It's one of the unwritten laws of Camp Lovers' Lake, as solid and immovable as the official rules. Curfew is at nine. No swimmers or boats are allowed past the buoys.
And Steve Harrington does not go in the water.
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Or: Three times Eddie wonders what Steve's secret is, one time he learns, and one time he finds out a lot more.
Smug merman. I’ve been practicing facial expressions and I really liked how this one turned out so I ended up making it into a finished piece for mermay. He may or may not become a character in Kaylee’s story.
You know the drill: send me an emoji, and I'll write and share three sentences for that fic.
Go ahead, make me write!
🦇 Possession
🧜♂️ Just add water
❄️ Something for @steddieholidaydrabbles or @steddiemicrofic
Snippet from 🦇
"Steve. Hey, Steve. Wake up."
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but then again, there's nothing to do here, so he has simply been … dozing off a lot. When he grumbles and sits up to rub the bleariness from his eyes, Eddie is standing next to the bed with crossed arm, fingers twitching impatiently.
"Finally," he grouses. "Get dressed, c'mon."
"Oh, for fuck's-" Steve groans. "I told you I'm not wearing the skirts, you perv."
"Wha-" Eddie blinks, then starts shaking his head so hard it sends his frizzy curls flying. "Not that, get your mind out of the gutter. I meant normal clothes."
He takes in Steve’s confused frown and his lips twitch into a wolfish grin.
"I mean, if you wanna meet our visitors in a skirt and stockings, I'll be the last to complain. Your choice, though."
Steve takes a while to get settled into a sitting position, grumbling under his breath all the while - that tail must weigh a fuckton out of the water. Once he is finally satisfied with how all of the fins are arranged, he looks over to Eddie - who is still hip-deep in the lake, drenched clothes and hair dripping all over the place, and gawking at him like an idiot.
Steve arches an eyebrow and his mouth twists into a tight line.
You know the drill: send me an emoji, and I'll write and share three sentences for that fic.
Go ahead, make me write!
🦇 Possession
🧜♂️ Just add water
❄️ Another drabble for the @steddieholidaydrabbles
Snippet from 🧜♂️
The top bunk is empty when he returns. So is the rest of the cabin.
Eddie stops in the door with an exasperated groan, finding that, just because he now knows about the reason for Steve’s weird disappearances, it doesn’t make them any less annoying.
Steve’s suitcase is already sitting on top of his bunk, neatly packed and zipped close.
So is Eddie’s duffle bag.
“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters. That chivalrous little shithead!
As he shuffles closer to the bed, a piece of notebook paper catches his eye, neatly folded and tucked under the strings on top of his bag. He picks it up and unfolds it, revealing Steve’s neat handwriting.
Dear Eddie,
Can you believe camp is over? I don’t want it to be.
If you feel the same, meet me by our spot after sundown?
Let’s stay a little longer.
Love, Steve
"Do you want it to be something serious?" he asks back, and Eddie imagines there's actually a trace of uncertainty in his voice. "I know it's a lot to swallow, the whole … mer-dude thing, so-"
"Steve?" Eddie puts a hand to his chest and Steve stops his ramble. "I would very much like for it to turn into something serious."
Steve beams at him, bright like the moon and stars above, and yeah, Eddie can definitely see himself getting used to this kind of attention.
"And as far as swallowing that mer-dude thing is concerned," he drawls, face almost splitting under the incoming grin, "I'll worry about that when we get there, okay?"
Steve's smile is brimming with that infuriatingly smug amusement as he turns Eddie in his arms, maneuvers him so that he's straddling the tail. And then they just … stay like that, like Steve is a giant floatie with fins, like Eddie’s weight doesn’t bother him at all. Steve's hands have traveled to his waist to steady him and every few seconds, the tail will twitch to keep them stable. His thumbs tug at Eddie’s waistband and that perfect bottom lip juts out.
"Why are you wearing shorts?"
Eddie grins, hopes that the blush creeping up his neck isn't visible in the half-dark.
"Because, unlike other people, I can. Are you jealous, fish boy?"
The thought makes something tight and needy stir low in his belly, and Steve, the absolute shit, notices, because of course he does. He rolls his hips, one long, smooth wave of movement that makes the fins sway and flutter, and grins against Eddie’s mouth as a moan escapes him. And then, one hand slides under the waistband of Eddie’s shorts and the moan turns into a yelp.