and I’ve got a handful in the glovebox, too, so if you want to pick a couple backups to keep on you…” He shrugs instead of finishing with any extra nod to the favor he’s offering, and Chrissy’s conscience appreciates the discretion.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” she mutters, figuring at the very least that it wouldn’t hurt to look, maybe pick a couple that’d sound nice, even if she doubts anything from after 79’ would spark any good memories, the thought itself is sweet enough to make her sincerely grateful. “Thank you.”
“‘Course. It’s all up to you, just know it's an option.”
Chrissy hums and nods, not really wanting to continue the conversation but also lacking anything else to start talking about next.
Really, she only gets a few seconds to think about it before Steve’s glancing her way again, eyes lingering to study her and somehow sneaking inside towards the softest parts of her, all right under her nose.
“You’re doing good, y’know?” Steve says, quiet as anything else they’ve said tonight, but Chrissy finds it deafening. “This shit sucks… so much. But your still here, still sticking together, still keeping up with the kids—which, believe me, is a feat in of itself.” He huffs to himself, before glancing back to Chrissy with raw compassion. “I know all of it’s… smothering, almost. Too big and too stressful, but you’re doing great, alright? And we’re gonna make it work out.”
He’s lying, obviously, Chrissy hasn’t done jack-shit and Steve just wants to make her feel better– so Chrissy nods—on reflex, almost—because she knows to take a compliment—to take comfort—when it's being given to her. She knows so she nods and tries to just take Steve’s words with a polite smile and a polite nod but–
Her eyes water and tears fall too fast, too many goddamned tears coming and spillingout and she tries—God, she tries— to keep them back and to smile and show him it worked, shes good now, thank you—but she’s failing, failing miserably, so she falls back on breathing– breathing normally and praying he can’t see her crying through the dark–
“Chrissy, I mean it.” Steve says, with the softness of sincerity that—regardless of whether she believes him or not—breaks through the last of her defenses, letting a small, pitiful sound choke its way out of her throat.
“Chris–”
Chrissy stands—giving up on looking okay in favor of being quiet—and wipes her face, looking around for the bathroom door that Nancy said would be down here.
“Chrissy, hey–” Steve whispers, a hand finding her arm gently—not grabbing, just touching—and while it tempts her so heavily, instinct leads her away.
“It’s fine– don’t wake Robin–” Chrissy chokes on her own words and aborts, going towards the bathroom, ignoring Steve trying to whisper-call after her, ignoring how he whispers to himself before the couch squeaks, ignoring his footsteps coming up until they’re right behind her– and Chrissy stops and flings around and–
Turning catches Steve off guard—enough to stop him a foot or so away—and makes him retract an outstretched arm.
“Chrissy, it’s okay.” Steve insists, struggling for words to say next and doing nothing to keep it from taking over his face. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”
“Stop.” Chrissy says– tries to say, even though it comes out wet and weak and crackly– “You’re fine, I promise–”
It doesn’t sound final but it’s all Chrissy can get out—is all that she really needs to. Tears keep coming like she’s a broken faucet and Steve’s still standing there—already knows she’s crying and isn’t going to ignore it—so she just covers her face with her hands, cold fingers cooling unruly flames of embarrassment, and tries catching her breath.
“Wha’s…?”
Chrissy doesn’t try to recognise the voice, just jolts up at the new sound and finds Robin up and walking towards them, going slow and rubbing her face like a rough morning.
“Rob, now’s not–”
“Are you crying?” Robin says as she drops her hand and gets a barely decent look at Chrissy, voice sounding suddenly wide awake, face skipping confusion and going straight to concern as she turns to check Steve next, “Are you– no, no you're– ok, good, so–” She turns back to Chrissy within another blink. “Are you okay? Or– no, stupid question.”
“No,” Chrissy says, but then Robin’s eyes flash with guilt, “No, no, I– not stupid question, I’m okay, I promise, I–”
“That’s debatable.” Steve interrupts, as kindly as he probably can.
“I am.” Chrissy says before heaving a massive breath and pushing her hands across her face again, all to get herself in any way capable of explaining, “It’s not your fault– or yours, or anyones! I’m not mad or sad or upset or anything– I’m just crying!” Chrissy pauses for another breath, then finishes—with more control than before— “Just crying. And crying in front of people is embarrassing, so…”
Steve and Robin both stay silent, gears turning trying to figure out what to say or do next, and while Chrissy does feel a little bad, a small part of her says they were asking for it.
“I cry a lot.” Robin says, in what seems like a reflex at first, but she keeps going even after she seems to realize what she’s saying, “I cry all the time, like, constantly– or not actually really that frequently but when I do it’s like an absolute behemoth amount of crying, and I love crying– or well, maybe not– no actually I do, if I need to cry then I love to cry, just get it all out, y’know? And this whole thing—the end-of-the-world monster crisis thing—is like a really good reason to need to cry, the most understandable reason to cry—even Steve's cried about it!”
“Yes!” Steve confirms immediately, like he either somehow forgot or the detail didn't occur to him.
“And last time– okay I didn't really cry during it much last time because it felt like there was so much going on like all the time but the second we got Steve a hospital room and I could sit down next to him, I started bawling, like really ugly snotty sobbing, and I cried for, like, three hours straight and one of the nurses kept bringing me water so I wouldn't dehydrate and die because I actually could not stop crying and I didn’t even feel that sad, y’know? I had been way more upset in the middle of the whole thing but I didn’t cry once—”
“Just peed your pants a little.” Steve mutters, catching Chrissy off-guard and making Robin fling immediately over to wack his arm.
“You–” Robin says, pointing at him and scrambling for words, “And you shit your pants twenty minutes in!”
“I what?” Steve whisper-laughs, bordering on a dangerous volume again.
“Yeah, you shit yourself and you smelled so bad–” Robin starts breaking into giggles and struggling to keep her volume down, so Steve somehow decides that covering her mouth with his hand would help. It does, kinda, in that it muffles her laughs until she gets them under control and starts swatting him away.
They collect themselves together, clearly trying to keep attuned to Chrissy without directing the full force of attention on her, but as they both try to manage each other’s clumsiness Chrissy feels the pressure of conversation ease and is just left with Robin’s words and the care that both of them were trying to show. Chrissy wipes her face even though new tears still fall, and steels herself with another breath that finally comes easier than the last.
“Robin.” Chrissy says.
Robin stops, and before Chrissy can chicken out she dives forward and takes Robin into a hug.
Robin’s clearly caught off guard but recovers quickly and wraps her arms around Chrissy tight, leaning in with a cheek pressed into her hair, holding her immediately. Chrissy sobs a little for no good reason but Robin doesn’t let go, doesn’t ask again, just keeps holding on.
Instead of waiting ages for her tears to stop, Chrissy just lets go when her crying quiets down and she no longer feels the need to hide from the people holding her. Chrissy loosens her grip and Robin lets go right after, leaning back to check on her, breaking into a sweet, lopsided grin.
Another hand falls carefully onto her back, and when Chrissy turns around and finds Steve still there quietly trying to check in too, Chrissy lunges forward a second time. Steve holds her tight like Robin did– possibly even tighter as his shoulders curl around her frame, like she’s being tucked inside his chest, safe away from harm.
Chrissy kind of hates pulling away, but by the way both Steve and Robin stay close after letting go, Chrissy gets the feeling that it won’t be hard to get more of that affection from them.
“You ready to go back to the couch?” Robin asks.
Chrissy nods.
“Awesome,” Robin says, taking her hand and leading the way back eagerly, “Cause, like, I don’t know about you but I would love to be sleeping right now– and I don’t regret waking up, obviously, totally a good reason to wake up, I just also love getting a full night’s sleep–”
“Aw, poor Robin, not being asleep right now.” Steve teases, getting quieter as they get to the couch but still being loud enough to annoy Robin.
“Aw, poor Stevie, was already awake when things started happening and only had to wake up once in the middle of the night.” Robin whines back, taking a spot in the corner of the couch and pulling Chrissy down to sit with her.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re so funny, Robbie.” Steve smiles, not making a move to sit down with them. “Where’d you put your bag?”
“Why?”
“Wanna look at the tapes you have.”
“Steve, you don’t have to.” Chrissy
“‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, I just want to listen to– uh… Bowie. Obviously.”
Chrissy huffs, torn between the guilt of a favor and a rush of amusement, but couldn’t help but play along.
“And not your manager’s stellar music taste?”
“Steve!” Robin hissed, “You told her?”
“Yeah, what’s she gonna do? Keith’s gonna know.”
“We don’t know for sure!”
“Yeah we do, his walkman’s basically glued to him.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Not with you cause he likes you, but on a Tuesday close with me and I’d be lucky if he heard me dying.”
“Oh, I think he hears you just fine.” Robin laughs.
Steve sighs with a quick eye-roll before gesturing back to the room.
“Bag. Where?”
“Behind the trunk under the staircase.”
Steve looks at her incredulously but goes to find it, repeating her interesting choice of hiding place under his breath as he goes.
“Did something happen to your other tape?” Robin asks, turning and hitting her with the full force of her concern—and while Chrissy appreciates it, a lot, she needs to look away to relieve some of the pressure and calm some of the heat that hits her cheeks.
“No, no, it’s working fine, I just, uh… was worried I was going to get sick of listening to it all the time.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Robin nods and the intensity of her worry lessens considerably, replaced instead by an almost frantic kind of ramble, “Good as in, like, y’know, that it’s not broken and you’re just being extra cautious, I mean–”
“Yeah, it’s good.” Chrissy smiles, cherishing the way Robin smiles with relief as she realizes she’s being understood.
Robin’s eyes flick slightly to something behind Chrissy so she turns around, catching Steve as he gives a note to a recently awoken Nancy Wheeler and starts finding his way back to the couch around the minefield of sleeping teenagers on the floor. He stops right in front of the couch—in front of Chrissy—and kneels down to open the bag between them for her to see.
“Let Nance know about the new plan.” He mutters, probably softer than he has to, “If by some chance something does happen, she’ll know to try your old tape first.”
Chrissy looks up at his eyes for a moment before turning them down into the bag, impressively full of cassettes, some loose, some in their cases, but almost all of them well-loved. Chrissy reaches in and starts looking through the ones on top, some obviously Steve’s, some obviously Robin’s, some probably Keith’s, and a good many that have to be for both of them. She searches through them blankly for a few minutes before Steve and Robin try helping with suggestions.
“I think some of The Go-Go’s are in there.”
“Steve had ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’.”
“There’s definitely some Cyndi Lauper.”
“What was your old song again?” Robin asks.
“‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’. From Grease.”
Robin hums and stares into the bag. After a second, she starts picking handfuls of them out, picking each one intentionally but still grabbing more than enough for Chrissy to choose from until one catches her eye.
“Wait, wait, wait–”
Robin freezes, looking back to Chrissy with her arms still shoved in her bag, unmoving. Chrissy reaches over and picks up a tape that had already made it to Robin’s lap: a standard-looking cassette without its case and a couple of attempts at hearts drawn on it. It wasn’t the only cassette to have cute drawings—far from it—but it was the first one she saw with wonky hearts scribbled out then copied right next to it, like someone tried, failed, and then was told to bring their failure back instead of hiding it away.
She checks the other side. “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper.
“Steve gave that to me ages ago.” Robin hums, and Chrissy smiles, looking over at the other cassettes with little drawings on them.
“Was it the first one?”
“Second, technically, didn’t draw on Total Eclipse of the Heart until later.”
Chrissy nods, then looks up to Robin again.
“Would you mind…?”
“Oh, yeah, totally. I mean go for it. Worst case scenario: I’m still in touch with my dealer.” Robin jokes, making Steve snort as he stands and drops the bag over by the end of the couch.
Robin gets comfortable as Chrissy goes ahead and switches the tapes in her walkman, going to set her old one on a table nearby. When she turns back around, Robin is laying down on the couch, making grabby hands up towards Steve until he finishes his headcount and turns back around.
“What?” He laughs.
“Get over here, it’s my turn to be big.”
“Hm, if I have to.” Steve laughs and goes to settle with her before pausing and looking back over to Chrissy.
“You want on the couch, too?”
Chrissy goes over towards them and Steve smiles, taking that as her answer.
“We can leave you a spot if you want, or…”
Chrissy flushes but pointedly doesn’t take the offer for the separate spot on the couch, and luckily, Steve and Robin both figure out the answer without her having to say it.
Robin lays on her back half-propped up while Steve basically lays on top of her, spooning but with the little spoon on the verge of crushing the big spoon, but they seem more than content with it, Robin hugging Steve almost like a teddy bear. Steve gives Chrissy the go-ahead, so with her walkman in hand, she carefully takes the spot between him and the back of the couch. She brings the headphones up to her ears just as an arm comes around her back, the new melody fitting the new warmth she’s feeling deep down perfectly.
Chrissy lets one of her hands find Robin’s above her across the polo shirt pillow connecting them. Both the bodies laying with her relax, shifting slightly to get comfortable in their strange arrangement on the cramped couch, but the one thing that stays perfectly consistent is the slow rise and fall beneath her, the feather-light puffs tickling her hair, and the warmth of life enveloping her.
Chrissy knows it’s not perfect. The next few days will be far, far from kind to them. She knows that even when she wakes from this nightmare, she’ll just be stuck right back where she was before, working her ass off at cheer practice during the day and then begging their drug dealer for ketamine at night. The thought will probably never leave her mind.
But right now, Chrissy enjoys the new music playing in her ears, the familiar song with a man and a woman’s voices that feel uniquely alive right now, warm and safe and real.
If you’re lost,
You can look
And you will find me,
Time after time.
If you fall,
I will catch you.
I’ll be waiting,
Time after time.
Chrissy falls asleep.
No dreams, no Vecna, just sleep.
Thank you for reading!!
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A gift for @stellarspecter who also wrote these awesome Stobissy fics (Skirt) (accidental confession) (ao3)!!
38. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”
>>again I may have gone a teensy bit overboard here lol oops! Hope you like it!
The gymnasium spun like a wobbly top, fluorescent lights making wide, wiggly streaks of yellow inside her shrinking tunnelvision. Chrissy realized too late that she had nothing to grab onto, the bleachers were across the court and the entirety of the cheer squad were too far away for her to ask for help. Her legs morphed into Jell-O, her jog halting like she ran right into a brick wall.
Everything moved too quickly for her to react. Before Chrissy knew it, the court floor closed in without warning; she hurtled toward the hard ground.
Her vision dimmed, panic traveling like burning ice in her veins. All went black before the thud.
For a moment there was nothing, but a sweltering darkness.
And then, distorted voices pierced her unwilling sleep. She came to, her eyelids struggling like the bleachers being squeaked along the floor. Gradually, the warped noise reconfigured into recognizable words.
“Hagan, get an ice pack and-and a water from the cooler. Go!”
Voices overlapped and drowned into background noise until her focus sharpened and she keyed back into the present.
“—don't argue, just get it.”
Someone was cradling her head, fingers woven into the waves of hair against her scalp. The scrunchy must have come loose, because Chrissy felt the Cascade of hair cover her ears. Her neck was slick with sweat, beads of moisture dripping like a leaky faucet onto the court.
She tried to speak, but her mouth felt like sand—dry and unforgiving. Her eyelids fluttered open with renewed commitment to find out exactly how badly she'd embarrassed herself this time.
“Hey, you waking up? Are you alright?”
The blurry face in front of her took shape. Damp, floppy hair, those soft brown eyes, the concern that tightened his captivating, smooth lips.
God, it was Steve Harrington. She passed out on Steve Harrington. The worst possible person she could have done something embarrassing in front of. Besides being captain of their basketball team, he was also a really dreamy senior.
At practice, the cheer team always started with sprints around the court where the boys did their drills. She must have collapsed and crashed into him while he was dribbling down the line. Her stomach clenched.
“M'fine,” she mumbled, trying to sit up and regain some of her dignity. Her body flopped back like a fish caught out of Lover's Lake. Ugh.
“Whoa, whoa. Just hold on a second. Take it easy, Cunningham.”
Steve gently lowered her back down, letting her shoulders shift to get more comfortable. There wasn't the hard waxy thump she expected to meet on the court floor. Chrissy realized with a jolt that her head rested squarely on his lap, his gaze studying her profusely sweaty, probably blotchy face.
“How did I get here?” she muttered rhetorically, but more importantly, aloud.
Steve smirked. That really cute dimpled smirk that highlighted his two beauty marks on his cheek. If she wasn't already overheating, she'd be blushing. Thank God for small miracles.
“You fainted…” He brushed back his normally feathered hair now slick with sweat. “Straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”
He looked away like he was the lead in a John Hughes movie, all debonair, but when he turned toward her again, worry returned.
“It wasn’t on purpose,” she said, scoffing. If she couldn't sit up right away, the last she could do was not look desperate for his attention. “Trust me. I would not risk falling head first into the floor in case you missed me.”
“It'd never happen.”
“Huh?”
“I'd never let Hawkins' best flyer hit the floor,” he said, gradually lifting her upper body forward to see if she could manage the different position.
There he was, always drooling charm. His brows scrunched together, his mouth curled downward.
“Seriously though, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I am. Well … I wasn't, but I think I'm getting better now,” Chrissy said. “I forgot my lunch today and thought I'd be okay to wait to eat until after practice. Guess I thought wrong.”
She laughed dryly, half-heartedly rolling her eyes. His hands pressed into her, supporting her back muscles, and Chrissy attempted to sit up with his help. At first, her head swam with the pressure difference, but with a few deep breaths, her dizziness drifted away.
“The guys keep a ton of snacks in the locker room. It's well stocked. We can grab you something to eat.”
Before Chrissy could thank him and politely decline, the footsteps and concerned calls of her teammates interrupted her train of thought. For a moment, she'd forgotten they weren't all alone. Alongside a few cheerleaders, Tommy H. dragged his feet carrying a towel-wrapped ice pack in one hand and a paper cup of water in the other.
“Finally. I thought Tommy was gonna be a total prick about helping.” Steve shook his head. He gestured to the small crowd approaching. “But looks like your stunt for my undivided attention is over. Our moment of privacy is over.”
His sweet smile made fainting almost worth it. Chrissy bit her lip.
“That's what you think,” she said, her stomach in knots. “but you forgot about your offer to check up on me later. I can give you my number after practice.”
“Well, I'll be damned, Cunningham. You are sneaky. I like it.” He helped her up off the ground, keep her arm wrapped around his waist. “This trick only works for you though. Make sure your girlfriends know that I won't rescue just any cheerleader.”
“I wouldn't let them anyhow.” She leaned against him for support…. Maybe, milking her dizziness for a little longer in order to tuck under his arm, close enough to make Kate, her cheer captain, give her the stink eye.
Chrissy didn't care. Steve Harrington was going to call her tonight. Butterflies, moths, the whole damn flying insect ecosystem fluttered around her belly at the thought. All because she fainted into his arms.
Chrissy Cunningham/Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
wc: 5k | M | @stevieweek day 5: mall/after party | transfem!Steve Harrington; Nonbinary!Eddie Munson; Getting Together; Fluffier than the first line makes it seem like it's gonna be
AO3
After her mom dies she goes to the mall.
She's back in Hawkins for the first time since she left, which is she supposes the nature of things. The next time she's back in Indianapolis it will be the first time since she left there too. This is a more significant first, but the sentiment is grounding.
She dresses in drag, clothes she hasn't worn since she stopped pretending to be what her father wanted her to be. Jeans that don't fit in the hips and enough clothes layered up to hide her chest. All to meet with a lawyer who either isn't paid enough to care or paid enough to pretend that he doesn't. He launches straight into the facts without sparring her more than a glance. It's all paperwork really; but still, she thinks she takes being told that the nature of her mother's death means the giant house she never liked is now hers pretty well.
And now she's at the mall.
She isn’t even sure why they built a mall in this three stoplight town but she appreciates it all the same. A mall means she has some place to go when her breathing speeds up. Somewhere she can park the pickup she and Robin share before she runs it into some ditch.
She’s stripped down to the bottom layer of her boy disguise. A polo that stretches across her chest even with the restrictive bra she has underneath it. Everything about it feels revealing in a bad way, the stripes distorted at the top, the hem curling at her waist where she has stomach and hips that the body that used to wear these didn’t have.
Stevie stumbles into a J.C. Penny’s of all places. The scent of mixed perfume samples and radio pop over the speakers slowing her heart until she can’t feel its frantic beat in her fingers. She doesn’t even know why she’s upset, doesn’t know what emotion was roiling between her ears until she cut her wheel into the first parking lot she could find.
Barefaced, she’s sure she looks like a mess. She gets splotchy now when she’s upset, a trait, ironically, her mother shared with her.
She wanders through the aisles, runs her fingers along the racks of last seasons looks that have trickled down from the stores her mother used to shop in. Until she realizes she’s made it through to the makeup counter. Women in nondescript black outfits and white name tags look over and past her, aerosol sprays visible in the fluorescent lights as they float through the air misting their passing targets and then some. The smell of powders manages to linger at the back of it all, just enough to remind her of the times she spent on the floor of her mother’s bathroom watching her get ready in the vanity while she played with her matchbox cars.
Her eyes flit up and land on a salesgirl just long enough to call it eye contact. Strawberry blonde hair pulled into a high pony, she’s young enough that they would have gone to high school together, Stevie thinks, if she had stayed around long enough to make it to that point. The girl’s eyes don’t skitter away when she realizes that she’s locked eyes with the freak. They brighten and a cheerful voice carries over the din of sales and shopping. “Would you like to sample anything, Miss?”
A coworker glares. Stevie sees it, a blind man would see it, but the girl keeps smiling. Unaware or uncaring that she broke the rules by calling attention to herself and giving the outlier a reason to linger.
And Stevie wants to linger. Wants to feel right, like herself again. Not this old Halloween costume she pulled out of a box and put on. She approaches the blonde, lets her fingers touch the glass counter. Smudges them just to prove that she can, and she’s here.
“Do you have anything you’d recommend for an event?” She hears herself asking.
Up close she can see the blonde is also wearing a pristine white name tag, Chrissy. She was probably a cheerleader. There’s something cheerleader-y about the way she nods. The swing of her ponytail, the way her smile is blended across her entire face.
“That would depend on the event.”
“My mother just died,” the reveal rolls off the tongue easier than she thought it would. Though she’ll have to admit to Robin later she’s guilty of the crime of dropping her problems on a retail worker. “So a party.”
“I had one of those mothers too.” Chrissy reveals with a wink.
She reaches beneath the counter and selects a sleek silver tube. Taking off the lid she rolls it up until the tip of a bright pink lipstick is exposed. “Want to try it on?”
Stevie knows she shouldn’t. But she shouldn’t have come back to Hawkins. So what’s one more thing she shouldn’t do.
She nods, not trusting her voice to come out right. She can’t have it ruin this.
Chrissy smiles even brighter. A practiced hand grabs a brush from beside her. The color builds up on it, pinker somehow now that it’s removed from its home. Small hands reach across the counter, bold movements. There’s no hesitation as she grabs Stevie’s chin between cold fingers, holding it still in a firm grip.
The waxy feeling of lipstick is unmistakable as it’s swiped across her lips.
Chrissy’s smile grows until Stevie thinks she could count her teeth. “Beautiful.”
A mirror is turned. Her hair is a mess, she still hates this shirt, but that flash of pink thrills her in a way she hasn’t been since she could smell strawberry lipgloss over the baking waffle cones.
“Thank you.”
“Feel free to say no if you already have plans,” Chrissy says, “but that’s the kind of lip that deserves to be worn out.”
“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” Stevie risks. Her voice the right kind of high as it escapes her in a whisper.
“You wouldn’t know this, but I really don’t…”
“Stevie.”
“Stevie. I know this band, they’re going to be performing tonight. The music might not be your thing, but I promise they know how to throw an afterparty.”
“Oh, I don’t-”
It’s not really concern that’s stopping her, but she really hadn’t planned on staying. She hadn’t planned any of this, not with Robin, not with herself. Just jumped in the car and drove back to a town she never thought she’d go back to just to end up in the mall with the first pretty girl she’s let herself look at in years.
And that pretty girl is waving her off. “Don’t think about it too hard, you’ll let your mother convince you it’s a bad idea. Trust me.”
And she does. She believes with all her heart that Chrissy probably did have a mother just like hers. Small town perfect, at the salon once a week for her nails and once a month for her highlights. Who taught her daughter how to be the right kind of good, though Stevie had to learn through observation and self-study. She still let herself be molded into the kind of girl her mother might have been proud of, if she’d let her know that girl even existed.
Like she can tell that Stevie has started to think about agreeing. Chrissy snags a bit of paper from farther down the counter, steals a pen from beside the register. “This is my number, this is the address. It’s just past the Shell on the way out of town, you really can’t miss it. I’m off at seven, feel free to call.”
She jots it all down, signs her name like she’s practiced giving autographs before this, then finishes it with an X. “And take this.” Her fingers are still cold as they press a silver tube into Stevie’s hand. Chrissy must think better of it, her hand darting down beneath the counter to grab a bag that she tucks it into instead. “You might want to reapply before the night starts.”
For the first time since she’s been born, Stevie thinks she might be grateful for her mother.
She’s grateful at least that the woman never got rid of a single item of clothing away in her entire life. The house Stevie is now the rightful owner of has a closet full of clothes to choose from.
The cord of the phone stretches from the bedroom into the closet. “I don’t know Rob, maybe I should just come home.”
“You went to your podunk, shitass town and had a hot girl call you beautiful and invite you out and you’re thinking about coming back? If I had your luck with women I’d… I don’t even know what I’d do it’s so good.”
She slides blouses down the hanging bar of the closet, trying to see if she can even remember her mother wearing them. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You don’t make any sense! Are we going to play this game where you blame yourself for surviving for the rest of your life? You ran away, you were one of the queers that got lucky, it’s kind of fucked up actually that you’re using that luck to mold yourself into a model Republican.”
Stevie stops, shoulder pad in hand. “I am not!”
“Then call that hot girl, ask her what car you should look out for when you meet her at this shady bar, wear something where you might flash her your panties, and enjoy the fact that your shitty parents gave you a not-so shitty inheritance.”
“I hate when you say panties.”
“I hate that you can get laid no matter where you go, so consider us even. Enjoy having a place with a bed that you don’t have to pay for tonight. We can turn the place into a youth hostel or something when you come back.”
“Promise?”
“Oh my god, yes, I promise. After I see it, I need to actually see the mausoleum that warped your pre-pubescent brain. Now stop pretending like you don’t like flirting and having fun, and bring me back some stories to sustain me through my dissertation research.”
The cord pulls taught as she reaches the back of the closet, her fingers can only just reach a rack of dresses. Something short and yellow has caught her eye. “You aren’t going to help me pick out what to wear?”
“No.” Robin snorts, the line distorting it enough that it’s her knowledge of her friend that cues her in to what the sound is really supposed to be. “Go call the hot girl and suffer through the indignity of being a woman with nothing to wear.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you too, call me when you’re on your way back home.”
Robin hangs up then, which is just as well, going back to the bedroom to slam the phone back into the cradle would have been a bit much.
After it’s too late to change anything, she wonders if she should have ignored Robin and gone home.
She can see the silver Ford Chrissy told her she’d be driving, already in the parking lot of the Hideout. A dingy bar that makes her regret the choice of dress even more than she had. Her mother’s voice is in her ear, a short skirt and a bright lip makes even a young woman look desperate and tacky. It’s not very attractive.
And who the hell tells their twelve year old that?
She throws the door of the truck open hard enough it creaks with the force of a brand new indignation. She was a good son, and they wouldn’t get to know how much better a daughter she would have been.
Tonight she’s going to have a good time.
She smooths down the fabric of the yellow dress that had caught her eye while she was talking to Robin. It’s Star Trek short, accidentally show off her panties short, probably from the 60s since that would have been the last time her mother would have thought it appropriate for a woman her age to wear that kind of hemline. But she’ll take being out of date as an even exchange.
More than even with the way Chrissy gasps. “Stevie, you’re gorgeous. I was so right about that shade, you look bright and poreless and perfect.” She squeals, and Stevie knows she was right about the cheerleader thing.
Her hands are warm now, when the clutch onto Stevie’s arm, “Let me introduce you to everyone before the show starts.”
There’s not anything to do but get dragged along, Chrissy an obvious force of nature when she’s started. Stevie's shoes, also borrowed, stick to the floor of the dimly lit bar. A photo perfect example of a dive if there ever was one. Tall, circular tables dot the floor away from the bar, stools scattered almost incidentally at them though the only one that’s occupied doesn’t have any. Four figures in a mix of denim and leather are locked in the kind of impassioned discussion that risks the mugs of beer by their elbows. The tallest and the shortest of the four waving their arms around in time with their mouths.
Clearly it's where they're headed, where else could they be going, but the argument happening doesn't slow Chrissy at all. She skips forward like the prospect of a bar fight excites her. Stevie is doing her best to stammer out her hesitations, but her um’s and Chrissy’s aren’t audible over the music being pumped in through the speakers.
“Eddie!” Chrissy drops her hold on Stevie to leap toward the tallest of the four around the table. Stevie can just make out wide eyes and a pretty, angular face before Chrissy is launching herself up at the person, arms wrapped tight around their shoulders. Stevie stands to the side of the group, crossing one arm across her stomach and grabbing the elbow of the other. She shifts her weight to one side trying to make herself feel less like she’s towering over the others at the table.
The Eddie that’s holding Chrissy can’t or won’t support the hold longer than a few seconds, dropping the girl back to the ground with a bounce. Chrissy’s pale face is flushed pink, she looks delighted.
“Eddie, this is Stevie, the girl I was telling you about,” Chrissy says waving a hand in her direction. “Stevie, this is Eddie their band is the one we’re here to see.”
“And the rest of us are just here to fill the stage.” The short one beside Stevie gripes.
“Chill out Gareth,” Eddie says, a smirk tugs at a full mouth. They stick out a hand for Stevie to shake, the other curling instinctively around Chrissy. “It’s good to meet you Stevie, you’re just as gorgeous as she said.”
Their eyes are the kind of brown that feel heavy, iris and pupil blending into something that touches as it looks her over.
She feels like she’s agreeing to something when she reaches back, a spark between when their fingers touch. “Hi.”
Chrissy bounces on the tips of her toes, blonde hair dancing back and forth against Eddie’s shoulder. “And this is Gareth, Jeff, and Freak.”
She gestures to them each fast enough that Stevie isn’t sure which of the three is which, but she waves anyway.
“You go on soon, right?” Chrissy asks Eddie.
Chrissy and Eddie did have something very… magnetic about them. Opposites attracting, like they couldn’t help but be drawn toward one another.
Maybe that should feel like a bucket of cold water. A wake up call that once again Stevie Buckley has read too much into a friendly interaction and a date is really just a night out with friends. But as much as they have eyes for one another they've also had eyes on her.
“Stevie and I are going to find a good spot to watch the show. Make sure it’s a good one.”
Eddie bows as they drop their hold around Chrissy’s waist. “Always, m’lady.”
Chrissy’s hands find her again, it’s hard to know how she could guess that Stevie loves being touched. “The nerd talk grows on you, I promise.”
“I attract them too,” she says.
Chrissy’s eyes sparkle when she looks over at Stevie, “You really are perfect.”
They’re going to kiss before the night is up, and she isn’t sure yet if that’s going to ruin everything. She’s feeling just wild enough that she’s not sure she cares.
“Come on,” Chrissy’s hands haven’t moved beyond the friendly yet, but she isn’t shy as she tugs Stevie along by the arm. “There’s a spot on the left of the stage where you can see but it doesn’t feel like your fillings are going to rattle out of your head.”
“Not to insult your, um, your Eddie-”
“Boyfriend is fine.”
“Right, so are they actually any good?”
It turns out going on soon meant seconds after Chrissy and Stevie left their sides. A power chord rattles through the room, followed immediately by Eddie's rich voice. “Hawkins, re you ready to fucking go?”
Chrissy's front-row-at-Bon-Jovi scream is contagious and Stevie finds herself letting out a little whoop too.
After one song, then two, she decides they’re passionate and that makes up for a lot. She can’t remember the last time she was in a shitty bar just having fun, bouncing next to Chrissy in the empty floor space next to the half-assed stage, and that makes them the best band she’s ever heard.
Eddie shines on stage. Literally, the lights above the stage glimmers across the sweat on their skin. Figuratively, as they tap into something amplified and electric. Their hair arcing back and forth as they headbang during an electric solo.
It would be hard to keep her eyes off of them if it weren’t for Chrissy inviting just as much attention.
She doesn’t just bounce, she sways. A movement that draws the eyes to her hips as much as her chest. Stevie watches with a desire to imitate as great as the one to touch.
“We’re going to slow it down for this next one,” Eddie promises. The melody coming from their guitar is sultry and warm.
It’s the kind of song that’s crooned and Eddie’s voice matches their guitar. The words wrap around Stevie and the bar, tie her up in a knot she couldn’t hope to untangle.
“Dance with me?” Chrissy asks. Her hot hands already on Stevie’s hips.
She really didn’t need to ask.
Her own hands settle down on Chrissy’s hips, her lower back, and she lets Chrissy guide them into something flirty and fluid. Stevie has just figured out how her hips are supposed to move, stiff and hesitant and nothing like Chrissy’s, when the blonde in front of her flips.
Gone is the inch of decent space between them, the line of her back is pressed as close to Stevie as she can get. Her hips still sway, each move rubbing against Stevie's front in a dangerous guiding tempo. Her arms twirl up in the air, waving back and forth until they reach high enough that they wrap around the back of Stevie's neck, anchoring them together.
“You know what would really help you feel better about your mom?” Chrissy asks.
“What?” It’s a question as much an exclamation of surprise. She didn’t think Chrissy would remember her offhand comment from this afternoon.
“A kiss. I always feel better after that.”
She decides to play dumb, better to be safe than sorry. “The only other people here are on stage or 65,” she jerks her head back to the row of men sitting at the bar even though Chrissy can’t see it.
“Guess you’ll have to kiss me.”
“That won’t make Eddie upset?”
Chrissy tilts her head back enough that she must feel the thump of Stevie’s heart. There’s mischief in her bright eyes. “We can make it up to them later, but I don’t think they’ll mind.”
Stevie doesn’t think they will either, her eyes flick to the stage and Eddie’s are locked on them. The song doesn't stop, Eddie curls around the mic as much as the guitar in their hands will let them. Their eyes are big as billboards and the only thing stevie can see printed on them is ‘go ahead’ and ‘my turn next.’
She lets her hands drift down to Chrissy's waist. Settles them there and doesn't worry for once how big they are. It's nice that she can wrap her hands around Chrissy. That she can curl her body around Chrissy, she can be the one with the hot hands promising something.
Still, she hopes she can hide them from view, as she curls her spine into a comfortable C. She cranes her neck down to just enough to meet the tilt of Chrissy's.
The awkwardness of a first kiss disappears quickly beneath the heat of something long anticipated. It can't last long, even if everyone else has their backs to them; but Stevie revels in the plush give of Chrissy's lips, the waxy slide of their lipsticks. What shade will they end up sharing now?
Eddie is watching it all. Stevie knows. She's kept her eyes open and on the stage. As she lets her lips slide against Chrissy's, she gets to see Eddie lick theirs.
It sends a hot thrill through her.
The song begins to wind its way closed, Eddie repeating the same smokey refrain again, and the two of them draw apart.
Chrissy settles her hands on Stevie’s, still wrapped around her waist. “Oh,” she taps at the watch on Stevie’s wrist, the delicate one that Robin’s Dad had given her for her twenty-first, “it’s after midnight.”
Her mother, after finishing a bottle of wine on her own and taking a pill from the many orange bottles in the medicine cabinet, used to say that nothing good happens this late at night. She was usually referring to the fact that Richard Harrington had yet to make it back from the office or that he hadn’t called from wherever his business trip had taken him that her mother couldn’t also go. But everything that has happened so far has been amazing for Stevie.
“We’ve got one last song for you tonight, Hideout,” Eddie promises before launching into something fast and sexy. The drummer behind them beats out a hard rhythm that Eddie matches with their hips. Thrusting into the back of their guitar as the dance their fingers down the neck of it.
That too is a promise.
The tempo is too fast to justify being pressed this close to one another anymore, Chrissy breaks from her reluctantly but doesn’t go far. Their hands brush against each other as they thrash along with the beat. Chrissy’s hair swings around and around her head, Stevie’s is definitely a wreck.
When they finish playing, Eddie jumps from the stage. They land right beside them with a thump, their white high top sneakers have them stumbling for a second in their dismount.
“You need to tie your shoes if you’re going to do that,” Chrissy says like it’s a reminder she’s given several times.
“You can’t cheer captain me into conforming to things like making sure my laces are tied, Chris.”
They have an energy, the two of them, and it sucks her in easily.
“Bleeding all over the floor after a gig is pretty metal,” Stevie says.
“See,” Eddie tosses an arm around her shoulders, musky and sweat damp, “Stevie gets it.”
“Stevie didn’t have to watch you fall off of a cafeteria table senior year, she doesn’t know your baby deer legs are a hazard to everyone around you.”
“She wants to keep you all to herself,” Eddie says into the side of Stevie’s neck, “so she’s trying to make me sound bad.”
“I’m sure you’re capable of doing that all by yourself.” Stevie teases.
“You wound me fair ladies. I must recoup my mana posthaste.”
“I think they invent new fantasy words just to see if I listen to them,” Chrissy says as Eddie wanders over to the bar.
“I think I’ve heard my little brother say a couple of those.”
“So either their in on the same joke or some of them are real.”
“If recouping manners means having a beer maybe they’ve got the right idea.”
One turns into two turns into saying goodnight to the rest of the bad and Stevie getting absorbed deeper into the magnetic aura Chrissy and Eddie have. Before she knows it, the bartender is shouting a pointed last call at the only three left in the bar.
“I’m not saying we couldn’t take her,” Stevie insists as Eddie tries to highlight their plan for total bar takeover, “I’m saying that a bar fight with the bartender is a sign we move the party somewhere else.”
Eddie and Chrissy both turn to look at her, she would swear their eyes flash in the light like cats. “You know a place?”
“It’s got a pool.”
She hopes her mother is rolling in her grave.
Well, no actually she doesn’t. But if ghosts are real her mother will find a way to become one when she realizes Stevie has jumped into the pool still wearing the dress she’d taken.
Eddie and Chrissy are already in the water. Their arms beckoning as they keep themselves afloat in the deep end waiting for her to join them. They’d both stripped down to next to nothing. Bare skin glowing in the moonlight. Chrissy in a pink bra and panties, they match down to the tiny bows on the front. Eddie in something black and clingy up top that compliments the dark lines of tattoo ink on their shoulders and arms and heart pattern boxers that compliment their personality.
It feels too early for her to strip down to match. The night is so perfect, she’s not ready to guess at how they’ll feel about her body. So she ruins the dress. Leaping into the water to join them.
“Not to kill the mood, but this is a pretty sweet place,” Eddie says later. They’d lingered with her as Chrissy had started to swim lazy laps. If she were guessing, she’d say that Chris is giving her time to bond with Eddie now.
“It’s a lot better with people in it,” Stevie agrees. That had always been the case.
“You planning on being one of the people in it? I mean, neither one of us would blame you if you weren’t, Chris and I aren’t strangers to fucked up parent shit; but it was nice having one more beautiful fan beside the stage tonight.”
The water feels good, the right kind of cold in the humid summer air, it laps against her wrists and elbows and neck. It’s a mimicry of caress as she glides closer to Eddie, until she can touch their skin. “Can I be honest?”
“Always.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do in the future, but I know what I want right now.”
She swims until she has Eddie backed against the pool wall. They’re close enough to the same height, both their toes are brushing the bottom and keeping them above water. It means she can take their hands and put them on her sides, they’re feverish hot on the pool chill of her dress. “Chris,” she calls out, “I’m gonna kiss your boyfriend, you mind?”
“I mind that I can’t see.” She cuts through the water like a knife until she’s plastered against Stevie’s back. “Proceed.”
Eddie’s hand on her waist, Chrissy holding herself above water with a tight grip on Stevie’s shoulders. She’s surrounded in the best way as she pushes forward, lets her own hands cup Eddie’s cheeks and bring their lips together.
There’s a hesitance to Eddie that Chrissy didn’t have. They’re still for a second when Stevie’s lips press against theirs, and then they give. Eddie grips tight to Stevie’s waist, a desperate hold like she’s supporting them and Chrissy, but their mouth is soft and pliant. They let her do what she wants. She tilts their head to the side, makes it deeper, the taste of pool chlorine and the last of her lingering lipstick is in her mouth and she wants to replace it with the taste of Eddie’s.
“It’s a shame I can’t taste you,” Chrissy says against her ear. Her tongue licks up the shell of it to prove a point and Stevie moans into Eddie’s mouth. “The pool is fun but it does have some down sides. I’ll just try harder.”
As Stevie’s lips slide against Eddie’s, her knee digging into the rough concrete of the pool wall just so she can press them closer, Chrissy starts to kiss at the skin behind her ear. She licks and sucks at the place where Stevie’s jaw joins her skull. She’s hard where Eddie is soft and giving, letting Stevie take while she is taken.
It’s the best night of her life.
Surrounded like this she almost likes Hawkins. The sky above them is a hazy grey, the night stretched so long that she’s delirious with it. Eddie soft and gaspy in front of her and Chrissy murmuring filth between kisses. “Let’s towel off and see if Eddie is still wet where it matters. You’re gorgeous, Evie, let’s heal some inner trauma and fuck in your parent’s bed.”
“God, please,” Eddie pants.
It gives Stevie a chance to test a theory, her lips pressing against the spot Chrissy has been attending to on her neck to see if Eddie’s is sensitive. They moan again and she thinks Chrissy is right, it’s about time to see what kind of sounds they can all drag out of one another. The fun of figuring out how Chrissy and Eddie like to be touched, learning from their experience with one another and letting them learn her. It sounds just like the kind of fun she likes.
Above them the sky starts to pink, the first rays of the sunrise peeking through. She’s about to get one more good thing after midnight.
Gen question, how do you multi-ship? I've always wanted to be like that but I just have such a hard time seeing anything other than my faves having any potential at all.
Honestly, it's a personal preference thing more than anything? If you have your dedicated faves and you don't really wanna pair those characters with anyone else, that's really fine. You don't have to force yourself to like ships you don't actually like. When I complain about people in the fandom taking shipping too seriously, I'm specifically talking about the people who spend so much of their time in this community fighting with and caring about what other people are shipping. Like the ones that make it their entire blog, instead of just enjoying their own ship. It's such a miserable way to be.
Honestly, I'm not even really like this with other fandoms. I do multiship in other fandoms, but not nearly to the same magnitude as I do Stranger Things.
It really started with the Steddie vs Hellcheer arguments that happened after S4, because I didn't understand the absolute vitriol people had for each other over something as simple as a ship difference. It was two different interpretations of the same media, and both are valid.
So I started shipping both Cheerscoops (Chrissy/Steve) and Steddissy (them in a triad) out of spite. Then I found I actually really liked them for their own merit. Then I found out Stali was a thing (Steve/Kali), which is probably my top ship in the entire fandom. That kind of sent me down a rarepair spiral and I started toying with basically every pairing possible to see what all I liked and didn't like, what worked and what didn't. Just as a little experiment for myself? Turns out, a lot of the dynamics in Stranger Things work! Under the right circumstances, anyway.
Shipping for me is just a fun way to explore relationship dynamics between two or more people. It's not always healthy, or something you'd root for IRL. Many of my ships, I don't think would work in canon, but I still like them. But I think I'm always going to be inclined to stay neutral or just slightly left of neutral when it comes to shipping wars and arguments because just... It's fun? And it's kind of freeing to see a bunch of people fighting going 'no this ship!' 'no this ship!!' and dropping in to put them in a polycule lmao. But really my only critique with this fandom is how much people waste their energy being upset at things that really aren't problems. Ship what you want, believe what you want, but I can't imagine it's healthy to be constantly annoyed when you go online. It definitely wasn't for me when I used to care a lot more about this stuff. I think I've evolved with this as I've gotten older.
I dunno. Again, you're absolutely not obligated to think like me or interact with shipping the way I do. This is really a personal thing with me that I enjoy because I enjoy shipping. I'm free of the fighting (most of the time, unless people get upset that I'm neutral which has happened), and I get to have mountains of fanwork no matter what. Just do what you want and ignore what you don't like, that's the best I can tell you. If you're genuinely interested in multishipping just start... throwing characters at walls and see what sticks together. If nothing comes of it, at least you explored it in good faith!
Part of me wants to challenge myself to create some kind of fanwork for every ship combo in Stranger Things, but I also work full-time and go to school almost full-time. Maybe in the future.
