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"it's all in your head" correct! unfortunately I am also in there

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everyone involved in this decision start running bc i WILL find you.

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Eggs

written for @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event prompt: eggs | rating: g | wc: 1.8K tags: pre-relationship, humor, post-Season 2, Eddie POV

this is really dumb, but I’ve been in a terrible writing rutt because 2025 is being incredibly cruel to me and this idea made me laugh and I needed to write it so here we are

“This is bullshit!” Eddie swears, throwing his arms up and nearly knocking over the display of cheap gum and candy behind him at the register. 

“We have a strict policy,” the clerk says, tapping a worn Post-it note stuck to the small counter separating him from Eddie. 

Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You mean to tell me that big man Bradley himself has requested his minimum wage employees police the amount of eggs that paying customers can buy?”

“Yes,” the clerk says. “One dozen per person under the age of 21.” 

“It’s not alcohol, James. It’s eggs.”

“Eggs, you and your freak friends use to damage property.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not going egging?” 

“That’s what they all say.”

Eddie wants to scream.

Sure, shitty kids in this town have been known to buy dozens of eggs just to hurl them at homes and people, but he’s not one of them. At least, not the one that’s doing the throwing; he has had his fair share of being on the receiving end, though, which is why he wouldn’t stoop to such low activities. 

Egging is beneath him. It’s not creative enough of a punishment for the assholes in this town — and yeah, okay, maybe it’s also because he can’t throw an egg to save his life much less hit the right target but that’s beside the point. 

Eddie fingers through his wallet, plucking out a handful of bills. He slams them down over the worn Post-it note and shoves them towards James. “Just take the money and give me my eggs.” 

He reaches over, yanking one of the cartons into his hands. He moves to grab the second, but James’s faster, swatting it out of Eddie’s grasp. It hits the edge of the counter on the way down, opening and sending a dozen of eggs to the ground. A few crack at Eddie’s feet, covering his boots in fresh yolks, while a handful roll down towards the exit.

“Damn it,” James swears, flicking raw egg from his own hands. “That’s the dozen you’re payin’ for.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eddie growls. The entire store is looking at him now, including a bruised and battered Steve Harrington, who's clearly seen better days. At least someone is having a worse day than he is. “I’m not paying for those! I’m paying for three cartons of uncracked eggs.” 

“You’re not paying for a damn thing,” James says, yanking the phone free from it’s base beside the register. “I’m calling the police.” 

Eddie can’t help himself; he laughs this time. “For eggs?” 

“No, for assaulting an employee.” 

“I didn’t even touch you! You touched me!” 

“We’ll see about that,” James says, dialing the number to the Hawkins Police Department. 

Eddie does scream this time, letting out a primal groan of frustration. “You’re a piece of shit James. I hope you get a raise for being the patron saint of fucking eggs!” He snatches the money from the counter, shoving it into the pockets of his jacket before stalking out of the store with both middle fingers raised. 

Fucking James. Eddie knew he should have waited in Mable's long line. She may take twice as long, but at least she would have let Eddie make his totally reasonable purchase. Hell, she probably would have offered him a quiche or egg salad recipe because that’s the kind of person Mable is. She’s considerate -- something James is not. 

But no. He just had to pick stupid James’s line because it was the shortest. He should have known better. It’s always the same with his type — lame ass jocks who peaked in high school and are now stuck in their hometown making life miserable for everyone else. 

Eddie’s too fired up to get behind the wheel right now, so he pulls out a cigarette instead. The nicotine does little to curb the frustration coursing through him, but at least it gives him something to do besides marching back into the store and starting something with James, he knows he’ll lose. 

After taking a long drag, he glances at the watch on his wrist. It’s five to eight; far too late to get in the car and drive the twenty miles to the next down over and pick up three dozen eggs. Gertrude is going to be mad. And then Wayne is going to be pissed when she and her gang retailiate against their trash. 

Fucking James. 

Eddie finishes his cigarette, snubbing out the end with the boot of his foot. He’s about to climb into his van when he’s accosted by none other than Steve Harrington. Great. Just what Eddie needs. Another lame, has-been jock giving him shit for simply existing. 

Steve’s eye is a deep shade of purple. There’s dried blood caked into the corner of his cracked lip, and there are remnants of some cheap band-aid adhesive around a gash above his eyebrow that probably needs stitches. And that’s just his face. He’s walking smaller, curled in like every step he takes closer to Eddie physically pains him. He probably shouldn’t be lugging around two paper bags full of groceries either, but what does Eddie know? He’s not a doctor. 

“You look like shit, Harrington.” 

“A plate to the side of the head will do that to you.” 

Eddie winces. He’s been hit in the head by a fair share of objects, but never a plate which leads him to wonder who Harrington pissed off. He doesn’t ask. Instead, he deflects. “Bet the other guy looks even worse.” 

Steve snorts, immediately grimacing. “Sure, let’s go with that.” 

Eddie fidgets, feet shuffling. This is the longest he’s ever been in Steve’s presence outside of mandated classes, and he doesn’t know what to say to him. Especially not when his face looks like that. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to because Steve moves, holding out one of the brown paper bags for Eddie to take. 

“Does the liege need an assistant to his chariot?” Eddie asks, staring at the heavy brown bag Steve’s struggling to keep hold of. “I’m sure one of the fair maidens inside would have assisted you.” 

Eddie waits for Steve to scoff and give him shit for speaking like some medieval idiot; but the judgment doesn’t come. At least, not in the form of harsh words. He does get a front row seat to Steve Harrington’s bitchy eye roll though so it’s not a total loss. 

“These are for you.” 

“For me?” Eddie asks, reluctantly taking the bag from Steve’s hand. He glances inside, almost afraid that something is going to pop out of him. Instead, he finds not one, not two, not even three, but four dozen eggs carefully stacked in the bag. “What the hell?” 

“I heard you arguing with James inside,” Steve says. “He’s a jerk. I mean, the guy is working a minimum wage cashier job and he’s still finding ways to be a total douchebag.” 

“So what? You just went to a different cashier and bought four dozen eggs?” 

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I went back to James with three dozen eggs, and he threw in the fourth for free so I could ‘teach whatever freak that rearranged my face a lesson’.” 

“Fuckin’ hypocrite.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

Eddie blinks, the reality of the situation hitting him all at once. Ten minutes ago he was nearly arrested for trying to buy eggs and now he’s standing out here holding four dozen bought and paid for by Steve “the hair” Harrington who took a plate to the head less than 48 hours ago if his bruises are anything to go by. 

What the hell is going on in this town? 

“I uh,” Eddie starts, then stops, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal. I mean, they’re just eggs, right?” 

“Just eggs to you and me maybe,” Eddie says.  “But these things are gold to Gertrude. You saved my ass from her wrath. 

“Gertrude?”

“My pet. She loves eggs.” 

“I didn’t know dogs could eat eggs.” Something washes over Steve in an instant — a look of panic if Eddie’s not mistaken. His eyes grow wide and then narrow into slits as they scan the permiter of the parking lot. His grip on the bag tightens as his entire body goes stiff. And then he’s leaning closer, lips practically touching Eddie’s ear as he drops his voice. “It is a dog, right? Like a furry, wagging tail dog with a full face kind of dog?” 

“Are there dogs without faces?” Eddie asks, suddenly very concerned for Steve’s well-being. If he didn’t get stitches for the gash over his eyebrow, there’s no way he got looked at for a concussion. Maybe he’s hallucinating right now. That would explain why he willingly bought four dozen eggs for Eddie of all people. “Are you concussed still, Harrington? Do you need a ride home or something?”

“I need to know who is eating all these eggs,” Steve says, deathly serious. He takes a step closer, backing Eddie up against the van. “It’s not a dog, is it?” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

“Does it have a face?” 

“Man, what are you—“ 

“Does it have a face, Eddie?” Steve shouts, startling a few shoppers headed to and from their cars. 

Eddie’s never been more grateful for ease droppers than right now because Steve takes a few steps back, giving Eddie enough space to take a deep breath and try to figure out what the fuck is going on. 

“Eddie, I swear to—” 

“Gertrude is a raccoon!” Eddie says in a rush. “She’s a mother racoon who lives in Forest Hills and thinks she owns the damn place. She had babies this year, and I’ve been feeding them so they stay out of our trash. 

Apparently, Gertrude is a gossip and told other raccoons, and now we have a whole horde of them. If I don’t leave scrambled eggs out on the porch, they wreak havoc on the entire park.” 

“Oh.” Steve takes several steps back now, clearly satisfied by Eddie’s answer. “Are they cute?” 

Eddie’s not a hundred percent sure it’s possible to get whiplash from a conversation, but if it is, he’s experiencing a pretty severe case of it right now. “Are you sure you’re not concussed?” 

Steve waves him off. “Hop gave me the all clear last night. Told me to ice it with some peas, which is why I came here.” 

“Okay…” 

“So is she cute? This Gertrude raccoon?” 

“I mean, she’s a raccoon, so yes, obviously.”

“Right,” Steve nods, then glances at the bag in Eddie’s hand. “Four dozen eggs is a lot for one person to make. Do you want some help?” 

Jesus H. Christ, what is going on right now? 

“You, Steve Harrington, want to help me make scrambled eggs for a family of raccoons?” 

Steve shrugs. “Beats sitting at home alone with a bag of peas on my head.” 

“What the hell,” Eddie mutters to himself, before turning to Steve. “Alright, Harrington. You can come help, but no distractions. If we don’t have eggs out on the porch by 9:30, Gertrude will make us pay.” 

“Nothing’s scarier than a hungry woman,” Steve jokes. “Lead the way.” 

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You're gonna have to rip my cartoons from my cold dead hands btw

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you guys i just saw djo how to i move on with my life????

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I was crying laughing the whole time I drew this 💀💀😏

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I love movies where the plot takes place in less than a day. It’s like. What if these people were experiencing the worst 8 hours of the entire lives and you got to see the highlight reel?

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how we feeling guys?

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One-sided enemies to lovers pre-season 4 steddie

Eddie hates Steve, like really, genuinely fucking loathes the guy

Steve only knows of Eddie peripherally until the kids join Hellfire. Then it's a nonstop stream of "Eddie's just so cool and funny... he's the best DM and he's like...tall and 20... and sticks up for us" from the younger teens. Even Max has mentioned that "yeah he's pretty alright or whatever" which is basically her admitting she thinks he's really freaking cool.

So initially Steve has an open mind about him, all he remembers about him from high school is the drug dealing and the occasional table top sermons against conformity.

Inevitably that turns to intrigue because Eddie is very interesting. Steve has no reason to think that they couldn't be friendly until the first time they meet eyes across the parking lot after hellfire and the dude is fucking glaring at him. Is staring at Steve like he ran over his puppy or fucked his mom...which Steve's sure he hasn't done either of those things thank you very much.

Anytime they cross paths, Eddie is a huge dick to Steve. The kids have noticed, and even tried to ask why Eddie hates Steve so much but he doesn't really have an actual reason.

"Steve Harrington stands for everything I fucking hate about this stupid town and it's stupid people. Those kids have no clue what they're talking about, there is no way Harrington's a good guy."

And ouch... Steve gets to overhear Eddie as he's venting to the older Hellfire guys about how much Dustin and the others talk about Steve.. apparently all of them talk him up, defend him against Eddie's snarky little comments.

Which should make Steve lose any interest in the guy. Except... he's still really hot and funny and good with the kids.

During the whole Vecna crisis, Eddie's still insistent that he hates Steve. Will tell anyone who'll listen that people like that don't change. Munson doctrine is never wrong after all.

Except Steve still helps him, still brings Eddie food and sneaks him cigarettes and carries him out of the upside down. He still waits around Eddie's hospital room and helps to clear his name.

The nerve of this guy.

And the whole time Eddie's quietly seething over it like how dare he actually help me. He stopped being outwardly mean to Steve because he is afraid of Robin and Nancy. When they catch on to how much Eddie dislikes Steve even after everything, it's all heavy stares and long-suffering sighs...and Steve still won't be an asshole to him at all.

He thinks the whole situation is actually driving him insane when he finally confronts Steve and it ends with Eddie pushing him against the wall and kissing the hell out of him.

And sweet, romantic Steve's just like...yes...finally 🥰🥰🥰 because Steve's been down bad and feeling salty ever since he overheard the conversation after Hellfire. Steve gets the doe-eyed sexy nerd and he's thrilled about it.

Eddie chooses to let go of his one-sided hatred because it turns out hate and love are truly a very fine line to walk. Basically whatever means he gets to keep kissing Steve, he's onboard wholeheartedly. Kisses, handholding, missionary style lovemaking with lots of intense eye contact...future marriage legality be damned... yeah Eddie's all in.

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hey guys anyone going to the denver, co djo show?? wanna see if i can meet up w anyone!!

😝

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I love the secret relationship fics where people find out Steve and Eddie have already been dating preseason 4. The “Wayne and Eddie are Steve’s emergency contact” is gold.

I mean Wayne does like to take in strays.

“Your parents mistreat you? Now your new home is my trailer.”

It’s a like a child kidnapping, but with willing almost adults whose parents don’t care for them.

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Runner

Steddie | Mature | WC: 3004 | Angst w/ a happy ending | AO3

“When I got to the shore I tried calling you guys but, uh,” Eddie paused where he crouched under the protective canopy of Skull Rock, taking a long greedy gulp from the canteen Dustin had tossed him as he stared up at their group. Even now he seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid Steve’s gaze as much as possible, a detail Steve couldn’t help but notice.

“My walkie was busted, man. Drenched. So, uh, I did the thing that I do now apparently…” Eddie went on, wiping at the water dripping off his chin with the sleeve of his leather jacket, his mouth twisting into a wide, wry smile. “I ran.”

Despite the words being spat with anger and self-deprecating venom, Eddie’s dimples were on full display, a sight Steve hadn’t had directed at him in months. Seeing it now, like this, only made his heart ache. 

Eddie wasn’t a runner, was the thing. 

Steve knew that. Anyone with eyes knew that. Eddie would gleefully stare down a guy twice his size, go toe to toe with the meanest assholes Hawkins High had to offer without hesitation to keep his people safe. And sure, sometimes Eddie got his ass beat, but he hadn’t cultivated that freak reputation for nothing. These days, more often than not, bullies and their minions stood down when Eddie’s hackles rose.

“Do you know what time this was? The attack?” Nancy asked, business first as usual. As if she couldn't see the poor guy was on the verge of losing it, or probably she just didn’t care. It was all about the task at hand. 

“Yeah, no, I… I know exactly what time it was.” Still wearing that same unnerving smile, Eddie began to unbuckle the watch on his wrist, tossing it at her. “My walkie wasn’t the only thing that got soaked.”

Nancy peered at the watch’s face, reading it off. “9:27.”

“Same time our flashlight went kablooey,” Robin said.

“Which means what exactly?” Steve asked, a hint of an attitude he couldn’t quite shut down before it came out of his mouth. He knew they were pressed for time to figure all this shit out, they were always under the gun when the Upside Down was involved, but he couldn’t help being annoyed about it. Couldn’t the world just stop for five fucking minutes to give them a chance to breathe a regroup? To give Eddie some time to process this mess he’d accidentally fallen into?

As Nancy and Robin continued to brainstorm, and Dustin paced around talking to himself and doing god-knew-what, Eddie took the opportunity to slink away. Either not realizing Steve still had his eye on him, or not thinking he’d follow, Eddie rose, stalking off under the alcove of the giant rock formation and out the other side.

With a pit in his gut Steve did move to follow, the idea of letting Eddie out of his sight now that they’d found him again filling him with panic. Of course, that was also the moment Dustin decided to pay attention to something except that stupid compass of his again, and quickly bounded to Steve’s side.

“I got it, Henderson,” Steve said, dropping a hand on Dustin’s shoulder to stop him in his tracks. “You stay here and put that brain to use or something.”

Dustin gave him a confused glare, and rightly so, Steve supposed. As far as he and everyone else was concerned he’d barely known Eddie before now, beyond the fact that they’d walked the same school halls for four years. Not even Robin had any idea that he and Eddie had a history.

A brief history that hadn’t ended well, because no, Eddie wasn’t a runner.

But it turned out that Steve… Steve was.

He found Eddie only a few yards away, off the trail and deep in the trees like he’d been searching for shadows to hide in, back turned, head bowed, and an almost imperceptible shake to his shoulders.

“Eddie?” Steve called out, softly.

Eddie stiffened at the sound of Steve’s voice, back straightening as he replied. “Leave me alone, man.” He sounded so small, exhausted, and totally unlike himself.

Steve wished he could say something to comfort him, tell him they’d figure this out, that it would be alright. But it would be a hopeful lie at best, and besides, he was probably the last person Eddie would want to take comfort from anyway.

“Come on, Ed—”

“Fuck off, Harrington,” Eddie hissed as he turned around, rubbing roughly at his face.

“I can’t,” was all Steve could say at first. He hadn’t thought through what it would be like seeing Eddie on his own, with no buffer from the group and nothing to distract him from getting lost in the draw of his presence and those dark fathomless eyes.

Eddie sneered, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I-I mean… I-I just don’t think it’s safe for you to be alone right now,” Steve stuttered out. “For any of us to be alone.”

Eddie scoffed. “Like you care.”

Steve took an involuntary step closer, his hands itching to reach out and brush the hair back from Eddie's face, to feel the stubbled skin of Eddie’s cheek under his palm. It took all his strength to hold back.

“I guess I deserved that,” he said through a puff of air.

He deserved that and more.

It’d all started last summer. A few days after the battle at Starcourt when Steve was desperate for a little pain management, something more effective than the measly Tylenol his parents kept in the medicine cabinet. On a whim he’d ventured over to Forest Hills, recalling rumors that Hawkins High’s own resident drug dealer, Eddie Munson, might sell something stronger than skunk weed if you asked nicely and could pay.

Steve was only hoping for a few prescription painkillers; what he got instead was dragged bodily inside by a boy he’d never shared more than two words with, sat down on a comfortable if well-worn couch, and given a bag of frozen peas for his still sore and swollen eye.

After a wordless once-over of the rest of him, Eddie had ducked out of the room, returning with a tube of some sort of cream and a frown so deep it made his forehead wrinkle.

“For the rope burn,” Eddie’d said in explanation as he carefully rubbed the stuff into the raw skin of Steve’s wrists and a few friction burns on his legs.

“It’s, uh, it’s not what it looks like,” Steve had said, dumbly.

Eddie leveled him with a flat look. “So you’re not a sub?” 

“Sub?” Steve asked, crinkling his brow.

“Submissive? You know, dom, sub?”

Steve still had no idea what Eddie was on about, but the other boy clearly wasn’t buying it.

Eddie shook his head, unimpressed. “You don’t have to play cute, Harrington, I won’t tell anyone you were up to some freaky shit. I mean… who would believe me anyway?”

Freaky shit…?

Oh.

Finally, it clicked.

Somehow Eddie had gotten the entirely wrong idea about the nature of his wounds, and not being able to tell him the actual truth, he really had no choice but to let Eddie keep on thinking he’d been dabbling in bondage with an overeager date who apparently, ‘didn’t understand the concept of aftercare.’

“I’m not an expert in this shit or anything,” Eddie was quick to explain. “But I've read some magazines, and taking care of your sub after seems to be, like, the most important part of the whole thing.”

Steve swallowed hard, trying not to think about why Eddie had been perusing bondage mags, and what other reading material he kept stashed under his mattress.

“Good to know.”

He’d spent the rest of that night sinking into the comfort of Eddie’s couch and company, talking, getting to know Eddie, letting himself be known in turn, the whole while puffing on a shared joint until Steve was so high that he’d lost his filter completely. From one moment to the next he went from talking about his very public fight and subsequent break up with Nancy the year before, to telling Eddie how pretty he was, how he wondered what Eddie’s hair would feel like wound up in his fingers, and the next thing he knew he was straddling Eddies lap with his tongue down his throat, gaining an entirely new perspective and appreciation for dry humping.

The weeks that followed were somewhat of a blur. 

In his daytime hours Steve refused to think about what he was doing, unable and unwilling to come to terms with what it all meant—about himself, about his sexuality, about what he wanted out of life. But in the night, he always found his way to Forest Hills. 

What had started on the couch eventually made its way into Eddie’s bedroom. Steamy make out sessions led to frantic desperate handjobs, handjobs led to the most incredible head of Steve’s life—both given and taken—and when Eddie asked Steve to fuck him for the first time it was like the gates to heaven had flung themselves wide open. Before long Steve found he was living for those few hours where he gave himself over to it, to Eddie.

It was inevitable that the fragile bubble Steve had built would burst. He thought for a while it would be Robin, bugging him relentlessly for why he’d been too busy to hang out with her lately. In the end though, it was his own idiocy at fault. He should have known it was only a matter of time before he wanted more with Eddie than just casually hooking up.

And at the first sign of more, when the vision he had for the future began to shift and change, the children he’d dreamed of having one day vanishing before his eyes, he realized how different it would all be if he gave in to this. How difficult.

He panicked.

Shut down—shut it down.

With no word of goodbye or explanation he stopped showing up at the trailer, refused to answer Eddie’s calls, and did his best to pretend that Eddie had never existed once the calls stopped entirely.

It hadn’t worked.

Because Steve and his traitorous heart had fallen in love with a guy who’d probably only given him the time of day because it was convenient. Even if Eddie had at one point harbored the same feelings for him, by the time Steve came to any sort of terms with his sexuality, he was sure it was too late to go back and make it right. 

More than once he thought about trying anyway. Showing up at the trailer unannounced like he had all those months ago to see if Eddie would let him in or slam the door in his face. But then the kids had started high school, and Dustin came bursting into Family Video so excited and fresh off his first day of freshman year to tell Steve all about his cool new friend Eddie who ran the D&D club. 

Again, Steve had let himself be spooked, and regretted it every day since.

“Don’t worry about it, pretty boy,” the Eddie standing in front of him said, shaking Steve from his thoughts of the past. 

“So we fucked. So what?” Eddie went on with a flippant shrug. “It was nothing. You had your fun experimenting and then went back to your real life. You weren’t the first, probably won’t be the last. Not that any of it matters now.”

“It matters to me,” Steve said, matter-of-factly, hoping Eddie would believe him but knowing with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t.

“Right,” Eddie snorted. “Since when?”

“Since always.”

“Oh please,” Eddie spat, eyes rolling in dramatic fashion. “Give me a fucking break with the good guy bullshit, I aint buying. You don’t have to lie to me just because we’re stuck in this nightmare together.”

“I’m not lying, Eddie, I–I…” Despite the months he’d spent imagining what he’d say to Eddie if he ever got the chance, Steve hesitated, choking on his words

“That’s what I thought.” Eddie gave a single nod, a barely audible sigh escaping his lips as he tried to push his way past Steve and back to the path.

“Could you just fucking stop for a minute!” Steve grabbed for Eddie before he could get completely out of reach, fingers circling his bony wrist and holding on for dear life. His mind was overwhelmed with the irrational fear that if he let Eddie walk away now, he’d never get another chance to fix this. 

Eddie shot him a glare, but surprisingly didn’t try to pull his arm away. 

“I know I don’t deserve it, but please let me explain,” Steve pleaded.

“I’m all ears, your highness.”

Steve's stomach turned sour at the reference to his old nickname. Eddie knew he hated it, that he hated so much of what and who he used to be, but he couldn’t exactly blame Eddie for wanting to hurt him too. And as much as he despised this tension between them, there was also a twisted part of him that hoped that if Eddie was this mad at him for disappearing from his life, maybe that meant he had cared for Steve too. Maybe it meant… he could care again. 

“It wasn’t nothing,” Steve whispered, his thumb rubbing small circles into Eddie's skin where he was still holding on. “Not to me.”

“What?” Eddie breathed, staring down at the spot of contact.

“You said it was nothing. And I guess at first it was but…” Steve started and stopped, raking his free hand through his hair as he struggled to find the words. “When I showed up at your place that first night, all I was looking for was a little relief. I didn’t expect…” he trailed off, getting stuck again but he was determined to force this out now matter how painful it was to admit. 

“I didn’t expect to fall for you.”

Eddie’s head snapped up at that, but his mouth remained closed, set into a tight line as he watched the bob of Steve's throat.

“I wasn’t ready to deal with it, any of it. The feelings I had for you, the fact that I was—am, whatever that makes me. I freaked out and I ran away and I’m so sorry. I should have talked to you about it, and instead I tried to bury my head in the sand. But I couldn't even do that right.”

Eddie was still dead silent, his gaze searching Steve’s face for a long beat before he finally spoke. “What are you saying?”

Before Steve could reply, Robin’s voice rang out from somewhere close behind them. “Steve? What are you guys doing out here?” 

He resisted the urge to pull away, but looked back over his shoulder to see her standing near, eyes a little wide and confused.

“We, um, we gotta go. Little Einstein figured out how to find a gate and we think there’s one nearby,” She said, and quickly turned back the way she came. 

Steve could have kissed her for not addressing what she’d surely seen, though he knew he’d have to deal with her and about a million questions later, which was fine. They were long overdue for this particular conversation anyway. 

“Can we finish this later?” Steve asked, quietly when she was out of earshot, giving Eddie’s arm a gentle squeeze before finally letting go.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied, a little rasp to his voice, and looking almost as shell shocked as he had when they found him in the boathouse. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve wasn’t naive enough to think he’d fixed anything, not completely, but as they headed down the path to find others, walking side-by-side, it felt like they’d made a good start.

Steve should have seen it coming. 

Wasn’t it the first rule of horror movies or something? Don’t promise someone you’ll talk to them later, and expect them to make it out alive. 

Of course, Eddie did make it out alive, thankfully, if not quite in one piece. He’d carry some gnarly battle scars for the rest of his life, but the important bits would heal in time, and if Eddie allowed it, Steve would dedicate his life to making sure Eddie knew those scars of his only made him more beautiful. Proof that he cared so much for Dustin, and for the world, that he’d been willing to put it all on the line. 

He just needed Eddie to wake up first.

Two days in the hospital came and went with no signs of change. The doctors all said they didn’t know why Eddie was still asleep, they were sure he’d wake up soon but with every passing hour Steve grew more and more afraid, his heart climbing into his throat whenever there was so much as a flutter of Eddie’s long dark lashes.

Steve refused to leave his side. Once he was cleaned up, bandaged, and medically cleared himself, he’d taken his place at Eddie’s bedside. An unmoving sentry, determined to be there holding Eddie’s hand the moment he opened his eyes. After an evening of false alarms, It was the middle of the night, on the cusp of day three when it finally happened.

“Steve?” Eddie mumbled in the quiet hush of the room as he finally came-to, nose wrinkling under the weight of the oxygen tubes when he tried to turn his head. “What are…” he paused, hacking a dry cough, voice rough with disuse. “What are you doing here?”

Steve raised Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against the back of it. before carefully setting it down on the bed so he could grab the cup at his side, the one he filled with new water every day, offering Eddie the straw and a smile.

“I’m not running away this time, baby.”

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you don’t have to match my freak you just have to think whatever’s wrong with me is fascinating and perhaps even sexual

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this is steddie lmfaoo

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pre-steddie (its rly scratching the itch atm), steve harrington being a sad drunk :(, angst with a happy ending, 1.4k

If you asked him how it transpired, Eddie couldn’t tell you — but somehow, there’s a drunk Steve Harrington on the Munson’s couch.

Physically, he’d hazard a guess Steve walked all the way from whatever party he’d been at. Which is a concern in itself—either Steve wandered through the woods or he wandered quite some way, but that’s a whole other can of worms.

The why of why Steve’s here—why he chose to sought out Eddie in particular—is another mystery altogether.

If Eddie had to guess, he’d say somewhere between the commonality of crashing at each other’s place to keep the nightmares at bay and a night of drinking is how Steve ended up here.

It’s nearing midnight the clock tells him, blinking red from the microwave. Steve’s holding a glass of water that he’s sipped from only once.

And he’s sad.

Considering it, Eddie hadn’t thought Steve would be a sad drunk. Especially if you consider the sheer amount of parties he threw as a teenager.

It just doesn’t quite fit into his ever changing picture of Steve Harrington. Like a puzzle piece the wrong shape that doesn’t fit with the rest. Happy drunk? Horny drunk? Those made better sense than this.

But then again, Eddie stopped trying to make sense of Steve a couple months after the Vecna-episode of their lives.

(It’s sort of something he really likes about Steve, that he can’t ever really pin him down — that he’s always surprising Eddie.)

Either way, the fact remains that Steve is drunk and Steve is sad.

Eddie just doesn’t know about what.

“C’mon,” Eddie nudges the glass in Steve’s hand gently, the second time tonight. “Gotta drink up, Stevie, lest you risk the wrath of tomorrow’s hangover.”

Steve’s slumped sideways on the couch, not too drunk to be out of it, but evidently rather physically beat. He’s leaning his head up against the ratty leather of the couch, his eyes closed.

Eddie sits opposite him, enough distance to keep it friendly, but close enough to catch the glass if Steve suddenly decides he doesn’t feel like holding it anymore.

He wants to sit closer, wants to maybe even hold Steve’s hand. Cup his face and murmur sweet nothings until sad drunk Steve is replaced by someone happier.

Eddie swallows the desire down, away.

By all accounts, there’s nothing Steve’s said or done to give away his sadness. Eddie only knows he’s sad from that slight downturn of his mouth — the slight jut of his lip. The world’s most adorable pout if it wasn’t being caused for bad reasons, Eddie thinks.

He knows what it looks like because it’s what Steve looks like when he wakes from a nightmare. When he’s properly distressed, thrust to the verge of tears. Eddie knows the sight well. (And Steve knows his.)

On the couch beside him, Steve makes a little noise in response to the nudge. His eyes crease open.

He looks tired. It’s not the exhaustion that comes with terror, with having sleep chased from you, but… bone-deep tiredness.

Eddie’s lip part, unsure if it’s to urge Steve to drink some water again or just to ask what’s wrong when—

“No one wants it.” Steve says, in the smallest voice. It’s barely a whisper.

Eddie’s brows draw together. The sadness in Steve’s words travel out, pushing an ache into his chest.

“Wants what?”

Steve is silent. He’s not looking at Eddie — he wasn’t before, but now his gaze is downcast, studying the glass in his hands. His finger traces the rim.

“Wants what, Steve?” Eddie tries again.

This time, Steve sighs and it looks like it takes the wind out of him completely. “My…”

There’s a crack in his voice. Steve clears his throat and closes his eyes again, this time scrunched up as if he’s resisting the emotion that tries to take over.

“My stupid love. Keep… keep tryna give it, but no one wants to take it.” He inhales jaggedly, turning an inch and pressing further into the couch, like he’s hiding. His voice is muffled and wrecked. “No one wants it.”

Something splinters in Eddie’s chest, slivers of agony burying beneath his skin. He’s speechless.

How can Steve think that? How can he believe that?

“I do,” Eddie says, before realising what’s he’s saying.

Steve stiffens on the couch, tentatively digging his face out from hiding. His downturned eyes still have that warbling sadness and Eddie just needs to make it better — even if it means throwing his pathetic crush under the bus.

“Eddie-” Steve says, wary and tired all at once, as if he’s saying don’t do this, don’t lie to me.

“I do. It sounds lovely,” Eddie insists, completely truthful. “If you want someone to give it to, I’ll take it. I want it.”

Steve eyes him. Some of that melancholy in him has turned to apprehension. He sniffles a bit and sighs again.

“Not- not like that.” Steve murmurs, eyes falling back to the glass in his hands. He speaks with a lilt of embarrassment, as though he thinks it’s shameful to care this much. “Not as a friend, Eddie.”

A stone grows in Eddie’s throat. It’ll hurt like hell to swallow it, to speak, but Steve has always been worth it.

“I know,” Eddie breathes. He can’t quite keep all his nerves out of the words and they jam up in his mouth for a moment. “Not like that, Steve.”

He desperately wants to grab his own hair, to fiddle with it, release some tension, but he also doesn’t want to break the quiet softness between them.

The fridge hums in the silence. The clock on the microwave blinks back midnight.

Wishing hour? Maybe in some myths and stories. Eddie clings it anyway.

Steve’s hazel eyes are a little wider now. A little more awake. He’s picked his head up, no longer leaning against the couch cushions.

“You…”

Freak. Fag. Eddie’s brain helpfully supplies every awful way this could roll, entirely too late. He tenses up, shoulders curling in, a minuscule motion.

But Steve doesn’t look disgusted, he looks a little in disbelief.

“You… want it?” He asks, that same quiet whisper.

And that does a number of Eddie’s heart—the enormity of Steve’s disbelief that someone would want his love, that the rest of it—the semantics, the fact that boys can’t kiss boys—doesn’t even matter to him.

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks. He nods jerkily, the nerves still there, even with Steve’s easy acceptance. “I do. I’d love to have it.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He’s laid his head back down, his hair scrunched up against the leather, but his eyes are still on Eddie. Not scrutinising, just studying. There’s still that hazy look to them, no doubt the alcohol still in his veins.

“I never… didn’t think…” He’s murmuring more to himself. From the concentration of his gaze, he’s thinking hard. He sniffles again, nose twitching and then frowns, eyes cast to the side, before,

“Okay,” Steve says finally, voice quiet. “If you… if you mean it.”

Then he unfurls his hand, the one that had been tracing the glass, and puts it forward. Between them on the couch.

Eddie eyes it, stomach swooping, pulse thudding, and then does what he does best; throws caution to the wind. Steve might hate him tomorrow but tonight, Eddie won’t hide.

Their fingers slot together easily, two perfect puzzle pieces.

Eddie wonders if him in Steve’s life, him like this with Steve, is one of those things that would work—would make sense. If he wants to make sense with Steve or instead be another surprising thing about him.

(That Steve Harrington might like boys. Might like Eddie.)

Steve is gazing at their joined hands. For the first time since he got to Eddie’s trailer, his lips turn upward, a very small yet happy smile. He gives a very light squeeze with his hand, the lack of strength evidence of his sleepiness. Eddie squeezes back nonetheless.

Then Steve’s eyes are closed and in a few deep breathes, he’s out like a light.

It’s a careful process to extract the glass of water from Steve’s clenched hand, but Eddie manages it. It sits on the edge of the coffee table and when Steve wakes up, mouth dry and in need of water, it will be there.

And so will Eddie.

The burning possibilities of what happens come tomorrow—when Steve’s sober and actually thinking straight (ha)—filter through Eddie’s mind, but he can’t find it in himself.

There’s no regret of he’s done. What he’s said, what’s been revealed.

It’s tomorrow’s problem (or tomorrow’s fantasy come true…?), but til then, Eddie burrows into the couch and readies for a sore neck tomorrow morning.

He should really get up and turn the lamp off, Eddie thinks to himself. Then Steve snuffles in his sleep, uses their intertwined fingers to bring him closer, and he forgets all about it.

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pre-steddie, post the events of s4, and some good ol' steve harrington gets some new glasses <3, 2k-ish

There was a time where Steve would've rather died than wear them.

Then he did nearly die—several times over, actually.

But if Steve had to sum up what he actually gained from the horrific annual monster-hunting bullshit—besides the scars and trauma, of course—he would say perspective.

It's a lot easier to see what matters on the other side of the end of the world. Or in Steve's case, it's actually harder to see. And he should've totally been wearing those prescription glasses his parents bought him back in the seventh grade.

Maybe then, instead of an occasionally foggy memory and migraines, he'd be a little better off.

But as things go, he hadn't worn them. No, instead, when he was a foolish 13-year-old, Steve had hidden the glasses. Pretended they got lost. Fibbed while knowing exactly where in the house he'd stashed them.

It had certainly earned him an earful of chastising, as well as an actual sore ear from how his mother had pinched it tightly. But, either way, in the end he'd got what he wanted.

Sure, it definitely made it harder on his grades. More often than not, if Steve didn't cop one of the seats closer to the front of class, he'd earn himself a headache from all his squinting. But it was worth it because at least he wouldn't look uncool. Popular kids never wore glasses.

And then... years later, a couple brushes with his fragile morality, old friends turned enemies and new friends, genuine friends earned... he gets perspective.

This is all to say, Robin finally convinces him to wear his glasses again.

Well, actually, the doctor had been the one to convince he needed to wear them, given all the other problems he'd gathered from his mounting concussions.

Robin had been the one to somewhat bully ("Lovingly!" She'd protest) him into actually wearing them. An uphill battle she had been determined to win, despite all Steve's abject objections.

She won. They'd gotten him new frames, made sure the prescription was up to date and that Steve didn't completely hate the way they looked.

But even though they didn't look anything like the smaller pair still tucked away in a shoebox beneath his bed, collecting dust, there's still a hesitance to wear them.

But... perspective.

It's what Steve keeps trying to hold onto as he scrunches his nose down at the glasses in the case in his hands. The lenses glint in the fluorescents of Family Video.

He huffs and picks them out, unfolding the arms gently. Looking a little stupid was better than getting another migraine at work, he decides.

He stores the case beneath the counter and sits back down at the computer, hands in his laps, the wire-rim glasses in his fingertips.

You put these on and you may as well just declare the 'You Suck' side a forever winner. Some part of him whispers meanly. Not as if you're much of a looker anymore. It's a sliver of that slimy ego lurking within him. Steve's mouth twists as he does his best to shove it away.

It's true, to some extent. That last run-in with the Upside Down had left its mark well and truly. Along his chin, rippling down toward and along his jaw, is a scar where the skin split and had to be patched back together. The discoloration of it makes it impossible to miss.

Robin says chicks dig scars. But even if she's right and not just saying it to banish the sad lilt in his voice, there's still some part of Steve that wants to cling to what once made him important. What made people look at him, pay attention to him.

The point is wearing the glasses isn't just about wearing the glasses.

But Steve also isn't trying to be all about appearances anymore — so if they made him look... worse, then so be it.

He slides them on and tilts his head up, focusing on the screen. The pixels on the computer sharpen and the blurriness of his surroundings saps away, smoothing out his field of vision. Steve blinks.

It's much different to how it was trying them on at the doctor's office. He's in familiar turf now and as he blinks again, looks around, Steve realises how many details he's been missing. Holy shit. Can Robin see this well? All the time?

He can read the things all the way across the room — can parse out the poster titles without having to squint in the slightest. Jesus Christ, should he even have been allowed to drive—

The bell on the door chimes and Steve turns instinctively.

"Oh! Steve, you're wearing them!"

It's Robin, dropped off by none other than Eddie, for the half-shift she shares with Steve on Thursday afternoons. Sure, she could bike from school, but it’s getting icier in the mornings and Steve likes to drop her off before his shift.

Eddie takes the other half. If that means he also meanders into Family Video to hang around for a half hour and talk to Steve? Well, Steve’s got no problem with that at all.

They’re friends. Hard not to be, given the circumstance of their springtime shared together. It's not exactly something Steve ever predicted happening, but considering his newfound perspective, he's taken it in stride as one of the pros of the whole situation.

Except with his newly corrected vision, two things change simultaneously.

Behind Robin, Eddie steps into the Family Video and Steve suddenly sees Eddie Munson with a reverent clarity.

Has Eddie always looked like... that?

With his glasses, Steve can see the true brown in his eyes and the brightness in them as they meet Steve’s own. He can see the sweeping lashes that kiss in the corner, the strong line of his nose.

The curve of Eddie’s bottom lip and the blister in the middle of it, chewed too frequently, pinker than his lips. He sees the faintest of freckles, hidden in his hairline, and—

— he sees the exact moment Eddie clocks the glasses.

Because Eddie stops, midway through the door, full-body stutters and then just halts. The door he'd pulled open swings and hits him in the back.

Right. There's a neon-bright sign from the universe that Steve does, in fact, look as stupid as he feared. Embarrassment wells up inside him, hot and itchy.

Steve whips the glasses off so fast they hit the counter and bounce over, onto the ground.

"Jeez!" Robin jumps, for which Steve can't blame her for considering both he and Eddie made two loud noises in the space of roughly two seconds. She looks over her shoulder to see Eddie's frozen figure and mutters, "Oh, I'm clocking in." Then disappears out the back.

Steve watches her go, already missing the clarity of his glasses but hell if he's putting them back on. Not after that god-awful reaction. They can get trod on by customers for all he cares.

God, okay, so maybe that's an overreaction (those things are expensive) but also, this was the first test in trying them out in public.

Look, Robin's obviously his best-friend but shit, he was hoping she wasn't straight up lying to him telling him they looked good.

How did this turn into 13-year-old Steve's exact nightmare?

Eddie only seems to realise he's still stuck in place when the chime of the door bell sounds once again, alerting Steve of his presence—as if he could ignore that reaction coming in.

Well, at least it was an honest reaction.

How much were contacts again?

Steve pushes back from the counter with a sigh, beginning to head round to retrieve the glasses from the floor. Except, the movement seems to kickstart Eddie and he scrambles forward so that when Steve straightens up, glasses in hand, Eddie's right before him.

Brown eyes wide. Expression... serious?

"You didn't tell me you wore glasses." Eddie says. He sounds almost breathless.

"Yeah, well, not anymore." Steve replies dryly, heading back around the counter.

Eddie tracks him as he goes, looking almost devastated at what he's hearing. He stumbles in closer, palms pressing against the counter, and leans forward as Steve retrieves the case.

"What do you mean? What do you mean not anymore?"

He sounds a little panicked now.

Steve levels him with a flat stare. "C'mon man, I know what a bad reaction looks like when I see one—"

But Eddie's shaking his head furiously, hands flying as he does everything to signal the word no. "Nope, no you do not. That— nuh uh. Will you put them on again? Please?"

"No way!"

"Steve, I promise you that was not a bad reaction. That was- was-" Eddie stammers for the right words before pivoting. "Can you just put them on again? Please put them on again?"

It's the genuineness in Eddie's tone that actually gets Steve to pause. He glances down at the glasses in his hand, hovering midway to the case, and then back up to Eddie.

Is this some elaborate way to make fun of him? No, Eddie wouldn't. But then what?

The pause is long enough for Eddie to spring into action and he slowly reaches out, heading for the glasses in Steve's hands. Eyeing him hesitantly, Steve reluctantly lets him take them from him, unfolding them with his ringed fingers.

Then, he holds them out and up. Through the lenses, he can see the detail of Eddie's face once more and he swallows. His fingertips brush Eddie's as he takes them and slides them back onto his face.

It takes another blink to get used to the change and in this time, Steve notices, Eddie has managed to turn a wonderful shade of pink.

Steve can see it in much better detail than usual as well, can track how it seems to crawl up his neck. He bets the tips of Eddie's ears are red too, hidden amongst his wild curls. He's blushing. He's blushing?

And he's smiling too, this maddening curl to his lips, as he drinks in Steve and his new glasses with a hungry gaze that darts all over his face.

Man, Steve thinks absently, using the moment of quiet to examine all those new details of Eddie's face, how long has Eddie been pretty?

Then Eddie huffs a disbelieving laugh and Steve's stomach drops.

It must show on his face because instantly Eddie's hands are up, waving away the thought in Steve's head. "No, no, no! Not bad! Just... Jesus Christ," He mutters the last part into his shoulder, his face turned away for a moment.

"I just actually didn't think it was, uh," He coughs. "Like, possible for you to get any hotter."

“What?” Steve says.

That's what that reaction was? Something fizzles inside him, suddenly feeling pleased as punch.

“What?” Eddie parrots.

The pink in his face has dipped closer to crimson and if it keeps going that way, Steve reckons he could roast marshmallows over it.

Steve shifts on his feet, reaching up and running a nervous hand through his hair. Sure, he said wanted attention but this is something new, something different. He's not sure if he likes it just yet.

Eddie watches the motion, wide eyes glued to his hand, and when he catches Steve's questioning gaze through his glasses, he does a full 180 turn away from the counter.

"Oh my god, I'm so gay," He mutters, in a breath that Steve probably wasn't supposed to hear.

Steve's eyebrows raise. It sounds like... and he could be wrong here, but it sounds like Eddie likes his new glasses. Very much so.

And that makes Steve feel... good. Really good. Top of his game, one tally in the You Rule side of the board, good.

Eddie turns back and fixes a smile that Steve is sure isn't supposed to look that crazy. Steve reaches up and nudges the glasses further up his nose with his knuckle idly.

"So," Steve says, the uncertainty in his voice not false. "You don't think they look... bad?"

"Nope," Eddie squeaks out.

His smile has gotten a little more deranged. Then, in one big breath he says, "Tell Robin she betrayed me and I'll see you later-bye!" and peels out of the Family Video, the door-chime announcing his departure.

Robin treads out from the back-room, her Family Video vest on now and she surveys the store as she walks. Upon finding only Steve, her brows wrinkle together.

"Where'd Eddie go?"

Steve shrugs. "Dunno. Left in a hurry. Told me to tell you that you betrayed him or somethin'." He makes quotation marks with his fingers.

Robin frowns harder at that, her puzzling face on. A moment later, it melds away into a deviousness that means Steve instantly knows he's missing out on some inside joke. Especially when Robin starts to cackle, laughing so much that she has to hide a snort in her palm.

"What?" Steve all but pouts. "What is it? Tell me."

Robin, still laughing, snags the returns trolley and begins to wander backward. "Trust me, Steve. You'll want to figure this one out on your own. Either way, I think you should wear your glasses around Eddie again. Preferably while I'm there to watch."

She wiggles her brows as she disappears around an aisle, still wandering backward. Steve hears the moment she bumps into a shelf and snickers at her responding ow!

He turns back to the computer and settles in the seat, nudging the glasses up his nose once more. Huh. So Eddie likes the glasses. Maybe they weren't so bad.

And if Steve got to see that blush again, in glorious good-vision detail? Then that wouldn't be so bad either.