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g00d--m0urning · 15 days ago

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Final Destination: Your House (FINALE)

(Sorry Doug fans, he's not painted in the best light [that's probably why you like him, so nvm, you're welcome])

A month, a whole month of space is killing everyone. Surprisingly, it's Doug that fixes everything.

Omgeeee, the final chapter, but not the end. I have one-shots planned (reqs are still open, but I already have a long list, so they're probably already on there). I'd just like to thank everyone for everything, I guess. I never expected my silly fanfiction to get such traction, but I'm so incredibly flattered it did. I could kiss every single one of you 🫶🫶

You requested that everybody give you space and they all obliged, assuring you they’d be there when you’re ready. The distance between everyone feels different this time; nobody is avoiding you, there’s no sharp tension either. They’re all still there, lingering if you ever need them, but never pressing too hard.

Progress is slow, to say the least: there’s still days where you end up keeping the dateviators off, and days you still snap at them, but there’s also days where things seem sort of normal.

Kopi chats with you while she makes your morning coffee, Dorian still makes silly jokes every time you enter a room, Dante keeps you warm the nights you curl up on Koa, watching TV with Telly until you fall asleep.

Nightmare has yet to come to you again; you’re not quite sure how that makes you feel. You love the shadowy entity, but you know you couldn’t handle a visit from her. You can’t have all your progress set back again.

------------

The dateables miss you. You’re so close, yet so far and it’s killing them. They’ll respect your need for space for as long as you need them to, but it doesn’t mean they don’t ache to hold and kiss you every time you pass them.

“I think I’m having withdrawal,” Skylar moans, burning a hole into the carpet with her pacing, “I haven’t been kissed in… four weeks? That’s almost a full month.”

“None of us have, darling,” Scandalabra points out, rolling his eyes at the pink-haired woman, “You don’t hear anyone else complaining.”

“Who asked you, Jon?” Skylar retorts, scowling at the candle-holder, “And what’s with the accent? I thought you dropped the whole prim-and-proper thing.”

Scandalabra--Jon--gasps, setting a hand on his chest, “Ah! One, if you don’t want people butting into your conversations, maybe don’t have them in the middle of the dining room. Two, until our darling is back, I am not gracing a single one of you with my true self.”

“Poor us,” Abel deadpans, shaking his head at the dramatic blonde. While Jon isn’t a totally pleasurable person to be around, he’s certainly better than Scandalabra.

“Ok, ok, ok, can we focus?” Skylar claps loudly, drawing the attention back to her, “Obviously, we can’t force them to be ready, but who says we can’t still show them our love?”

“...And how do you suggest we do that, leave them love notes?” Rod asks with a scoff, giggling with Curt.

“Yeah! Love notes, little trinkets, just stuff to let them know we’re here and thinking about them!” Skylar nods, a bright smile on her face, rubbing her hands together like an evil fly that shall reign love over all!

“He was joking,” Curt says, eyes widening as she confirms what she actually has planned.

“I know! I wasn’t though. It’s the easiest, non-pushy way to show them we love them,” Skylar waves a hand dismissively at the pair, “C’mon, please? I can’t do this alone. I mean, I can and will, but it’d be really nice to do it with others!” She looks around the room with wide and pleading eyes, pouting at the others.

“... I suppose. I’m in,” Dorian reluctantly agrees.

“Same here,” Abel nods.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, Skylar,” Celia reassures, reaching over to give Skylar’s fidgeting hands a light squeeze.

With the mayor’s approval and a bit more thought to it, the others slowly start agreeing to the plan and soon, operation show-our-love-discreetly-but-largely-in-small-gestures--the name is being workshopped--is set in motion.

They start out with small gestures:

Johnny learns a new love song.

Amir’s compliments come as naturally as always, but there’s something softer about them.

Luke makes sure your chicken tendies are reheated to the perfect temperature.

Mac makes sure your computer runs at perfect speeds.

Even Bathsheba makes sure your bath is perfect (though Winnifred and River are mostly to be thanked for that).

They can’t tell if you notice, but they know they’re doing it, and if it makes your day just a little bit better, they’re perfectly happy.

------------

You’re zoned out at the dining room table, a half-eaten meal--lovingly crafted by Stephan--left abandoned in front of you. Somebody taps you on the shoulder, a flash of white appearing in the corner of your eye.

“Wassup, Dorkus?” Doug drawls, plopping into the chair next to you.

An immediate sense of dread--no pun intended--settles in your stomach when Doug appears. You really need to learn not to sit facing that stupid wall, “Go away, dumbass. I can’t deal with you right now.”

“Aw, babes, c’mon! Haven’t you missed me?” he teases, eyeing your plate, not even asking before pulling it in front of him, “Wow, this is great! Stephan works some magic.”

You scowl, snatching the plate back from him, “Go away,” you repeat, firmer this time. He’s obviously got something horrible planned and that’s the last thing you need right now.

“You know even if I leave, I’ll never truly be gone. I’m always in here,” he reaches over, tapping your temple, “Haunting you, lingering in the back of your mind.”

“Oh, my god. What is your problem?” you groan, slapping his hand away, scooting your chair further away from him.

“I don’t have a problem, you do, dork face,” he tells you, standing up and walking over to you, threading a hand through your hair, “You, home-slice, are still afraid of being abandoned, aren’t’cha?”

“Yeah, sure! I have a fear of abandonment; tell me something I don’t know,” you swat at him, standing up and walking away from him. He follows after.

“Yeah, that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re dreading the day that your group of lovers decides to move on. I mean, you can’t have space from them forever, what if they decide that they’re over your dumb request?” Doug mocks, stepping in front of you, voicing every thought you haven’t dared entertain.

“It’s not a dumb request, it’s called setting boundaries,” you correct, stomping on his fat foot and going around him, “Something that seems to be a foreign concept to you.”

“Issssss it though?” if he had eyebrows, he’d be raising them, “Or is it you being afraid that you’ll fuck up again? All it takes is one slip up and it’ll be back to loner-villa, USA. It didn’t seem very hard for them to ignore you the first time. If you ignore them first then they can't ignore you, right?”

“I’m not ignoring them, I asked for space. There’s a difference," you state, ignoring the tightening in your chest. You’ve had every single one of those thoughts during sleepless nights, but you know they aren’t true.

“Issss thereeee?” Doug seems intent on pressing every single one of your buttons and he knows exactly how to do so!

“Yes, there is, you slimeball. Just because you don’t understand the concept of having healthy boundaries with people you have relationships with, doesn’t mean you need to make it my problem.” you yell at the dreadful white ball, whipping around to face him.

“I am allowed to set boundaries with my lovers after they hurt me deeply, there is nothing wrong with that! And if anyone thinks so, then that’s their problem,” you tell him, taking a deep breath. Everybody understands, you’re not being an irrational crybaby for asking for space.

Doug is taken aback for a moment before composing himself again, “Are you trying to convince me or yourself, dork?” he asks, stepping into your personal bubble, towering over you.

“I’m trying to convince anybody,” you stand strong, going toe-to-toe with him, not wanting to back down, despite the crushing urge to, “Boundaries are healthy. So for once in my life, I’m going to set one with you and tell you to fuck off.”

Doug stammers, narrowing his beady eyes at you, “You can’t set boundaries with me. I’m your sense of dread, your anxieties, I live in your head,” he reminds, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“And in my head you can stay. Buh-bye, Doug. Dorkus, out,” you throw up a peace sign before yanking the dateviators off, a wave of relief washing over you when Doug disappears.

Despite having felt proud of yourself for having stood up to Doug, he was right. Anxiety nags at you when you lay down for bed. Are you being stupid with requesting space? It’s been almost a month since everything has happened; they’ve all apologized and you’re still avoiding them.

It doesn’t help that they’ve been so sweet and understanding and ridiculously perfect.

------------

“Do you think they’ve noticed?” Skylar asks, sitting on the foot of your bed, watching you sleep. You’re so cute when you sleep.

“They might’ve,” Betty shrugs, running a hand over your hair.

“‘Might’ve,’” Skylar repeats, chewing on the ends of her hair, “Should we start going bigger? I don’t want them to think that we’ve forgotten them or that we’re mad at them.”

“Skylar, I thought the point of all the little gestures was to make their day better, not to be noticed?” Dorian inquires, hovering near the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, but…” she trails off, puffing her cheeks up, “I just want them to know we still love them.”

“They know, sweetheart, I’ve got the date-a-dex to show for it,” Phoenicia assures her, massaging Skylar’s tense shoulders.

“Right, yeah… The date-a-dex. But--”

“No buts!” several of the dateables say at the same time, a fond exasperation towards the anxious pair of glasses.

Skylar pouts, biting the inside of her cheek, “Fineeee. No buts.”

“Good girl. Now, I do believe it’s bedtime for you,” Betty coos, coaxing her off the edge of your bed, along with sending the others away, so you can get a good night’s sleep.

------------

You’re up before the birds chirp and you can’t help the feeling of satisfaction that gratifies you when a bird lands on your window sill, “That’s right, you little bitch. I’m already awake,” you taunt the bird, sticking your tongue out at it like a child. “Your days of waking me up are over.”

You’re dressed and ready for the day before Timothy strikes nine; apparently guilt makes you incredibly productive. You bounce in front of the mirror, shaking out your hands. You look fine- good, even.

“Hi!” you beam when you approach Kopi, who already has your morning coffee ready for you, as always.

“Good morning, someone’s chipper,” she comments with her warm smile, lightly brushing her fingers against hers when she passes you the mug.

“Hm, I guess so! Just feeling good this morning,” you shrug, moaning when you taste the coffee, "Beautifully roasted, as always my dear,” you tell her, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Oh!” Kopi is surprised by the kiss, but certainly doesn’t want to complain, “That’s good. I’m glad.”

“Me too!” you give her arm a light squeeze, “I’ll see you later, enjoy the morning!”

You vaguely hear her murmur a ‘you too’ before you skip off, but you’re not entirely sure. You greet everyone you pass with an appropriate amount of affection: hugs and kisses all around. It’s nice being able to pepper everyone with love again.

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Your lovers are incredibly confused this morning. You’ve gone from dolling out affection sparingly back to being almost more affectionate than before movie-gate.

“Maybe this is their way of thanking us for the gestures,” Skylar suggests, sounding more like she’s asking, “Or maybe they're just in a good mood, it is a nice day.”

“You really think that’s it?” Celia runs a hand down her front, smoothing her already perfect dress.

“No,” Skylar whines, stomping her foot like a petulant child, “They’re acting weird again.”

“That they are,” Dorian interjects, standing in the doorway, a worried crinkle in his brow, “And might I suggest we talk to them this time, instead of dancing around it like a bunch of idiots?”

Celia huffs a light laugh, nodding in agreement, “I do believe that’d be for the best, Dorian.”

------------

You’re busy cleaning up the kitchen, wiping down the counters, rearranging the cabinets, anything to keep yourself occupied when a gaggle of your lovers enter the kitchen, all sporting concerned expressions.

“Can we distract you for a moment?” Celia requests, holding a hand out for you to take.

“Yeah, totally,” you set down the box of off-brand fruity pebbles, taking her hand, allowing her to guide you into the living room.

A few more people join you in the living room, not crowding you, just hovering in the background, “Are you okay?” Skylar blurts, unable to contain herself. Celia shoots her a glance, but doesn’t scold her for it.

“Yeah, I’m ok, why?” you ask, looking around the room. This feels more like an intervention than it does a casual conversation.

“Because…well…Don’t get me wrong, all of us love kissing you again, but you’re acting kind of… Happy-go-lucky,” she tells you, wringing her hands out nervously, trying to find the right words, “and no offense, but that’s never been you- Not that you’re super depressing or anything, you just have never been the type of person who wakes up super early and skips around the house.”

“You think I’m upset because I’m happy?” you laugh softly, shaking your head. You swear you can feel Doug staring at you, mocking you; you can almost hear him in your head ‘You’re not good enough, too happy, too sad, too much. Nothing is ever perfect.’

“Pretty much!” Skylar nods, a little too enthusiastically, “Also you’re kind of being really sweet. Which, again, is really nice, but you’ve been kind of sparing with your affections and now you’re suddenly being all sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice.”

You can’t help but wince as she points out the fact that you’ve been stingy with your love recently, chewing at a hangnail, “I just… I don’t know, I figured I’ve been avoiding all of you long enough,” you shrug, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“You haven’t been ignoring us, though, love,” Dorian points out, staring at you scrutinizingly, “You asked for space and we were all happy to provide it.”

“I know, but… It’s been almost a month, I feel like I’ve been dragging it out,” you mumble, running a hand over your styled hair. “I’ve been cruel, haven’t I?”

“Livewire, a month is nothing compared to what we deserve. We’re lucky you’re willing to forgive us at all,” Volt tells you, coming out of the crowd of people, “And since when is setting boundaries cruel?”

You hesitate, mulling over his words. That’s pretty much what you said. Setting boundaries isn’t cruel, nor unforgivable, or something anyone should hate you for, “Ugh… Since I let Doug get into my head,” you finally admit, sinking into the couch cushion.

You want to run, to hide and pretend like there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, but you refuse to let this go on. You cannot let more stupid thoughts cause even stupider miscommunications.

“I talked to him yesterday and he kept trying to convince me that all of you would hate me for wanting space for so long. I told him that there was nothing wrong with it and I told him to fuck off, but he got into my head and I couldn’t help but let it get to me,” you rant, deflating as you finally get it off your chest.

“And it’s so stupid, because why am I letting a white blob of a person get into my head?” you ask rhetorically, voice cracking as you tear up, “He’s so stupid, I want to strangle him.”

“It’s not stupid, honey. He is the manifestation of your every anxiety, so he knows exactly how to get to you,” Celia reminds, sitting down on the table, setting a hand on your knee.

“Just so you know, none of us hate you for setting boundaries, love,” Dorian tells you, others immediately chiming in to agree.

“We’re glad you did,” Volt adds, sitting down on the floor next to you, wrapping a hand around your ankle loosely. Eddie comes up next, picking lint off your pants, “Boundaries are healthy and we need them.”

“They’re right,” Skylar tells you, sitting down next to you, “Can I…hug you?”

“Mhm,” you squeak, not trusting your voice to work at the moment, too choked up to speak.

She wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug. That starts a chain reaction and the others slowly start joining in. Dorian takes place at your other side, Celia and Florence each curl up with one of your legs, and you lose track of who’s who after that.

You cry more with each hug, overwhelmed in a good way. You’re surrounded by people you love. People who love you despite everything. Because of everything.

“You’re so right, by the way, Sky,” you finally speak, clearing your throat, “Being so cheery is exhausting. I need a nap already.”

That makes everyone laugh, some of them teary. You’re here, buried in a hug with all of them, cracking jokes. God, they love you so much.

“We better get you in bed then, shouldn’t we?” Tony suggests, wiggling his eyebrows in a playful manner.

“I was thinking… Movie night? Or, afternoon, I guess,” you admit nervously. It’s silly, but you miss the tradition.

“That sounds perfect,” Skylar agrees, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Everyone gets themselves situated, bodies packed together in the living room. It’s familiar and fills your heart with an indescribable warmth. Every person you love and have gone through hardships with, all in one room.

It’s perfect.

(And don’t worry, you watched The Lego Movie. No depressing confusions to be had, Telly made sure of that.)

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hitlikehammers · 6 months ago

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POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post s4 #established relationship #corroded coffin #as in: the boys are here #and they DO NOT APPROVE OF STEVE #and think it’s absolutely essential to confront eddie about what the hell he thinks he’s doing with HARRINGTON of all people #and yeah okay: maybe steve OVERHEARS IT ALL #it’s 100% accidental though #eddie’s van is just in the shop! he needs a ride from band practice!#fluff #romance #anniversary #eddie munson: COME DEFEND YOUR MAN #true love #declarations #love confessions #steve harrington gets to feel all warm and gooey about his boyfriend okay? he deserves that #stranger things #steddielovemonth #prompt: we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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