penny00dreadful

[penny00dreadful]

Something Real

One movie, one confrontation, and one shared bucket of popcorn makes Eddie start to realise that maybe he never really knew Steve at all—and maybe, just maybe, he wants to. Also on AO3 [Here]

Eddie Munson has been waiting for weeks for this movie to come out.

It’s a low-budget horror flick with a cult following and a killer soundtrack. None of Eddie’s friends were available or particularly interested in going, but that’s fine, he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He’s got his overpriced popcorn, a drink the size of his head, and a seat smack in the middle of the theatre. Perfect.

Or it is up until Steve Harrington walks in.

Eddie notices him immediately. It’s hard not to. He’s got that hair, that walk, the tiny moles on his face that make him look soft and a great body. The subject of Eddie’s most hopeless, pathetic high school crush. And of course, he’s not alone. There’s a girl on his arm, pretty in a polished, too perfect kind of way.

He watches, curious despite himself. Steve’s always been a bit of an enigma. Eddie’s heard the stories. King Steve. Heartbreaker. Every bit the stereotypical leader of the jocks, treating women like objects and everyone else like loyal subjects for him to look down on.

But what Eddie sees now doesn’t match up with those stories at all.

Steve opens the door for the girl with a soft, “After you,” and she brushes past him without a word. When she stumbles on the stairs, he catches her gently by the elbow, murmurs an apology for touching her without warning, and offers his arm for balance the rest of the way.

Eddie blinks. Huh.

They settle into their seats two rows down and directly in front of Eddie.

Of course they do.

The movie doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, not even trailers yet, but Eddie’s already more interested in the Steve Harrington Show than whatever’s going to be on screen. He feels like he’s getting a sneak peek behind the scenes into Steve’s world and it’s nothing like he imagined.

They sit. She shivers under the AC, and Steve immediately shrugs off his jacket and offers it to her. Then he offers to switch seats so she’s not directly under the vent.

Surprisingly, Steve’s the perfect gentleman. He asks about her day, offers her popcorn, and laughs at a joke that leans more mean than funny—though Eddie catches the subtle flicker of discomfort in his posture when she’s not looking.

He compliments her hair and outfit, asks what kind of music she’s into, and even admits to liking '70s rock. It’s something Eddie never expected to hear from him but can’t help respecting. It’s the kind of detail that makes Eddie pause, realizing with a jolt that they might have a few songs in common. And that’s unexpectedly disarming.

Steve even double-checks if she’s sure she’s okay with horror movies, offering to see something else if she’s not.

“Why? Are you scared?” she teases.

“Terrified,” Steve replies with a grin. “But I figured if I screamed, you’d protect me.”

Eddie nearly chokes on a kernel of popcorn.

That was smooth. Like, actually smooth. It wasn’t cocky or rehearsed. It was playful and self-aware. The line showed Steve didn’t take himself too seriously, a refreshing contrast to the image-obsessed popular kids Eddie had grown up resenting. He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a tricky riff. That line might’ve even worked on him. He’s always been a sucker for someone who knows how to be a little silly without losing sincerity.

“Huh,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts in his seat, suddenly more invested in this pre-show than the actual movie he’s paid to see.

But then the girl leans in, voice low and suggestive. “I didn’t expect you to take me on a date like this. When I said we should watch a movie, I thought we’d grab one from the rental store and watch it at your place. Or, you know… somewhere more private.”

She walks her fingers up his chest in a way that makes Eddie want to gag.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Here we go.

He braces for the shift; the moment Steve drops the nice guy act and becomes the player everyone says he is. The moment he starts acting like the stereotypical meathead jock who only cares about getting girls into bed and out again before they get too attached. God forbid a straight guy have actual emotions or care about someone beyond the surface.

But it doesn’t come.

“Oh,” Steve says, shoulders going stiff. He takes hold of her hand and moves it away from his chest but holds onto it gently. “I thought we could spend some time together. Get to know each other. This is just our first date, after all, right?”

“I guess.” The girl shrugs. “I just thought you were supposed to be into showing girls a good time. I’ve heard the rumors.”

Steve laughs, but it’s nervous. Hollow. His eyes flick toward the fire exit like he’s considering a tactical retreat.

“Yeah, uh… you don’t need to worry about that,” he says. “I was kind of a mess in junior year. I’ve learned a lot since then. Hookups were fun, sure, but they never really felt good after. I’d rather have something real now.”

“Hmm,” she says, unimpressed and takes her hand back, turning back to the screen.

Eddie frowns. Something about her tone grates on him. Dismissive. Like Steve just offered her a piece of himself and she tossed it aside without looking.

He shifts again, but this time it’s not out of amusement. His smirk is gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a faint scowl. He watches Steve fumble through the conversation, trying to be honest and vulnerable and getting nothing but attitude in return.

And it bugs him. More than it should.

Maybe it’s because he’s seen too many guys like Steve get away with being jerks. But here’s Steve, trying to be better, trying to be real, and this girl’s treating him like he’s a joke.

Eddie knows what that feels like. To be misunderstood. To have people assume the worst of you based on old stories and high school gossip. And it sits right on his last nerve to watch it happen to someone else.

The conversation shifts.

Not in a dramatic way. There are no raised voices, no sudden outbursts, just a slow, steady unraveling. It’s like watching a thread being pulled loose from a sweater.

The girl starts interrupting Steve. Not just once, but over and over. She talks over him, cuts him off mid-sentence, contradicts him just to do it. When he mentions liking a certain band, she scoffs and says they’re overrated. When he shares a memory about a summer job, she calls it boring.

Eddie watches it all unfold like a car crash in slow motion.

Steve doesn’t snap. Doesn’t even push back. He just absorbs the impact of it. Smiles tightly. Tries to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. He’s patient, too patient. Like he’s used to this and he’s trying not to make a scene.

Eddie’s scowl deepens.

He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him so much. Maybe it’s because he expected Steve to be the problem. Expected him to be the shallow one. But instead, he’s watching Steve try—really try—to be kind, to connect and make something work. And this girl is steamrolling him like he’s not even there.

It’s uncomfortable. And not in the way Eddie usually enjoys.

The lights dim. A hush falls over the theatre. The trailers are about to start.

And then she speaks again.

“Oh wow, look at that,” she says, pointing down toward one of the lower rows. Her voice is just loud enough to carry. “I bet they think no one can see them because the lights are off.”

Eddie follows her gaze.

Two men. Sitting close. Hands intertwined.

Something drops in his stomach.

“Gross, right?” she laughs, looking at Steve for agreement.

The sound is sharp. Ugly. It cuts through the quiet like a knife.

Eddie freezes.

He doesn’t know those guys. Doesn’t need to. Because he knows that feeling. The one where you let yourself believe, just for a second, that you’re safe. That you can be like the people who are allowed to love their partner openly. That you can feel normal, just for one precious moment.

And then someone like her reminds you of exactly what the world thinks of you.

His jaw clenches. His grip tightens on the armrest. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath through his nose and braces himself for the inevitable crushing blow of hearing his straight boy high school crush agree that men who like men are gross.

It doesn’t come.

Eddie cautiously opens his eyes.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first. But Eddie sees the way his shoulders have gone rigid, the way his head has dipped slightly, like he’s trying to disappear into the seat. And that’s when Eddie knows.

This isn’t just secondhand embarrassment. Her comment hit him somewhere deep.

The girl leans in again, not picking up on Steve’s body language silently screaming at her to stop, voice low but still audible. “I mean, it’s just weird, right? Why do they have to do that in public? It’s not like anyone wants to see it.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold.

Steve shifts. His hands curl into fists on his knees. Then, quietly but firmly, he says, “Shut up.”

The girl turns, startled. “Excuse me?”

“I said shut up,” Steve repeats, louder this time. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He watches the girl recoil, stunned, and then scoff like she’s the one who’s been wronged. “What crawled up your ass all of a sudden?”

“They’re just two people who like each other,” Steve says. “They’re trying to enjoy a date. How is that any of your business?”

Eddie’s breath catches.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at the back of Steve Harrington’s head like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

Steve had said something. Not just something, he had stood up - loud and clear and without hesitation - for two strangers. For people like Eddie. Eddie’s heart is pounding, but not from fear this time. It’s something else. Something warmer. Fiercer.

“Because it’s weird.” The girl doubles down,

“You wouldn’t think it was weird if it was those two people over there who were holding hands.” He gestures toward a man and woman sitting together near the front of the theatre.

“That’s different.”

Steve turns to her fully now, eyes sharp. “How?”

“Because it’s two men. It’s wrong. It’s disgusting,” she says. “I’d say the same if it were two women.”

Steve flinches hard, like he’s been physically hit.

There’s a beat of silence. Heavy. Final.

“I’m very close to someone who’s gay. And they’re smarter, kinder, funnier, and better than you’ll ever be,” Steve says, voice low and steady. “This date is over. Don’t bother calling me.” He goes to stand, but the girl shoves him back down and rises from her seat instead.

“You don’t get to walk out on me, I’m walking out on you,” she snaps. “I only came on this stupid date because I was bored, and I thought you’d wanna fool around like you supposedly do with all the other girls anyway. Turns out you’re a disappointment.”

She grabs her purse, mutters something under her breath, and storms out, heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Steve doesn’t watch her go. He just stares straight ahead, jaw tight, hands still clenched on his knees.

Eddie swallows hard.

He wants to say something. ‘Thank you for saying that,’ maybe. Or ‘that was brave’. Or even just ‘hey’. But all he can do is stare, stunned and a little breathless, because Steve Harrington just shattered every expectation Eddie ever had of him. And now Eddie’s sitting here while a laundry detergent commercial plays loudly in the background, heart in his throat, wondering how the hell he ever thought he had this guy figured out.

Steve puts his face in his hands and exhales deeply, like he’s trying to calm himself down. He seems tired now, defeated. Something about that doesn’t sit right with Eddie after what he just witnessed. It spurs him into action. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He just knows he can’t keep sitting there without saying something.

So, he stands. Walks down the steps. And stops at Steve’s row.

Steve hears the footsteps and looks up, startled. His expression flickers—confusion, then recognition, then something like wariness.

“Hey,” Eddie says, voice low. “Mind if I sit?”

His heart is hammering out a beat that would rival the work of the drummers in his favourite metal bands. He’s still mentally preparing himself for this Steve to disappear and be replaced by the jerk that had existed in his brain for the past few years.

Instead, Steve blinks at him, surprised. “Uh… sure? Eddie, right?”

“That’s what all the legends call me,” Eddie confirms, dropping into the seat beside him. There’s a beat of silence. Then he turns to look at Steve and “You okay?”

Steve lets out a breath, a small smile appearing on his face. “Yeah. I mean, not really. But I will be.”

Eddie nods. He doesn’t push. Just lets the quiet settle for a moment. Then he says, “So that was a lot.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Not exactly how I pictured the night going. I assume you heard everything?”

“Yep. She sucked,” Eddie says bluntly.

Steve snorts. “Yeah. She really did.”

Another pause. Eddie shifts, glancing sideways at him. “You didn’t have to say anything,” he says. “But you did.”

Steve shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “Didn’t feel like a choice.”

“That’s kind of the point, though,” Eddie says. “Most people would’ve just let it slide. Pretended they didn’t hear it. You didn’t.”

Steve’s quiet for a second. Then he says, “I’ve let too much slide before. I’m not doing that anymore.”

Eddie studies him. There’s something in Steve’s voice, something tired, but solid. Like a line’s been drawn and he’s not stepping back from it. And Eddie feels that twist in his chest again. That strange, warm ache.

“I meant every word I said,” Steve adds, softer now. “I have a close friend, more like a platonic soulmate really, who’s gay and the best person I know." He looks wounded. “And hearing someone I put enough trust in to consider dating basically call that person gross and disgusting and wrong... I couldn’t just sit here and listen to that crap.” His fists clench. “It’s one thing if it’s me she’s saying those things about but-”

He turns to face Eddie, his eyes wide and hands shaking as he realises the implications of what he said.

And Eddie knows that feeling.

He’s worn that same expression before. In locker rooms. In hallways. In classrooms where someone said something cruel under their breath and everyone else just laughed. But Steve Harrington? King Steve? He’s not supposed to know what that feels like.

Except he does.

Eddie nods slowly. “It’s okay. I figured.” He admits as casually as possible to try and ease Steve’s panic, although he’s still reeling over the events of the past few minutes. “You’re safe with me,” he promises.

Steve’s tense shoulders deflate, and glances at him curiously. “You?”

Eddie meets his eyes. “Yeah. Me.”

There’s no shock in Steve’s face. No judgment. Just a quiet kind of understanding.

“Cool,” Steve says. And he means it.

Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Then he grins, crooked and a little shy.

“You know,” he says, “you’re not what I expected.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re kind of a dork from the bits of conversation I overheard before things went bad.”

Steve laughs, and it’s real this time. “Takes one to know one.”

They sit in silence for a moment longer, their eyes lingering on each other, then Steve fully relaxes into his seat and turns to face the screen. “Well, no sense in wasting my ticket,” he says, then he holds his popcorn bucket out to Eddie, who’s only just realised he left his behind. “Wanna share?”

Eddie grins and grabs a handful. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—————————

It’s the most fun Eddie’s had in a while.

Steve leans into his space every now and then, whispering snarky commentary about the characters’ terrible decisions and even worse fashion choices. He especially tears into the asshole jock character, which catches Eddie off guard in the best way.

Eddie starts leaning in too, throwing in his own jabs, and before long, they’re trading quips like they’ve done this a hundred times before. At one point, one of them says something so ridiculous that they both dissolve into laughter. It’s the kind that’s breathless and uncontrollable.

Someone turns around and shushes them, loud and annoyed.

They immediately straighten, whispering apologies like guilty schoolkids. But the second the person turns back around, they catch each other’s eyes and grin, barely holding back another round of hysterics.

Steve nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own, playful and warm.

Eddie nudges back.

If the small, friendly gesture sends goosebumps up his arms, well—that’s for Eddie to know and nobody else to find out.

Then, near the end of the film, the tension ramps up. The music swells. Eddie’s leaning forward slightly, eyes narrowed, when a sudden jumpscare hits and Steve gasps. Before Eddie can even register what’s happening, a larger, warmer hand grabs his.

Eddie freezes.

Not because he’s scared of the movie—though the jumpscare was decent—but because Steve Harrington is holding his hand.

Tightly.

Warm fingers wrapped around his own, palm pressed flush against his. It’s instinctive, a reflex, but Steve doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it at first.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. He’s not sure if it’s the shock or the fact that his heart is currently trying to beat its way out of his chest, but he’s rooted to the spot.

Then Steve seems to realize what he’s done. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he glances sideways, eyes wide, a little sheepish.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Eddie turns his head slowly, meets his gaze. Steve’s face is flushed, his expression somewhere between embarrassed and apologetic. Eddie could make a joke. He could laugh it off, tease him.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he gives Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You can hold on if you want.”

Steve blinks. His eyes search Eddie’s face for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s serious. Then he smiles, small, grateful and a little shy. It warms Eddie to his very core.

He doesn’t let go.

They sit like that for the rest of the movie. Their shoulders brushing, hands clasped between them and fingers intertwined, the flickering light from the screen casting soft shadows across their faces. Eddie doesn’t even remember how the movie ends, but he remembers the way Steve’s thumb brushed lightly over his when the final girl shared a kiss with her love interest.

And he knows, without a doubt, that something’s changed and shifted between them. It’s something small, but at the same time monumental.

As the lights come up, Steve sighs. He gives Eddie’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and standing to stretch. Eddie’s hand falls to his lap, suddenly cold, and he stares at it for a second like it might still remember the shape of Steve’s fingers.

He already misses the warmth. The weight. The quiet reassurance of it.

“Did you drive here?” Steve asks suddenly.

Eddie blinks, caught off guard. He expected this to be the end. He expected they would just awkwardly part ways in silence after this, try to lose each other in the small crowd exiting the theatre and then avoid each other for the most part. Maybe they would share a nod or a half-smile the next time he wandered into Family Video, but that’s all Eddie had hoped for.

He hadn’t hoped for this, for Steve waiting for Eddie to stand too, still looking at him like he wants to keep talking.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “My van’s out back.”

Steve nods. “Cool. I parked a few rows over. You wanna walk out together?”

Eddie’s heart stutters. He stands slowly, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

They fall into step as they exit the theatre, the buzz of the credits still echoing faintly behind them. The lobby is mostly empty now, just a few stragglers and the hum of vending machines. Outside, the night air is cool and quiet, the parking lot bathed in soft yellow light.

For a moment, neither of them says anything.

Then Steve glances over, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Thanks for sitting with me. I didn’t expect… well, any of this.”

Eddie shrugs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, me neither. But I’m glad I did.”

Steve smiles back, and it’s that same small, shy one from earlier. It makes Eddie feel like he’s standing too close to a bonfire, especially now with the glow of the streetlights illuminating Steve’s features. They reach the edge of the lot where their cars are parked a few rows apart. Eddie slows, not quite ready to say goodbye.

Steve hesitates too. Then, almost nervously, he says, “Hey, uh… are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, slower this time, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Steve’s face lights up, just a little. “There’s a diner a few blocks from here. It’s not fancy, but they’ve got decent fries and terrible coffee.”

“Sounds perfect. Lead the way, sweetheart.”

The pet name's out before Eddie can stop it.

His brain short-circuits the second it leaves his mouth. His eyes go wide, and he immediately wants to rewind time, shove the word back down his throat, and pretend it never happened.

Shit.

He curses himself silently. Nicknames have always slipped out like second nature around his friends, bandmates, even the occasional stranger. But this? This is Steve. And this moment feels different. More fragile. More real.

He risks a glance at Steve, fully expecting confusion, maybe discomfort.

But Steve’s just looking at him with that same soft smile. A little surprised, sure, but not upset. If anything, he looks… pleased?

“Sweetheart, huh?” Steve says, raising an eyebrow, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

Eddie lets out a breathy, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a reflex. I swear. I’ve called random people on the street ‘darlin’ and the guy working the counter at the gas station ‘babe’ before now.”

Steve hums, clearly amused. “Didn’t say I minded. But now I’m a little jealous of the guy at the gas station.”

Eddie blinks. “You didn’t? …You are?”

“Nope, not at all. And yeah, I am.” Steve starts walking, hands in his pockets, glancing back over his shoulder with an exaggerated pout. “Thought I might’ve been special for a second there.”

Eddie wants to kiss that look right off his face, but he reels that thought in fast. Steve’s probably just joking. Just sharing friendly banter with a guy he knows won’t hurt him for it. Who is Eddie to deny him that experience or make it awkward by assigning a deeper meaning to it?

“What can I say, Steve?” he shrugs. “The man sometimes gives me discounts on my favourite brand of cigarette. How can you compete with that?”

Steve bites his lip, clearly trying to stifle a smile. Eddie’s eyes lock on his mouth.

“I can think of a few ways,” Steve says, voice low, suggestive and just a little nervous as he sways into Eddie’s space. He gets close, so close Eddie’s stomach swoops.

Then a devilish grin curls at the corner of Steve’s lips.

“Last one to the diner pays.”

“Wha—” Eddie starts, dazed.

But Steve’s already taken off running, his laughter echoing behind him.

“Hey! That’s no fucking fair! You’re rich!” Eddie shouts, already breaking into a sprint.

Steve turns, running backward for a second just to flash him a grin. “Better catch up to me then!”

Eddie cackles, wild and breathless, as he chases after him. He sees the moment Steve realizes he’s gaining fast and the flicker of panic that crosses his face. Steve hadn’t counted on the fact that Eddie Munson has years of experience running from trouble.

Trying to push his legs to work faster turns out to be a fruitless effort for Steve because Eddie manages to catch him around the waist and spin him away from the front door of the diner just as he’s about to reach for the handle. They almost end up sprawled on the ground together from the momentum of it, but Steve manages to grasp Eddie’s forearms and fix their footing as the metalhead leans against his back and laughs uncontrollably.

They stand there for a second, tangled up in each other, catching their breath. Eddie leans into him, still chuckling, and Steve can’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and giddy.

“You’re fast,” Steve says, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’re slow,” Eddie counters, grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “You tackled me.”

“I redirected you,” Eddie says, mock-offended. “With grace.”

Steve turns in his grip, still holding onto Eddie’s arms, and they’re suddenly face to face. Close. Closer than they’ve been all night. The laughter fades into something quieter, softer.

Eddie’s eyes flick to Steve’s mouth for just a second. Steve notices.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moves.

Then the diner door swings open behind them with a loud ding, and a couple walks out, chatting loudly and breaking the moment. Eddie steps back, clearing his throat. “Guess we should, uh… go inside before they run out of terrible coffee.”

Steve nods, still smiling. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

————————

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re basically a single parent to six?”

They’re sat in a booth in the back corner, chatting animatedly and occasionally stealing each other’s fries even though they got exactly the same thing. They’d foregone the crappy coffee for milkshakes though, Steve’s strawberry and Eddie’s chocolate.

“Seven if you count Erica, Lucas’ little sister,” Steve corrects him. “But jury’s still out on whether she’s actually a child or whether Lucas is just living with the consequences of feeding a mogwai after midnight.”

“God you are such a nerd,” Eddie laughs, delighted. “’Mogwai’? You didn’t even use the incorrect term - ‘gremlin’ - like most people would. You just went straight in there with ‘mogwai’.”

Steve grins, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I take my pop culture references seriously.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re a walking contradiction, Steve. You look like you should be quarterbacking some all-American football team, but you talk like you’ve got the entire catalogue of Family Video memorised.”

Steve sips his milkshake, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I do.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Steve shrugs, all faux-casual. “You’ll have to hang out with me again to find out.”

Eddie’s caught off guard for a second, not by the words, but by the way Steve says them. Like it’s not a joke. Like he means it. Eddie, who’s spent most of his life waiting for the other shoe to drop, finds himself hoping just a little that maybe this time it won’t.

He smiles, softer now. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how does King of the jocks and certified lady-killer Steve Harrington become an actually decent and interesting guy with a brood of little lost ducklings?”

Steve leans back in the booth, fingers idly tracing the condensation on his milkshake glass.

“It’s a long story, but I guess I just got tired of pretending I wanted the same things I used to,” he says. “Back in high school, it was all about the image. The parties, the girls, the reputation. I thought that was what I was supposed to want. What everyone expected from me.”

Eddie watches him, the teasing gone from his expression.

“But somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t want to keep chasing something that never really made me feel good. I started figuring out that what I actually want is something that feels real. Something that lasts.”

He glances up, meets Eddie’s eyes. There’s something open in his expression. It’s unguarded, but cautious. Eddie’s heart does something strange in his chest, tightens and softens all at once. He reminds himself that shouldn’t be reading into things; Steve might just be getting used to having someone he can talk to about all this.

He nods slowly, voice quiet. “Yeah. I get that.”

They share a soft, secret smile.

“So,” Steve says. “You like metal, right? I don’t think I’ve ever listened to that before. What do you like about it?”

It’s a hard pivot in the topic of conversation, but Eddie allows it. Mostly because the fact that Steve seems to realise how important music is to Eddie and makes a point to ask him about it. Eddie’s eyes light up at the question, and he sits up a little straighter.

“Oh man, where do I even start?” he says, grinning. “Okay, so it’s loud, it’s chaotic. But it’s also honest. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not. It’s raw and messy and emotional, and it doesn’t apologise for any of it.”

Steve watches him, chin propped on one hand, milkshake forgotten for the moment.

Eddie continues, more animated now. “And a lot of the songs are about overcoming adversity. About going through hell and somehow still fighting and persevering. It’s about taking back power when the world is trying to crush you. It makes me feel confident for a change, like I could take on anything. And people complain that it’s just noise but that’s so far from the truth. It takes so much talent and years of dedication and-”

He pauses, his eyes flicking to Steve’s, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “No, I like it. You talk about it like it’s more than just music.”

“It is,” Eddie shrugs, a little sheepish. “It kind of saved my life, y’know? When everything else felt like it was falling apart and I had nowhere I belonged, metal was the one place I could just be and feel accepted. No masks. No pretending.”

Steve’s expression softens. “That makes sense.”

There’s a beat of quiet between them, not awkward, just full. Like the air’s thick with things unsaid but understood. Then Steve leans forward, a playful glint in his eye. “So, if I wanted to dip my toe into the world of metal, where would I start? What’s, like, the gateway drug?”

“Really? You want to give up your metal virginity?”

“Didn’t have to put it like that,” Steve says, his face scrunching up in a way that’s far too cute to do anything good for Eddie’s heart.

“Okay, you’re coming over to my trailer as soon as possible and I’m going to play you some songs. I’m already mentally writing a list. This is gonna be so good.” Eddie laughs ecstatically and rubs his hands together deviously. “We’ll make a metalhead out of you yet, Steve.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Steve replies, his expression so open and honest that it gives Eddie pause.

Eddie’s demeanor turns softer. “You don’t have to like it though, y’know. I won’t be offended.”

“I know,” Steve meets his gaze, steady. “I want to understand the things that matter to you.”

Eddie’s caught off guard again. His heart does that weird fluttery thing, and he has to look away before he says something stupid.

“Cool,” he says, voice a little rough. “Yeah. Cool.”

They go back to their fries, the silence between them now warm and companionable. Outside, the neon sign of the diner flickers softly, casting pink and blue shadows across the table.

——————————

The bell chimes above their heads and a nice, middle-aged lady calls out a, “Thank you for coming, be sure to get home safe,” as Eddie holds the door open for Steve and they step back out into the cold night air.

Steve sidles up next to him. “Thank you for getting the door for me, Sweetheart,” he says, teasing.

Eddie groans loudly. “You are not going to let me forget about that, are you?"

“Never,” Steve beams.

They settle into a comfortable silence as they walk. Their shoulders touch once, then again, and neither of them moves away. Their hands are so close that they constantly brush against each other and it’s driving Eddie mad. All he would have to do is reach out a little and he could be holding Steve’s hand again. He isn’t able to summon the courage for that because he’s still not quite sure if Steve feels anything more than a budding sense of friendship toward him.

They walk in step down the quiet street, the night air crisp and laced with the scent of damp pavement and distant woodsmoke. The town is mostly asleep, windows glowing softly in the distance, the occasional car humming by like a lullaby.

Their hands brush again. This time, Steve doesn’t pull away. In fact, he lets his fingers linger just a second longer than before. Eddie’s heart stutters.

He swallows. “Hey, uh… you don’t have to say yes or anything, but would you ever want to come to a show sometime, like one of the local gigs I play or even just hang out while I practice? Hear some live music.”

Steve looks over at him, eyes warm. “I’d love that.”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I want to see you in your element. I bet you look cool as hell on stage.”

Eddie laughs, a little breathless. “I mean, I do, obviously. But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

They stop next to Eddie’s van. Neither of them moves to leave just yet.

Steve rocks on his heels. “Thanks for tonight. I had more fun than I probably had in years if I’m being honest.”

Eddie nods, his voice soft. “Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a pause. Neither of them moves.

Then Steve clears his throat and pulls one hand free, fishing around in his back pocket. “Before I forget,” He pulls out a pen and the crumpled diner receipt, scribbles something down, and hands it to Eddie. “My number. For whenever you want to hang out or just talk.”

Eddie takes it, fingers brushing Steve’s. He looks down at the messy scrawl of digits, then back up, heart thudding. “Thank you. I’ll definitely call you to set something up soon, and let you know as soon as I know when the next gig’s going to be.”

“Cool, I can’t wait,” Steve smiles.

He hesitates for a second, then steps a little closer, his gaze drifting to Eddie’s lips. “Also, I’ve been thinking about doing this all night.”

Eddie barely has time to process that before Steve leans in and kisses him.

The kiss is soft and tentative at first, like a question asked in a language neither of them is fluent in yet. Steve’s lips brush against Eddie’s with a kind of reverence, like he’s afraid to push too far, too fast. But Eddie’s breath catches, and instinct takes over. He leans in, closing the distance, answering the question with a quiet certainty.

His hands find their way to Steve’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like they’ve always belonged there. Steve’s hands hover for a moment before settling gently on Eddie’s shoulders, grounding them both.

The world fades. The cold night air, the hum of a distant streetlamp, the faint creak of the van’s metal frame, all of it disappears. It’s just them. Just this.

Steve tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and Eddie feels it like a spark down his spine. It’s still gentle, still careful, but there’s something more now. It’s something that says ‘I see you’ and ‘I want this’. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When they finally part, it’s slow, reluctant. Steve’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at Eddie like he’s trying to memorize every detail of his face.

“Was that okay?” Steve asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie blinks, dazed, lips tingling, heart pounding. Then he grins, wide and a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that was more than okay.”

Steve lets out a soft laugh, relief blooming across his face. “Good.”

They linger there, close enough to feel each other’s breath in the space between them. Steve leans in again, slower this time, and kisses him once more. It’s just as soft and just as sure. It’s the kind of kiss that says this isn’t a one-time thing.

“I’ll call you,” Eddie says, still smiling as they hesitantly move away from each other. “God, it might even be as soon as I get home after a kiss like that.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Steve replies, stepping back slowly, like he’s reluctant to go.

Eddie watches him walk away, heart pounding, fingers still curled around the scrap of paper like it’s something precious.

Steve turns back to face him and, he’s smiling, nervous, but genuine. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie’s frozen for a second, then grins, wide and a little dazed. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

They part ways, both of them feeling a little lighter than before.

[penny00dreadful]

Last Line Tag Game

Rules: share the last sentence you wrote, then tag as many people as there are words.

Catching up on some tags here and oh my goodness so many of you wonderful lovelies tagged me recently! @eternal-sunflowers @mission2mordor @swishyclang @pentapoctopus @sidekick-hero @tinytalkingtina @cloudsurfing42 @puncertainty @estrellami-1

“What’s she doing up here?”

I'm glad it's a short one since you all tagged me, not that i'm above tag-backs 🤣

NO pressure tags: @penny00dreadful @little-annie @helpimstuckposting @vthx @withacapitalp

[penny00dreadful]

☀️ WIP Weekend ☀️

Make me write!

Thanks to the @strangerthingswritersguild, I'm new to this but am psyched to participate so here we go!

Rules: send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write 50-100 words from that WIP.

Literally no limits, I'm on vacation AND sick in bed so there is literally not a thing in the world I can do right now other than write.

Works to choose from (all Steddie):

🎭 What Did You Think We Were Doing: my longest WIP, featuring fake-dating, miscommunication, and a second-chance romance. I need to update this months ago but since breaking up with my boyfriend, writing this particular story feels like actual torture but I just want to finish it because I still love it

👿 Fuck Me Like You Love Me: a random little tumblr ficlet that people really seemed to like. Enemies to FWB, or is it?

🏅 Unmet Needs Forty Ways: Sub Eddie enlists the help of life coach Steve after breaking up with his lifestyle Dom disrupts all his routines.

🍾 Wedding DJ Eddie: Steve attends a wedding shortly after proposing to his long-time GF and getting rejected and dumped. Not on AO3, but maybe someday!

⚫ Untitled Counter Stalking fic: DDDNE, extremely dark, irredeemable characters, Dark!Eddie hates Steve but stalks him to satisfy his curiosity, but finds he's bitten off more he can chew when Dark!Steve quickly becomes obsessed with stalking him right back.

No pressure tags!

@beingmissbatty @hbyrde36 @pearynice @turinspeachjam @sourw0lfs @tinytalkingtina @little-annie @helpimstuckposting @machtaholic @kikidoesfanfic @vthx @eyesofshinigami @miraculousmultifan @puncertainty @nureyevsins @stellarspecter @queenofshenanigans @augustjustice @felixir-of-moths @devondespresso @vegasol @maxfandoms @yesdangerpls @mission2mordor @penny00dreadful @lightoftheseraph @medusapelagia @soaringornithopter @marvel-ous-m @shares-a-vest @cloudsurfing42 @acidicbarkbeast @bl00dofgrapes @madaboutmunson

[penny00dreadful]

Tagged by @felixir-of-moths and @tinytalkingtina

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write & share 3-ish sentences for that WIP!

Here's what I'm working on this week:

🏕 Midsummer Nights (Ch 5 & 6)

👻 Fuggi Regal Fantasima (Ch 5)

🏰 Not (A) Cinderella (Story) - (for @strangertales2025 based on this ficlet)

💫 Forever After (sequel one-shot to It's Only Forever Labyrinth au)

From Forever After:

Sadly, Argyle wasn’t dressed up as a priest, at least not fully. He and Steve had worked together to conjure up the appropriate garments in the giant’s size, but the overgrown baby had found the cloth too itchy and constricting. They compromised with a crisp white collar. And in place of a holy book, their friend held a well-worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring in his large hands.

“We are gathered here today, my dudes, not just as witnesses, but as fellow travelers—companions along the road known as life. As Bilbo said—” 

Argyle paused to pitch his voice down, performing a low ominous tone, through his wide fangy grin. 

“—It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.’ But sometimes, where you get swept off to, is exactly where you belong.”

No pressure tags @pearynice @penny00dreadful @sidekick-hero @queenofshenanigans @maxfandoms

@bellandora @beingmissbatty @pentapoctopus @eriquin @helpimstuckposting@vthx @hotluncheddie @eternal-sunflowers @fuctacles

[penny00dreadful]

🍐WIP Weekend!🍐

Omg it's been a minute since I've done one of these!! I was tagged by: @felixir-of-moths @tinytalkingtina @pentapoctopus @cloudsurfing42 @mission2mordor @hbyrde36 tyyyyy my friends 💖

Rules: send me an emoji and I'll send you words! We're putting the bingos on the backburner for right now so I can focus on my two most pressing fics:

🦇 - Fruitbat Eddie!! We're almost done!!! I'm not sure how much I'll actually post of this, or if I'll be posting redacted script/ words from my bang instead. I don't want to give too much of the final chapters away.

⚔️ - Steddie Big Bang! I can talk about this now! Bastard prince Eddie and Royal Guard Steve, who must protect his prince from the UD monsters that have begun to threaten their kingdom 👀

Snippet from the Steddie big bang under the cut! (cw for blood)

It is over, Eddie thinks. He is dead. He doesn’t know why this fills him with such disappointment. The mace-wielder screams, a battle cry, and the swordsman blinks. He looks up, and for a second, for half of a moment, he locks eyes with Eddie. Blood covers his face, his chest, and yet still, despite it all, there is fight in his eyes. When his opponent’s swing is at its zenith, at the final moment he has, the swordsman spins, and drives his weapon deep into the mace-wielder’s groin. Now, the mace falls. The huge man bellows, deep and agonizing, and falls to his knees. Blood is running in thick rivers across the dirt, and the swordsman wrenches his weapon out only to drive it between the slats of his opponent’s helmet. The screaming ends. There’s a wet crack, a gurgle, and when the swordsman removes his weapon, the larger man falls into a heap on the bloody dirt.

My tags: @turinspeachjam @little-annie @helpimstuckposting @machtaholic @kikidoesfanfic @queenofshenanigans @augustjustice @maxfandoms @yesdangerpls @penny00dreadful @sidekick-hero @madaboutmunson @eriquin @steviewashere @wheneverfeasible @onirislanding

[penny00dreadful]

Chapter Ten

WC: 6421 | R: Explicit | Ch 10/10 COMPLETE! | AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 <-

Steve let out a frustrated growl as he slid back behind the wheel of his car. The sun beat down on the dusty dashboard—keeping his car clean was low on his list of priorities lately—and the hot leather stung his hands as he gripped the steering wheel tight. Robin climbed into the passenger seat beside him, looking thoroughly unbothered by their continued failure.

They were already several days into their search for new jobs and the pickings were slim, to say the least. While Steve had been out of work since their ill-fated spring break, Robin had still been employed at Family Video right up until the moment Steve asked Keith for his old job back, and Keith had practically thrown him out the door. 

Robin quit on the spot, and told Keith to go fuck himself. 

Honestly, it’d been glorious, and a long time coming. Still, Steve felt terrible about it, but Robin was heading off to college soon enough anyway, and by her own admission, ‘the look on that giant goober’s face was totally worth it.’

“It’s no use,” Steve sighed, violently shoving his keys into the ignition. “We’re gonna have to widen our search area. Which means, even if we do find something, we’ll have to commute. Then I’ll be spending even more money on gas. And when you figure we’ll be lucky to make minimum wage, is that… is that even worth it? God, this is such a disaster. I mean—”

“Dingus?” Robin asked, interrupting his well-earned spiral.

“What?”

“Breathe.”

“Right,” he exhaled, taking in another deep breath and blowing it out slow. “Sorry.”

Robin reached over the center console to pat his knee, her hand a warm and familiar comfort, grounding in a way he hadn’t known he needed. “You sounded like me for a second there and it was kinda freaking me out. You’ve been unemployed for months, what’s with the sudden bug up your butt about getting a job anyway?” 

It wasn’t exactly sudden. He’d been feeling guilty for a while now about his new living situation. It had been one thing to skate by on his meager and rapidly dwindling savings when he was living under his parents roof. He’d only had to worry about food and gas back then after all, but now that he was living with Eddie and Wayne he desperately wanted to contribute to the bills he knew were piling up.

It’d been a month since he and Eddie had packed up his things on a whim and moved him into the Munson home while an unsuspecting Wayne was at work. The older man had barely batted an eye when he arrived in the morning and found the two of them in the trailer’s small kitchen together, making a big over-the-top breakfast for the three of them to share. Steve’s way of preemptively thanking Eddie’s uncle for not kicking him out. 

Wayne had welcomed him with open arms, just as Eddie said he would, and he already felt happier and more at home in that cramped cozy trailer than he ever had in the nineteen years he’d spent living in the horror house that was his parent’s place. Not just because the only plaid he was subjected to now was the warm flannel of Wayne’s work shirts, or the fact that he and Eddie had worked their shit out either.

But because he felt like part of a real family for the first time since he was a little kid.

Steve sighed heavily, running a sweaty palm over his face. “I don’t want Wayne feeling like he has to support me too. It's not fair for me to put that kind of pressure on him when he’s already given me a place to stay. And it’s not like Eddie can go out and get a job—not here. He wanted to go back to selling but it wouldn’t be safe. I made him promise me not to, but I’m scared he’ll do it anyway if I don’t find some other way to make us money.”

Robin was quiet for a moment, then nodded, her steady hand still resting on his knee. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. We always do.”

If only her optimism was contagious, maybe he could stop his stomach from tying itself into knots. Still, he smiled, kicking the car into gear and pulling back out onto the road.

“Where to next?” She asked, finally taking her hand back and settling into her seat. 

Steve drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, still considering their very limited options. “That was the last help wanted listing. I just have to stop off at the realtor’s office to pick something up. Then, I guess, we can take a ride over to Clark County and try our luck there.”

“I can’t believe your parents sold your childhood home out from under you and yet you’re still willing to be their little errand boy,” Robin huffed with an audible eye roll.

It was a point she’d made at least a dozen times throughout the whole process with his parents and the house. He knew she was just mad on his behalf but it was beginning to become irritating. She wasn’t wrong, they were definitely using him, but after years of crap he was nearly free, why would he risk rocking the boat now?

“Trust me, this is for the best. The last thing I need is for dear old dad to come blowing into town, see me with Eddie, and freak out.”

Robin hummed, resting her head against the window as the downtown storefronts went by. “So I take it you haven't told them anything about where you’re living?”

As if they cared. Steve was pretty sure they were just relieved that he hadn’t asked to come and stay at their new house. That he wasn’t their problem anymore.

“Nope,” he said, a little more bitter sounding than he’d meant. “And they haven't asked.”

“Assholes,” Robin muttered.

Steve hummed his agreement, letting a comfortable silence settle between them. Because, really, what else was there to say? She was right. Total assholes.

The moment Steve opened the door to Hawkins Realty he was hit with the arctic blast of an overzealous air conditioner and the overwhelming smell of Pinesol. The office was empty, save for a lone receptionist painting her nails a bright, fire engine red. She hardly glanced up at him before handing over an envelope with his name scrawled on the front, like it was no big deal. Like she wasn’t about to change the entire trajectory of his future.

Ten. Thousand. Dollars.

He froze in the middle of the street, staring down at the check in his hand like it might self-destruct if he ever looked away. It didn’t feel real. As well off as his parents had been his whole life, Steve had never seen so much money in person. Technically, he still hadn’t, since all he was holding was a slip of paper and not stacks of green bills, but the feeling was the same. 

It wasn’t millions. It wouldn’t replace a good job or solve all their problems, but it was life changing money. If he could convince Eddie and Wayne to let him spend it the way he wanted to, that is.

“So—what’s the story?” Robin asked the second he got back into the car, curiosity practically vibrating off of her in waves.

“I guess they got more for the house than they expected?” Steve said slowly, handing her the envelope. “Or maybe they just felt guilty for leaving me behind. Either way, um—”

Her eyes grew wide when she caught sight of the amount. “No. Way.”

He grinned, a giggle bubbling up from his throat. “Way!”

For a second her face lit up, happiness for him radiating from every pore. She looked like she was about to throw herself across the car and into his lap for a hug, but suddenly that look started to dim around the edges, her shoulders slumping as her smile faded. “You’re going to leave, aren't you?”

“Rob, I—”

She shook her head, rushing forward to grip his hand where it rested on the center console. “No, sorry. I-I get it. You have to get Eddie out of here.”

“Yeah, I think I do,” he whispered with a small nod, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. “And with you going off to college soon, and the little shits not far behind, there’s really nothing keeping me here anymore.”

She squeezed his hand a little tighter, breath hitching softly. “I guess I just assumed you’d always be here, and that I’d get to see you anytime I came home, but… we’re all doing what we can to move on. There's no reason you shouldn’t too. A-and It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“Do you promise we’ll talk on the phone every day?” She asked, pulling away to look up at him with a wobbly lip.

Of course they would, there was no world where he and Robin could go more than twenty four hours without speaking to each other, but he hated to see her look sad. He’d had enough of the heavy.

He shot her a teasing grimace, sucking air through his teeth. “Every day?”

“Promise—me,” she growled, sounding about as aggressive as a miniature poodle.

“I dunno,” he hedged, mostly just to whisk her up some more. 

She punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

“Ow! Jesus!” He shouted. “Eddie hasn’t even agreed to any of this yet, y’know.” 

She scoffed. “Oh, please. When has he ever been able to say no to you?”

Was she serious?

Steve swallowed a laugh, shooting her flat look and a single raised eyebrow. 

“Okay, jeez, poor choice of words,” she mumbled. “But, you know what I mean. He loves you. Of course he’ll agree to run away with you and live happily ever after.”

Along with the money came a change of plans for the day. After a quick stop at the bank to make the single largest deposit he’d ever made, Steve dropped Robin off at her house, putting their mission to find gainful employment aside for the day. If they really were both leaving Hawkins, and Steve even sooner than her if he had anything to say about it, there really was no point anymore.

Instead he spent the rest of his afternoon grocery shopping and practicing what he was going to say to convince Eddie and Wayne to go along with his plan.

It was probably a little over the top, the meal Steve had put together. Half in celebration, half as a peace offering. Or maybe bribe was the better word for it. Steak, potatoes, a salad with actual greens that he knew Eddie wasn’t going to touch, but it looked nice. All things they didn’t typically indulge in because it wasn’t in the budget.

He’d even stocked the fridge with name brand soda and ice cream for dessert.

The door to the trailer creaked open right on time. It’d been a bit of an adjustment for all of them when Wayne got his schedule changed from working nights to days, but it was clear from the lack of bags under his eyes that the older man was happier and healthier for it. 

“What’s all this about, boys?”

Steve turned away from the stove and the mash he was stirring butter into to see Wayne eyeing the set table and the elaborate spread with a mix of delight and suspicion. He paused at the kitchen threshold to toe his work boots off before plopping down into his usual seat next to Eddie. 

“Don’t look at me,” Eddie grumbled from where he’d been sat, pouting and sighing dramatically for the last hour while Steve prepped and cooked. “This is all his doing, and he won’t tell me a damn thing!” 

Steve stifled a grin, turning the heat off on the pot of potatoes before setting it out with everything else. Without a word, he went for the fridge, cracking open two of the ice cold cans of Pepsi he’d stashed in there, and sliding one across the table to each of the Munsons, both looking more dubious than ever, and finally sat down to join them.

Wayne stared at him for a long moment but eventually shrugged, taking a long sip from his can and letting out a loud satisfied burp. “Well, I'd be worried you were about to tell me I was gonna be a grandpa before my time if it wasn’t, y’know, biologically impossible,” the older man said, tilting his head a little to add, “not for lack of trying, though.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mumbled, dropping his face into his hands.

From his neck to his ears Steve’s skin flushed with embarrassment, and he knew though there were no mirrors in sight, that his face was as red as the tomatoes he’d chopped for their salad.

“Thin walls,” Wayne leaned over to stage whisper in Steve’s direction, giving him a sympathetic, if patronizing, pat on the arm. 

Eddie pushed his chair back roughly from the table to stand and slapped his hands down on its surface. “Well, this has been great, but I think I'm gonna go jump in the quarry now.”

Steve blinked up at him, caught for a long beat between hysterical laughter and the urge to yell at him for saying something like that in front of Wayne, joke or not, after everything they’d gone through. All embarrassment forgotten, he held his breath, waiting for the older man’s reaction.

“Too soon?” Eddie asked into the tense silence, which shattered an instant later as Wayne broke out in a knee-slapping guffaw, the same time Steve lost his own battle with a fit of giggles.

They settled eventually, after Steve insisted they eat before he shared his news, into the kind of quiet that goes hand in hand with any good meal. Forks tapping, knives scraping, and the occasional grunt of delicious approval. In no time, their plates were empty, and Steve’s heart was beating so hard he thought it might start rattling the silverware.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Eddie began, the first to speak once they’d all set their forks down. “Dinner was incredible, but will you please tell us what gives before I have another nervous breakdown?”

“Watch it,” Wayne warned, leaning back in his seat as though his stomach were too full to sit up anymore. He pulled a soft pack of Camels from his breast pocket, passing a cigarette to Eddie before taking one for himself and finally offering the pack to Steve with a raised eyebrow.

Steve took it gratefully, lighting up in hopes that the nicotine would settle his nerves. 

It didn’t, but he pressed on anyway. 

“So, um, as you know, my parents sold their house,” he began, feeling like a babbling idiot, but what else was new. “And today while I was out with Rob, I had to pick up some paperwork for them at the real estate office. Except, it wasn’t paperwork exactly, right? And I don’t know why they couldn’t just tell me—”

Eddie cut him off mid-ramble, lunging across the table to grab his hand. “Stevie, baby, love of my fucking life, whatever it is—please—spit it out. The suspense is literally killing me.” 

Wayne shook his head. “Boy, I swear to christ…”

“It’s fine, Wayne,” Steve groaned, because Eddie was right. He was making this painful for no reason. He put them all out of their misery by pulling the deposit slip from the bank out of his pocket, and thrusting into Eddie’s hand.

“T-t-ten grand!” Eddie sputtered, the ash hanging from the end of his cigarette trembling dangerously close to falling on the table. “You’ve been sitting here on ten grand the whole time we were eating?!”

Steve squirmed under the weight of his gaze and gave a small nod, pulling his hands back to wipe his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. “I want to use it to move. Together, I mean. All of us.” 

The room went very still, only the curling wisps of smoke coming off Wayne and Eddie’s cigarettes dared to move.

“That means you too, Wayne.”

“Yeah,” Wayne choked out, pausing to clear his throat. “Yeah, I got that, son.”

The older man eyed the slip of paper that still sat in Eddie’s hand, like it was a snake rearing to strike, then looked at Steve, his mouth pulling tight at the corners. “You sure ‘bout this?” Wayne asked.

“Completely,” Steve said without hesitation.

“It don’t sit right with me, letting you foot the bill for something like this.”

“I don’t see it that way.” Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Actually, you’d be doing me a favor. I want to build a new life for myself, for Eddie, and I want you in it. Besides, I don’t think Eddie would go for it otherwise and I'm kinda attached to him.”

Wayne huffed, a sharp sound that could have been a laugh, but Steve was pretty sure it was him fighting off tears. “You’re a good kid, Steve.”

Steve ducked his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Alright.” Wayne gave a single decisive nod. “I’ll come. I’d follow you boys into hell if I had to, but I’m paying you back. Every damn cent.”

“Deal,” Steve agreed quickly, though he knew he’d never take a dime from the man if he could help it. 

That settled, they both turned back to Eddie, who hadn’t said a word since his initial outburst. He was still holding the deposit slip, staring at Steve with a strangely unreadable, distant expression.

“What do you think, Eddie? Are you ready to finally get out of here?”

Eddie blinked, his eyes coming into focus suddenly like he’d been miles away, but he recovered quickly, those dimples Steve loved so much making themselves known. “Yeah, fuck this place. Let’s do it!”

Later, after dinner had been cleared and Wayne was posted up in front of the TV—either to watch his shows or, more likely, fall asleep five minutes in and then grumble that his new recliner was too comfortable—Steve took Eddie’s hand and led him to their room.

All he wanted now was to crawl into bed and hold Eddie close, to drift away into fantasies of the future with the boy he loved wrapped in his arms.

They moved around each other in the small room like a well-rehearsed dance, constantly touching, shoulders brushing, fingers grazing over bare skin as they undressed for bed. Just because they could. Because here in the privacy of the trailer, of their room, they could be themselves in a way that was simply impossible in public in rural indiana. Even if Eddie hadn’t been persona non grata.

Steve settled on his side of the bed, propped on one elbow. He was about to ask if Wayne could handle living in a big city, some place with whole neighborhoods full of people like them, and a population large enough that they could be as anonymous as they liked—when he realized Eddie hadn’t joined him. He hovered near the end of the bed, nervous fingers toying with the frayed waistband of his shorts, his smile too thin to be real. 

“Hey,” Steve said gently, softly patting the spot next to him in invitation. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Eddie did finally crawl his way into bed, but didn’t nestle in close like he usually would. He left an unnatural sliver of space between them, one that felt miles wide. 

“Baby?”

“Sorry, I’m just…” Eddie blew out a long breath, twirling a clump of knotted curls around his finger. “Nervous, I guess.”

“About moving?” Steve asked. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, and if he was honest, he’d been a little surprised at Eddie’s quick acceptance back in the kitchen.

“About all of it. Like—” Eddie’s eyes flicked toward him, and quickly away. “What if it’s not any better somewhere else? What if, wherever we go, people still hate me? What if I screw this up between us and then you’re stuck with me and Wayne, miles away from everything you’ve ever known?”

Steve scooted closer until their thighs touched, and reached up to cup Eddie’s cheek, gently coaxing him to meet his eyes. “You won’t screw it up,”

“You can’t know that.” 

Steve didn’t rush to argue. They’d been here before and he knew this was only Eddie’s doubts talking. That voice that lived in the back of his mind, always trying to twist things and make him think the worst of himself.

Instead, Steve just leaned in and touched their foreheads together. “You don’t have to be perfect, Ed. You just have to be here.”

Eddie let out a slow breath, his eyes fluttering shut. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” Steve whispered, his nose brushing lightly over Eddie's. He smiled softly at the truth of those words and the memory of how far they’d come. “And you’re doing so well, baby. I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

Eddie nodded, finally opening his eyes, and leaned in to capture Steve’s mouth in a tender kiss. It was soft at first, gentle, loving, but deepened quickly. Eddie’s hand slipped to the back of his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair there, tugging just enough to draw a breathy sound from his throat.

Steve’s lips parted easily at the demand of Eddie’s tongue, arms looping around Eddie’s waist to pull him closer, until there was no more space left between them.

Their mouths moved in sync, unhurried but deliberate, a promise made with the press of lips and the slow slide of tongues. Whatever happened, they would face it together.

When they were inevitably forced to pull apart and catch their breath, Eddie’s voice came rough-edged and low, but noticeably lighter too. 

“So, speaking of surprises, when are you going to tell me this secret plan you’ve got for the game next week?”

Steve grinned, already picturing it. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Eddie could feel the sudden warm weight of eyes on his back as he pulled his brand new, freshly screen-printed Hellfire Club shirt up over his head. It was the first time he’d worn one since his own had gotten torn to shreds in the Upside Down. 

Not long ago, a passing thought of that night would have threatened to send him spiraling, triggered that hollowed-out ache behind his ribs. But by some miracle of time and effort and healing, he had managed to come to some sense of peace with it—mostly.

And not to get too love conquers all about it, but he was pretty sure having Steve in his life, learning to trust, learning to believe he was worth being loved in a way he’d never dreamed, had a lot to do with it too. 

The presence behind him came closer, the scent of Steve’s shampoo filling his nose as a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around his waist from behind.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, sighing as he sank into his boyfriend's touch. “Are you finally ready for me?”

Steve held him tighter in response, his mouth ghosting over the shell of Eddie’s ear as he ground his already half-hard cock against his ass. “I’m always ready for you.”

“Such a fucking tease,” Eddie groaned, resisting the overwhelming urge to press back against him. Instead, he turned in Steve’s hold, throwing his arms around warm bare shoulders. 

God bless tank tops. 

“You know I meant for the game, Stevie.”

“I know,” Steve whispered on an exhale, tucking his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. His lips brushed the skin there, soft and slow. “I’m pretty sure Dustin would come looking for us if we postponed to fuck right now anyway.”

A whine crawled up Eddie’s throat, his mind consumed with thoughts of Steve bending him over their bed, yanking his pants down, and bullying his way inside with little to no prep. Taking what he wanted with that perfect blend of care and control that drove Eddie wild. 

Fuck, he wanted that.

“Later?” He asked, a desperate lilt to his voice. 

“Promise,” Steve said, pressing one last kiss just below his ear. “As soon as we’re done playing Druids and Dorks, I’ll put you right through that mattress, baby.”

Eddie’s entire body shivered in anticipation. So much so, that it took a moment for all of Steve’s words to sink in. 

“Wait. Did you just say—we?”

The sun was low enough in the sky to create a false twilight as they traipsed through the thick trees that lined the back end of the trailer park, leaves and twigs rustling underfoot with each step they took. 

The place wasn’t called Forest Hills for nothing. 

If it had been anyone else leading Eddie through the woods without a word of explanation, he might have been nervous, suspicious even. But this was Steve. After everything they’d been through, he trusted him wholeheartedly. More even than he trusted himself.

And wasn’t that wild?

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn't going to badger the shit out of him with questions the whole time.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the concern for my physical health, sweetheart,” Eddie said, picking his way over a thick tangle of roots. “But couldn't we take a mysterious woodland stroll some other time? Like, after the game?”

Steve snorted a laugh, but remained infuriatingly silent.

And they called Eddie dramatic. 

Eddie’s mouth pinched, narrowing eyes sliding to his left, boring into the side of his boyfriend’s head. “Won’t the kids be at the trailer any minute?”

A warm hand sliding against the small of his back was all the reply he got, lightly guiding him as they stepped over a fallen tree trunk together.

He ground his teeth and barely resisted the urge to stomp his feet as he whirled on the spot to face the current bane of his existence. Who he loved. Who thought he was so fucking funny. 

“Seriously, Steve. Where are we—” He began to demand, only for Steve’s palm to land squarely on his mouth, effectively cutting him off. Steve met his eyes for a long moment, tilting his own head to the side with an ear cocked as if he were listening for some far off sound.

That’s when Eddie heard it.

Distant music playing low on a shitty radio. Shuffling feet. The metallic crinkle of soda cans. The general sounds of people having a good time close by. And the very distinct sound of Robin’s wheezy, snorting laughter.

Eddie felt his eyes go wide, his stomach performing somersaults as his mind raced through the implications. 

Steve grinned, finally pulling his hand away, replacing it with his lips in a quick peck. “I hope you’re up for improvising,” he said, eyes alight as he pulled back. “There’s a few more players than you were expecting.”

A few more players turned out to be a bit of an understatement. 

They walked hand in hand together for only a few more yards before coming to the edge of a clearing, glittering lights in the trees already visible through the leaves and branches as Steve dropped his hand, letting him be the first to step through a gap in the brush. 

It was the D&D setup of anyone’s dreams.

The trees had been strung with white christmas lights, criss-crossing overhead in gentle loops. A long grand table made up of three wide picnic tables pushed together sat in the center of the space, covered in a rich black cloth and adorned with candles of every shape and size. Their flickering flames reflected off of the dice scattered along the table, glinting like little gemstones.

And at the head of the table, perched in theatrical glory, sat his throne. The battered but beautiful prop he’d commandeered from the drama department for every meeting of Hellfire since its inception, with its carved wood frame and dusty red velvet upholstery.

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispered in disbelief. 

Everyone was there. Apart from Hopper and Mrs. Byers, the entire Upside Down crew was present and accounted for. All with a completed character sheet in front of them, and all looking genuinely excited to be there. Even Max, who would have sooner played Barbies with Holly Wheeler than sit in on a D&D campaign, let alone participate in one, was seated at the table.

How had Steve pulled this off without him knowing? Where had all this stuff even come from? Where were they hiding all their cars? So many questions came to mind, including what all the spare empty chairs were for, but what ultimately came out of his mouth was—

“How the hell did you manage to get my throne out of the school?!”

Before Steve could answer, a voice from the other side of the trees did it for him. 

“We might have helped with that part.”

Eddie could hardly believe his ears. He turned, stunned.

Like ghosts from another life, Gareth stood just beyond the tree line, a frown on his face and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Jeff and Grant flanked him on either side, looking equal parts hopeful and unsure. 

“Gare?”

It’d only really been—what—five or six months since the last time Eddie’d seen the guys? You’d have thought it was ten years by the way he froze, staring, before shaking himself out of it and rushing over to greet them. As much as he wanted to throw his arms around his best friends—former best friends?—he stopped himself short, nerves settling in to tie his guts in a knot.

He wondered suddenly if the band was still together. If Corroded Coffin had gone on to make music without him.

If they played better without him.

If they were glad that he’d disappeared.

A frown tugged at his lips, his heart sinking as he recognized the poison in his own thoughts. He wasn’t completely immune to it, but he knew better now than to give in to those darker thoughts without a fight. These were his friends. They cared about him. They wouldn’t have been there otherwise.

He risked a quick glance back at Steve for reassurance and found it right away in his boyfriend's nearly painfully fond smile. It was more than enough to give him the boost he needed to face Gareth, and his thin lipped expression. 

“I can’t believe you guys are here.”

Grant shot a warm smile over the top of Gareth’s head. Jeff did the same, even parting his lips to speak, only to be cut off by Gareth backhanding him across the chest. And Eddie was torn between laughing, and swelling with pride at his best friend, who had stepped into his protective role with such effortless gusto. 

Gareth, though, remained stoic, giving a small, dismissive shrug. “It’s not every day Steve Harrington shows up at your door asking for a favor.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, breaking into a lopsided grin as he pictured the bizarre scene. “He’s persuasive when he wants to be.”

Gareth’s bushy eyebrows drew together as he studied Eddie’s face, his expression softening by degrees, while his eyes lingered on a spot near Eddie’s mouth. “What happened to you, man?”

Oh—right.

Unconsciously, Eddie raised a hand to cover his cheek, the grin slipping away in an instant. He’d almost forgotten about that particular bite scar. It’d faded into light pink lines that were more often than not camouflaged by stubble, but still pulled on his lip funny when he smiled too wide.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say at first. 

“What exactly are you sorry for, hmm?”

That he’d dragged them all down with him by association. Gotten them branded satanists and devil worshippers because he’d been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. That he couldn’t even tell them what really happened to Chrissy, to him, to Hawkins. 

Eddie shuffled his feet, fighting off a renewed sense of unease. “Everything, I guess. I heard about Jason and his goon squad roughing you guys up when they were looking for me.”

“Okay, yeah, that sucked a big fat one,” Gareth scoffed, but his attitude had lost its edge. “That’s not what we’re pissed off about though.”

“I–I don’t…” Eddie stuttered, chewing on his bottom lip. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

Gareth rolled his eyes. “No shit, dumbass.”

“Then what—”

“You disappeared, Eddie. And I don’t mean when you went into hiding or whatever before the earthquake, I mean after. Dude, we thought you were dead till Jeff’s mom ran into Wayne at the gas station. Had to find out you were in the hospital from Henderson, who was a little cagey about the details, might I add.”

Jeff bobbed his head, chiming in. “Your whole crew acts like they’re in the NSA. What’s up with that?”

“Not now, Jeff,” Gareth hissed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s been months, Eddie,” Gareth went on, unrelenting. “Why didn’t you call us?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, looking down. “I was kinda working through some shit? And I guess… I guess I didn’t think you’d want me around anymore?”

The words felt pathetic, even to his own ears, but it was the only truth his messed up brain had let him see for a while. And after that, it just felt like too much time had passed to fix things.

Gareth’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Eddie for a long moment before finally his facade broke, his lips curling into a small smile as he shook his head.  “Well, I’ll say it again. You’re a fucking dumbass. But you’re our dumbass.”

Eddie surged forward, wrapping his arms around Gareth, and felt Grant and Jeff close in behind him, making him the center of a full-grown group hug.

“God, I missed you guys.”

“We missed you too, asshole,” Grant replied, voice muffled by Eddie’s hair.

Eddie's heart felt like it was mending in real time, fuller than it had ever been in his life.

The four eventually made their way to the long table, finding their seats amid familiar laughter and new chatter. Eddie dropped onto his throne like a king returning to court—though he’d always considered himself more of a jester than a monarch—preening when Steve took the chair beside him and knocked their knees together under the table. The air was clear and joyful, and Eddie soaked in every bit of it, basking in the noise, the mess, the life of it all.

He let them all go on for a minute longer, then cleared his throat, loud and demanding.

“Quiet!”

The silence was instant.

In the hush that fell over the clearing, he stood, rising to his full height to lean over his battered and worn DM screen, fingers steepled in front of him as he shared a heavy gaze with each person assembled around the table in turn. Steve grinned when their eyes met, and as much as Eddie wanted to share in that warmth with his own smile he kept his face like stone. This was his domain. He had a story to tell—a show to put on, and a crop of new players to seduce.

“The Village of Briar Glen is quiet, unnervingly so considering the late summer air. It  would usually be bustling with activity, with villagers young and old working tirelessly to prepare for the coming winter. But of course, that is precisely why you are all here. Your party heard tell of a creature stalking the woods surrounding the small hamlet, and terrorizing its citizens. Livestock has been taken, whole chicken coops destroyed, and no less than two hunters have gone out to track the beast, never to be seen again.” 

He raised an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he paused for effect, relishing the tense silence as his audience waited with bated breath for him to continue.

He still had it.

“You see a shape moving through the dark with a low rumbling growl. The moon is hiding most of her light behind the clouds but there is just enough for you to make out the tufts of fur raised along its back, and feathers ruffling near its neck.”

“Fur and feathers?” Steve asked, mouth screwed up in confusion.

Eddie raised both arms above his head, dropping his voice down into a deep snarl. “It lets out an ear piercing scream.”

Mike groaned. “Seriously? An Owlbear? That’s baby shit, Eddie.”

“Can it Wheeler,” Eddie snapped, cracking his knuckles. He leaned back, spreading his arms wide. “So, my ragtag bunch of adventurers, what do you do?”

The campaign unfolded like many before it—chaotic, messy, joyful. Dice clattered across the table as players argued, laughed, shouted over each other, and threw themselves into the roles of their characters with surprising intensity. The world outside their little bubble disappearing behind a tapestry of friendship and fun.

Hours passed in a blink, and of course, the party triumphed. Eddie never doubted them. The owlbear fell with a final dramatic blow, and the table erupted into cheers and applause. Fists were raised, leftover snacks flung into the air, a sweet victory shared by all.

Eddie finally let himself relax, leaning into Steve, resting his head against the other boy’s shoulder as the celebration continued to echo in the clearing all around them. Their friends, both new and old, still riding the high of their victory over the rampaging owlbear that had terrorized the outskirts of a small town.

And, for a moment, he felt nothing but perfect contentment.

He knew it wouldn’t always be like this. Life had sharp edges. He’d still battle with his depression sometimes. There’d be bad days, days when even getting out of bed would feel like an impossible feat. He and Steve would argue, lose their patience, hurt each other, and sometimes say things they didn’t mean.

But none of that scared him the way it used to.

Because deep down he knew that no matter what life threw at them, they’d always find their way back to this. To each other. Not just in grand, perfect ways like this, but in small, steady ones too. In shared laughter and pain, in acceptance and fierce forgiveness. In choosing, again and again, to love each other through it all.

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[penny00dreadful]

Well hi!

I'm a Steddie writer and artist, with a few hints of Buckingham thrown in, that's primarily what you will find here.

I've been writing since the trenches of fanfiction.net.

My personal headcanon for these boys is they're kicking names and taking ass and they're all out of milk.

Artworks, podfics and translations welcome, just let me know cus I wanna see! 😊

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Most Recent:

The Mummy - (Tumblr/AO3) - The Mummy AU

Royal Pain - (Tumblr/AO3) - Royal AU

#penny fic

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Most Recent:

Passing Grade (Tumblr/AO3) - Teacher/Student Roleplay Smut

Santa Baby (Tumblr/AO3) - Santa Steve

The Painting and The Painter (Tumblr/AO3) - Art Gallery

#penny oneshot

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#penny ficlet

#stwgdailyprompt

Through The Valley - (Tumblr/AO3)- Post-Apocalypse AU

#wip excerpts

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#penny art

[penny00dreadful]

Eddie was terrifying. 

Elliot had known the guy for a few years now, ever since Eddie had stepped into the Spellbound Bar with big eyes and a wild grin. The guy hailed from some small ass town in Indiana, but it was clear to see that he hadn’t hidden much of himself over there. 

So many kids blew into California freshly freed from their families, still dressed in clothes their old life had forced them to wear. They always had a sort of fragile, reborn look to them that made all the elder queers reach out their hands, welcome them in. 

Eddie, whose last name changed on a daily basis (his drivers license listed it as ‘Henderson’ but there were rumors that it too, was fake)  had too large of a wardrobe for all of it to be recently purchased, and moved too comfortably in clothes for them to be new to him. 

The guy wasn’t mean. His temperment wasn’t why he was terrifying, really, though the constant high energy he whirlwinded around the bar with often grew too much for some of their quieter regulars. 

No it was all the shit he casually talked about. How he took things in stride, and said he had to, given he used to be the president of a D&D club he named Hellfire. 

(Hellfire. In small town America. The sheer fucking balls on this dude.) 

He regaled them all with tales of his lost sheep and the fights he had with his high school principal long before Angel, the bar owner, agreed to take him on as a busboy--then bar back, then bartender, all in rapid succession.

Always winking as he spun a story about how he was caught flagging once from an out of towner stopping by for gas, the story somehow darkly hilarious. 

A lot of people didn’t like southern California, or rather, not the way they thought they would at least, but Eddie took to it like a duck to water. There was no denying the man belonged here, in a way he hadn’t truly belonged anywhere else. 

Elliot had been the one to help him find a local metal band. He himself was one of those quieter regulars (and not a musician let alone a metalhead) but he knew people. Could make some connections.

It helped that Elliot did play D&D, and was quick to pull Eddie into his orbit that way. Get him connected to others who loved the game like the metalhead clearly did. 

And damn, could Eddie DM.

It was here though, that Elliot first picked up that Eddie’s bluster wasn’t just that. 

Watched as his new friend's eyes went hard and flat when the Vecna campaign was mentioned, shut it down with such force that it left the table briefly stunned by the sheer venom in his voice. 

How he flinched once, hands reaching for the bat he’d hammered nails into under the bar when electricity had stuttered in a heatwave, lights flickering in the bar. 

(The bat itself, and the way Eddie had simply looked at the one Spellbound had as their only defense measure and declared it “fucking useless” had not helped the rough, survivalistic story they were all putting together.) 

Winter rolled back round to spring and then summer and whispers about his home life, about how he had to survive with all the rural cow farmers looking and acting like he did, how he obviously knew how to fight was practically old news by the time he first showed up in a cropped shirt. 

The scars that decorated his stomach still caught the attention of everyone at the bar, and more than once their little D&D group had tried to map out the shape of them, if only to figure out what the hell could cause such a dramatic injury. 

No one ever quite succeeded, but then, no one was brave enough to ask the man himself. 

What it did do, was cement the idea in everyone’s heads. 

Eddie Henderson/Buckley/Sinclair/Wheeler/and one time even Walmart--was a great guy, and one who could absolutely beat the shit out of almost everyone in the bar, hands down. 

Nothing he did over the years ever challenged that. If anything, Eddie only cemented it further, which is the only reason Elliot didn’t bolt the second the two of them came home from a shift and found a stranger in front of their door. 

Elliot, 5’4, formerly named Eleanor and still not on T despite making every clawing attempt towards it, wasn’t much of a match for an enraged, pissed off jock. 

But Eddie was. 

xXx 

The jock was the straightest looking man Elliot had ever laid eyes on. 

Bruises covered half his face and one eye, and he sported a nose that had clearly been recently bloodied. Judging from the scrapes on the back of his hands he hadn’t gotten them willingly--or maybe was just giving as good as he got. 

He was walking wildly back and forth in front of their garage, hands opening and closing, a look in his eyes that spoke of someone not entirely in control as he muttered audibly to himself. 

Given the preppy polo shirt, expensive looking shorts and shoes that practically shined, they were so new, he was comically out of place, even with the entire homicidal aura he had going on. 

(Given the descriptions of the assholes who had attacked Angel only four nights ago on their walk home, Elliot could only see the man as a monster preparing to attack.) 

He slammed to a stop, breath in his throat, entirely unsure of what to do.

Thankfully, Eddie was right behind him. 

Eddie, who could probably beat this guy and six others bloody. Eddie who carried a knife. Eddie who terrified Elliot sometimes, but not the same way the idea of getting hate crimed did, Eddie who--

Who was coming up besides Elliot, looking both alarmed and confused and not at all challenging the homicidal rich boy. 

“Steve!?” Eddie said, voice high and surprised.

They both watched as the figure spun to face them, crazed look crumbling down to something Elliot couldn’t read. 

“Hey.” The supposed Steve said, rather miserably, shoulders hunched right before Eddie shot forward, hands hovering in the air like he wanted to touch but didn’t know where to start. 

“What the hell Harrington--did you lose another fight!?”

“I don’t lose every fight you know.” Steve snarked back, sounding exactly like every rich snob Elliot’s ever encountered. 

It’d get his back up, except Steve’s entire body was curving towards Eddie in obvious relief. “Henderson exaggerates.” 

Which was doubly confusing, given Eddie was supposedly a Henderson.

“Sorry for dropping by like this. Wasn’t close to anyone else, so I didn't know where else to go.” Steve continued, as Eddie finally stopped waving his hands around and instead began herding Steve through the door and to the kitchen. 

Confused, Elliot followed.

(What the fuck else was he supposed to do?) 

“I thought you were on a cruise?”  Eddie challenged, sounding more and more normal as he and Steve traded banter. 

“I was. Clearly, I’m not anymore.” 

“Steve.” Eddie said, voice almost pleading as he patted the only empty spot on their counter, before turning to fish a bag of peas out of the fridge. 

(Had Elliot ever heard him plead like that? Had he thought Eddie even capable?) 

Steve jumped up on it like a dog that had been asked to perform a trick, while Elliot hovered in the living room, watching it all go down across the little half wall that separated the two spaces. 

“Did I just see pop tarts in your freezer?” Steve asked instead of answering. 

“Don’t distract me, you dick. Put this on your face.” 

And so they went, instantly and immediately comfortable, two people who clearly had known each other for a long time trading insults and catching up while Eddie tried unsuccessfully to pull what happened out of Steve via an increasing number of ridiculous nicknames. 

He’d worked his way past ‘Stevie’ and was well on his way to calling the stranger things like ‘big boy’ by the time Anders came home from her shift at the record store. 

Swaned through various other, mildly incriminating nicknames until he saw something that made him start cursing, at which point he rapidly fell down the nickname rabbit hole, landing at a final; 

“Come on Sweetheart, you look like someone tried to kill you! Just tell me what happened!”

Jake, who had just waltzed in the front door, blinked wildly. 

“Eddie has a guest.” Anders informed him, handing their roommate an open beer from the pile she’d put on the floor as he slammed to a halt. 

Took in their intruder so starkly out of place on the kitchen counter, nestled between twin pride flags and a poster for Eddie’s band like a misplaced catalog model.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Jake said flatly, as Steve grumbled something lowly at their fearless DM, and Eddie flicked his nose in retaliation. 

"He's from Indiana," Elliot offered, the closest thing to an explanation he had. "Same town as Eddie."

He hesitated, then added, "I think."

It was all he’d managed to piece together, the conversation had been all over the place.

“Steven Madonna Harrington,” Eddie snapped finally, spinning to pin his guest with a glare, “you either tell me what happened or I’m calling Robin.” 

‘Madonna?’ Anders mouthed at Elliot, as if that was the weirdest part of this entire situation. 

Steve kicked at Eddie lightly. “She has finals this week you jerk.”

Eddie slammed both his hands down on the counter, one on either side of Steve’s hips, staring up challengingly. 

It put him almost directly in between Steve’s legs, bringing their faces intimately close together. 

“And she’s gonna lose her shit when she finds out her platonic with a capital P soulmate ditched off that family cruise he’s been dreading for months, looking like he decided to take up backyard boxing, and then came to my place instead of calling her first--” 

“Fine! Fine, you underhanded asshole. Tommy was on that stupid Alaska cruise. Decided he wanted to reconnect.” 

“Hagan did all this!?” 

“Oh no, this is from my dad.” Steve motioned to himself, a grim sort of amusement curling around the words. “He caught me and Tommy making out. Decided to have a little chat about how he disapproved.” 

“That is awful and we are returning to it immediately but first--Steve. Babe.” Eddie stared at him in clear dismay. “Tommy Hagan?”

Another eye roll, this one earning a wince from Steve as it agitated his bruises. “Not the time Mun--” 

Eddie coughed loudly right over the rest of whatever Steve was about to say, getting a weird look from everyone around him. 

“Henderson.” Eddie corrected softly. “They changed it to Henderson after all the uh.” He paused, as though trying to recall the word he wanted. Went with; “Earthquake.” 

That got some glee out of Steve. 

“You picked Dustin’s last name? Does he know?” 

“Fuck no dude, he’d never shut up about it.” Eddie put a hand on Steve’s thigh, jostling it lightly. “We’re not talking about me right now though. Your dad disowned you?”

“Supposedly.” Steve shrugged, like this was normal and not a huge ordeal. “I’ll check on my credit cards tomorrow, see if he’s serious.” 

Eddie’s stare was growing flat, fast. “Even if he isn’t, he beat the shit out of you.” 

“Yeah, well, everyone kinda does, I guess it was just his turn.” 

“Steve.”

“I’m kidding!” Then, in a far more serious tone; ‘I am sorry about crashing in like this. I can get out of your hair.” 

Eddie was already waiving a hand dismissively, head shaking, but Steve plowed forward anyway. 

“I mean it. The cruise stopped at a port near here and I needed to get off it before my dad decided disowning me and throwing all my shit over the rails weren’t enough.” 

Steve finally looked up, taking in all the people who were watching this play out like a TV sitcom. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game night.” 

“There’s no game, they all live here.” He turned and glared, and got one embarrassed face and two entirely unapologetic ones in return. “They’re just enjoying the show.

‘It’s getting a five star rating so far.” Anders snarked at him. “Might lose a star, if one of the main actors keeps breaking the fourth wall, though.” 

Eddie flipped her off. 

“You’re not going anywhere looking like this. You are at minimum, staying here for the rest of the weekend.” 

“If you’re sure.” Steve said hesitantly. To the group at large, he added; “And no one minds me taking the couch.” 

“The couch is a shared communal space.” Eddie shot back instantly, before anyone else could protest. “You’re staying in my room.” 

“Oh.” Steve said, like he’d half expected, wanted even, Eddie to make that offer. “Okay.” 

“I am so confused right now.” Anders muttered, and Elliot could only nod along because, well. 

Yeah. 

Him too. 

“Come on, let’s get your stuff, I’ll show you around. Keep the peas on your face.”

“Eds, man, I don’t have any stuff. I was lucky to escape with my wallet.” Steve vollied, but hopped off the counter anyway, following Eddie as he was led up the stairs, towards the metalheads room. 

“This is the weirdest day of my life.” Jake announced when they’d disappeared. 

“It’s not over yet.” Anders said, cracking open another beer.  “Give it a bit.” 

“How on earth could this get any weirder?” Elliot muttered. 

“Well thanks Elliot.” Anders told him flatly. ‘If it wasn’t guaranteed before, it is now.” 

“How!?”

“She’s right bud, you challenged the fates.” Jake responded. “We’re in for it now.” 

(Given Steve never moved back out, they absolutely were.) 

Bonus

“You know.” Eddie said, and his voice was quiet but the house was fucking ancient and not in the best of shape, and thus Elliot heard him loud and clear through their shared wall. “I kiss a lot better than Tommy Hagan.”

“Not letting that one go anytime soon, huh?” Steve rumbled back. 

“I’m just saying! If you’re going to get disowned for a kiss, it should be a damn good one and not whatever limp noodle bullshit Hagan does. I saw him with Carol, he kisses like a puffer fish.” 

A low snicker, followed by; “He did kinda kiss like a fish.”

“See!?” Vindicated, Eddie grew louder in volume. “I could give you a kiss that would actually be worth all this shit! A proper kiss!” 

“You offering, Munson?”

“Well if the good knight Sir Harrington doth allow it--”

An ‘mmph!’ noise that took a moment for Elliot to translate as Steve kissing Eddie, which made this entire fucking day suddenly make a whole lot more sense. 

“If you stop all the nerd talk we can take it beyond a kiss.” 

“I can do that.” Eddie said, voice breathless. “I can definitely do that.” 

“Good.” 

Elliot snorted in amusement, before reality of their paper thin shared wall and the fact he was going to hear fucking everything asserted itself. 

He decided to go sleep on the couch.

[penny00dreadful]

every steddie fic is like oooo big strong eddie has to protect steve the poor delicate flower from the horrors of the world. ok. well which one of them has survived for 4 years and which one died immediately

[penny00dreadful]

The Painting and The Painter

WC: 1.6k Rating: G Tags: Modern Setting, Art Galleries, Different First Meeting @steddiebingo prompt: Second Chances Full tags on AO3

Art had never really been Steve’s thing. 

Especially not modern art. 

He didn’t really get it.

And he didn’t really want to get it, if he was being honest with himself. 

And ‘himself’ was the only person he’d be honest with about this subject.

The last time he tried to express such feelings, he felt like he was about to be on the bad end of a witch hunt.

Too many artists and art appreciators had scoffed or pitied him as if he was an idiot for not getting the deep and meaningful message of a pile of trash pulled from a junkyard sitting in the middle of an empty room with the meaning of: consumerism, bad. 

Like, yeah thanks, he didn’t need to go see a pile of junk in a room to realise consumerism was bad. A pile of junk, by the way, he had to pay to go see because his ex just had to examine it up close.

He needed to stop dating people from Robin’s art college.

Steve was well aware he wasn’t exactly cerebral like that, and while it had taken a long, long time for him to become comfortable with it, other people saw it as a soul deep flaw.

So forgive him for enjoying an evening at a bar with his friends or watching a game more than standing around and nodding while some dick with his head shoved up his own ass delivered a speech about the broken department store mannequin he had spent five minutes spray painting, meant to represent the futility of the beauty industry or whatever the fuck, while he waved a manicured hand around and arched a microbladed brow at those who looked sufficiently guilty in light of his irrefutable morals.

So yeah, art wasn’t really his thing. 

But this was Robin’s art.

So at the very least, for this showing, he would force his brain into making an effort.

He was actually very surprised at how little he had to force.

It was immediately clear to Steve that this showing was different from the others.

For one, there was music. 

And not that hoity-toity classical string quartet nonsense that people like Steve’s parents pretended to enjoy because it was what was expected of them. It was like…

There was no other way to describe it other than cool or even young and Steve immediately wanted to go dunk his head in the sink because even to himself he sounded like a youth pastor desperately trying to connect with the young’uns.

But it was some kind of instrumental rock or whatever, playing at a volume that wasn’t obtrusive but still filled the silence enough to allow people to feel comfortable talking and not whispering to each other.

The gallery itself was a deep dark red colour, dimly lit with various spotlights shining on the artwork, which itself was a mish-mash of different types.

Steve wasn’t exactly sure if that was the right word, different mediums maybe?

Costume pieces and sculptures, paintings and photography.

Robin was practically abuzz, excitedly talking to anyone who asked about her inspiration for her own piece, and whereas in other gallery showings Steve would have expected to find people being overly stuffy and formal, everyone here seemed to take things much more casually.

Robin sent him a wild and panicked look as another artist at the show, a cute little blonde woman who’s piece involved an old highschool cheer costume on a skeleton, batted her eyelashes at Robin as she stuttered over her words.

Steve sent her a two fingered salute and stepped back and away from her, smiling as she glared at him.

He could wander on his own for a little bit, surely he could find something to entertain himself.

It was almost by mistake he came upon the painting. 

And that seemed to be the point.

Hidden away by a dark corner, lit up by only one single spotlight, was a traditional looking portrait, the type that royals and aristocrats had painted of themselves in centuries past.

The man in the portrait was dressed in old-timey formals, gold epaulettes on his shoulders, medals and badges on his chest, a yellow sash over his blue military jacket. His chestnut hair lay in an artful swoop over his head, his face adorned with moles and beauty marks, his hazel eyes looking out of the portrait with a mix of exasperation, a little bit of irritation, but mostly a deep and unmoveable fondness that Steve could just about feel down in his bones.

“There’s something about him, isn’t there?”

Steve turned to the man who had appeared nearly silently at his side. The man turned to look at him with an almost lovelorn grin.

Steve’s eyes did a sweep of him, wild curly dark hair, deep dark eyes, the hint of dimples appearing at his cheeks, black inky tattoos along his wiry arms.

Beautiful.

Steve smiled back, almost finding himself blushing, though he couldn’t fathom the reason.

“Is this one of yours?” He asked, assuming this man was one of the artists here, showing off his work, though he’d never seen him around Robin’s college.

“Me?” The man asked, a mischievous lilt in his voice. “Unfortunately not. But he is a part of my collection and I couldn’t bear to pack him away in storage. He’s just too beautiful.”

“Oh.”

Steve looked back up at the portrait above him. 

He couldn’t deny there was something about the painting that was pulling him in, but he wouldn’t exactly say it was the subject that was doing it for him.

There was something about the care and almost reverence that seemed to come from the painting itself. 

Like the artist had meticulously made sure everything was perfect. 

Like he had left a part of his soul in the canvas.

“You look like him, actually.”

Steve turned again, the man was still looking at him, that same yearning smile in place.

“Do you think so?”

Steve himself didn’t really see the resemblance but he wasn’t going to deny an attractive man telling him he looked similar to a painting he had called beautiful.

“I do.” He looked upon Steve like he was an artwork in himself, his gaze magnetic and inescapable. “The man who painted this… There was a rumour they were lovers. The painter and the subject, that is.”

Steve grinned a little sadly to himself.

“Historians will call them roommates.” He quipped, a resigned type of defeat making its way into his tone against his will.

The man hummed next to him, turning fully to face him now.

“Probably.” He raised a finger to tap lightly at the pride flag pin on Steve’s collar. “History hasn’t ever really been kind to our people, after all.”

“What else do you know of them…?” Steve left a gap at the end of his sentence, hoping, praying that this man would bless him with his name.

“Eddie.”

Eddie.

It fit. 

It fit so absurdly well that Steve had wondered how he hadn’t just been able to guess it. The person in front of him had always been the type of person Steve had imagined whenever he had thought of the name Eddie, as strange as that sounded.

“Steve.” Steve gave back in turn.

Eddie smiled at him again, appearing to share the sentiment of a name fitting perfectly to a person. 

“That’s right.” He said, less of a confirmation and more of an acknowledgment of a puzzle piece slotting into place.

Eddie heaved a heavy sigh, a moment of overdone drama that set Steve’s heart fluttering and had him leaning in just a little more, desperate to be closer.

“Their tale is a tragic one, I’m afraid. The man in the painting perished in a fire not long after it was completed. This was the last piece the artist ever completed. He disappeared after the fire, never to be seen again. I think…” Eddie hesitated, swallowing. “I think he followed his lover not long after.”

Steve looked back up at the careful brushstrokes and meticulous detail, his heart plummeting down deep and his eyes welling up against his will, unable to stop thinking of the despair the painter must have felt, the despair Steve himself felt that the painter thought there was no way forward after such a loss.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Eddie whispered to him, gently thumbing away at the tears on Steve’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Steve shook his head, eyes down and tried his best to fight off the urge to throw himself into the arms of this stranger who he had just met, this man who he felt an inexplicable and borderline compulsive need to be closer to, to hold tight to him and be assured that he was alive and well.

He only managed a second of hesitation before he gave in, rocketing forward and colliding with such a force into Eddie that he was forced to take a step back to steady himself, but steady himself he did, arms immediately coming up to encase Steve with a warmth and a surety that a stranger should not have, but never in his life had Steve ever felt as at home as he did right now.

“Let me make it up to you?” Eddie asked, low and comforting, slowly running a hand up and down Steve’s back. 

Steve sniffed to himself, a small smile curling over his face as he nestled in deeper to Eddie’s hold, a contented sigh escaping from his lungs as everything in the world felt right again.

So right, and he hadn’t even known it had been wrong.

“Okay.” He muttered into Eddie’s skin, relishing the shiver he received in return. “Give me your number?”

Eddie squeezed him, just a little pulse, tighter then loose again, but never once letting go.

“You’ve got a deal, sweet thing.”

AO3 As always, my biggest thanks and much love to @hbyrde36 for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

[penny00dreadful]

The Painting and The Painter

WC: 1.6k Rating: G Tags: Modern Setting, Art Galleries, Different First Meeting @steddiebingo prompt: Second Chances Full tags on AO3

Art had never really been Steve’s thing. 

Especially not modern art. 

He didn’t really get it.

And he didn’t really want to get it, if he was being honest with himself. 

And ‘himself’ was the only person he’d be honest with about this subject.

The last time he tried to express such feelings, he felt like he was about to be on the bad end of a witch hunt.

Too many artists and art appreciators had scoffed or pitied him as if he was an idiot for not getting the deep and meaningful message of a pile of trash pulled from a junkyard sitting in the middle of an empty room with the meaning of: consumerism, bad. 

Like, yeah thanks, he didn’t need to go see a pile of junk in a room to realise consumerism was bad. A pile of junk, by the way, he had to pay to go see because his ex just had to examine it up close.

He needed to stop dating people from Robin’s art college.

Steve was well aware he wasn’t exactly cerebral like that, and while it had taken a long, long time for him to become comfortable with it, other people saw it as a soul deep flaw.

So forgive him for enjoying an evening at a bar with his friends or watching a game more than standing around and nodding while some dick with his head shoved up his own ass delivered a speech about the broken department store mannequin he had spent five minutes spray painting, meant to represent the futility of the beauty industry or whatever the fuck, while he waved a manicured hand around and arched a microbladed brow at those who looked sufficiently guilty in light of his irrefutable morals.

So yeah, art wasn’t really his thing. 

But this was Robin’s art.

So at the very least, for this showing, he would force his brain into making an effort.

He was actually very surprised at how little he had to force.

It was immediately clear to Steve that this showing was different from the others.

For one, there was music. 

And not that hoity-toity classical string quartet nonsense that people like Steve’s parents pretended to enjoy because it was what was expected of them. It was like…

There was no other way to describe it other than cool or even young and Steve immediately wanted to go dunk his head in the sink because even to himself he sounded like a youth pastor desperately trying to connect with the young’uns.

But it was some kind of instrumental rock or whatever, playing at a volume that wasn’t obtrusive but still filled the silence enough to allow people to feel comfortable talking and not whispering to each other.

The gallery itself was a deep dark red colour, dimly lit with various spotlights shining on the artwork, which itself was a mish-mash of different types.

Steve wasn’t exactly sure if that was the right word, different mediums maybe?

Costume pieces and sculptures, paintings and photography.

Robin was practically abuzz, excitedly talking to anyone who asked about her inspiration for her own piece, and whereas in other gallery showings Steve would have expected to find people being overly stuffy and formal, everyone here seemed to take things much more casually.

Robin sent him a wild and panicked look as another artist at the show, a cute little blonde woman who’s piece involved an old highschool cheer costume on a skeleton, batted her eyelashes at Robin as she stuttered over her words.

Steve sent her a two fingered salute and stepped back and away from her, smiling as she glared at him.

He could wander on his own for a little bit, surely he could find something to entertain himself.

It was almost by mistake he came upon the painting. 

And that seemed to be the point.

Hidden away by a dark corner, lit up by only one single spotlight, was a traditional looking portrait, the type that royals and aristocrats had painted of themselves in centuries past.

The man in the portrait was dressed in old-timey formals, gold epaulettes on his shoulders, medals and badges on his chest, a yellow sash over his blue military jacket. His chestnut hair lay in an artful swoop over his head, his face adorned with moles and beauty marks, his hazel eyes looking out of the portrait with a mix of exasperation, a little bit of irritation, but mostly a deep and unmoveable fondness that Steve could just about feel down in his bones.

“There’s something about him, isn’t there?”

Steve turned to the man who had appeared nearly silently at his side. The man turned to look at him with an almost lovelorn grin.

Steve’s eyes did a sweep of him, wild curly dark hair, deep dark eyes, the hint of dimples appearing at his cheeks, black inky tattoos along his wiry arms.

Beautiful.

Steve smiled back, almost finding himself blushing, though he couldn’t fathom the reason.

“Is this one of yours?” He asked, assuming this man was one of the artists here, showing off his work, though he’d never seen him around Robin’s college.

“Me?” The man asked, a mischievous lilt in his voice. “Unfortunately not. But he is a part of my collection and I couldn’t bear to pack him away in storage. He’s just too beautiful.”

“Oh.”

Steve looked back up at the portrait above him. 

He couldn’t deny there was something about the painting that was pulling him in, but he wouldn’t exactly say it was the subject that was doing it for him.

There was something about the care and almost reverence that seemed to come from the painting itself. 

Like the artist had meticulously made sure everything was perfect. 

Like he had left a part of his soul in the canvas.

“You look like him, actually.”

Steve turned again, the man was still looking at him, that same yearning smile in place.

“Do you think so?”

Steve himself didn’t really see the resemblance but he wasn’t going to deny an attractive man telling him he looked similar to a painting he had called beautiful.

“I do.” He looked upon Steve like he was an artwork in himself, his gaze magnetic and inescapable. “The man who painted this… There was a rumour they were lovers. The painter and the subject, that is.”

Steve grinned a little sadly to himself.

“Historians will call them roommates.” He quipped, a resigned type of defeat making its way into his tone against his will.

The man hummed next to him, turning fully to face him now.

“Probably.” He raised a finger to tap lightly at the pride flag pin on Steve’s collar. “History hasn’t ever really been kind to our people, after all.”

“What else do you know of them…?” Steve left a gap at the end of his sentence, hoping, praying that this man would bless him with his name.

“Eddie.”

Eddie.

It fit. 

It fit so absurdly well that Steve had wondered how he hadn’t just been able to guess it. The person in front of him had always been the type of person Steve had imagined whenever he had thought of the name Eddie, as strange as that sounded.

“Steve.” Steve gave back in turn.

Eddie smiled at him again, appearing to share the sentiment of a name fitting perfectly to a person. 

“That’s right.” He said, less of a confirmation and more of an acknowledgment of a puzzle piece slotting into place.

Eddie heaved a heavy sigh, a moment of overdone drama that set Steve’s heart fluttering and had him leaning in just a little more, desperate to be closer.

“Their tale is a tragic one, I’m afraid. The man in the painting perished in a fire not long after it was completed. This was the last piece the artist ever completed. He disappeared after the fire, never to be seen again. I think…” Eddie hesitated, swallowing. “I think he followed his lover not long after.”

Steve looked back up at the careful brushstrokes and meticulous detail, his heart plummeting down deep and his eyes welling up against his will, unable to stop thinking of the despair the painter must have felt, the despair Steve himself felt that the painter thought there was no way forward after such a loss.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Eddie whispered to him, gently thumbing away at the tears on Steve’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Steve shook his head, eyes down and tried his best to fight off the urge to throw himself into the arms of this stranger who he had just met, this man who he felt an inexplicable and borderline compulsive need to be closer to, to hold tight to him and be assured that he was alive and well.

He only managed a second of hesitation before he gave in, rocketing forward and colliding with such a force into Eddie that he was forced to take a step back to steady himself, but steady himself he did, arms immediately coming up to encase Steve with a warmth and a surety that a stranger should not have, but never in his life had Steve ever felt as at home as he did right now.

“Let me make it up to you?” Eddie asked, low and comforting, slowly running a hand up and down Steve’s back. 

Steve sniffed to himself, a small smile curling over his face as he nestled in deeper to Eddie’s hold, a contented sigh escaping from his lungs as everything in the world felt right again.

So right, and he hadn’t even known it had been wrong.

“Okay.” He muttered into Eddie’s skin, relishing the shiver he received in return. “Give me your number?”

Eddie squeezed him, just a little pulse, tighter then loose again, but never once letting go.

“You’ve got a deal, sweet thing.”

AO3 As always, my biggest thanks and much love to @hbyrde36 for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

[penny00dreadful]

Happy Belated Father's Day to all the Daddys out there, but especially @penny00dreadful

inspired by this artwork

Daddy's Day | E | 3.5k | Steddie Exhibitionists, Cock Warming, Dom Top Steve, Sub Bottom Eddie

(for whatever reason tumblr won't save my read more. please know there explicit content below)

🖨🖨🖨

He's almost positive that the beautiful man's eyes linger a few inches south of his belt for several seconds too long.

His gaze looks hungry.

Seemingly blinking himself back to reality, the man sucks on his teeth for a mere second before he turns tail and makes his way towards the door. 

But just as Eddie's sure he's about to leave, he looks over his shoulder with a smirk. "Sure would be a shame if that ink stained that pretty little cock of yours. Just don't forget to wash up before our meeting in twenty minutes.”

And then, as if he hadn't just sucker punched Eddie straight in the balls with a single sentence, the guy—apparently his fucking boss because that's the only meeting Eddie has all damn day—leaves with one last lingering stare and cheeky wink.

● 

The weeks pass, the copier gets fixed, and as the ink runs dry several times over, so does the lotion on Eddie's bedside table.

He thought he could do it. He thought he could continue to work at HSC and not be a pathetic horny blob of a man. But he's been proven wrong before.

Sure, the first day he beat one out when he got home to relieve stress. Not because his boss is the hot guy from the bar that fucked him over the bathroom counter.

But then as the days continued to rush by and bitchy glares turned to sultry glances, sooner rather than later Eddie found himself running home at lunch just to release some pressure.

It only got worse once Mr. Harrington—or Sir, as Eddie has since been told to call him—started actually acknowledging him.

Well—that's if you consider pressing Eddie up against the copier and grinding against his ass while uttering filth—acknowledging him.

Either way, things have progressed and now part of Eddie's morning routine includes him jerking off just as a preventative measure.

He really doesn't want to cream his slacks.

…again. 

The first time—albeit glorious—he doesn't want to repeat. (There will definitely be repeats)

Though, that's not to say Steve's reaction wasn't worth the humiliation ten times over.

Hell—Eddie still dreams of the mean laugh Steve let out while simultaneously shoving his hand down Eddie's slacks to retrieve some of the mess. He still gets dizzy just thinking about the way Steve had licked those thick fingers of his clean with a smirk.

Surely by now Steve's Pavloved him into getting hard every time he enters the copy room.

Christ, even the smell of printer ink gets him going now. 

🖨🖨🖨

Continue reading on Ao3

[penny00dreadful]

Last Line Tag Game

Tagged back by @meggiejolly. Thank you!

Rules are: write your last line, and then tag as many people as there are words. Mine is:

 He grabbed the kid’s hand and turned him around so that the light shone on the floor again.

That's 18 people. Luckily, I have a script for that:

@maxfandoms, @weronlystardust, @gigglebug, @fortheloveofallthings, @subbaculture

@slowandsteddie, @rocknrollsalad, @yesdangerpls, @loopholesinmydreams

@cloudsurfing42, @estrellami-1, @aparticularbandit, @tinytalkingtina, @16woodsequ

@penny00dreadful, @madaboutmunson, @wormdebut, @outcider

Write if you want to!

[penny00dreadful]

Rêver de la Petite Mort

Explicit | WC: 2662 | AO3

Sequel ficlet to Steve Harrington: Vampire Hunter feat. fanart by Penny00dreadful

For @penny00dreadful 🖤

So-um... haha, funny story? 😅 Happy Father's Day to our @strangerthingswritersguild Daddy 👀 🙈 No, I will not explain 🤣🤣🤣

It wasn’t often that Steve slept while the sun was down these days. 

Ever since he’d asked Eddie to mark him again, to make them one heart, one mind, one soul in two bodies, he kept to a more nocturnal schedule than ever, preferring the company of the creatures of the city, their people, as well as the dedicated few who kept the world spinning while most of polite society snoozed in their beds.

He was already used to the graveyard shift, literally, even if he didn’t spend much time raising the dead lately unless he was helping to train the new hires with Wayne at the Animating firm they’d started together, or testing out the full strength of his magical abilities during his own unique training, with Jane as his guide.

But, naturally, as the official human servant of the Master of the City—servant in name only, mind you… and perhaps sometimes in the bedroom—occasionally it fell on Steve to take care of daylight business for his vampire lover, leaving him no choice but to find his rest while Eddie was up and about for the night.

Steve wasn’t sure how he could have forgotten the far-reaching implications of their joining, what them being connected in this way allowed Eddie to do while he slept, but color him pleasantly surprised when one evening, after having to sit through countless exhausting meetings with everyone from the mayor, to the loathsome head of the Order of the Eternal, Jason Carver, he fell into bed and quickly landed in a dream that gave him the most titillating case of déjà vu.

A familiar, throbbing beat pounded through Steve’s chest like a second pulse as he gradually became aware of his surroundings. He was sitting on a velvet upholstered high back chair in the middle of a large empty space, dark save for a line of scarlet light that glowed in the near distance, illuminating the black and burgundy backdrop on a low stage that had a single brightly polished pole running through its center.

Of course, Guilty Pleasures. 

He was at the club. 

The lights, dim at first, raised up as the extended introduction of a song Steve knew oh-so-well continued to play, gradually growing louder. He was already breathless, his heart hammering and his fingers clenching the edges of his seat even before the first words of the song came purring out of unseen speakers.

You let me violate you

On musical cue, and in typical dramatic fashion, the pale vision of otherworldly beauty better known to Steve now as his adoring other half—Eddie, prowled out of the wings and onto the stage wearing extremely low-rise black leather pants that hugged his body as if they’d been painted on, his favorite pair of shiny patent fuck-me boots, and absolutely nothing else.

And Steve was practically ruined before the show had even started.

The pale skin of Eddie’s upper body shone with a luminous glow in the half shadow as he made his way to the pole, each step deliberate, his hips swaying with the ease of someone who knew exactly how sinful he looked. 

All of his long curly hair was pulled back, loosely piled in a wild yet artful tangle on top of his head, leaving his lovely delicate throat bare, and his pretty face wide open to be gazed upon. Everything about him screamed—desire me, watch me. As if Steve could ever look away. As if he’d ever want to.

You let me desecrate you.

When Eddie finally reached center stage, gripping the pole with long slender fingers, his eyes locked on Steve’s own for the first time, his mouth curving into a feral grin full of heat and promise. There was a hunger to it. 

A knowing. 

Steve was instantly transported back in time, back to the days where he’d let his prejudice overrun his attraction, and worse than that, his compassion, his morals, and his good sense. He’d come such a long way since then, and though he still felt a twinge of guilt whenever he remembered what he’d done, what fate had almost befallen all those he cared about most due to his own stubbornness, he’d never been happier. 

With one hand on the pole Eddie leaned away, arching his back with an inhuman grace, and as he made a slow drop into a full split, Steve continued to recall the last time he’d been sucked into this very same dream.

You let me penetrate you

Back then he’d been sure it was only a dream, and had let himself play into his secret desires for that reason alone, able to hide behind the lie that he would have never have offered himself up to Eddie in his right mind during wakeful hours. The difference now was that he knew exactly what it felt like to give in, to trail his tongue along the dark line of hair that ran down Eddie’s lower stomach. He’d explored and worshiped what lay beyond the waistband of those pants countless times with hands and mouth, taken the long hard length of Eddie’s cock down his throat and into his body with all the reverence of a parishioner taking the sacrament. This time, as he watched the vampire begin his dance for an audience of one, Steve felt that same attraction as before, yes, but also intense and boundless love.

You let me complicate you

In a move as smooth as his descent had been, Eddie brought his legs together again and rose to his feet. He rounded the pole like a predator circling its prey, his body rolling and undulating in a dizzying display. Every movement he made flowed into the next. Fluid, seductive, sharp like a blade yet soft as a kiss. He wasn’t just dancing, he was making love to the pole, the air, the room.

And it was all for Steve. 

Warmth bloomed in his chest, joining with the fiery heat that had been building in his groin since the moment Eddie stepped out into the open. It crawled up his neck, raw desire taking hold of his mind, and not just from the sheer visual stimulation of Eddie’s body in motion, but from the absolute knowing that Eddie was his, and he was Eddie’s.

Help me

Help me indeed. 

It took all of Steve’s willpower to stay put, not to rush the stage and throw his arms around his boyfriend, begging to be taken. Such a silly word, boyfriend. Much too simple a concept for what they were to each other really. Partner was a little better but it still didn’t come anywhere close to describing how Steve felt.

Husband had a certain… ring to it though. 

He didn’t want to interrupt the show, and whatever else Eddie might have planned, but, maybe he could at least watch from a much closer vantage point, without ruining the carefully fabricated recreation.

With hard won ease, Steve concentrated on what he wanted to change, knowing he had just as much influence over the dream they were in as Eddie did, probably more so if anything with his growing control over his magical abilities. Between one blink and the next he was no longer yards away watching Eddie dance from a nice safe distance. He was there, on the stage, right behind the pole, still lounging in his fancy chair having hardly missed a beat of the performance. 

Eddie didn’t seem to notice the change at first, too far gone in his dance and the music, until suddenly, he was airborne, flipping upside down and slowly rotating as his legs straddled the pole above him. His head tipped back, sending his hair falling free from its bounds, cascading down like an inky curtain, almost brushing the floor.

Eddie flashed him a quick, wide grin when he spotted his new position on the stage, the vampire’s fangs briefly catching the lights. Just a glimpse. A reminder.

Dangerous.

Beautiful.

His.

Steve pulled his lower lip between his teeth, fighting not to palm himself through his jeans.

And then Eddie was on him.

Flexing his own control no doubt, Eddie vanished before Steve’s eyes, reappearing behind him. Which he only knew by feel, the delicate touch of Eddie’s fingertips trailing across his shoulders and the back of his neck. He’d done more than merely transport himself too, Steve discovered, when Eddie twirled around to the front of the chair, the small twin globes of his pale pert ass on full display in a delicate black lace thong. 

Steve groaned, his mouth watering at the tempting sight of even more suddenly bare flesh.

One more elegant turn and Eddie was straddling his lap in a smooth, teasing motion, his rigid cock barely contained within the skimpy undergarment as his hips rolled in perfect time with the heavy beat.

Their eyes met again, so close now, and Eddie’s hand came down to caress his cheek, a gentle touch, underlining the love beneath the show of seduction, a fierce tenderness wrapped up in every bob and sway. His dance never stopped, but became a slow intoxicating grind as he rode Steve deeper and harder into the chair.

“Touch me,” Eddie purred, his voice thick as honey and rough like smoke, a clear sign that he was as affected by all of this as Steve was. And when he didn’t obey quickly enough, lost in the delicious friction, Eddie grabbed him hard by his wrists, pulling his arms back and settling his hands firmly on his ass. “This is all yours.”

Steve’s breath caught, the chill of Eddie’s skin biting like a shock as his hands automatically kneaded the familiar mounds of supple flesh, though he was mostly used to it now. Loved it, even. The contrast between the vampire’s icy skin and his own flushed heat only added another layer to their unique intimacy.

God, how had he gotten so lucky?

His fingers moved on, brushing up the smooth line of Eddie’s back, running softly over his ribs and the flat plane of his stomach, digging in at the dip of his hips as they rolled down again and again. Eddie leaned in, his mouth all at once just inches away, his full lips half-parted, and his burning ember eyes alight with need.

Steve surged forward to answer that need with his own. Even in desperation, crashing together without regard for technique, their mouths slotted together perfectly, as they always had, like they were made for each other, and for each other alone. 

“And you are mine, Steve,” Eddie whispered, pulling back from the kiss far too soon for Steve’s liking. A transgression he was happy to forgive for now, in favor of watching Eddie slide down his body to land on the floor at his feet.  

“Every inch,” Eddie went on, his eyes growing even more luminescent as he pushed Steve’s knees apart, opening his legs wide, allowing the vampire plenty of space to rub his cheek against Steve’s clothed inner thigh, for all the world like a great cat scent marking his territory. 

Steve’s entire body shuddered in anticipation, his thoughts slow, mind drunk on the very idea of what was about to happen. He could only nod, offering up a breathless, “always,” as Eddie undid his fly, working his pants down around his ankles with an adoring smile.

“You know, I may have lived for a long time before you, sweetheart, but I did not truly feel alive until you came along.”

“I love you,” Steve gasped softly, breath hitching as Eddie finally took him in hand, fingers trailing gentle, teasing strokes along his length.

Eddie’s long lashes fluttered, his wide eyes looking up to lock with Steve’s, and with something like reverence, pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his cock, showing the same care and affection reserved for his mouth only moments ago.

“I love you, too.”

Words fell away after that, with Eddie wasting no more time in wrapping his plush lips around the head of him, mindful even here in a dream, to keep his sharp fangs from nicking what was most sensitive.

Steve moaned at the feel of it, winding both of his hands into the mess of Eddie’s tangled hair to pull it back from his face, while fighting to keep his hips carefully still. Eddie always lamented the fact that he couldn’t deep throat without drawing blood. Steve wasn’t sure he’d mind it at this point, but it was something they had yet to try. What Eddie didn’t realize was how much Steve adored his talented tongue, the way it laved over the velvet-soft skin of his shaft, wet and slick, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. And when he swirled that sinful tongue in slow, deliberate circles around Steve's reddening tip, it wasn’t just pleasure, it was perfect bliss. The sensation was dizzying, each motion drawing out a helpless tremor in Steve’s thighs, and forcing low, broken sounds from his throat.

Time lost all meaning once he had Eddie bobbing between his legs, but Steve knew it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes at most when he felt that coil inside begin to tighten. He just needed a little something more.

“Eddie, please,” Steve begged, not even knowing what he pleaded for but sure that Eddie would figure it out for him.

And of course, he did.

Eddie slowly backed himself off of Steve’s now throbbing cock, dipping into the slit with the tip of his tongue to catch a bead of precum before pulling his mouth away altogether. Steve whined at the loss, even as Eddie took him back in hand and stroked him at a feverish pace, a desperate pathetic sound that he knew got the vampire off like nothing else. Proven by the way Eddie growled into the hollow of Steve’s groin, while nosing along the sensitive skin there, until he found what he was looking for. A place where Steve knew his pulse thrummed near the surface, racing as it waited to be set free.

The pain was sharp and immediate.

Then it was gone, swallowed by something electric that crashed through his nerves like lightning. Exquisite pleasure, but not the kind you could name, like an orgasm. This was deeper, something primal that pulled at his soul, devouring and worshipping in one. That mere thought would have sent his past self running for the hills, had he managed to get this far, but the Steve of today, of now, the one that was so in love with the vampire—the man at his feet—could only fist Eddie’s hair harder and coax him on.

As much as Steve wanted to live in this moment, letting it stretch on forever, he had no hope of lasting once Eddie started to feed. He’d had no hope of lasting anyway, not after all the buildup, watching Eddie work the pole, and that heady lap dance.

A few more strokes and Steve was ecstasy, the physical embodiment of pleasure trapped in a body made of flesh and bone and blood, and he screamed Eddie’s name to the sky like a prayer to a god he hoped would forgive them both, as he spilled in a hot torrent over his lover’s fist.

Steve woke, his mouth still hanging wide open in a silent scream, unsurprised to feel a still warm wet spot where his silk sleep shorts were stretched right over his thigh. He blinked his eyes open, still riding the last trickling wave of euphoria, to find Eddie lounging in their bed next to him, trailing his fingers up and down his bare chest. 

“Hello, Sweetheart,” Eddie said softly, his mouth pulling into a wide, cheshire grin. “Sleep well?”

Steve yawned, stretching his arms high above his head, and let out a contented sigh, rolling over to press a tender kiss to Eddie's cheek. “Never better.”

Permanent taglist (open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @sidekick-hero @firefly-party

@bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog  @goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1

@rocknrollsalad @eternal-sunflowers @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @estrellami-1

Also a few extra folks I remember enjoying SHVH @mentallyundone @hellion-child @tinytalkingtina @vthx @thisusernameisunavailable01

[penny00dreadful]

Inspired by this post by @0nemorestranger Hopefully close enough to what you had in mind

Lost Media

Steve didn’t realize he’d been humming along to anything until the music cut off suddenly and looped around to start over. The opening riff played for about three seconds before it cut off again.

“Wait, who’s humming?” The question came from one of Steve’s younger co-workers. A part-timer working his way through college. Steve couldn’t remember his name.

“Uh, that was me. Sorry,” he tacked on the apology as an afterthought.

“You know that song?” the kid asked. He sounded like Dustin.

“It’s called Plane of Shadows. I think it’s a DnD reference,” Steve answered. “Band’s Corroded Coffin. Haven’t heard them in years.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Every once in a while, Steve would play the tape he still had. Think about that one summer he’d spent as an unpaid, unofficial roadie. Daydream about what could have happened if he’d known himself a little better back then.

Not too often. Steve wasn’t that much of a loser.

The kid came over and plopped down in Robin’s empty chair. She was out sick today, getting over the flu Steve had picked up last week.

“It is. A DnD reference, I mean,” the kid said. Steve probably needed a better thing to call him; he was probably Erica’s age. “Shit, one of my friends posted that clip to this metal bulletin board. We've been trying to identify it forever. How do you know it?”

“They’re from the same small town I am. We all went to highschool together.” Not that Steve had known their music in highschool. “I don’t think they ended up with a record deal, but they did have an EP they used to sell at concerts. I can bring it tomorrow if you want.”

*********

Steve brought the tape, along with the souvenirs he’d saved from that summer. A couple of photocopied flyers. An ad clipped from a local Bloomington paper for a concert. A wristband from a bar that had marked him as too young to drink. Also his Walkman. Steve wasn’t sure if kids still had cassette players now that CDs were everywhere.

“This is so cool,” the kid - Brian, apparently - gushed when Steve handed him the shoebox he’d brought it all in at lunch. “Is it alright if I scan these? And can I borrow this tape? I want to digitize it and share the full song with the board.”

“You can do that?” Steve really needed to learn more about computers. Just not from Dustin who couldn’t teach anything without turning into a condescending asshole.

“Yeah, just record from the Walkman like it’s a mic. I’ll burn you a copy of the whole EP. That way you won’t have to worry about wearing out your tape,” Brian offered. “I would never have guessed you were such a metal fan.”

“I’m not, really,” Steve admitted. Brian blinked at him, surprised. And, well, it wasn’t the eighties anymore, and they weren’t still living in Hawkins. “Massive crush on the lead guitarist.”

“Oh, uh, thanks for telling me.” Brian leaned over and patted Steve’s shoulder. “So you and Robin aren’t-”

“Strictly platonic.” Maybe Robin was right and they should get signs for their desks.

*********

It was nearly a month later when Brian grabbed Steve at the water cooler and dragged him over to his desk, saying “You’ve got to see this.”

This was a post on the Brian’s metal bulletin board:

Crazy to hear from a buddy that our old band is a minor Internet sensation. Thanks, all. If you guys had been around back in the day we might have managed a full album. Or maybe not. Gareth’s parents would have killed him if he dropped out and Jeff actually wanted to go to college, so maybe we still would have broken up in ‘87. Regardless, we’re all thrilled our music is bringing joy to today’s metal heads. As the primary songwriter, and with the agreement of the rest of the band, I grant permission to upload and download the entire EP. We think any money we might potentially have made on it is worth less to us than the value of preserving what could have been lost media. Just make sure to credit us if your garage band turns one of our songs into a hit. Anyway, if you guys have any questions about Corroded Coffin, or the songs, reply to this post and I’ll do my best to answer in a timely fashion. Aside to OP: Is your preppy co-worker who had all our stuff a handsome former jock with spectacular hair? Because I’d love to get back in touch with our old roadie. -EM

“Oh my god,” Robin squealed, leaning over Steve’s shoulder as he read. “Please, you have to give Eddie Steve’s email. Or get Eddie’s email to give to Steve. Or both. Both would be best. That way at least one of them will have the balls to reach out first.”

“Eddie’s already reaching out,” Steve said. “And I thought you said it was anti-femminist to use testicles as a proxy for courage.”

“Stop quoting me when I’m being right, Steven.”

“So I should get his contact info for you?” Brian asked.

Steve hesitated. Real life was not some romantic comedy where attraction was always mutual and true love overcame all obstacles in the end. But it wasn’t like he’d spend the last decade pining. Even if it was nothing more than getting a friend back, it would be good to get in touch with Eddie again.

“Sure,” Steve answered. “Why not?”

[penny00dreadful]

The Siren

Based off of the 1900 piece, The Siren by John William Waterhouse.

Also available on AO3 or bsky

This fulfils my prompt for the @steddiebingo : Myth

Art Taglist: @hbyrde36, @pearynice, @firefly-party, @sidekick-hero

[penny00dreadful]

Happy Friday the 13th! 🔪

Tagged by @madaboutmunson❤️

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write & share 3-ish sentences for that WIP!

Here's what I'm working on this week:

🏕 Midsummer Nights (Ch 5)

👻 Fuggi Regal Fantasima (Ch 5)

🌊 Caught in the Undertow (Ch 10)

🏰 Not (A) Cinderella (Story) - based on this ficlet

From Not (A) Cinderella (Story)

Movies and TV would lead you to believe that all high school proms are held in the immaculately decorated ballrooms of fancy hotels. Maybe that was true for some lucky upperclassman in the world, but as dedicated to fundraising as the Hawkins High prom committee had been, they were lucky to have afforded a professional DJ, let alone raise the cash needed to book such a venue. 

Someone had done a nice job with the space though.

A DJ booth, complete with some sunglasses wearing douche-bag pretending to scratch records behind it, sat atop one side of bleachers, wrapped in a dark velvety fabric. The opposite side of bleachers were folded up against the wall, covered in more of the same black material and adorned with half a dozen giant spray-painted cardboard venetian masks in metallic jewel tones.

Disco balls hung from each of the raised basketball hoops, spinning in time with each other from either side of the gym, the light reflecting off their mirrored surfaces in a dazzling display. It was like standing inside a prism, or being showered in a storm of glittering stars.

“Is that toilet paper?” Jonathan leaned in to ask, nudging him in the shoulder to point out the white crepe paper hanging in looping swirls from rafters in the ceiling. 

Or, maybe Steve was just a hopeless romantic, who, though he’d fought tooth and nail against coming at all, was secretly holding on to the hope that the prom night magic he’d witnessed in countless romcoms, might prove to be a real thing. 

No pressure tags 💜 @penny00dreadful @pearynice @sidekick-hero @hitlikehammers @little-annie

@helpimstuckposting @queenofshenanigans @yesdangerpls @vthx @dreamwatch

@tinytalkingtina @cloudsurfing42 @maxfandoms @bellandora @pentapoctopus