written for the @steddiebingo kissing booth mini event prompt: bear | rated: t | wc: ~1 k | tags: season 3, alternate first meeting, first date, ft steve’s nail bat
read on ao3
After a long stretch of bad dates, Steve begins to think he’ll never have a good one again. It’s why tonight comes as such a surprise– especially because the person who helps him get out of this bad date rut is none other than Eddie Munson.
Steve asked him out after several days in a row of Eddie showing up at Scoops to bother him. He’d mock Steve’s uniform or ask for ice cream sample after ice cream sample only to end up not buying anything but when Steve– who had been dealing with Henderson’s shithead friends all summer– only got mildly annoyed at this, Eddie decided to up his game by flirting shamelessly, hoping it would make Steve either angry or uncomfortable.
Steve was neither. He was into it.
So by the end of the week, when Eddie showed up again, Steve interrupted his rant about how it was criminal that Scoops was out of rainbow sprinkles to ask him out on a movie date.
Said movie had finished over an hour ago, but their date was still going.
After leaving the Hawk, Steve drove them to Lover’s Lake. When he turned the engine off, Eddie was in the middle of another rant– something about Steve’s terrible taste in music– which he also interrupted by pressing a kiss to Eddie’s lips this time. One kiss quickly turned into two, then three, and then, Steve lost count. He could only think about Eddie’s tongue in his mouth and his hands in his hair, and how this might be the best date he ever went on even if it wasn’t even over yet. In Steve’s opinion, there wasn’t anything that could ruin it.
That is, until he hears a growl.
Steve’s stomach flips at the sound, and not because Eddie bites his bottom lip. “What was that?” He asks without breaking the kiss, their lips brushing.
“Mm– w– what?” Eddie mumbles, pulling back as his eyes flutter open. He looks absolutely kiss–drunk, and Steve takes a second to appreciate his puffy lips and red cheeks before glancing out the window.
“That growl–” He trails off, squinting at the trees, half expecting to see a demodog jumping out of the shadows.
Memories of last Halloween flash behind his eyes and fear starts bubbling up inside him. He’s ready to protect Eddie even if he’s terrified, but there’s little he can do against one of those things, especially without a weapon. “Wait here,” he says, grabbing the car keys.
Eddie frowns as Steve opens the door. “Where are you–”
But the rest of his question gets cut off by Steve slamming the door closed behind him. With his eyes darting around, Steve heads to the trunk. He hears the passenger door open and Eddie as he stumbles out.
“Stay in the car, Eddie,” he says, opening the trunk and moving stuff around.
“After you looked like you saw a ghost and scrambled out of there?” Eddie scoffs. “No, sir. Fuck that.”
Leaves crunch under his boots as he walks over to Steve. He comes into view just as he grabs his nail bat and gives it a twirl.
Eddie stumbles back a few steps. “Jesus H. Christ, man! What the fuck is that?”
Steve hesitates and Eddie starts rambling, a nervous edge to his voice. “You brought me here to murder me, didn’t you? Oh shit, I should’ve known this was too good to be true, someone as pretty as you would never–”
“Eddie!” Steve interrupts, lowering the bat but keeping a tight grip on it. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I’m trying to protect you, he thinks.
“Then what’s that for?” Eddie remarks, eyeing the nail bat warily.
Monsters. “Uh,” Steve falters, trying to think fast. The best he comes up with is– “Bears?”
Eddie blinks. “Bears,” he repeats flatly.
“Yeah.”
“Are you gonna go pick a fight with a bear or something?” Eddie asks, now confused rather than afraid.
Steve shakes his head and lowers his voice a little, even if by now, they probably alerted every creature in the vicinity that they’re here. “I heard growling.”
At that Eddie lets out a loud cackle, the sound reverberating in the otherwise silent woods. So much for being quiet, he thinks.
“Steve, you beautiful idiot,” he laughs, “that wasn’t a bear you hear. It was me.”
It’s Steve’s turn to stand there and blink. “What?”
“The growling? Just my stomach, tough guy,” Eddie explains, chuckling amusedly. “I was so nervous to go on a date with the Steve Harrington that I didn’t eat all day.”
Steve’s grip on the bat loosens. “Oh,” he replies dumbly.
“Yup, so you can put that– thing away now. Unless you were planning to murder me–”
Steve huffs out a laugh. “No, I– I can’t buy you dinner if I murder you.”
“That’s a good point,” Eddie says, stifling a smile. “We should probably go though, before my stomach wakes up every bear around here– wait, are there even bears in Hawkins?”
Steve doesn’t know the answer but fortunately it doesn’t matter because Eddie doesn’t wait for one and climbs into the car.
Tossing the nailbat back into the trunk, Steve does the same. He starts backing the Beemer away from the lake–
Only to hit the brakes after a few feet.
Eddie yelps in his seat. “Damn, you’re jumpy tonight, sweetheart,” he teases, his mouth quirking up in a smirk. “What did ya hear this time?”
“Nothing. Just remembered something,” Steve says. It’s his turn to smirk. “Were you really so nervous about our date that you forgot to eat all day?”
Eddie’s eyes go wide while his cheeks turn pink. He tries to hide behind his hair, tugging it across his face, but it’s too late. “Shut up and drive, Harrington.”
AO3 | @steddiemicrofic july prompt: sign | @steddiebingo round 2 prompt: coffee | rating: g | wc: 507 | cw: none | tags: stobin; deaf steve harrington; eddie munson learns ASL for steve; fluff fluff fluff | masterlist
Eddie tries talking, flirting with him – the absolutely stunning barista at this random cafe he just stumbled into. The barista smiles softly at him for a solid minute before pointing at the pin tacked to his apron – “Hi! I’m deaf. Please be patient.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, fingers fumbling in response – “I’m sorry.”
The barista positively lights up, his grin turning more than blinding as he signs rather quickly.
“Ah, shit.” Eddie shakes his head, signs “I’m sorry” again. He points to his mouth and tries to speak as clearly as possible. “Can you read lips?”
The barista’s smile dims slightly, but he nods. Eddie explains he only knows a few signs, clumsily demonstrates as the barista just softly smiles in response.
“Hey, you know more than most people, dude.” The barista’s coworker comments, sliding up to the counter. “Guarantee you just made Steve’s whooooole day with what you know. He doesn’t really get to talk to people in ASL normally. People just don’t learn it.” They turn and sign something. Steve nods and slips away, but not before smiling and signing “thank you” to Eddie.
“That – I barely did anything.”
They shrug, a sad tilt to their lips as they watch Steve walk to the back. “Yeah, well, barely doing anything is more than most doing nothing.”
Three weeks pass. Eddie spends every free moment studying ASL, even manages to get the advice of Steve’s coworker, and apparently best friend, Robin, on some good resources to use. He practices full sentences since he mainly knows some words and short phrases. He manages some short, very broken conversations with an incredibly patient Steve.
But, he wants to do more, to be able to talk to Steve properly, like he deserves.
Ergo, weeks of practicing.
“Showtime.” Eddie mutters as he walks into the cafe.
Steve’s smiling wide. “Morning, Eddie.” He slides Eddie’s order across the counter, perfectly prepared, as always. There’s even a tiny heart and smiley face drawn on the coffee cup.
Eddie’s positive this man will be the death of him.
Eddie steels himself, swallows down a lump of emotion. “Hey, Sunshine. Would you want to hang out sometime? I’d love the chance to talk to you more and get to know who you are.” He stumbles a bit, clumsily adds, “As much as you’re willing to share.”
Steve laughs, pure awe taking over his face, a deep pink dusting his cheeks. The sound sparks through Eddie’s bloodstream, lighting him up from the inside. Steve nods, “Yeah. I’d really love that.”
Robin squeezes in next to Steve. “As much as I’d love to watch you two flirt, I have other customers to attend to.” They turn to Steve, “Take your break, nerd.”
Steve thanks them, grabs Eddie’s breakfast, drags him over to the table in the corner, nothing but pure sunshine radiating from every ounce of his being.
Eddie’s so going to be late for work, but he can’t be bothered to care – not when Steve is looking at him like this.
Written for @corrodedcoffinfest, @steddiebingo & @just-my-latest-hyperfixation's filthy fluffy forty event.
White Pages
CCF Prompt(s): Locate An Old Friend Day, Cheeseburger Day & Rice Krispie Treat Day || Steddie Bingo Prompt(s): Rockstar AU, Computer, Secret Admirer || Hype's Prompt: Whatever you want it to be | Word Count: 2300 | Rating: T | CW: Alcohol, Language, Talk of Sex | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Famous Corroded Coffin, Drunken Ideas, 1990s, Reconnecting
"What the fuck is the internet?" - Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back
Eddie's fingers are hunting and pecking across the keyboard in the hotel business center, using this newfangled internet thing he doesn't really understand. The words are swimming in front of him, and he blinks, trying to open his eyes wider to focus better. As if that'll straighten it all out.
He's tipsy from the afterparty, and probably should just go to fucking bed, but he's a man on a mission. Suddenly obsessed with finding out whatever happened to Steve Harrington. From Hawkins. From high school. From the Upside Down. That Steve Harrington. You know, the one with the hair.
Eddie barely knows the guy. They spent one insane spring break in close proximity to each other, where Eddie developed a crush at the most inopportune time, then Eddie nearly died, didn't, but was smart enough to hightail it out of town quickly afterwards, better safe than sorry. He didn't particularly want to be strung up in the town square and burned at the stake — so running? Running looked pretty damn good to him.
And it worked out okay. The running. The fleeing. The leaving of Hawkins in the cursed dust.
Corroded Coffin actually made it. Somehow. Eddie Munson, the once accused murderous devil-worshipper, is now performing on big stages. Big, big stages.
Fuck 'em for doubting him. He left Hawkins, and never thinks about that godforsaken place if he can help it. As soon as Wayne packed up and left, Eddie was done with it for good. Good riddance.
But tonight. Tonight some guy at the show's afterparty said his name was Steve, and Eddie's brain derailed with only one overwhelming thought: Steve Harrington. Where's Steve Harrington? Where the fuck is Steve Harrington these days?
Eddie isn't sure if this computer thing will even work the way he's heard. What the fuck is the internet, really? Like, how does it work? Magic? Black magic? He carefully types 'white pages' into Dogpile, and brings up a result leading him to the online version of the White Pages where he's assured he can try and find Steve Harrington, anywhere in the country, without knowing which city to start looking in first? Seems like sci-fi.
Still, he's gonna try.
And he carefully types Steve's name into the little boxes on the webpage.
"What are you doing?" Goodie asks, cutting a rice krispie treat out of the pan he clearly took from the green room. Eddie's pretty sure they weren't supposed to take the pan. Oh well. Goodie's cradling the glass dish in his arms like it's a baby, butter knife in hand, jabbing away at the brick of cereal bars. Their show rider has gotten kind of ridiculous over the past couple years. And homemade rice krispies treats have been a demand they've just recently added. It was a good choice, admittedly. Damn good.
Goodie better share the rest of those later. They were for all of them.
Gareth leans over Eddie's shoulder, snooping, "He's looking for Steve Harrington."
"Nuh uh," Eddie counters, even if that's exactly what he's doing.
"From school? For what?" Goodie asks, chewing.
"Because he loves him," Jeff mocks, coming into the business center nook, holding up two plastic bags of delivery food they'd ordered. "Food's here. Let's go."
"Just a second, I'm still looking," Eddie says.
"Why don't you just ask Henderson?" Gareth suggests.
And Eddie could, but that would raise more questions than he'd honestly like. It's one thing for these assholes to know things about him. Anyone else? He'd rather have teeth pulled. Eddie Munson is a mystery, and he'd like to stay that way, thanks so much.
Scanning the results, there are more Steve Harringtons than you'd imagine, but only one is the right age.
"Chicago," Eddie declares.
"Scruff McGruff, Chicago, Illinois, 60652," Goodie sing-songs from the corner.
They're all drunk.
"Eddie wants to take a bite outta something all right, but it sure as shit ain't crime," Jeff snarks, and Eddie swats in his general direction, missing.
"Aren't we in Chicago?" Gareth questions. Gareth never knows where they are.
"We are. It's fate," Eddie confirms, and he hits print, listening as the big printer in the corner comes to life, slowly spitting out a single piece of paper. But on that paper is Steve Harrington's address.
"That costs a quarter," Goodie accuses, and Eddie thinks they can probably afford a quarter to print a page. Eddie tears off the perforated edges of the printout, and tosses them towards the trash can, missing.
Eddie's going. Now. Right now.
"Let's go," Eddie says, and everybody groans.
"But we have food," Jeff protests, holding up the bags.
Eat, later. Steve, first.
"It's two in the morning, nobody's gonna be happy to see you at two in the morning, especially not Steve Harrington," Gareth says, and Eddie thinks that's just not something they can know. Steve might be thrilled to see him at two in the morning. They don't know shit.
Eddie presses a buzzer button out in front of the apartment building at the address the internet correctly identified as Steve's, at least according to the S. Harrington on the buzzer panel. Holding it down as the other three lean against the opposite wall, eating slightly cold cheeseburgers, making a mess. Toppings falling onto the sidewalk.
No answer.
He pushes it again. Longer, harder. Then, he gets fancy, pressing it in a pattern that he thinks might be a song. Scruff McGruff, Chicago, Illinois — buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Dammit, Goodie.
He's still doing it when the exterior door to the building bangs open, "What the fuck is your problem? It's three in the morning! Goddamn! Wrong apartment, dickhead!"
Steve. It's Steve. Shirtless. Chest hair. So much chest hair.
"Steve," Eddie says, swaying a little, but smiling. It's Steve. His old friend Steve. His long lost buddy, old pal, object of his affection. "I'm your secret admirer."
Then, Eddie laughs, head tilted, hair swishing around, "I stalked you on the internet. To admire you. Worth it."
"Asshole," Steve says, eyes heavy, barely awake. He's still so pretty. Prettier, maybe, at thirty.
"You know it, big boy," Eddie slurs, and he sees when Steve's face squishes up, recognition finally crossing his features.
"Eddie? Eddie Munson?"
Eddie taps his chest, delighted, "That's me! You remembered me."
Steve's face changes, softens, "Eddie Munson. Of course I remembered. I'm certain nobody's ever forgotten you, well, ever. Trust me."
And then he laughs, holding open the door, "Get in here before you wake up the entire building, asshole."
This time, calling him an asshole is softer. Affectionate.
Eddie knew they were old friends.
"That's Gareth, Jeff and Goodie. My band," Eddie explains, ignoring their protests at the my qualifier, and Steve nods in their direction. Eddie has no idea if Steve remembers any of them from school or not, but at least he remembers Eddie. Hot damn. "We're rockstars."
"That so?" Steve asks, holding open the elevator door so they can all file into it together. It's small. Cramped. But Eddie doesn't mind, not if he gets to be this close to Steve.
"Yep," Eddie says, "I'm famous."
"So I've heard," Steve answers, pushing the button for his floor, as the doors finally close.
Crowded into the elevator, Steve is staring at him, like he's trying to make sense of this weird thing that's happening in the middle of the night. That's fair.
"Why are you here?" Steve asks, and Eddie lulls his head, smiling dopily.
"To have sex with you," Eddie says, and reaches out, flicking Steve's nipple just as the elevator dings, signaling they've reached Steve's floor. Eddie couldn't have timed it better if he'd tried.
"Not while we're all trapped in here with you, you're not," Goodie says, and oh yeah, they aren't alone. Not yet.
Steve laughs.
Eddie leans really close to Steve's face, whispering, "You wanna have sex with me?"
"We'll see," Steve says, and that's not a no. Eddie'll take it. He knew Harrington liked boys, too. He could smell it all over him, even back in high school.
Eddie loves being right about things.
They all pile into Steve's apartment, and Eddie follows Steve back to his bedroom, making the guys chill on the couch, even as they protest.
"Take a load off," Steve says, and Eddie flops down onto the bed, face-first. It's soft. So soft.
When Eddie wakes up, his mouth feels full of cotton. He's uncomfortable. Sprawled on his belly, arm trapped beneath his body, still fully dressed, right down to his boots. He squeezes his eyes shut at the morning light coming through the blinds.
He groans.
"Oh, so you are alive," a voice says, and Eddie freezes. He knows that voice.
Steve Harrington.
Steve Harrington is lying next to him. Eddie rolls onto his side to face him, and reaches out, poking a finger into his hairy, bare chest.
Solid, warm skin. Huh. Definitely real.
"What are you doing in my bed?" Eddie asks.
"I live here, this is my bed. What are you doing here? Besides trying to fuck me."
Eddie laughs, that does sound like him, "Well, did I get it done?"
"You did not," Steve confirms, then smiles, "Maybe later."
Eddie grins back at him, snuggling down into Steve's warm bedding, pressing his face into Steve's pillow. It's soft, and smells like him.
"Hmm," Eddie hums, closing his eyes, falling back asleep.
When he wakes up the next time, he's unfortunately sober. His head is pounding, and there's lots of noise coming from somewhere in the distance.
Crawling out of bed in the unfamiliar room, he follows the sound. The guys are on a couch, playing some kind of video game, dirty plates all over the coffee table in front of them. Being far too loud for Eddie's pounding skull.
"Eddie!" Gareth yells, "Steve's got a Sega and a Nintendo!"
Eddie's eyes are squinted as he nods. Cool. That's cool.
Steve Harrington is standing in the kitchen, dish towel over his shoulder. Fuck. He didn't dream him. Eddie's really here, in Steve's house.
Eddie feels sheepish when he approaches him.
"Hi," he says.
Steve smiles. "Hi, you sobered up?"
Eddie nods. Unfortunately, he is.
Steve shakes two pills into his hand, and gives him a glass of water. He needs both, desperately. His skull is trying to split into two pieces.
"How'd you find my address?" Steve asks, "Henderson?"
"The internet," Eddie corrects.
"Huh," Steve says in response, but doesn't elaborate further on how he feels about that. But, then he seemingly rolls with it. Eddie doesn't know Steve all that well, but rolling with a half-assed plan seems very Steve, from what he can remember.
"You want some breakfast?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. Sliding onto the bar stool, watching as Steve fixes him a plate that he eventually sits down right in front of Eddie on the counter. Then, he runs his hand over Eddie's shoulder, squeezing.
Eddie looks at where his hand is trailing away, missing the touch already.
"Thanks. Sorry for barging into your apartment last night," Eddie says, picking up his fork. He's a little embarrassed. Not a lot. But a little. At least Steve seems amused by the intrusion, not mad, so Eddie's not letting himself get too worked out about being a weirdo.
He's a freak. He knows — and likes — that about himself.
"It's fine. It was the most entertainment I've had all year," he says, smiling.
"Well, we play again tonight. If you want a different kind of entertainment. I'll put you on the VIP list," Eddie offers, looking up at Steve. Hopeful that he might say yes to this suggestion.
And Steve nods, smiling in a way that Eddie thinks means he might actually be into coming to see them play.
"Awesome," Eddie says, and shovels a big bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
Later that night, Eddie stands just off-stage, sweating like a whore in church, but sober as a fucking judge. The show was good. Great. He pulled out all the stops, just in case Steve Harrington did decide to come see them play.
Speaking of the devil, Steve pokes his head around the curtain, and Eddie grips the neck of his guitar. He came. He wasn't sure he would. But he did. He's here.
"You guys were great, thanks for inviting me," Steve says, and Eddie lurches forward, crushing his lips to Steve's. He can't wait another second.
Steve lets out an oomph under him, but kisses back, hands coming around to hold onto Eddie's back, pulling him closer, Eddie's guitar trapped between them. His guitar tech eventually reaches for it, trying to worm it out from between them, and they only break apart long enough for Archie to slide the strap over Eddie's head, taking it away to the truck. Then, Eddie's right back where he wants to be, kissing Steve Harrington.
Teenage Eddie Munson would never believe anything that's happened to him in the last decade, but this? Maybe this takes the cake as the most unbelievable.
Kissing him until he's breathing hard, and Steve is too. He's not alone in this desperation, and Eddie cups Steve's neck, pulling him close again. Lips brushing against his as he speaks.
"What is this?" Eddie asks.
"Whatever you want it to be," Steve says, smiling against Eddie's lips, "You came and found me, remember?"
Eddie doesn't remember, not really. Not all of it. Only small flashes. Doesn't matter. He's here, and so is Steve, and for some reason Steve's not running away screaming from Eddie turning up at his house in the middle of the night like a big weirdo.
Eddie wants it to be everything.
"What now?" Eddie asks, looking into Steve's big eyes.
Steve smirks, "Well, I think I was promised sex."
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest, @steddiebingo & this post by Hype to follow along with the fun! 🥰
Notes: The Wayback Machine actually had that Metallica ad in the saved version of the page, which was fun to see. Dogpile was a search engine that compiled results from many different search engines. Back in the olden days, before Google, you'd use many different search engines (Alta Vista, Excite, Webcrawler, etc) and get varied results from each one. Dogpile aggregated them into one place.
I feel like I'm a roughly a thousand years old trying to explain this to anyone that didn't experience it firsthand. I think maybe you had to be there. 🤣
Also? Scruff McGruff, Chicago, Illinois, 60652. Enjoy the earworm.
Written for @steddiebingo Kissing Booth Prompt: Jealousy
Rating: T | WC: 1195
Thank you @oh-stars for betaing!!
Eddie is ripping his way through a solo at practice, trying to nail the transition between the solo and chorus. He groans in frustration when he misses the same note he has the last three run throughs. “Fuck.”
Gareth tosses his drumstick at him and thumps his bass pedal. “Eddie, come on, man. We’ve been at this for like an hour already.”
Eddie scoffs. “It’s been like twenty minutes, Gare.” He snatches Gareth’s stick up off the ground and throws it back. “Go from the top of the verse again.”
Gareth and the rest of the guys groan and roll their eyes as Gareth counts them in. Eddie focuses hard on making his fingers move the way they need to, nailing the parts of the song he already has down, gets mostly through the solo and– misses the same note.
“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!”
Jeff sighs. “Maybe we should table this one for–”
Eddie shakes his head. “No! I’ve almost got it. Just– From the verse again.”
The guys eye him wearily but start again. Eddie’s sure he’s going to nail it this time. He just has to figure out what he keeps snagging on and he’ll be good. He can do this, he– misses the same damn note again! “FUCKING HELL!”
Gareth groans behind his drums. “EDDIE! What the hell, man?”
Doug takes his bass off and goes to head inside. “I need a fucking break, dude.”
Eddie throws his hands up in defeat. “Great. We just got started!”
Jeff sets his guitar to the side and shrugs. “Run through it a few times while we grab some snacks.”
Eddie watches as they all head inside and turns to Steve where he’s been sitting in the corner watching this absolute trainwreck unfold. “I can’t believe them!”
Steve just shrugs and takes a drag from the joint Eddie rolled for him as payment for agreeing to be his ride today. “Just keep going. You’ll get it.”
Eddie sighs and cracks his fingers. Okay. He’s got this. He runs through the parts separately a few times, making sure he has the solo figured out. Then he does the whole first part of the song, letting the muscle memory take over on all the parts he already has down. He keeps going, flowing through the solo again, convinced he’s got it this time and– he misses the whole transition. He groans, tugging on his hair in frustration. “Fuck me. This is impossible!”
Steve sighs and gets up and starts walking over to him, joint still dangling from his lips.
Eddie stares at him in confusion as he comes up behind him and goes to wrap his arms around Eddie and his guitar. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Steve leans forward and looks at him over his shoulder and talks around the joint in his mouth. “You’re skipping a beat. That’s why you keep getting off.”
Eddie’s brow scrunches. “What the fuck are you talking ab–”
Steve swats Eddie’s hands out of the way and starts playing through the solo, Eddie’s fucking solo, flawlessly. And Eddie is just standing there like an idiot with his arms held up awkwardly out of the way so Steve can play. Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock and he stares down at Steve’s hands moving effortlessly along the frets. “What the fuck?”
Steve huffs a laugh in Eddie’s ear, a puff of smoke filling the air around them. Steve gets to the part Eddie keeps fucking up on and slows down, leaning in close. “Right here.” He plays over the spot a few times, showing Eddie the beat he’s absolutely been skipping. “You miss that rest and it throws you off. See?” He plays through it again and goes right into the chorus, no problem.
Eddie nods dumbly, still just staring at the way Steve’s hands look on his guitar. His brain feels scrambled with this new knowledge. Steve just waltzed over here and dropped the bomb that he can play guitar as good as, if not better than Eddie, by ear, and is acting like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just completely rock Eddie’s entire world. Because holy shit this is hot.
Steve is hot.
Which like, okay. Duh. Obviously he has eyes and knows the guy is objectively attractive. But he has always just been…Steve. His friend. But now…Eddie is blushing. And if he’s being honest, he’s a little hard. Which is mortifying considering Steve’s hand is basically right over his dick. Eddie has never been jealous of an inanimate object before. But fuck if he doesn’t wish he was his guitar right now with Steve’s hands working over it like this. Eddie shakes his head with a laugh and leans back a little, lifting his hands to run his finger through his hair before lacing them behind his head to give Steve easier access.
Steve runs through the rest of the song before letting go and stepping back. He gives Eddie’s shoulder a little squeeze and plucks the joint out of his mouth so he can flash him a smile. “Try it again–” He flicks the ashes off the joint. “I bet you’ll get it now.”
Eddie just stares at him with wide eyes as Steve goes and flops back down on the shitty couch in the corner with a cocky grin. “What the fuck, Harrington?”
Steve takes a drag from his joint and shrugs. “What?”
Eddie scoffs. “What do you mean ‘what?’”
Steve’s smile stretches wider on his face and he sinks into the couch more.
Eddie shakes his head. “Since when do you play the fucking guitar?”
Steve shrugs. “Since forever. My mom made me pick an instrument to take lessons on when I was little.”
Eddie scoffs. “And you never thought to mention this before?”
Steve takes another drag, the smoke billowing out of his mouth as he shakes his head. “No. Why would I?”
Eddie chuckles, his mind still spinning. “Why’d you let me fumble through this shit when you knew what I was doing then?”
Steve shrugs and nods to the guitar. “Play through it again before they get back.” He looks up and locks eyes with him. “Tell them you figured it out.”
And– oh. He waited to show Eddie until they were alone so he could take credit for figuring it out. God damnit. He’s being sweet on top of everything and–
This is no good. Eddie can feel the sparks of a crush catching fire in his chest, threatening to burn him alive. He clears his throat and nods. “Thanks, man.”
Eddie shakes his head, trying to focus again. He starts at the beginning of the solo, making sure he pays better attention to counting out the beats and– nails it. He flies right through and into the chorus.
He lets out a satisfied sigh, a smile pulling at his cheeks as he looks back up at Steve who is beaming with pride as he starts clapping. “Knew you could do it, Eds.”
A blush rises on Eddie’s cheeks and he nods, trying to shove the swell in his heart down before it gets him into trouble. “Thanks.”
Written for the @steddiesongfics January prompt “based on a song from Season 5 of Stranger Things” and the round 3 @steddiebingo prompt “tradition” | song inspiration: “Fernando” by ABBA | wc: 1,000 | rated: T | cw: PTSD and hypervigilance | tags: canon divergent from season 4, Eddie lives and Vecna was killed the first time, future fic, established relationship, healing from trauma, featuring the whole party
———
It’s cool and quiet at the edge of the woods surrounding Lover’s Lake. Eddie didn’t park too far away from the group’s spot on the shore, but Steve appreciates the distance as he goes to get another beer from the cooler in the back of the van.
From here, the shouting laughter and the crackling bonfire fade into the background. Steve’s path is lit by the moonlight streaming between bare-branched trees, each step accompanied by the crunch of dry leaves and the swish of his coat.
They were here this time last year, too. And the year before. What began as a one-off party to help the kids blow off steam has become an annual tradition. Every November, when the trees start to die and the nights get too long and the rustling woods sound too much like monsters from another world, they come back here. It’s their own pagan ritual, a cleansing– fears and memories carried away by smoke and the ripples of stones thrown into the lake. They gather together, remind themselves that they survived, and celebrate.
It had been Eddie who suggested it, in that dark year after they defeated Vecna. Eddie who pulled them together when the shock of their victory threatened to tear them apart. Eddie who started the fire, who pulled out his battered acoustic guitar and played every song the kids could name, who sang and danced and joked with them beneath the starry sky until they all remembered how to laugh again.
This year, Steve needs the reminder more than ever. He’s here. Vecna’s not, hasn’t been for two and a half years, never will be again, Steve knows that… but the longer it’s been since that fateful spring break, the harder it is to shake the feeling that something is going to happen, that he’s missing the warning signs and won’t be ready when the Upside Down inevitably strikes again.
He sighs forcefully enough that his breath fogs around his face. His first two beers are flowing warm in his veins. He’s here with all of the most important people in his life. He takes another breath, a slow inhale through his nose that burns as the cold air enters his lungs. Holds it, lets his anxiety diffuse into carbon dioxide, releases it, and watches the mist dissipate into the night. If only it were that easy.
The beer cans, when Steve finally grabs them, are shockingly cold. It grounds him enough that he doesn’t think so hard as he trudges back down the hill towards the bonfire.
The sights and sounds of their group come back into focus slowly. He can make out the shock of Max’s hair where she huddles beneath a blanket with Lucas. Robin’s obnoxiously patterned sweater stands out with the lake as her backdrop, sleeves waving wildly as she gesticulates her way through a discussion with Nancy and Jonathan. Steve can just make out the back of Eddie’s head, nodding in time, his gentle fingerpicking weaving around the sounds of bickering as Dustin, Mike, and Will try to decide what the next song should be.
Steve follows the quiet guitar, shifting from a delicate melody into a lazy strumming pattern, until he’s close enough to make out Eddie’s humming beneath the dull roar of the surrounding conversations. The familiarity of the scene warms Steve nearly as much as the bonfire, now that he’s close enough to feel the radiating heat once again. Eddie always chooses a spot close to the fire, given his tendency to run cold.
He’s wondering how to let Eddie know he’s behind him without startling him too badly when Dustin spots him and yells, “Steve! Tell Mike we’re sick of his stupid punk songs.”
The sudden outburst still makes Eddie jump, his fingers skidding across the frets, though he’s smiling good-naturedly when he turns to look for Steve. He winks when their eyes meet, on the side facing away from the kids so it’s just for Steve.
Steve steps over the log to settle in his seat beside Eddie, close enough for their thighs to touch and for the body of Eddie’s guitar to bump against Steve’s hip. To Dustin, he says, “Maybe Eddie is tired of being your human jukebox, huh? Give him a break.”
Mike mumbles something snide that diverts Dustin’s attention, and that distraction is the closest Steve and Eddie will get to having a private moment for the rest of the night. Steve takes advantage of it by leaning in, close enough for this nose to brush Eddie’s temple, and whispering, “You gotta tell them when you’re getting sore.”
Eddie shakes his head as he gently lays his guitar to the side. Despite his denial, he flexes his hands, stretching the aching joints. “I’m fine, really.”
“Would another beer help?” Steve holds up a can in offering.
“Aww.” Eddie’s eyes sparkle in the firelight. “You really do love me.”
He rolls his eyes and pops the tab on the can before handing it over. “Duh.”
Even after years together, it still shocks him that something as monumental as loving Eddie could ever become mundane. Steve has already told Eddie he loves him three times today– a sleepy farewell when Eddie abandoned their bed in search of breakfast, the punctuation on their late morning tryst, a casual thank you after Eddie loaded the beer cooler into the van. It’s an everyday occurrence now, as easy as breathing.
Eddie furrows his brow as he looks Steve over. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet tonight. Thinking too much?”
“As usual,” he agrees. “You’ll have to distract me.”
Obligingly, Eddie leans in for a kiss. It’s chaste, but apparently lingers long enough for the kids to notice and express their annoyance at the “lovey-dovey shit,” as Dustin calls it. Robin wolf-whistles from the other side of the fire.
Beneath the twinkling stars, in the glow of the bonfire, surrounded by the joyful chaos of the people he loves, Steve continues to heal.
“Hey.” He takes off his glasses, drops them on the rug, and nudges the couch cushion. “C’mere.”
Eddie watches him, amused. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What, you gonna snore on me some more?” But Eddie shifts, scoots towards Steve, deeper into the couch.
The moment he’s close enough, Steve gets in his space, nuzzles Eddie’s chest. His body feels all heavy and warm, probably thanks to the tequila, but he’s waking up, teased by the scent of Eddie’s skin. He lets out a sigh, curls in, mouths along Eddie’s neck, wet and artless.
Eddie’s hands come up, resting on Steve’s back. They’re so warm through Steve’s shirt. “You feeling some kind of way, baby?”
“Maybe.” Steve huffs, nibbles the bolt of Eddie’s jaw. It’s different than before, than Christmas. No frantic urgency. No rush. He heaves himself up, straddles Eddie’s lap, knees digging into the couch, his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, carding through his hair.
Eddie’s chuckle is liquid in Steve’s ear. His fingers trace a thin, burning line at the small of Steve’s back. The weight of his body between Steve’s legs is reassuring, steadying. “You don’t want to call it a night?”
“Nope.” Sliding kisses along Eddie’s neck, Steve lives for the thin hiss in his ear, the tense roll of Eddie’s body. He smiles against Eddie’s cheek, then tilts his head, brushes his mouth against Eddie’s. Warm, brief.
CHAPTER 8 of BENEATH THIS EMPTY SKY | read it now on ao3
prompt: train | word count: 551 | rated: G | tags: transfem Steve Harrington, meet-cute | @steddiemicrofic | ao3
@steddiebingo prompt fill: slipper
A whirlwind rushed past Stevie on her way to the grocery store. Considering it was just a few blocks away, she'd left her bike at home and gone on a walk instead.
It came in handy when another whirlwind of a black tank and ripped jeans, messy long curls, chains and sneakers rushed past her, yelling: "Robber!"
"Duck!" She yelled back while taking off one of her slippers, pleasantly surprised when the stranger complied instantly.
Thanks to her diligent training, she was able to pitch her fastest fastball without breaking a sweat.
Within a blink, the robber was knocked down ("Strike!!!") which allowed the—tall, tattooed, broad-shouldered, handsome—kind-hearted stranger to tackle him on the pavement, causing small commotions amongst other pedestrians.
By the time Stevie caught up with them, the robber was nowhere in sight, the purse had been returned to the poor old lady, and Rockstar was holding her missing slipper, big russet eyes glinting with something akin to hope (?) when they spotted Stevie.
Before she could ask him to give back her slipper, he dropped to one knee and put it on for her. And oh— he looked dreamy down there, gazing up at her with a boyish smile, all endearing dimples and pearly canines.
"Nice pitch, milady."
His voice was sinfully deep, but what grabbed Stevie's immediate attention was those three words—the same ones inscribed on her left wrist since she'd turned eighteen.
"It's you," she gasped.
Although he seemed to have anticipated it, pure disbelief and joy still dawned on his face. As if it was too good to be true.
"Duck!" He pointed at her, startling an abrupt giggle out of Stevie. He grinned, toothy, pleased with himself.
"Stevie Buckley." She held out her hand. "You gave me quite a crisis, soulmate."
Biting down on his plump lip, he reached out to engulf her in warm calluses. Their hands fit like gloves; his was slightly broader and adorned with more rings than hers. A gentle tingle pranced down Stevie's spine.
"Eddie Munson at your service." He kissed the back of her hand before getting up. "You gave me quite a scare as well, Stevie."
"How so?" She asked, a little breathless.
Eddie shrugged, fingers intertwined with hers as they resumed walking.
"Well, let's just say I'm not the biggest fan of ducks."
As they continued chatting, she got to learn more about Eddie. Apparently, despite his fear of ducks, he'd still go seek them out whenever he got the time just on the off chance she'd be there. Stevie was already halfway in love.
"I always knew I wasn't a boy," she said moments later while Eddie was picking vegetables for her. He'd insisted on helping with her grocery run when she told him about it. "So once I got your words, it's all I needed to start my transition."
Eddie put the tomatoes into her basket, eyes soft and kind.
"I'm lucky to be yours, Stevie."
"Go home with me," she blurted.
Smiling fondly, he hooked their pinkies together.
"Wherever you go, sweetheart."
When they exchanged their first kiss later that night, it tasted of her homemade lasagna, of the future where Eddie'd keep telling their children about their epic love story.
"Yer mom's a great pitcher. Struck me right in ma heart."
Day three of my @steddiebingo Twelve Days of Christmas fills.
Prompt: Lights | 1,191 words | G | No Warnings | Ao3
Thank you @lady-lostmind for betaing for me!
--
Robin has told him a thousand times it’s not something to be embarrassed about. She says it at least once a week, whispered as he crawls into bed, cheeks on fire. And he appreciates it, really, but it doesn’t take away the shame. He’s meant to be the party’s protector, behind Nancy of course. He’s the first physical line of defense, the first body on the battlefield. Steve Harrington can be a lot of things, but he cannot be weak.
The stupid, dead nightlight on his wall says otherwise.
Steve jumps up from his bed and yanks it out the wall. “You’re being a dingus,” he huffs. “It’s just a stupid light. You can sleep without it.” He chucks it into the trash can by his desk, the bulb shattering on impact.
It should feel good. It should feel freeing.
He just feels cold.
Steve crawls back into bed, tense and on edge as the pool lights soak into his room from beneath his curtains. His eyes track the shadows, his fists tighten around the blankets. He’s frozen in place, waiting and watching.
It’s been months since Steve had to sleep alone without his nightlight. Normally Robin’s glued to his side or drags him over to her house. Or everyone will have a sleepover and the house won’t feel as empty and vulnerable. But Robin’s out of town for a family reunion for a whole week and Steve’s stupid nightlight had to give out on night one.
The night drags. He feels every minute, every second ticking by. He cannot move until the morning light takes over for the eerie blue of the pool ambience and the birds start their song. Only then can he peel himself out of bed, body sore and eyes dry, as if nothing happened at all.
It’s only six nights. He can do this.
“You look like death,” Eddie says, dropping a stack of tapes on the Family Video counter, tapes Steve knows he can’t rent because of the massive late fee he’s racked up on his account – so big Steve can’t override it.
Steve rolls his eyes and starts scanning them on his account. The things he does for his… friends. “Rob’s not here,” he says, like that answers everything.
Eddie considers it for a moment, dropping onto his elbows as he leans on the desk. “Can’t sleep without a little birdie in your nest?”
“Just like knowing she’s safe,” he says with a shrug. “It’s nice having her at my back, but I don’t need her to sleep.”
“Of course not,” Eddie says. He grins. “I may not be as cozy as Robin, but,” he drops his voice down to a whisper, still keeping his mischievous intonation, “I’m happy to take her place for a few nights.”
This thing between them is… new. New and unexplored and Steve is still trying to toy the line between being the cool, attractive guy who’s boyfriend material with the reality of who he is. Eddie’s seen more than most, though, and he’s yet to turn Steve away. It’s just… tough.
Steve sets the tapes aside and leans in close. “I don’t sleep well alone.”
“So don’t sleep alone,” Eddie says, breath ghosting over Steve’s cheek. Their noses are nearly touching, too close for the public but worth the risk in the otherwise empty store. “Invite me over, Harrington.”
“Fine,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair as he sits up. “Wanna come over, Munson?”
“With pleasure.” Eddie winks at him.
Steve narrows his eyes. “For sleep. No funny business.”
Eddie scoffs. “Like I’d ever.” He grabs the tapes and looks behind him, hair flipping around as he keeps watch. His hair is in disarray when he stops, grinning at Steve. “Kiss for the road?”
“Just this once,” Steve says, reaching forward to grab Eddie by the collar and drag him in close. It’s quick, chaste, and the sweetest kiss Steve’s ever had in his life. “Later, Eds.”
“See you soon, sweetheart.”
Eddie’s sprawled on his bed, tucked underneath the covers, wearing Steve’s clothes and hoarding the pillows like a gremlin. “So is it Robbie’s presence that helps?”
Steve shrugs, pushing the comforter back to slip into bed. It’s dark, too dark, except for the glow of the pool in its cool, eerie hue. He suctions himself to Eddie’s side, burrowing in close. “Maybe,” he mumbles.
A hand trails up Steve’s bare back, nails lightly scratching as they go, but mindful of his scars. “Or do you just like someone to cuddle and siphon heat from?”
“Yeah that's it, all I want is a warm body. Doesn’t matter who. You, Robin, a dog. All the same to me.”
“Is that why you’re trying to crawl into my skin?” Eddie asks, rolling them over so he can peer down at Steve. He brushes a few hairs off Steve’s forehead. “What’s really going on, baby?”
He looks up at Eddie, at those big brown eyes that only ever look at him with warmth and maybe something deeper, something sacred and special he’s too scared to name. It cracks him open, split right down his chest in an open cavity seeping with feelings and thoughts. “It’s too dark,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut the second the words are out there.
He said it.
He admitted it.
It’s out there now, living in the space between them like a neon sign.
Eddie Munson now knows how weak and pathetic Steve really is.
The bed shifts and the covers slide down as Eddie leaves. Steve can’t feel him anymore, he’s leaving and he’ll never come back because he sees him now, he truly sees how–
A click. Steve can see the faint glow of a light on the other side of his eyelids. He cracks one eye open to see Eddie hovering near the lamp. “Easy fix,” he says in a way that shows how much he understands how big of a task that really was. “Now scoot over, I want your good pillow.”
Eddie dives back into the bed and wiggles his toes between Steve’s legs. He throws the blanket back over them and hums as he scoots closer to Steve. “You know, with the lamp on your room is pretty cozy.”
Steve can’t speak. The lump in his throat was too thick to voice any of the thoughts swirling in his head. Instead, he holds Eddie close and lets his body relax into the mattress, into Eddie.
The next time Steve comes over to Eddie’s, he finds the ceiling draped in Christmas Lights.
“Like it?” Eddie asks, bouncing on his bed.
“You didn’t have to do this for me,” Steve says, closing the door behind him.
Eddie shrugs. “If it makes you feel comfortable and helps you sleep, it’s easy to do.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know if you noticed,” Eddie says, reaching for him, “but I kind of like you a lot, Stevie. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you.”
Steve kisses him so hard they fall back onto the bed. They don’t leave till morning. Steve has to show just how much he appreciates the lights, afterall.
