"I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington," he declares to all and sundry (Steve and Robin) in Family Video.
Steve laughs, ducks his head, hair a bountiful cascade that doesn't move an inch. He's blushing but it's not, like, a reaction to the sentiment of marriage. Steve knows Eddie is just like that, flirtatious and over-the-top and incapable of not speaking his thoughts as soon as they enter his head.
Robin roles her eyes, goes back to flipping through her magazine, something about cinema, and Eddie swipes his just rented movies off the counter.
"You think I'm joking," he twists so he's facing them, walking backwards to the door. "But I swear it, oh, beloved purveyor of movies and deleter of late fees."
"Yeah, yeah." Steve's face is pinker than before and Eddie recognizes and immediately forces himself to forget how cute it is. "But get out of here before I change my mind."
And Eddie, he loves to push his luck and also has very little filter between his brain and his mouth, so he says, "aw, don't be that way, Stevie, you love me."
Robin looks up, then, mouth a pursed twist as she tries not to laugh. "Gross, Eddie." She throws a Sour Patch at him. "Keep all that mushy stuff to when you two are alone."
It's his turn to blush, fierce and raging, and Steve whirls, squeaking, to whack Robin with a Twizzler.
Eddie points at her. "Rude, Buckley. You know I love you too."
"Again, gross." She sticks out her tongue, tinged blue from the Sour Patch.
"We really need to work on your ability to accept affection," Steve tells her.
She scowls, kicks him, makes Eddie laugh.
"I think that's my cue to leave, children." He says. He, quite literally, bows out of the store, just missing the barrage of candy thrown his way.
---
Three Months Later
Eddie stumbles into the Harrington house, kicking his boots off by the door. Steve's in the kitchen, fussing around the stove. His hair's askew and he's--
"Harrington, are you wearing an apron?" He ignores the kick in his chest at the sight. "You'll make a sweet little housewife one day."
"Shut-up," Steve says without any heat. "Try this."
He brandishes a spoon filled with red sauce in Eddie's direction, and Eddie--heart always on his sleeve--eagerly leans in to taste. He closes his eyes, savors, and it's good, truly. Perfect fresh acidity with just a burst of sweetness.
"It's amazing, baby," he says without thinking. He opens his eyes right in time to see Steve turning back to the sauce, blush high on his cheekbones.
"Thanks. You're making me nervous though, hovering." Steve hip checks him. "Go sit somewhere."
And Eddie does, jumps onto the island--the Harrington's are the kind of people who have an island--and chatters to Steve about his day, about his new campaign, about the new song he's trying to learn.
All the while, he's watching Steve cook, in his apron, with such care and thoughtfulness, with true command. Maybe it's the domesticity of the scene, maybe his raging crush, but he has this flash of the two of them in the future. In their kitchen, Steve cooking dinner, and Eddie's arms are wrapped around his waist, he's pressing kisses to his temple, complimenting all his hard work and--
Steve feeds him a bite of the finished pasta, and it's so good that he groans, full-throated, unembarrassed, and says--he says, "I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington."
He laughs, face pink, batting Eddie's shoulder. "Go sit down, man. It's time to eat."
---
Two Months After That
Eddie's working on a new campaign when the storm rolls in, wind rocking the trailer, thunder and lightning crackling in the sky. The power doesn't go out, but only just barely, the flickers making his heart pound for reasons that have nothing to do with weather.
There's a knock on the trailer door, and he opens it to find Steve Harrington standing on the porch, hair plastered to his head, clothes soaked. Robin's bike is propped against one of the awning supports. Familiar panic snaps to life in his gut.
"God, Steve, are you okay? Did something happen? That's Robin's bike, where's the Beamer? Is it--is it Vecna? Is--" He's blabbering can't stop, so he shoves his palm against his lips.
"It's not--not Upside Down stuff." He runs a hand through his soggy hair. "Can I come in, man? I--I want to tell you something."
This snaps Eddie out of his panic, and he's moving aside, saying, "Oh my god, get in here, you're soaked. Let me get towels. Do you want a change of clothes, I can--"
Steve catches him by the elbow and he full stops at the look in those big hazel eyes, fearful and sad and he doesn't know what, but his anxiety amps back up.
"I was with Robin and we were--we were talking, you know? And I told her that I like somebody, like really like them, but it was unexpected and--and--it's a guy. He's a guy but I still like girls? Robin said--she said that I'm probably bisexual. That I like guys and girls and--and everyone, I think."
It sends shockwaves through him, and he hopes it doesn't show, doesn't think it shows, but he's having trouble processing. Steve is bi and he likes someone and--Eddie stuffs down the jealousy that claws at him, knows it's more important that he's here for his friend.
"Thank you for telling me, sweetheart." He reaches out, slow in case Steve doesn't want to be hugged, but he launches himself into Eddie's arms.
Eddie holds him tight, heedless of his wet clothes, can feel his shoulders shake, and it tears Eddie's heart in two. All he can do is hold Steve and offer comfort, jealousy be damned.
"You're so brave, honey," he says once the tears taper off.
Steve gives a wet chuckle, face still buried against Eddie's neck. "I don't know about that. I think I got snot in your hair."
"It'll wash out." He laughs. "Is now the time to welcome you to the family? Apparently, we're growing exponentially."
"Does the welcome include a cake or something? I could really use cake."
And God, Steve, is so fucking cute, so sweet, so--everything Eddie has always wanted, and he--it's an accident, or at least, thoughtless--he presses a kiss to Steve's temple. More than one.
Steve pulls back fast, and Eddie lets go immediately. "Sorry, sorry. I--that was stupid. You like someone already, and I--"
His words are cut off as Steve kisses him. Steve kisses him? His brain can't process, but he kisses back. Can't not, not with Steve. Like, he doesn't know anything, head empty, but his body is with the program.
They break apart, he's breathing hard. Steve is beautifully flushed, mouth red and swollen. "You like someone," is what Eddie says.
Steve laughs. "I like you, Munson. Fucking crazy about you."
He smiles, so big it hurts, so big it grows into a delight laugh. "I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington," he says.
---
Six Years Later
They're in bed, Saturday morning, rain pattering softly on the window.
Steve places slow kisses against his naked tummy, makes him tremble, shiver with overstimulation.
"Baby," he whines. "Sweetheart."
Steve smiles up at him, something cold pressing against his ribs, then into his hand.
It's a ring, black metal, shiny and iridescent as he turns it in the light. "What--Steve?"
With one last kiss to his hip bone, Steve sits up, slips the ring onto Eddie's finger. "I'm going to marry you one day, Eddie Munson."
(please ignore if the timeline is slightly off 😔 I did my best lol)
*started: 01/15/26
@monkeyballs369 @archivist-reblogs
: ̗̀➛
When Mike wakes up, it's with a horrible, chest-aching gasp.
He bolts upright in his bed, hands reaching for his neck where he could still feel the phantom grasp of vines, then to his left shoulder, where he was *sure* his entire arm had ripped off not moments ago.
He's still breathing heavily when his eyes come into focus through panicked tears. His head whips up, looking for someone, anyone. El, Will–
He freezes.
He's in his bedroom. But it's not his bedroom. Or– it is. Just not the one it should be.
Mike swallows thickly, taking in the art and posters covering the walls, the clothes on the floor, the chair to his desk pulled out and left haphazardly in the middle of his room, the papers scattered over his desk, the old curtains blocking out the little daylight left.
Gingerly, Mike pushes his blanket off of him– the blanket he'd switched out years ago– and swings his feet over the edge of his bed– up against a different wall, in a different corner of the room.
His feet don't touch the floor, is the first thing he notices.
It's been years since his feet haven't touched the floor. He hit a huge growth spurt after '83, and then another, and another. He hasn't been this small since–
Mike bolts off of his bed, falling face first after getting tangled in his sheets, and rushes for his mantle where his mirror sits. He catches himself on the edge just before he can go flying into it, successfully rattling everything on the mantle and causing a few bottles and figurines to fall to the floor.
Mike opens his eyes freezes.
Baby fat he hasn't had in years is back on his face. He's softer, smaller, younger. His hair is shorter, messier. His cheeks chubbier and ruddy.
His eyes don't look much different, other than being larger. They still hold too much. Too much trauma, too much knowledge, too much.
Mike's hand comes up to touch his face– it's his left one. His right comes up to hold his left wrist and then feel his left arm. Perfectly in tact. Not ripped off and laying in a bloody, gorey heap somewhere.
Mike's eyes never stray from the mirror. His hands meld his face into odd positions. He pinches his own cheeks. He pokes his own nose.
Outside his door, a knock. Mike whips his head to the door and there–
Nancy.
Younger. Her hair is longer, straight. Her face is warm and soft even as she gripes at him for taking forever to get downstairs for dinner. She still holds that air of no-nonsense, but she's lacking that confidence, that commanding aura that's more than just the eldest daughter-big sister.
Mike doesn't hear a word she says.
His eyes move slowly across the room, terrified. They land on the calendar– Star Wars themed– and his heart drops.
Mike Wheeler had woken up on the night of November 7, 1983, after dying at the hands of Henry Creel.
: ̗̀➛
El gasps awake with a scream.
She bolts upright, eyes wide and frantic, hands grasping in front of her for them– Mike and Will.
She freezes.
It's dark, but she adjusts quickly.
She's in the woods.
She knows these woods.
El's hands scramble for purchase to stand up and she whimpers at the realization that the ground under her is achingly familiar as well. She nearly goes down when trying to right herself, but eventually finds herself steady against a tree.
She does a slow spin, trying to orient herself.
Nothing but trees.
She looks at the ground– sees her bare feet– catches a glimpse of–
No.
Her hands scramble against her chest, tearing at the much too large, borrowed yellow shirt she wears. Her hands fly to her head and she collapses with a sob as she feels the bristles of her old buzz cut.
Her knees hit the ground with a crunch of the twigs beneath them and she cries out for Will and Mike.
Jane Hopper wakes up the night of November 7th, 1983, after watching her friends and herself die at the hands of One.
: ̗̀➛
When Will comes to his senses it's with a horrible, body-wracking shiver.
He's slower to sit up, slower to come-to.
His hands move first, coming to rub at his eyes, and that's when he realizes something is wrong.
Will bolts upright so fast his vision momentarily blacks out. His hands feel around his face again, his left hand landing on his left eye. He stops. Gropes his eye again.
It's there. His eye is there, in its socket, perfectly fine.
He blinks a few times, finally looking around him and delighted that he can see everything without the hindrance he'd just been becoming used to.
And then that delight turns to dread with the fall of his stomach and the collapse of his heart.
He knows this place. Is sickeningly familiar with the vines creeping up the walls and the blue-ish gray tint to everything around him.
It's the fact that he's in the Upside Down that has him swallowing back panicked tears, however.
It's the fact that he's in Castle Byers, fully intact.
Will hesitates a look down at himself, and whimpers at the red, blue and yellow coat he sees.
He whispers, under his breath, calling for Mike and El in a desperate, childish plea.
Will Byers wakes up the night after his vanishing, on November 7th, 1983, after dying at the hands of Vecna.
(It was based on a take I saw earlier today but I think it got deleted)
"Why don't you like me?" Steve asks, not meeting his eyes.
They were on the new Hopper-Byers's back porch, a little bit after dark. The rest of the party had gone inside a while ago but Steve wanted a smoke and Eddie decided to have one as well. It was quite chilly for a summer night, and the wind made both of them shiever a bit.
"Excuse me?!" Eddie replied, after a half a minute of confusion. "Who said I didn't like you?"
"C'mon, man, I know the kids say it a lot, but I'm not actually an idiot!"
"What the fuck are you talking about, princess?"
"See?! Right there! Look, I just don't get it. I know you overheard that conversation I had with Will last week, but I thought you were all for that non-conformist bullshit, and let me tell you, fucking with someone because of their sexuality is very "the man" of you!" His voice was still hushed, but Steve had turned all the way to Eddie's direction now, glaring at the metalhead with what he tried to make look like defiance on his eyes, but were clearly just hurt.
"Steve-"
"The thing is, you've been treating Will just like always, so maybe that isn't it, wich is so more confusing, because I really thought we were getting closer, but now you keep making these jokes and... I don't get it! Did I do something wrong?"
"What?! No--" the other tried to interrupt, but Steve's rambling just kept on coming.
"Is it because of high school? Is the ‘princess’ thing some kind of payback for the whole King Steve bullshit? Dude, I know I was a douchebag- hmpf!"
Eddie, sensing Steve was about to spiral, clasped his hand on top of the boy's mouth.
"Stevie, I'm going to need you to stop right there, okay?" His voice was calm, but his heart was racing. Steve's eyes were wide, his cheeks pink, and Eddie couldn't help but notice how much closer they were now. "I'm so sorry I made you feel like I was mocking you. That was definitely not the intention. The total opposite, actually.” Steve made a questioning noise behind the ringed hand “The princess thing was me being an idiot, actually. I was just..” Deep breath in, deep breath out. “I was trying to flirt with you, sweetheart. Apparently, I’m really bad at it.”
CW: Angst, post season 4, Eddie lives and the government pretty much just leaves him to fend for himself.
WC: 1.7K
Tags: Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson angst, Post-ST4, Eddie Munson lives, Open-ish Ending
Pairings: Eddie Munson & Chief Jim Hopper
Rating: T
Summary: Eddie and Chief Hopper have a heart to heart while awaiting some major news.
Song Inspo:
Series: written for @corrodedcoffinfest June event
“I almost cut the rope.”
A thickly-mustached upper lip twitches into a deep frown. Chief Jim Hopper narrows his eyes, searching the young man’s deadened stare that bores empty into the wall opposite where he sits.
“What rope?”
“The one,” Eddie flicks his fingers in a longitudinal movement in front of his nose, ceiling to floor, deep whiskey brown muddled with memories of the gate that Chrissy’s broken body fissured in his trailer. “The sheet that we dropped from my living room to the uh, Upside Down.” He’s quiet as he rasps the last, though he doesn’t need to be. They’re alone as they wait. “I almost cut it. After Henderson got out.”
Heavy are his words, but the young man is too far away for Jim to lay that comforting hand on his bony shoulder. It still twitches at his side, eager to do something. To reach through thick, cylindrical steel and close the separation that feels like it drifts farther and farther away as the seconds tick by.
He’s sinking. Eddie Munson is in danger of going under, Jim can see it.
Dank, yellow lighting casts Eddie’s skin a sickly, sallow pale. Indigo crescents bloom under his once lively eyes. He’s tired of it all, and Jim understands. He’s tired, too.
But still, he finds it in himself to ask, “Why would you do that?”
Eddie snorts, a dry, deadpan sound. Kicking a fleck of paint-laden cinder that’s crumbled from about three rows above his head, he grits out, “Because I know how this ends. Knew it even then.”
Jim wraps his fingers on the jail cell bars. “Eddie –”
“Chief, don’t waste your breath, man.”
“Jim,” he blurts, “call me Jim, son.”
Eddie feels that familiar weight settle in his belly, dense and heavy, far too much for the self-depreciating laugh he huffs to lighten it at all. “See?” he croaks, “you know how this ends too. Or else you’d never have me call you Jim.”
A weighted sigh lets loose over Jim’s lips. “Well, like I’ve said about a thousand times, if it wasn’t for your quick thinking –”
Rolling his eyes, Eddie finishes, “Stash of illegal fireworks, I think you mean.”
“Tom-ay-to, to-mah-to.” The Chief tries for a smile, but it stretches too wide and forced. “My El wouldn’t be here. Hell. Maybe any of us.”
He knows where this is going. The old You saved us! routine. That tired old bitty that doesn’t mean fucking shit when he’s gonna do time. And so he voices the cold, hard truth. “Doesn’t matter.”
Apparently, Chief Hopper is in an argumentative mood. “It does.”
“Not enough to the ones who know the fucking truth,” Eddie fires back.
Jim scrubs hand down face. Eddie knows the Chief doesn’t have anything to say on that, the realization is bitter as the bile that rises in the back of his throat.
So he’s not surprised when Hopper pivots. Reaches into his jacket and pulls out an overstuffed envelope.
“We have a contingency.”
“Yeah,” the young man’s sigh is weary. “I’m aware.”
“It’s a good one.”
“Sure. Shipping me off to some hellhole to start over without anyone —”
“Well, you know the alternative!”
“That’s why I almost cut the rope!” Eddie bellows a confession so strong it echoes through the empy chamber, ricochetting off vacant concrete cells and down, down, down the long, lonely hall. “My life wasn’t perfect, Jim,” he emphasizes with blistering sarcasm, “but it was mine. And it was over the second Chrissy died. Over. Done. There is nothing left for me in Hawkins but hateful people who think they know what happened. And that particular truth they’re clinging to?”
Well. Eddie is wise enough to know he’s not beating the Satanist, serial killer accusations now.
Not after her.
Fred.
Patrick.
Jason.
Hell, the townsfolk were all too happy to tack on Barb Holland and Billy Hargrove for good measure. He vomited on the filthy floor of his cell block for over an hour when the judge allowed those names to stay.
High on their success, they tried to include Benny and that Bob Newby guy. Lengthen the list, increase the sentence.
Those two names failed to bookend the already too-long list.
But all they had to do was say it. Insinuate. Those lies strategically slithered in hushed tones over the prosecution’s forked tongue, and that’s all it took.
A farce of a trial laden with phony, zealot witnesses who place him at every crime scene. So perfectly. In such weepy detail, their self-righteous, god-fearing flags flap in the ferocious winds of their perjury. Their blatant fucking perjury.
It didn’t matter that Hop got the trial moved to Iowa.
It didn’t matter that Owens brought on board a lawyer so calm and collected she made it seem like there could be a chance.
They had him. That’s all it would take for that jury to utter that singular, two-syllable word that will surely render his demise.
He can feel it as certain as Wayne’s knees can sense an oncoming storm. A mournful, lingering ache that caters to nothing but dull, never-ending misery.
The lull abruptly ends. Chief Hopper clears his throat, the roughness of him hacking up phlegm grates against the cinderblock walls. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t. You probably would have…”
Eddie rolls his eyes as Jim trails off. “Died?”
“Yeah.”
His nose wrinkles; bitter is the scent of desperation. Of despair. “Didn’t I, though?”
A crooked smile plays under that thick mustache. “Look pretty alive to me.”
Eddie doesn’t have an answer to that. Well, he does, but it’s downright depressing, goddamnit. Any minute, some asshole bailiff is gonna come charging through those double doors down the hall and drag him back in the courtroom.
Then the jury is gonna file in and decide his fate.
A fate that he’s already accepted.
There’s nothing to say. Minutes crawl past, neither saying a word. At least a handful of them, and Eddie oscillates between bouncing knees, pacing in too-short strides, and sitting stone-still.
A soft sniffle shatters the silence, and Eddie starts when he sees it. “Y’got lemon juice in your eye, Hop?”
The man on the right side of the cell swipes a little too aggressively at his cheek. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s it.”
Baring his teeth in a self-deprecating smile, he deflects. “Don’t cry for me, Hop. There’s still hope. We can cross some fingers for a mistrial, yeah?”
Chief hesitates, steely blue eyes dart to the side like he’s looking for his cue. Eddie already hates that he even said it, talking himself out of anticipating that outcome long ago.
Hopper's lips pop open to offer consolation, but it never comes. It’s rudely interrupted by the slam of those industrial double doors, a sonorous bang blasts down the hall as they bounce off their opposite wall.
“Munson,” the tired bailiff calls as his dress shoes clack over the tile, “let’s go. They’re ready for you.”
Eddie swallows, and it doesn’t go down. Fuck - it feels like his goddamn throat is gonna close up. “Already, huh?”
Bushy brows pinch above a crooked nose. “It’s been almost six hours.”
Eddie grunts as he hauls himself standing, automatically placing his hands through the opening so the officer can do his thing and slap on the cuffs. He sounds hoarse as he quips lamely, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
In his periphery, Eddie can see how Hopper shakes his head. At least the bailiff has the decency to indulge his nervous chatter. “I hear that all the time.” With a clean snap of metal, Eddie’s bound, and the cell gate swings open. “Let’s go and get this over with.”
The walk to the courtroom is both the longest and the shortest of his life. His stomach twists in terrible knots, waves of nausea pummel his gut, swells that keep in time with the frenetic beating of his heart. Jim has to help him up when he’s called to stand, and the spindly fellow in an off-the-rack suit hands a whole-ass sheet of paper to the judge.
As the judge opens it, Eddie can see writing. Lines and lines of it.
Jesus Christ, he thinks, they can’t just say I’m guilty, they have to list all the reasons why, too?
The room tilts on its axis, and Eddie has to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stave off the rising acid in his throat.
The only saving grace is that the judge looks at the page with a singular raised eyebrow that would rival Jeff’s, and Eddie’s heart aches at the thought. The lawman blinks, and blinks again before the paper rustles and he dips his mouth to his mic.
“I have here the verdict, which I’ll read verbatim. We, the jury, after much –” the judge’s eyes flick up at the foreman, who winces, “– heated deliberation finds that the evidence provided in this case did not always match the narrative. It caused great confusion in our discussions, and thus the reason for the lengthy verdict.” The judge sighs. “I sure hope you do have a verdict, foreman.”
“We do, your Honor,” he nods to the yellowed, lined sheet of paper in his hand.
“It’s getting quite verbose.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Sorry.”
Eddie’s chest physically hurts with how hard his heart hammers against his ribs. It ratchets up about a hundred beats, blurring his vision and making him sway on the spot.
Jim grabs his arm, steadying him.
The judge casts one final glare at the jury before reading on. “We the Jury, District 8, Des Moines, Iowa –”
Eddie’s body betrays him. A surge of adrenaline rushes through his veins, whiting out his vision and like a switch flipped, pulses a nasty, high-pitched whine in his ears.
“– find the defendant, Eddie Munson –”
That whine intensifies to an all-out roar. He can’t hear a goddamned thing; hell, he can barely see or stand - and so it's muted, garbled all to hell, what comes next from the judges mouth.
All he can make out are the liver spots on the judge’s jowls, and the way his mouth moves around an unanticipated but terrible, two-syllable word that sparks just as much hope as it does fear for his future behind bars.
Eddie doesn’t hear it outright, not really. His legs crumple, falling to the courthouse floor in an unconscious heap of neon orange nylon and ratty midnight curls.
For the sentence prompt: "I'm just gonna go freak out for a minute first."
Thank you!!!! ♥️
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Steve was holding his hand while the doctor checked his stitches. It wasn’t really that weird for him to be holding his hand, not since he woke up half-dead in the hospital.
It was a little weird that he was rubbing his thumb against the side of his thumb, though.
And probably a little weird that his other hand was resting on his head, a weight that was comforting and confusing all at once.
“Looks great, Eddie. I’d say by the next visit, we’ll be able to get them out and let these finish healing naturally,” the doctor smiled at him as he pulled his shirt back down.
Steve’s hand squeezed his, and he couldn’t help looking over at the sunshine in the seat next to him.
It had to be pretty obvious how he felt about Steve. He’s lucky none of the kids have caught on and started teasing him yet.
Robin has, but at least she knows to do it privately.
“I’ll have the front desk schedule you for two weeks out. You can grab an appointment card on the way out. Keep them all clean and don’t do any heavy lifting or physical activity quite yet,” the doctor reminded as she pulled off her gloves and threw them in the trash. “You boys have a nice day.”
As she left the room, Steve helped Eddie sit up slowly. He didn’t really need the help anymore, but he’d be an idiot to admit it with how much Steve touched him.
“Two more weeks, Eds! That’s better than what they thought last time,” Steve was so excited for him. His smile was lighting up the room and he looked five seconds away from bouncing on his feet.
“Yeah, it’s great.”
“Aren’t you excited?” Steve’s smile dropped at Eddie’s tone.
“Yeah! Yeah, it’ll be great to have less limits. Might be able to get the guys together for a jam session,” Eddie gave a small smile.
“But…?”
Eddie sighed. “But then you won’t be around anymore, right? Like, other than when we all hang out on movie nights. You only stuck around because no one else could really help me every day. Everyone had work or families that wouldn’t let them out of their sight.”
Steve looked heartbroken, and Eddie couldn’t figure out why.
“Eddie, I’m not gonna leave you just because you don’t technically need me anymore,” Steve shook his head. “We’re- we’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course! I mean, I thought so. But I know it could just be that you feel bad and I wouldn’t expect you to stick around because of that.”
Steve grabbed his other hand, his grip tightening on Eddie’s skin almost painfully.
“I wanna stick around for a lot of reasons, Eds.”
Eddie was caught in his gaze, his wide, pleading eyes almost too much.
“Like what?”
“Like because you’re fun to be around. You’re funny and talented and smart. You taught me about Hobbits! Love those guys,” Steve stepped closer. “You’re brave and you care about all of us. You-“ Steve swallowed. “You see me. The real me.”
“What do you mean?” Eddie’s heart was racing as he looked between Steve’s eyes, down to his lips where his tongue had poked out momentarily to wet them.
“You’ve seen me when my parents have come home and made me feel like shit and you just distracted me with singing whatever pop songs are on the radio and helping me cook dinner. You’ve been there when I had a two day long migraine and couldn’t even stand up to go to the bathroom. You made grocery shopping fun! I fucking hate grocery shopping, but you just keep being silly and making me laugh and I had fun.” Steve leaned in so his forehead was touching Eddie’s. “You laugh at my jokes, even when they aren’t that funny. You listen to me when no one else pays attention. You see who I am and you let me be who I am and I don’t feel scared that you’ll run.”
“I’m not running.”
“I know. I love that you aren’t, that you won’t.” Steve closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were watery. “I love you.”
Eddie was certain he was dead. Maybe the last month had all been some coma-induced dream and they finally pulled the plug. Maybe he actually died in the Upside Down and the last month was his final goodbye to everyone in his own head.
He stood up slowly, trying not to push Steve away, but having to guide him away from the table he’d been laying on.
“Where are you going? You’re not leaving, right?”
“Nope. I’m just gonna go freak out for a minute first.”
“Um.”
Eddie smiled, leaned in to kiss Steve’s cheek, and pulled away.
“Give me a minute. This is either the most realistic dream I’ve ever had or the best day of my life.”
Steve snorted, but let him walk to the door and stand outside of it for a moment.
When Eddie came back in, his cheeks were red, but he looked determined.
He pulled Steve into him by his hips, crushed their lips together, and smiled so hard their teeth clacked against each other. It was a little messy for a first kiss, but they could get better.
“You love me? Really?”
“I thought it was obvious,” Steve laughed as they pulled apart.
“I thought I was obvious!”
“Not really. I was convinced I was imaging things! Robin had to explain to me what the hanky code was before I even believed you liked guys!”
They both laughed so hard they cried, forgetting entirely that they were still in the doctor’s examination room.
Someone knocked on the door and they broke apart quickly, trying to stop the laughter for a moment to deal with whoever was at the door.
A nurse poked her head in. “Sorry, don’t wanna rush you, but just wanted to make sure everything was okay? Did you need to see the doctor again?”
“No, no. Sorry. We’re heading out. He just needed a minute,” Steve said quickly, smiling back at her.
She nodded and left, leaving the door open as a silent reminder that they needed to disinfect the room for the next patient.
“Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, too.”
“You don’t have to say it just-“
“I’m not. I’m saying it because I love you. I see you, remember? There’s a lot there to love.”
Steve turned a bright red, and Eddie decided then he would do just about anything to see that shade on Steve’s cheeks and neck as often as possible.
“Let’s go home,” Steve finally said when he recovered. “Wanna kiss you more.”
Tags: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Falling In Love, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Literal Sleeping Together, Sharing a Bed, Nightmares, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Steve is just a little oblivious, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Domestic Fluff, Post-Vecna (Stranger Things), Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, First Time, Top Eddie Munson, Bottom Steve Harrington, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, could be slower but I think it still counts
Summary:
Steve looks at his reflection in the mirror, face red and splotchy, eyes wide and frantic, hair slicked with sweat. He hangs his head in frustration at his panicked state. Why can’t he just get past this? No one else in the party seems to struggle with nightmares as severely as he does, and Steve wasn’t even the one who dealt with the worst of it. Sure, he’s fought more than his fair share of hellish creatures and Russians, but that’s nothing compared to what El’s been through. Or Will, or Max, or any of the kids, honestly. They’re still just kids and have been through hell and back. He’s supposed to be the strong one, the one they can come to with their struggles, not the one struggling.
or, Steve struggles with nightmares, self-doubt, and a giant crush on Eddie. Eddie invites him to stay the night after a nightmare, and ends up showing him a love Steve didn't even realize he was missing.
Thanks for the rec!
This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Confessions.
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Prompt: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis
rated pg-13 | 1155 wds | tags: kissing, fluff, everybody lives, post vecna, mentions of sex
Eddie is a little tipsy and he has a question for Nancy.
(Also on AO3) ( My Other fic on Tumblr)
A Simple Question: Ha! What Boundaries?
Eddie was on his way to drunk, which was why he sat on the couch next to Nancy and cut himself off. Ever since his brush with death, he was something of a lightweight. At least everyone else seemed to be pretty buzzed as well. He’d passed on Argyle’s weed because of the aforementioned lightweight status, but the others hadn’t.
Jon and Argyle were currently lying on the floor having a deeply philosophical discussion about mushrooms, and not even the magic kind. Steve and Robin were draped all over each other in the corner giggling. And Nancy had been staring into space until Eddie sat down.
“Greetings, Wheeler the Badass,” he said with a smile as she looked at him.
“Eddie the Not-So-Banished,” she replied with a smile, “to what do I owe the honour.”
That made Eddie giggle.
“Came to ask you a question,” he told her. “Probably an ill-advised question, but I figured you’re too mellow to hit me.”
Nancy lifted an eyebrow at him for that.
“You’re probably right,” she agreed much to his surprise.
“Really?” he asked, because he would have shut his mouth if she’d objected.
“Really,” she said. “Ask away.”
“So,” he began, drawing out the ‘o’ sound, “Steve…”
“Ah,” Nancy said with a smile that Eddie couldn’t quite interpret.
“What do you mean by ‘ah’?” he asked.
“That your question?” Nancy replied.
“What? No,” he protested.
“You only get one,” Nancy told him.
“You’re changing the rules,” he complained.
“I could go and talk about mushrooms,” Nancy said.
“Okay, okay,” Eddie said, pretty sure if he had had one less beer the conversation would have been a lot less annoying, but then again, they probably wouldn’t have been having it at all. “So, Steve, reputation with the ladies deserved or hyped up?”
Nancy snorted a laugh and patted him on the leg in a rather unsettling way.
“In a sexy way or romantic way?” she asked.
“Um … sexy,” Eddie admitted quietly.
“Totally deserved,” Nancy told him, “and actually in a romantic way too. Probably would have eaten that shit up if, well, the stuff that happened hadn’t.”
She looked sad for a moment, so Eddie patted her hand in what he hoped was a sensitive gesture.
“So totally deserved?” he prodded when no more was forthcoming because his brain to mouth filter was on low power.
“God yes,” Nancy said, turning to look at him. “You would not believe how good he is with his hands, oh and his mouth. Fuck, his hands and mouth in combination.” She beckoned him closer. “Jonathan’s good,” she whispered, “but he’s never given me three orgasms in a row.”
“Three?” Eddie whispered back.
Nancy nodded.
“And that was just for starters,” she assured him. “I think he gets off on getting his partner off,” she revealed.
“Wow,” was the best Eddie could do with that information.
“You should shoot your shot,” Nancy said and all but shocked him sober.
“What … me … but …” he babbled.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Nancy said quietly.
He wondered if she was actually as high as she was pretending, because the look in her eyes was anything but vague.
“I’m that obvious?” he asked, sagging into the couch cushion.
He’d come out as bisexual to this older group of friends when Robin had accidentally outed herself at another of their exclusive get-togethers and panicked. That Steve had known since Starcourt and been Robin’s number one cheerleader really shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it had really.
“Only among friends,” she told him, wrapping her hand in his. “You should talk to him.”
“He’s straight,” Eddie pointed out.
“Not if the way I saw him making out with Argyle is anything to go by,” Nancy replied.
“Argyle?”
“Yes, my dude?” Argyle asked, so possibly Eddie had said that louder than he had meant to.
“Just passing on your haircare tips,” Nancy covered for him.
“Always here if you need advice, Brochacho,” Argyle replied with a wave before going back to talking to Jonathan.
“I couldn’t hear what they were saying,” Nancy said, leaning in again, “but I did see Steve thank Argyle and walk away with that, wow I’ve discovered something face he does when he’s processing new things.”
“The one with the adorable little crease right here?” Eddie asked, pointing to the top of his nose.
Nancy lifted both her eyebrows this time.
“Wow you have it bad,” she commented.
“I know,” he admitted and sighed dramatically. “But he’s Steve and I’m me. He’s an adonis and I’m a wet cat.”
So maybe he deserved the laugh from Nancy for that one.
“Talk to him,” Nancy encouraged.
“But what would I say?” Eddie asked kind of desperately.
“You could try, ‘Steve fancy kissing me’,” an all too familiar voice said from just behind him.
It was at that moment he realised Steve and Robin were no longer in the corner, far, far away from the current conversation. He kind of froze, only turning very, very slowly to find Steve standing directly behind the couch with a couple of cold sodas in his hands.
Apparently, adrenaline was amazing stuff, because Eddie felt one hundred percent sober in that instant. An embarrassing squeak escaped from his throat.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Robin said, throwing herself onto the couch on the other side of Nancy, “the romantic tension was getting really annoying.”
“Says the woman who still hasn’t made it to first base with Vicky,” Steve bitched back.
Robin just made a kissy face at him, while Eddie continued to freak out.
He’d been daydreaming about Steve ever since he’d woken up in the hospital with Steve standing guard over him like some angel from heaven. Apparently, nobody argued with Steve Harrington when he looked like he might bring down the wrath of God at any moment, which had given the rest of the Party enough time to get Eddie’s name cleared. The whole ripping a demobat in half had started it for Eddie, and that had totally clinched it.
Steve was looking at him now in that earnest way he had that kind of melted Eddie’s insides.
“Hey Steve,” he finally said, “fancy kissing me?”
It was all kinds of pathetic, but it was all he had.
With a cocky smile, Steve passed the sodas he was holding to Nancy, leaned over the back of the couch and slipped one cold hand into the hair as the base of Eddie’s skull. The kiss was long and deep, and Eddie never wanted it to end. Of course it had to, especially when Jonathan, the traitor, wolf whistled.
Steve picked up a cushion and threw it at Jonathan’s head as Eddie sank back into the couch with what he was sure was a dreamy expression on his face. Nancy leaned in.
“Wait until you get the full magic hands too,” she whispered.
Just imagine Alpha Steve after everything that happened. Alpha Steve who was King Steve, not just because of the money and the popularity and everything else that came with it, but King Steve because he was also Alpha. How aloof he kept himself from everything, simply because he knew, deep down, that it was all empty and meaningless and what was the point of being the most popular kid in the school if literally no one actually liked him. Just wanted him because of what he was and what he had and what advantages his friendship gave.
And then, after Vecna, after everything, Steve who had a group of people who knew him. Actually knew him, and suddenly he had pack. Learned what it was to make a family, to have people he would fight and die for because he knew they would do the same. Knew the deep satisfaction of caring for the people in his pack.
Alpha Steve who checks in with everyone. Alpha Steve who has to leave his scent on everyone, every time they part. Even Argyle, despite no one being able to smell it over the weed. Steve who has to mark and protect his people, finds that it soothes his soul. Alpha Steve who always has food in the house, knows the likes and dislikes of everyone of his pups, even if he would never call them that out loud.
When Eddie finally wakes up, Wayne sheds a few quiet tears, puts his book away, gently grips at Eddie's hand and calls him a stupid, stupid, brave boy. Because Alpha Steve couldn't tell Wayne many of the details, but he told him Eddie was a hero who saved the world.
Once he's been checked over and the hustle settles down again, the doctor finally clearing out, Eddie starts to realise why he's relaxed, why he's stayed so calm through waking up.
"Smells like Steve," Eddie says, as every thing comes down and his senses slowly warm back up. There's soft blankets under his fingertips, definitely not hospital cushions stacked around his head. Under his shoulder, comfortably soft, a yellow polo, folded up neat.
"Yeah," Wayne agrees quietly, "he's here...a lot."
"What's all this?" Eddie shifts, finding another shirt and a plaid woolen throw wedged between Eddie and the bedrail.
"Steve," Wayne answers simply.
"I'm not an Omega," Eddie answers weakly, bringing the soft corner of a blanket up to his nose.
"Doesn't seem to matter to Harrington."
Eddie doesn't want to be hopeful, not about this. That way lies heartache, "he's such an Alpha, got his wires crossed. I got hurt, that's all."
Wayne hums quietly in answer, "recon' he wouldn't be scenting stuff like this for just anyone, Eds."
"Nah," Eddie laughs brokenly, "not anyone, just every Omega in Hawkins."
Wayne looks at him, gaze too knowing but full of sad understanding, "still, he's clearly very fond of you Eds," it's a nice thing to say, warms Eddie's chest. And then Wayne completely ruins it, "that boys so territorial of you, reckon' he'd piss on you if he thought he'd get away with it."
And that sets a fire in Eddie's guts. Not the pissing part, because, gross, no, but what Wayne means by it. The implication.
"Wayne," Eddie says, and that's enough, because Wayne's always been good at boundaries and he knows Eddie, probably better than Eddie knows himself.
"He'll be here in a minute, knows I've got a shift. Won't let you be alone if he can help it."
And Wayne just drops that bomb and leaves Eddie to deal with it, like it's nothing. Like it's normal that King Steve has been building a nest around Eddie while he sleeps.
Like they summoned him, there he is, sucking in a shocked breath and dropping the bag he was carrying, "Eddie," it's a soft exhalation of surprise, and then Steve is at his side, pushing Eddie's hair out of his face and shifting his blankets. Steve moves on autopilot while he talks, touches Eddie with a sureness and familiarity that Eddie knows, in his soul, means that Steve's been doing the same while he was out cold.
"I'll leave you boys too it," Wayne says on his way out of the door, and while Eddie looks over and responds with a weak wave, Steve doesn't even acknowledge the other man. Can't seem to look away from Eddie.
"I have more, uhm, stuff, if you're uncomfortable.". Steve pulls more soft things out of the duffel he's retrieved from the doorway, "and..." Two shirts also make an appearance.
"I'm not an Omega, Steve," Eddie says again, like this time he will get an explanation.
"I'm ...very aware of that, Eds."
Eds. Steve called him Eds. He has been spending time with Wayne then. Jesus, they would have talked about him, Eddie would have been the only thing they had in common at the start.
"Right, well, I'm awake, doc says I'll get better, so you don't have to..." Eddie starts to shift, weakly lifts the plaid blanket to offer it back to Steve.
Steve grips the blanket, not letting Eddie give it to him, pushing it back towards Eddie. Steve's grip is white knuckle tight on the material, "I want to. I really, really want to.". And he stares Eddie down like he's desperately trying to make him understand.
"Oh," Eddie says weakly, heart all twisted up. He doesn't know what his face is showing, can't control it in the moment, but Steve, whose scent has always been strong and appealing to Eddie's weaker Beta senses, is speaking loud and clear. "Oh," Eddie says again, like it'll help. Letting Steve tuck in blankets and and generally fuss over him some more, touches featherlight when he tidies Eddie's hair yet again.
"Is that...okay, how do you feel about...this?"
"About us?" Eddie clarifies, he has to be absolutely certain he's not misreading the intention in Steve's scent. He's not an Omega, he isn't built to pick up the nuances, he has to ask. Even if Steve's scent is kind of a battering ram of want and need and longing and fierce protectiveness.
"yeah, about there being an us," Steve looks uncertain in a way Eddie's never seen before.
If this is Eddie's chance to reassure Steve that he's on board, he's going all in, "kind of like I won a gold medal and got to play on stage with Metallica and I saved the actual wold but like...better and all at once."
"That good, huh?" Steve runs his fingers through his hair, hiding his face a moment, all bashful despite the big grin that's split his face in half, "even though I'm an Alpha and you're...people won't approve."
"Fuck people."
"I'd rather be fucking you."
Eddie face flames, he knows it does. He must have had plenty of blood transfusions because he's pretty certain all that blood is in his cheeks right now. Well, not all of it, half of it must go to his dick. As soon as the thought of Steve between his legs, making him wet and opening him up, catches up to him, Steve leans forward. There's a rumble coming from Steve's chest as he nuzzles his face in between Eddie's head and shoulder, rubbing and scenting against his neck.
He suckles, gently, at the skin there. It's enough to get Eddie humming with pleasure and the rest of the way hard. It's a good job he's swamped in so many blankets, otherwise it would be very obvious; not that it isn't, Steve can clearly smell it on him.
"Can I mark you?" Steve asks, hovering awkwardly over the edge of the bed to get to Eddie.
"I'd usually insist you take a girl to dinner first-"
"I'd feel better Eddie, please," there's no way he could resist Steve Harrington being so vulnerable and sincere.
