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Haaaaave I ever posted this here? I think I have not. Anyways. Here's one to flop (or not, prove me wrong)

On a scale of one to ten, how late am I with the hype? And why do I have a sliver of hope that he'll come back?

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The chamomile is still slightly warm when Eddie gets back to it. Steve's legs cross over his lap and he feels not only allowed but expected to put his hand there and play with the coarse hair of his thigh. The body heat is a little too much for comfort, but it's a small price to pay to be close like this. 

"What are you telling Robin?" Eddie asks, because it's the easier way to talk about their current status, or the nearest future of it. 

He observes closely how Steve's mouth twists with distaste. 

"Uh, preferably nothing, but I know she'll find out sooner than later. She's been insufferable about it since forever."

Eddie raises his eyebrows curiously. 

"What does 'forever' mean?"

"Uh..." Steve looks away immediately. 

"Steve," he chastises him, putting more pressure into his fingers to dig them into the flesh of his thigh. Steve's evasive gaze snaps back to his hand.

"Forever," he repeats. "As soon as I could focus on anything other than killing Vecna, probably. Maybe earlier," he admits. 

Eddie blinks at him. He keeps staring as his brain supplies him with all the instances of Steve being close, leaning in for monster-fighting camaraderie, which apparently might have been more than that. And later befriending him as a dog. He frowns. 

"Were you dog-stalking me because you were into me?" he asks, feigning offence but both curious and amused at the idea.

"No...no!" Steve protests immediately but by the flush blooming on his cheeks, Eddie knows there's more to it. 

"You did!" he gasps. "You little creep!" Eddie swats at his thigh. "And they call me a freak! I probably undressed in front of you, didn't I?" No matter how hard he thinks about it, he can't remember, but since he thought Steve was just a regular dog at that time, why wouldn't he? It's not like it's indecent to change your shirt in front of a pet. 

"I didn't look," Steve murmured defensively, proving further that it had happened. 

"You also didn't stop me!" 

"How?" Steve frowns at him. "How would I stop you without exposing myself?" Then, he swiftly slaps his palm over Eddie's mouth.

"Don't," he warns.

"Hmph?"

"You were going to make a joke about 'exposing myself'." Steve gives him a flat stare.

Eddie's eyes crinkle with mirth. He shrugs.

"D-h."

Steve sighs and removes his hand, but not before wiping it on Eddie's shirt. Then he settles back into his previous position. 

"It was Dustin's idea, anyway."

Eddie widens his eyes at him, baffled.

"To creep on me?!"

"No!" It's Steve's turn to swat at him, now getting mildly annoyed. "He comes to me one day, all smirking like the little bastard that he is, and tells me you like dogs, and that I should go tell you. Because he wants us to be friends so badly, and a Steve-dog would be a great ice-breaker," he huffs.

"And your take from this was to shapeshift and start following me," Eddie deadpans. 

"I wanted to ease you into it?" Steve offers weakly.

"But then you didn't want the scratches to stop," he teases. 

"Well..." Steve's cheeks redden, and Eddie laughs. 

"It's okay, water under the bridge," he reassures him with a gentle nudge. "We're in a good place now, right?" 

"Right." Steve smiles, happily wiggling his butt in the space between Eddie's legs and the back of the couch. "What do you want for dinner?" he asks, taking a glance at the clock on the wall. 

"It's a bit late for a date, don't you think?"

"Huh?"

Eddie raises his hand, wiggling his fingers to remind him of their earlier activities.

"You already ate my cum, you don't need to wine and dine me," he says with a grin. 

Steve gapes at him for a moment, the blush he just managed to tamp down, coming back. But he finds it in himself to school his features into a charming smile. He reaches down to wrap his hand over the meat of Eddie's thigh, pull him just a bit closer. 

"On the contrary. There's still many bases to cover."

"Ohjesus," Eddie breathes out, turning pink himself. 

"And we can totally have a date today if you want. Wanna go out or stay in?" Steve cocks his head, relishing in having the upper hand again, tapping into what he knows. 

"I, uh, inside, I guess?" 

Steve nods, utterly pleased with the effect he has on him.

"More privacy, smart. Should we order in or cook?"

"Uh, we already cooked yesterday?" Eddie offers, feeling a little uprooted. He's never been on a date before, not even an indoor one. 

"True, we can have a lazy day today." Steve smiles, squeezing his thigh. The boy jumps slightly under his hand. "I'm gonna go grab the menus, hold this for me?"

He hands him his almost empty coffee mug and leaves the comfy groove he's made himself between Eddie's body and couch cushions. Eddie grunts as he balances off of him. 

"Thanks." Steve hesitates as he takes back the mug, but makes up his mind quickly and leans down to give him a peck on the lips. Eddie might have been unprepared, but catches on quickly, angling his face to lock their lips together. The parting takes a little longer than planned, but none of them seem to mind. "I'll be right back," Steve reminds him with a smile, pulling apart with a wet smack. 

Eddie licks his lips. 

"You better."

"Kitchen is literally right around the corner!" Steve points out, almost there already. 

It takes them longer than usual to decide on the order anyway, because they can't stop making out once that seal is broken, that blanket permission that yes, you can have at it whenever, I want to kiss you too. Eddie thinks it's going to be a great date no matter what they will get anyway. 

But once his mouth is busy with something other than Steve, he remembers the question that's been evaded later. 

"So..." he clicks his tongue while shoveling fried rice onto his fork. "This is a date."

Steve blinks up at him, slurping in his noodles with a wet sound that makes him snort. He presses his foot into Eddie's shin while he chews, and then clears his throat.

"Yes. And?" he cocks his head. They are sitting on the floor at the coffee table, facing each other, with plates of Chinese food between them.

"Does that mean we're dating?" Eddie focuses on his plate, hoping he won't come off as stupid or naïve if he isn't looking. "I'm not familiar with the rituals."

Steve lets out an amused huff. 

"I guess so. But it can mean whatever you want. No pressure."

When he looks up, it's Steve staring into his plate.

"I don't feel pressured. But I'm not sure what I want," he admits. "Like, I just figured out this is something I might want, and I don't have a huge frame of reference. You'd probably have to guide me a bit."

Steve looks up.

"I don't mind that," he gives him a small, shy smile. "We can figure it out as we go."

"Cool."

"Cool."

They smile at each other, goofy and happy, and resume their dinner. Until Eddie grins widely, giggling to himself. 

"What?" Steve raises his eyebrow, wary of whatever is happening in his... date's brain.

"I'm dating a werewolf! How cool is that?"

Steve shakes his head fondly and doesn't correct him. 

That's a wrap on the main story but I might write some extras for this AU.

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot @dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1 @stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible @bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets @ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight @dauntlessdiva @eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

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Eddie's too caught up on Gandalf's death scene. Poor Steve 😭 lol

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I’m never gonna be happy with the hair so I’m calling this eddie finished

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Heavy Metal References- metalhead!Eddie Details for Your Headcanons (and fanfic)-

To start off: It’s kinda hilarious how we’re guilty of sometimes switching Eddie’s white sneakers for boots cuz we want to give him an edgier look (and yes black leather boots are also metalhead fashion) but also:

White high-tops were metal in the 80s, they’re literally iconic and indicative of thrasher metal bands, and still are. Seen in bands like: Metallica and Megadeth. It’s kinda theorized that this fashion came up to differentiate themselves from hair/ glam metal that were going mainstream, but Dave Mustaine (Metallica Guitarist and Megadeth frontman) said that white Nike high-tops were given to some of the bands as a way to advertise them by their record label.

Bullet belts, battle jackets, spikes and studs were influenced by established Punk fashion and then incorporated into the metal scene thanks to bands like Judas Priest and Motörhead.

I’ve read in some fics where wearing band merch of the band you’re seeing is a Big No, but from what I can find this isn’t really a thing in the metal genre, past or present. It seems more like a rule that has emerged in more recent years, specifically in the punk scene, but I can’t find much about it.

Ozzy Osbourne biting the head of a dead bat that was thrown on stage is tale of legends and references by Eddie as we know, but here are some other significant moments in metal history:

Ozzy Osbourne pursued a solo career after he was fired from Black Sabbath in 1979 (Eddie would’ve been ~13) because of his erratic behavior and drug abuse, he’s replaced by Ronnie James Dio

W.A.S.P debut their first album in 1984 with the song “Animal (F**k Like A Beast)” being released as a single to avoid having their albums banned from chain record stores. They were a main target for the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) for their obscenity but W.A.S.P pretty much road high on the publicity, they are that shit up despite all the death threats they received.

Parental Advisory Explicit Content label was introduced in 1985 (around when Stranger Things S3 takes place), and it hilariously had the opposite effect of deterring the sales of explicitly labeled music.

Cliff Burton, the bassist for Metallica, died on tour in March 1986 when the bus skidded then rolled on the road; Burton was thrown from the window and crushed. “To Live Is to Die” is song dedicated to him composed with his unused riffs.

Other Metal facts:

Black Sabbath’s guitarist Tommi Lommi lost the tips of his fretting fingers (on his right hand) in a sheet metal factory accident, he was inspired by jazz guitarist Dango Reinhardt who played with only two fingers on the fretboard due to burn injuries. Lommi made prosthetic tips and tuned down his guitar so he could keep playing. This gave Black Sabbath its unique sound.

Ronnie James Dio is accredited with popularizing the infamous devil horns sign🤘 in interviews he said his grandmother used to use that sign to ward off evil. Speaking of,

While he isn’t Power Metal (a genre that heavily incorporates themes of fantasy with clean and fast guitar that emerged around the mid-80s), Dio is basically the father of it as he had such a big influence over this genre along with bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden

Side Bar: I think if he was given the chance to properly establish his own sound, Eddie would’ve been the frontman of a sick ass Power Metal band beloved by DnD nerds.

Patches on Eddie’s Battle Jacket:

Motörhead, Megadeth, Iron Maiden, Dio, Mercyful Fate, Judas Priest

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Wedding DJ Eddie (pt. 1)

"You go to a lot of weddings, right?" Steve was enormously proud of how little he was slurring his words after a long day of drinking nothing but Bacardi and Diet Coke.

Eddie scoffed. "I work a lot of weddings. I don't know if that counts." He gestured at the banquet hall around them, devoid now of any guests other than Steve.

"Okay, but how many of them actually work out?"

Eddie grinned. "The weddings go great, thanks for asking. Because I only work with vendors who also know what they're doing." As if to prove his point, he neatly coiled a speaker cable with well-practiced hands and tossed it into the backpack at his feet.

"Not the weddings, smartass," Steve groaned, slumping over into the folding chair that the venue staff had left just for him when they finished packing up. "The marriages. Do any of them work out?"

Eddie stared at him for a second. Maybe it was the liquid courage talking, but Steve was absolutely certain that Eddie was doing his best to disguise his affection as exasperation. "I don't know, man. They pay me, I set my shit up, I play the same songs I play at every wedding, I pack my shit up again." He gestured at the stack of gear bags behind him as proof. "And then, hopefully, I never speak to them again."

"It's all such bullshit," Steve mumbled. "You probably know that better than anybody, huh?" He felt acid in his chest, with no way of knowing if it was the rum or just pure bitterness. "How many times have you heard the same dumb speech about how this is the love story of the century, or whatever? Fifty percent of those marriages will end in divorce, so, like, why do we even bother?"

Eddie shrugged. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing that so many marriages end, if the alternative is people being stuck in unhappy relationships that have run their course. I mean, nobody wants that, do they?"

For a minute Steve just sat quietly while Eddie continued packing his gear, oblivious to the answer to his obviously rhetorical question.

But Steve, poor, drunken Steve, had until very recently wanted nothing more than to stay stuck in his own unhappy relationship long after it had run its course.

He knew somewhere deep down that that was the wrong answer, but it didn't do anything to dull the heartbreak that felt like it would never end.

He was usually pretty good at putting on a brave face in the aftermath of being dumped by the only person who had ever really loved him. But then again, he didn't usually drink so much that the room started spinning. And he also wasn't usually on the receiving end of the sort of kindness Eddie had shown to him that night.

It was probably the alcohol, rather than Eddie's kindness or the question itself, that was the final nail in the coffin of his dignity.

Either way, the result was the same. In a banquet hall accompanied only by this confusingly likeable DJ he'd only just met, for the first time since the supposed love of his life had said no, Steve finally let himself cry.

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flow home to your heart (back to sea level)

or: if you’ve been building a life together for years, why wait to call it ‘dating’ before popping the question? 💍

rating: t ♥️ tags: post S4, weddings💍, fluff, unspoken love (until it’s very spoken), best friends/roommates to fiancés, no in-between sorry, eternally devoted steve harrington, eternally pining eddie munson, when the idiots in love say it out loud, ✨marriage proposal✨, (at a wedding—which is totally fine right?), happiest of happy endings💕, summer wedding ☀️

very belatedly for @steddielovemonth Day Twelve—‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ by Elvis Presley Ingrid Michaelson

The first wedding they go to is for Max and Lucas. Steve doesn’t think he’s surprised…actually no.

He’s not at all surprised.

They took a hard road, no doubt, and, like, it’s not as if external factors did them any favors. But for as up and down as their earlier years had been, they’d stayed solid after Vecna. They’d been each others’ rock. They’d been steady, in the way that Steve had always felt proud of them—they were his kids—but now he’s recognized the shift where that pride includes the feeling of being proud to know them, the people they’ve grown into. They were unshakable, unwavering, and not afraid of a challenge: looked it all square in the eye and said—if Steve understands it right, and he thinks he does, now—

Mordor it is.

That was the test he knew he and Nancy never would have passed. He may not have had all the same words for that knowledge in the moments themselves, but he’d recognized it long before the hospital he’d spent most of his time in, that first half of ‘86.

That hospital where he’d sat next to two beds on rotation with his heart in his throat, unprotected and vulnerable every hour of the day until Eddie’s hand twitched, until Max’s vitals shifted for the better—and Steve had realized over the months he helped Lucas stand beside Max while Steve himself walked with Eddie, the four of them there through rehab, side-by-side for every win as much as every setback: Steve had realized that even if it’d finally calmed back down to his chest, safe behind his ribs, his heart wasn’t any less vulnerable.

He wasn’t any less vulnerable.

He couldn’t even look back and say he’d been confused by it, or surprised. Using Steve’s house when the town was half-shaken apart had been practical—size and privacy and accessibility, not too far from any medical professional either of the patients in question needed to see: basically the house was finally just being fucking useful.

Eddie staying, once it wasn’t just practical, had always found…logical explanations.

But the feeling—even if it had more just…dropped fully-formed into Steve’s veins than it’d been any kind of steady blossoming; the feeling was unmistakable, having known something close to it before, but dialed so far down in comparison to this. All the blood and tears. All the frustration and the pain and the long hard road to get to standing straight again at the head of the trail, let alone choosing to fight in order to walk its path. The secrets whispered after two people admitted that sleep didn’t come unless a breathing body was next to them, didn’t matter how. The trust, the ease and the soft-worn knowing when you woke up tangled up in someone as a rule, just because: no agenda.

When you fell asleep to their heartbeat and they woke against yours: steady.

When you recognized that building a life came easy, with two pairs of hands. And maybe it wouldn’t last like this—but.

Something in it would always last. Was unshakable. Even death couldn’t touch it—and Steve was well enough acquainted with the life and death shit to confidently say as much.

And it’s not like it was the first time he’d had feelings for a friend. Maybe the first time he felt something so strong for his best friend—platonic soulmates notwithstanding.

Speaking of: Steve didn’t know what to make of two soulmates in his life, for a little while. But that was mostly because of the…embarrassment of riches in it all. Way less than the…the clear recognition that Robin was his other brain cell, his half-a-functioning-human who made living possible, and worth grasping at when things felt hopeless; when either of them needed the reminder.

So then: Eddie. Eddie was…Eddie was his…

So it’s not that it’s the first time he’s caught feelings. Or the first time he found those feelings leading him to his soulmate, like a pot of gold at the end of each rainbow, nothing like he expected and so much richerfor it, every time.

But it was definitely the first time, ever—Steve’s learned well by now that the one time he thought he’d had it before he’d been foolish, too easily dazzled, caught in his own need for anything that could pass for the feeling, even the palest imitation, the most unreciprocated glimmer of something—so it was, thiswas definitely the first time Steve had ever really and truly fallen in lo—

“Dustin said they needed to finish these up before they loose their,” Eddie settles a champagne flute in front of Steve on the table, reaching over Steve’s shoulder and wiggling fingers once they’re free of their delivery, presumably mimicking bubbles in the drink—which, Dustin’s not wrong, but Max and Lucas had only barely waited until after graduation to tie the knot, into the very first hint of summer, so they’re all still underage, not that anyone gave a shit, here, but still—and he and Eddie are seated how they are, close enough for their knees to bump, because Eddie’s been single long enough that offering his plus-one would kinda almost land like a slap in the face, and the walls may be thick in Steve’s house but the front door and the windows aren’t quiet—it’s why he didn’t sneak people in and out if anyone else was home during his peak high school tryst years—but that’s how Steve knew Eddie wasn’t…entertaining in his room, just across from Steve’s.

Even if Steve had always been clear he was welcometo, especially once they wordlessly agreed their living arrangement was permanent for the foreseeable future, once Steve took over the deed upon his parents’ permanent departure from Hawkins; that this was Eddie’s home, too.

Even if the idea of him using it in that exact capacity kind wrung at Steve’s heart a little. That was just…that was just how things like this worked.

And Steve? His originally intended plus-one had ended up being the very first, ever, time he’d dumped someone himself, rather than getting blindsided, or just patiently waiting to be on the receiving end of the inevitable breakup. Jesse hadn’t been serious-serious, but he’d been long-term, nearly a year, and he’d only been Steve’s second actual relationship of any kind with a guy, versus a hook up that may or may not have involved any names exchanged. But cheating was a long-established expulsion-level fuck up, and Rob and Eddie had actually thrown Steve a party—not even a pity one—after he’d rid himself of the asshole, to celebrate his ‘ability to finally extricate yourself from people who hurt you and fail to cherish you like you deserve’, he’s pretty sure that was what the obscenely long and wobbly-hand-stenciled banner had read.

It’d been stupidly nice; they’d all gotten pleasantly crossfaded, and it was probably the best end to a relationship Steve had ever had.

But that would have been his plus-one, and he’s long gone. Steve hasn’t even really sought out anything since, either, not even casual. Because despite the very nice party and the best friends a guy could ask for, it’s all still kinda…raw.

Which isn’t to say sitting with Eddie like this, like he is Steve’s plus-one, doesn’t claw at something inside him, too, but that’s different. This is his best friend. And Steve’s gone years basking in that love with every goddamn cell of him, while learning very well how to swallow down the bile of the other, wilder love in him, alongside that other welcomed love, that needs to diealready, but refuses to.

He’s gotten to the point where he’s just about accepted it’s never going to change its mind, either. Love’s fucking stupid that way, sometimes. Steve knows that well enough.

“Promise I’ll get you something better next round, big boy,” Eddie grins, full-dimpled, as he pulls Steve from his head and settles with his own champagne at Steve’s left side, nose crinkling as he takes a sip—he’s never been impressed with wine generally, but champagne’s definitely his least favorite of the bunch.

They both still make their sacrifices for these kids, though. No question.

Doesn’t look like that’s on track to ever stop, either.

“They’re gonna have such a life,” Steve comments idly but then not even close, chest so fucking full, watching the dancing under the glittering lights strung haphazard and perfect for it, all over the backyard of the Hopper-Byers place—a couple who themselves did the City Hall thing and then threw a cookout afterward; years ago, now. After—

Well. It’s been three years, give or take. Closer to two since it was all finally over, and they could live. Hop and Joyce had signed on their dotted line quick as hell, after that.

And Steve’s heart’s learned fairly well in that time how to survive unprotected for swelling up too-strong, for feeling too big. Ribs having proven early on to be embarrassingly unfit to the task when Steve’s heart—as he’s come to terms with over this much time—isn’t just rubbed raw for the futile reaching it gets up to—as if it’s an accident when it’s anything but. It knows exactly what it’s doing, and opts to feel that much anyway.

He feels anyway.

“They kinda already have,” Eddie counters, fond as fuck as he watches Max and Lucas dance chaotically with the other gremlins to a mid-tempo song that lets them get away with it. It’s…yeah, fuck it.

It’s endearing to see.

“But yeah,” Eddie kinda sighs, setting his glass down and propping his chin on his knuckles; “yeah they are.”

And if Steve doesn’t achieve one more thing, like if he doesn’t manage any other goddamn thing in his life, save that every single one of them are on this makeshift dance floor, giggling like they’re still the middle schoolers Steve met a lifetime ago?

He’d still be able to die more accomplished than anyone ever used to think he’d manage. He knowshe’d be able to die more satisfied with what he’s got than he ever thought he’d get to.

Speaking of—

“They said they figured the first would be me,” Steve gestures with his half-full flute to the gaggle of no-longer-kids.

“The wedding. Marriage. Out of all of us,” he explains when Eddie gives him a blank sort of look. He’s not even sure why he’s saying it, what it matters; why he thinks it’s worth repeating.

“I guess I should have expected that,” and he means the wedding assumptions.

Mostly.

Eddie just snorts, but it sounds…there’s something off in it.

Steve can’t say what it is, but he knows Eddie too well; pays too much attention to miss it.

“You really should have, dude,” Eddie deadpans back, and Steve lets the earlier moment slide because Eddie’s smirking at him, and Steve can only roll his eyes and accept it because…yeah. He’d had his white-picket-fever phase. And he hadn’t exactly been subtle about it.

“My money was on Jon and Nance,” Steve shrugs, and nods over toward them standing together on the edges of the odd-convulsions-currently-trying-to-pass-as-dancing; “but only because I didn’t think these two,” he points to the happy couple of the evening, “would move so quick. Or would want to get hitched here.”

Like, Steve saw them lasting. For sure. But he saw him getting on a plane to somewhere…maybe with a good basketball program, to be there for the nuptials.

“I wanted it.”

Steve turns sharply toward the low murmur that’s soft enough he easily could have misheard, because that doesn’t make sense as…words, now.

From Eddie, especially.

“What?”

But: Eddie? Eddie looks especially pale all of a sudden, concerningly so—

“Nothing,” Eddie croaks, eyes gone all big and simultaneously shifty, and that doesn’t make Steve feel any better, he feels his pulse thump hard twice as he goes to lean in, put a hand on Eddie’s arm, maybe cup his face, check his—

“The hell’s going on here?”

They both startle, but Eddie brightens—a little too forced, but it’s not…it’s real, because Max is the source, and they’re both soft for her especially, and with Lucas behind her, arm half around her waist like he can’t bring himself to let go: their little family-within-their-family, forged through everything they pushed through to get to the other side of the aftermath of hell.

Steve makes himself back down, ease off: lets Eddie set the tone as he seems to soften as he soaks up Max’s playful smirk, paired with the beaming smile Lucas can’t seem to dim if he’d even want to try—Steve feels it too, infectious as hell.

Calming, too. Familiar—soothes the way his blood rose up fearful, protective as a rule at seeing Eddie be, just…

Being anything that’s not-quite-Eddie.

“Get the fuck out of your chairs,” and Steve wants to razz her a little for language half for the bit, and half out of habit, but it’s not just her special day, it’s a point of contention she’d made clear for months: if she could work her ass off, if Steve had watched and pushed her to get to her feet again against every set of odds, and be able to walk down the aisle on her own steam?

“Get out there,” and Lucas pushes them both from behind, never far from her side, and steers them toward the swaying hoard:

“And dance.”

Because if she could do it, after everything?

She’d made it very clear that no one was going to be tolerated sitting down when they could be moving to the music instead.

Steve doesn’t think about how his hand links with Eddie’s between them as Max and Lucas each grab the hand free on either side and drag them in, giggling and glowing and so fucking free, everything Steve fought for, the future he swung his bat to help keep in the cards.

Fuck: but they got here. They are here.

Steve doesn’t know who grabbed for who’s hand first, with him and Eddie, but when the happy couple deems them fully enough on the dance floor to leave them to their own devices, Max filled-up with joy enough to kiss Steve’s cheek before she drags Lucas off?

Their hands are still grasped like that’s how they know best how to be.

But that’s probably just Steve’s perpetually-swollen heart being dramatic.

“Eds, you’re stiff as a board, Jesus,” he laughs easily—the swollen-heart thing’s just kinda the status quo at this point—when he forces himself to let go of that hand and give in to the inevitable; when he tries to lighten the moment by matching the theatrical energy he’s picked up over time from the man himself, posing Eddie limb by limb into something more free-flowing, until his hand only just brushes Eddie’s chest, only barely makes contact on the way to shake at Eddie’s shoulders, get him to relax; it’s only accidentally that he touches at just the right place in just the right second to feel—

“Fuck, you’re about to break your goddamn ribs, man,” he pauses and catches Eddie’s eyes: wide again, and almost scared but more…more mourningand Steve can’t even fucking guess as to the why, this day is happy—and Steve’s own ribs might be well-practiced to take the pounding inside them by now, but Eddie’s pulse feels like it’s about to rip straight through his veins between one jackhammer-beat to the next, and Steve?

Steve can’t fucking bear it, and he knows Eddie won’t want to answer in public so he does the only thing he can and turns them so Eddie’s shielded from any other eyes before he asks, unflinchingly desperate:

“What’s wrong?”

And Eddie swallows so many times it makes Steve’s own throat hurt; definitely makes his chest hurt when he can catch Eddie’s heartbeat at his throat for the motion.

Steve doesn’t even know how long it takes for Eddie’s mouth to open; barely registers that the song’s gone softer, slower.

That he’s swaying them gently back and forth on instinct, to keep from drawing too many eyes for whatever’s happening in Eddie’s head.

Part of the point of Steve forever-vulnerable heart is to stay always poised at the ready to protect wherever it’s needed, however it’s needed.

Whenever it’s called for.

If it’s particularly attuned to the needs of Eddie Munson, well.

That’s just…how it is.

“I wanted the first wedding of the group. Like it was me, my wedding, in my head,” Eddie whispers, half-choked; doesn’t look at Steve but stares into the middle space of nothing as his brow furrows, as all Steve wants is to reach and make it smooth.

Make it all okay.

“Stupid thoughts, idle,” Eddie huffs, laughs at himself but it’s…it’s mean; “fuckin’ thoughts.”

He trails off then, still avoiding Steve’s eyes, and there’s a corner of Steve’s mind that recognizes he should hurt, should be gutted at the confirmation that Eddie has thought of marriage, a thing they’ve never really talked about for all the things they’ve shared, the hours they’ve passed in one another’s pockets, talking about everything.

But never that. He hadn’t shared that with Steve.

And maybe Steve does hurt, does bleed out hard, in that tiny corner.

But the rest of Steve’s mind is immediately hellbent on shutting up that mean voice in Eddie’s head where it’s weeping out inside his words—nothing about him is stupid; is anything less than everything.

And then there’s the whole of Steve’s heart, that never had illusions about where it was welcome and how. The revelation—Eddie’s thought about marriage, about a forever, that he didn’t share with Steve; that stung, maybe, but Eddie was what mattered.

And Eddie’s pulse is still visible in his fucking throat.

“They’re not the only ones who’ve had such,” Eddie murmurs, eyes on his shoes now, sounding like he hates himself for the words that rip out of him, razor sharp:

“Such a life.”

And Steve…Steve’s only the quickest when it comes to standing in front of an oncoming tackle; when it’s down to putting himself between the people he loves and the things aiming to do them harm.

So it takes him a second.

Eddie’d thought about marriage, about his ownmarriage. And when they’d said Max and Lucas would have such a life, had already—already because of what they’d been through together, all of them, and Eddie…Eddie loves the Party, but he, it had to be one of them, right, to have lived that much life already, and if it had to be one of them—

“Eds,” Steve half-mouths more than even breathes, let alone speaks. His voice is…elsewhere, apparently.

His heart’s more than happy to take up its space in his throat, instead—because Steve’s not good at hoping, but especially not when it comes to feelings. Commitment. Not when it comes to love.

And then: when it comes to hoping, and Eddie—

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Eddie’s eyes are too bright, too full of shine; he looks ready to bolt but his hands are less settled on Steve’s hips for the facade of dancing and more clinging there to bruise, to stay standing as his voice trembles: “I’m so fucking sorry.”

And Steve’s not the quickest about most shit. And Eddie’s words are running the gamut of making no fucking sense.

But Steve knows Eddie.

And Steve’s also foolish enough in this moment, with this man’s shaking frame beneath his touch, to hopeso fucking foolishly that the only way he can see the fragments coming together at all is somehow also the impossible, unfathomable, full-hearted truth.

Against all fucking odds.

Because why else would Eddie hold so close, so tight, and still look so scared, so heartbroken and damn near resigned—and then apologize, on top of it all; apologize to Steve, for, for—

“Don’t you dare.”

And he doesn’t just look heartbroken, anymore, or just scared; he looks caught out, and what else could he be looking at Steve like that for when they know the whole of each other except for one thing, the one thing that swelled Steve’s heart so sore to chafe between his ribs and peek out unprotected; the one fucking thing that Steve never let himself even consider might somehow not have been something unique to him alone, for the hiding.

And maybe Steve hasn’t had luck in this…ever, really. At least not like this. He’s mostly let himself settle safe and warm and more-than-content with the love that he has, that he holds closer and dearer than any other of the kinds he’s aimed at in the past.

But. But.

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, or like, maybe trying,” Steve fumbles, swallows rough, tries to catch Eddie’s eyes, needs to see him true; “maybe trying hard as hell not to,” and he’s flailing, he knows it, and Steve’s heart fucking hurts with how fast it’s pounding and he’s scared, he’s fucking scared for what he’s saying and what he’s risking and he’s most scared of what he stands to lose if he’s wrong when usually he is wrong—but he knows Eddie.

And he loves Eddie.

And it’s Eddie’s rabbit-heart running wild at his throat that Steve wants to hold and calm and protect, more than any of the rest of it.

So even though he’s usually wrong, and even though it might cost him everything, < I>again, but this time it’ll be so much worse because this time what he feels is real:

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Steve hisses, a little shaky for all the feeling in him, and he finally manages to snag Eddie’s gaze and he holds it, grasps at it like a rope for the drowning and he wills Eddie to see, but also to know that whatever he finds, he’s welcome to what he wants. All that he wants.

And he’s as welcome to throw back anything he doesn’t, just the same.

And Steve means that shit. Even if it kills him in the end this time: he means it.

But then Eddie’s shifting the way they stand, the way they move, the way they’re still touching—never stopped touching:

“Steve.”

And Steve’s never heard his name in that voice like that before—trembling and terrified but doing anything but shying from it, somehow. Steve will never understand how Eddie still thinks he’s anything but brave, so fucking brave.

Brave enough to gather the hand Steve had moved to make to comfort him and pull it to his chest like they’re dancing for real, like lovers on the floor swaying soft and slow and Steve…Steve feels Eddie’s heart slamming against the backs of his knuckles but his own’s doing the same; makes it hard to track the difference.

If there actually is any meaningful difference at all.

“I don’t care if it breaks my fuckin’ ribs,” Eddie whispers, eyes brimming but not trying to look away anymore, chest heaving under Steve’s hand—so scared, so much courage, and the fire in his gaze betrays how deep he knows, he knows how those words gut Steve clean, for how Strve broke those very same ribs years ago, knows the terrible moments on that rotting ground where Steve hadn’t thought he was enough to coax Eddie’s lungs back to breathing; where everything they are now, everything they’ve been and could become, maybe, maybe: where all of it—in almost being lost—really began.

“Hopefully it’d get where it belongs that way,” Eddie breathes out, stuttering and shaky but eyes so goddamn bright as he pulls Steve’s hand close to the drumbeat of his blood as he grits out like he’s ripping it from the bones of him:

“To who it belongs.”

And Steve is still, stunned, disbelieving. Things sometimes take him an extra second or two. And things like this take him a couple seconds more than even that—because he’s never that lucky.

Not in this.

Unless he was never that lucky, before, not once, because somehow the universe knew he was waiting for this; only for this.

“If he could ever want it,” Eddie licks his lips, looks ready to fucking snap in half, and Steve…even if Eddie doesn’t mean Steve in all this, it wouldn’t matter one bit because Steve would be, is now, just as desperate to hold that heart either way, to keep this man safe; he’s always wanted to keep this man safe, to keep this man’s heart safe, long before Steve had ever lost his own to him in return, fuck—

“If he’d ever be willing to catch—”

“Marry me.”

If. If.

Fucking if Eddie even maybe, could ever possibly be talking about Steve; if it’s all been about Steve this whole time, somehow; if there’s a single fucking chance in hell?

“We might not be the first, but,” Steve’s breath is caught in his chest, constricted in his lungs by the frenzy of his pulse, but that’s probably why the words make their way out at all:

“Marry me, Edward Munson.”

Because they’re the exact words etched inviolable on the heart that’s beating the fuck out of Steve’s lungs, so.

Makes sense they’d squeeze out either way.

Eddie, though.

Eddie had gone still the moment Steve had spoken at all, frozen from the first on the dance floor under Steve’s hands but fuck—if his pulse was a mallet before?

It’s a fucking battering ram and Eddie’d asked, right—he’d very clearly asked.

And Steve would never deny him a single thing. No matter how this turns out, so.

If he folds both his hands over Eddie’s thrashing heart, to keep and to catch or just to save from taking damage from the elements until it calms back to baseline: whatever it needs.

Steve can taste his own pulse in the back of his fucking throat, he’s wound so tight, he’s so fucking overwhelmed, anxious to his toes but liberated, almost. Because it really doesn’t matter, when it all shakes out. Or how.

Because Steve’s here, for Eddie.

Whatever he needs.

So Steve watches the same heartbeat he’s caging between his palms rage at the line of Eddie’s throat, convulsing with every swallow: the only motion to be seen.

But it’s life, pure and simple, this one single thing. It’s Eddie, coursing through those veins, safe under the skin but undeniable on display. And Steve will stand guard there to the day he dies, ‘til his last breath leaves him. He’ll stand still here just like this until it fucking kills him, if he has to.

Eddie’s whole chest shudders, heart stuttering under Steve’s hands in a new rapid-fire pattern as he sucks in a shaky breath and looks at Steve…with something Steve doesn’t have a name for, exactly, but that he recognizes as in the ballpark of suspicion or, more accurate probably: confusion. Disbelief.

But there’s something else on the edges of it, bright and inescapable. And Steve really needs to not be entirely wrong if he calls it out as being close as shitto hope.

(Please, please be hope.)

“You’re,” Eddie’s voice drags rough, trembling with the assault of his heartbeat against the words on the way up his throat as he eyes Steve, tries to find something in him when Steve’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, even when it’s been less stripped-bare than this moment right now.

“You’re serious?” Eddie asks, eyes wider than Steve’s ever seen them, and fuck does he love those eyes, loves right now especially how they’re rimmed thicker with that maybe-hope-like light, different from the sheen of tears at his lashes as he whispers, small and timid, and Steve presses his hands tighter: safe. He’s going to keep all of this man so fucking safe.

Forever, if he’s given the chance.

“You mean it?”

Steve wants to kiss him. He thinks he shouldn’t feel hesitant about it when he’s just fucking proposed but—he’s not a total fucking idiot. He knows he’s skipped steps, or at the least made assumptions about the steps that maybe aren’t…tenable.

Or shared…at all.

But Steve knows where his own heart lies, other than back in his fucking throat, wishing for the same things Eddie was saying, maybe-maybe-not about him.

Wishing like hell to be in the hands of the man he loves.

“I’ve only wanted you,” Steve tells him simply, pointed, heart bare on offer in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever considered allowing before; absolutely never felt so clear on the subject of wanting it, before.

“For so fucking long it’s just been you,” Steve flattens one of his cupped hands over Eddie’s chest, over that still pounding heart. “I can’t even remember the last time it was anyone but you,” and that’s the truth, that’s the truth down to his bones; “and anyone I canremember, it,” Steve’s voice breaks a little as the heft of it all kinda rocks him, not as a surprise but just…it’s that strong.

It’s that much, and it’s slamming through his fucking veins.

“It wasn’t like this, it wasn’t this,” and he stretches his palm out and presses harder, makes sure the touch is still a safeguard before he moves one hand away, and Eddie stiffens the slightest bit before Steve unfolds one of Eddie’s hands gathering Steve close and touches the pulse at his wrist before Steve stops just wishing that the man he loves could hold his heart in his gorgeous ringed hands; he lets Eddie feel the way his own heart’s just as fierce for the thrumming as he breathes out:

“Not for anybody but you.”

And Steve watches as Eddie’s expression shifts closer to shock, to…he can’t say wonder, he can’t fall into false hope just in case, not like this—but Steve’s broad palm over Eddie’s beating heart?

He feels the moment that beat shifts from pounding into racing. It’s a subtle change that feels a world of difference. And Steve does believe that it fucking means something.

“It’s not too fast,” Eddie mouths more than speaks, states more than asks; “when we haven’t,” and he swallows hard, and that beautiful neck moves elegant almost, around how it lifts his words past the still-watchable pace of his pulse: “don’t you need to think about—”

“You’re already all I think about,” Steve cuts in, can’t help it; just like he can’t help lifting Eddie’s hand where he’s holding it to his chest for just a second, just a moment to kiss his wrist and taste his heartbeat there before setting it back. Because Steve knows what Eddie was failing to flat out ask.

And none of it fucking matters.

“Date me first, if you need to have the name on it, even when we both know that’s what we’ve been doing for fucking years,” because Steve’s never been brave enough to finish that thought for all the million times he’s had it—but now.

Now he can’t even pretend to be able to hide from it. Wouldn’t even consider wanting to.

Because Eddie hasn’t moved his hand. Is starting at it, like something unthinkable, on Steve’s chest. Like…

Almost like something miraculous.

“Make it a long engagement, if you need to feel it out some more,” Steve moves to see if he bows his head down, crushes his chin as low as he can, if he can kiss the tips of Eddie’s fingers.

He can indeed.

And those fingers press firmer back against him the moment he straightens back up, Eddie’s heart under Steve’s hand still racing but there’s nothing like fear in it anymore and maybe, fucking…

Maybe.

“‘Cause at the end of any of it,” Steve reaches this time to cup Eddie’s cheek again, and there really isn’t anything else to do but ask-without-any-question, one more time:

“Marry me.”

Eddie’s still, and still stares at his hand on Steve’s chest for a long stretch of breaths but Steve’s…even more than at the start, Steve’s not worried. Because he’s still as certain that no matter where this goes, his feelings and his devotion to Eddie won’t change a single fucking bit—not just because Steve’s heart’s stubborn, and knows where it lies. But the idea of Steve’s life with no Eddie, no matter how he fits, is unfathomable.

And Eddie hasn’t pulled b away from him, here—not once.

So there’s…there’s no way it ends as anything less that what he already has. And what Steve has? Is more than he ever dreamed.

What Steve wants, enough to have proposed it unplanned, maybe, but wholly desired, from the deep creases of his heart, is…is something more than he ever imagined even considering to dream.

And his pulse is manic for it, sure, but goddamn if it doesn’t feel right for Eddie’s hand to rest there. To press there like maybe it wants, like he wants.

Like he could want it too, somehow.

And then:

“I’ve always wanted to give you my mom’s ring,” Eddie exhales, his hand trusting Steve to keep hold over his heart without encouragement, which feels fucking significant, as Eddie traces a half-moon around Steve’s ring finger.

“I think about it all the time, I have had literal dreams of it on your hand,” Eddie’s voice cracks a little, the kind where it’s holding too much and overflows a little bit as a rule so his next breath in goes kinda shaky.

“Where I play with it before you wake up in our bed, in our home,” and on that his voice just flat out splits, and even Steve can’t underestimate the wanting, the hoping, and truth of the heart in Eddie’s words, same as it beats all the same things under Steve’s hand. “But I, the size, and…”

And he meets Steve’s eyes finally, stops staring at his hand on Steve’s chest and there are tears welled ready to fall like starlight in that gaze but holy hell, there is so much more of that bold-bright hope and Steve presses that hand closer, harder so it won’t fucking mistake the way Steve’s heartbeat fucking flutters because he thinks…

He thinks maybe the thing he’s never right about is literally in his goddamn hands.

Like, right fucking now.

“I want to give you my grandad’s family ring,” Steve tells him, watches one, two, three of those tears trail down Eddie’s cheek and that’s…Steve takes the liberty, is bold enough to lean and kiss them away and seems to have made the right fucking choice to do it for how Eddie sighs, shivers in the best fucking way: Steve recognizes it well but it’s never looked so breathtaking in and of itself—for all that it is on its own but more than that, for what it means.

Eddie was talking about Steve the whole time; maybe holds Steve’s heart in as much precious esteem as Steve holds his, just the same.

Unfathomable. In…

Incredible.

“Because you are my family,” and that’s been true for so, so fucking long now; “and maybe we can remake what that means between us, and everyone we have here,” and Eddie’s eyes widen and Steve knows he hears what Steve doesn’t need to say: maybe neither of us was ever the broken one, maybe we both just weren’t built for what the world thinks ‘family’ is supposed to be because we were always built for exactly this; “also because I think you’ll like it, it’s big and bulky and the crest is kinda like ones the miniatures you just finished have—”

And Steve isn’t actually expecting it when it happens, that it could happen at all even as this unbelievable turn of events is slowly revealing itself to actually-possibly be real, a tangible thing that’s happeninghere and now and Eddie tastes like smoke and the tang of growing things underneath tart champagne and buttercream where Max had drawn a line at the stiff sugar of a traditional cake, and his tongue is tracing Steve’s teeth like he means to memorize them, sucking like he means to drink Steve out, means to keep the heart and soul of him safe inside Eddie’s chest like Eddie could want that, like someone could want that from Steve, with Steve—

He breaks away after swallowing a moan Steve doesn’t make himself hold back in wherever he’s aiming to keep the rest of Steve, breathless and wide-eyed and his heart’s thumping under Steve’s hand again, wild and Steve wants it, wants to suck that heart and soul into himself the very same but Eddie’s staring at him, those eyes a little too big—

“Was that,” and Steve’s nascent buds of hesitation wither on the vein as he reads Eddie’s unspoken words: that kiss hadn’t been careful, or uncertain—anything but. It had been hungry and desperate and so overfull with wanting that Steve barely wants to trust it.

But Eddie’s heart in his hands is real. The halo of hoping in his eyes is…god, it’s fucking real.

So goddamn real, that Steve risks moving his hand from the proof of Eddie’s frenzied pulse and frames his whole face, both palms against those perfect-flushed cheeks.

“More than,” Steve breathes, leans in and runs the tip of his nose up the line of Eddie’s, feels the warm curve of Eddie’s lips as close in his chest as he feels the flutter of his own heart, like the flutter of Eddie’s lashes on his skin.

“I mean,” Steve presses an impulsive kiss to the high point of Eddie’s left cheek, inexplicably shy given how they’d just bruised each other’s lips so wantonly, but this feels…softer. That delicate touch more realsomehow as Steve says the only words in him he can even consider being said:

“It’s only natural to kiss your fiancé.”

And oh, but watching Eddie’s eyes glitter, stretched wide as he mouths, disbelief in him only outstripped by an undeniable giddiness as his lips shape around the word: fiancé.

And then again, one more time, lips stretched wider, somehow, in the joy of his unbridled wonder:

Fiancé.

And watching it, reading it so clear and plain: Steve feels it whole and unfettered; fucking real, even before Eddie finds his voice again:

“You have to know how much I want that,” Eddie’s breathless in a way Steve’s never seen, surpasses the way he loves, animated with enthusiasm like a rule, blow that standard straight out of the water—everything Steve’s ever seen Eddie exude pales in this…this supernova of fucking delight, of feeling, of giddiness that makes Steve feel close to vibrating out of his skin for it, too, just to stand so close as Eddie keeps a hand to Steve’s chest, but plays with the ends of his hair just at his chin, delicate. Almost…

Almost worshipful.

“You’ve got to know how much you’re my fucking heart and a piece of paper, it, I mean, I want that so goddamn much, but even though we can’t,” and Eddie doesn’t even sound sad for it, closer to apologetic than anything but it’s not that either, and fuck it either way, he shouldn’t even be close to it in any case at all because—

“I think we absolutely can,” Steve smirks a little, cocksure and his own version of swollen with feeling over all of this, all of them, and the words and the touch and the fact that they’re taking marriage as a given, forever as the understood ‘you’—

“I think the government owes us the fucking closest to that piece of paper they can manage,” and Eddie gapes adorably, kinda astounded and kinda doe-eyed-captivated, so of course Steve has to kiss him. Because he can.

And because he has to, in the face of that.

Has to.

“Don’t you?” he asks, more because he wants to breathe it into Eddie’s open lips, and feel Eddie’s own breath stutter for it. “After everything?”

And Eddie’s agreement is clear in how he finally moves his hands and pulls Steve properly into him, kisses him full-mouthed and whole-bodied: all of him surrendered to the way they move together like it was written this way somewhere in the cosmos; the way they taste.

“I love you, Steven Harrington,” Eddie pants in the bare-minimum sliver of space between them. “I love you with every cell in my goddamn body.” Then he grabs Steve’s hand again and plasters it against his ribs once more, where Steve feels his heart dancing eager and gleefully up against his touch, fucking breathtaking.

“All my heart and all my soul and everything that’s bigger and more than even that,” Eddie vows, still breathy but his fathomless eyes hold nothing but truth:

“It’s all yours. And it’s all love.”

And Steve believes it with every cell of his body, not least because those cells exist the exact same in reverse.

And the music that’s playing for the other guests, the reception at large; the music moves on, and Steve might see motion to match it in his peripherals if he bothered to look, but why would he; why should he, when he’s got the man he loves most in his arms, tucked into the crook of his neck? Close to breathe in and feel home sinking into the marrow of his bones?

And Steve—who lets himself slump, seep a little into the unflinching hold Eddie has around his body, the way Steve’s coiled around him just the same with both arms, both hands; the way they neither of them let go, and only breathe because the other does in tandem:

Maybe they were the first wedding of the family, Steve thinks as he moves with Eddie’s pulse like a kiss to his mouth against the curve of Eddie’s neck; maybe.

And least in terms of where it mattered the most.

♥️

✨also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @eternal-sunflowers @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @rebellatlas @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95

divider credit here

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AU where Eddie works at a liquor store and Steve keeps coming in to buy alcohol. With a fake ID. That Eddie made and sold to him.

He keeps refusing to sell but Steve keeps coming back anyways because he likes the flirting. Also because he’s stealing.

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👻

Ghost!Eddie fic, coming up!

Steve snickers, shakes his head as he sits up. “It’s a very thoughtful offer,” he says, “though I’m sure you’re partially offering because you’d love to see the chaos you could cause.”

The idea has crossed my mind

Steve snorts. “I’m sure it has.”

Thanks for the ask!

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my Finch self care app: do something you enjoy!

me about to read some gay omegaverse smut fic: hehehe 🤭 don't mind if I do

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My inspiration came a little bit back after the djo shows I guess haha

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ive been so busy at work but i finally managed to finish my pixel stranger things Halloween season 2 character sheet and i hope hope you like it!!! 🎃 🥤

a lot of love went into it as it’s one of my favourite seasons :3

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I’m Dumb She’s a Lesbian

Steddie. Modern au. Getting together. Platonic Stobin. 1685 words.

Steve’s used to people mistaking him and Robin as a couple. Unfortunately, he’s not used to Eddie’s form of problem solving.

After trying to explain to Eddie, without success, that him and Robin are purely platonic, he mistakenly admits that he did have a crush on her briefly, but once he knew it was never going to happen, they’ve become best friend. Platonic soulmates even.

“It’s honestly so for the best, Eddie. We weren’t meant to be a couple. We’re like cosmically linked on a whole other level.” Ok, Steve might be a little high, but he really believe him and Robin are meant to be in the most platonic way possible. He’s laying on Eddie’s bed, the joint their sharing nearly gone, and he can’t help the goofy smile that splits across his face. “Eddie, you know… I actually-”

“You guys are perfect together though! You’re always together, laughing and leaning on each other. How could there be no chance?” Eddie laments.

Steve shakes his head and groans, turning his face into the sheet. Eddie was hopeless.

“You’ve just gotta find the right timing.” Eddie doesn’t understand a world where anyone would shoot down this newly evolved Harrington. He’s perfect, and if Eddie can’t have him, he’ll make it his personal mission to get Steve and Robin together.

Steve’s watching him, wondering what the heck is going on in that head of his. Eddie was a mystery to him.

-

Kicking off his plan, Eddie starts by asking them to go to the movies, only to bail at the last minute. “I completely forgot I promised Wayne I’d help him work on the truck. I’m the worst, but no you guys should still go! Enjoy the movie!” He urges them on.

They sit through a cheesy romcom, and by five minutes in, they’re both questioning Eddie’s choice in movies. Never mind that Steve did end up really like it.

“That was weird, right?” Robin questions as they leave the theater.

“Which part?” Steve was finishing the last of his candy by turning over the box. He looks over at her, a mouthful of sour gummy worms.

Robin laughs, “You look like a creature.”

Steve crosses his eyes and laughs.

She’s shaking her head. “Eddie. He’s being weird. Did you notice anything last night when you guys were hanging out?”

“Mostly that he’s gorgeous and still completely oblivious every time I try to tell him how I feel,” Steve grumbles. “Plus, he’s so convinced we should be dating.”

“We? Like, you and I?” Robin mock gags, but then she jumps and smacks Steve’s arm. “That’s it!”

“Ow what the fuck, Buckley? What’s it?”

“He’s trying to parent trap us!”

Steve looks skeptical, but he starts connecting the dots in his head. He gaps. “Oh fuck.”

“Ok, we’ve just gotta sit him down and tell him we’re not together.”

“You could just tell him you’re gay and have a girlfriend. That would probably kill this idea that we belong together. I mean, he’s gay, so you shouldn’t have to worry about him?” Steve suggests.

“I’m just not ready to scream it from the rooftops. Plus, Vickie’s in the closet too, and I don’t want our time together being put under a microscope and risk outing her before she’s ready. I know I can trust Eddie to be supportive, but he’s so loud and proud and though I love that about him, I worry he’d let it slip on accident.”

Steve understands. Eddie is bold and outgoing, and it’s all wonderful. It’s just not what Robin needs right now. He agrees they just need to sit him down and set the record straight.

-

Steve leans against the counter at Family Video. The day’s been painfully slow so far, and he finds himself slow-blinking at the door, dozing off against his better judgment.

The door chimes and shocks him awake. He’s greeted by Dustin dumping a pile of returns in front of him. “Good morning,” he teases.

He rolls his eyes and groans at him. “You watch too many movies.” He yawns through Dustin’s offended scoff.

“Did you just go to the movies last night? Hypocrite!” Dustin defends.

Steve shoots him a look. “How do you know that? Stalking me, kid?”

“I was picking up character sheets from Eddie. He had some extras and I’m prepping for our next campaign. He said you and Robin were out watching a romcom. Are you guys finally dating?”

Steve lets out a small chuckle. “Ah, the man of the hour. No, we’re not dating, and we’ll never be dating. Eddie’s just trying to make something happen. Nosy little shits, the lot of you.”

Dustin looks skeptical. “Why would Eddie want you and Robin together? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re the one that just asked if we’re finally dating, and now you’re flipping the script. Who’s the hypocrite now?” Steve is scanning in the movies and shaking his head.

“I just mean that Eddie wouldn’t want you guys together because he’s totally into you,” Dustin says it like an obvious fact. “He’s always so whiny about it.”

Steve freezes. “What?”

The kid’s eyes widen as he realizes his overstep. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Steve’s already reaching for the phone. He punches in Robin’s number and points at Dustin while it rings. “You shouldn’t have. We’re going to talk later about not blabbing other people’s secrets. For now- scram.”

Dustin has the hindsight to look remorseful.

Robin answers with a theatric sigh. “Are you so hopeless without me that you must call on my day off?”

“Change of plans. I’m going to catch Eddie in his own trap, and you’re going to help.”

-

It’s all going according to plan. Steve and Robin find that it’s pretty easy to give Eddie the slip on his attempts.

Eddie tries to get Robin and Steve on a romantic date? Oh no, Robin’s got a family emergency. Eddie, you should stay so Steve isn’t all alone.

Lined up for Robin and Steve have to ride the ferris wheel together? Whoops, Robin remembers she’s afraid of heights at the front of the line, quick Eddie switch with her so Steve didn’t wait in this line for nothing.

Eddie sent flowers to Robin at family video with a card that says from Steve. Shame that the order got mixed up, and they went to Steve instead. Oh, but look how Steve blushes at the delivery.

The duo is feeling pretty good about their plan, but Eddie is losing his mind. Instead of fixing his crush, he’s fallen harder than ever. Every time he thinks he’s set the perfect trap, it twists around, and he finds himself spending more time with Steve. He’s not complaining necessarily. Any time alone with Steve makes his heart pound in his chest, but if he can’t have this perfect guy, he’s set on getting him the girl of his dreams.

Alternatively, Robin is starting to find it more and more difficult to explain to Vickie why she’s playing a game of set-up chicken with her friends.

Robin decides it’s time to end Eddie’s misery.

Her and Steve plan an elaborate picnic out at skull rock. There’s a big blanket, tons of pillows, and the most classic picnic basket you’ve ever seen.

Steve is pacing at the tree line. He needs this to go well. His crush had settled deep in his chest, and Steve was sure it was love. He didn’t want to play games with Eddie. It was time for everyone to clear the air and be direct with their feelings, but he couldn’t help the nerves that made him question everything. What if Eddie didn’t like him? Maybe he really did think Steve and Robin belonged together.

He tries to clear his mind. Robin was telling Eddie to come meet him here right about now. He should be here soon. Steve fiddles with his hair, trying to quell the anxiety.

When Eddie finally makes his way through the woods, Steve isn’t sure how to greet him.

Eddie’s surprised at the setup, and he immediately tries to rationalize it before Steve can get a word out. “Did you mean for me to come here? Buckley said you were looking for me, but I can go get her? Or do you need help setting up… I’m not sure you can do much else. It looks perfect.”

Steve is dumbfounded at Eddie’s ability to completely misread his intent, once again.

“No, Eddie, I meant for you to be here. This is for you.” He tries to speak clearly, leaving no room for confusion.

Eddie looks utterly confused. “For me?”

Steve can’t help his fond smile. “Yes, dummy. You. If you can stop trying to set me up with my best friend for a minute, I’ve been trying to ask you out for a while now.”

The man is gaping at him. “No. You’re not serious.”

He groans and tosses his hands up. “Eddie, what do I have to do to convince you?” Steve stares at him for a moment before he gets a bright idea. He stands up straight, walks up to Eddie in two long strides, grabs his face, and kisses him.

Eddie lets out a surprised noise before grabbing at Steve’s arms, waist, hair, anything for purchase to pull him closer.

Steve parts, pressing their foreheads together and keeping Eddie close. Eddie whines softly before looking back at Steve, trying to understand it all.

“I just wanted you to be happy. I didn’t think- I had no idea this was an option. Even if it couldn’t be with me, I just knew you deserved all the happiness,” the words spill out as Eddie reaches up to touch Steve’s face gently, tracing along his jaw reverently.

“I’m in love with you. I tried to get the words out so many times, but I was so nervous for how you’d react.” Steve leans into the touch.

Eddie’s breath hitches. “I love you too.”

-

Later, Robin introduces Eddie to her girlfriend, and he spends the rest of the afternoon apologizing for his schemes.

[spectrum-spectre]

Heavy Metal References- metalhead!Eddie Details for Your Headcanons (and fanfic)-

To start off: It’s kinda hilarious how we’re guilty of sometimes switching Eddie’s white sneakers for boots cuz we want to give him an edgier look (and yes black leather boots are also metalhead fashion) but also:

White high-tops were metal in the 80s, they’re literally iconic and indicative of thrasher metal bands, and still are. Seen in bands like: Metallica and Megadeth. It’s kinda theorized that this fashion came up to differentiate themselves from hair/ glam metal that were going mainstream, but Dave Mustaine (Metallica Guitarist and Megadeth frontman) said that white Nike high-tops were given to some of the bands as a way to advertise them by their record label.

Bullet belts, battle jackets, spikes and studs were influenced by established Punk fashion and then incorporated into the metal scene thanks to bands like Judas Priest and Motörhead.

I’ve read in some fics where wearing band merch of the band you’re seeing is a Big No, but from what I can find this isn’t really a thing in the metal genre, past or present. It seems more like a rule that has emerged in more recent years, specifically in the punk scene, but I can’t find much about it.

Ozzy Osbourne biting the head of a dead bat that was thrown on stage is tale of legends and references by Eddie as we know, but here are some other significant moments in metal history:

Ozzy Osbourne pursued a solo career after he was fired from Black Sabbath in 1979 (Eddie would’ve been ~13) because of his erratic behavior and drug abuse, he’s replaced by Ronnie James Dio

W.A.S.P debut their first album in 1984 with the song “Animal (F**k Like A Beast)” being released as a single to avoid having their albums banned from chain record stores. They were a main target for the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) for their obscenity but W.A.S.P pretty much road high on the publicity, they are that shit up despite all the death threats they received.

Parental Advisory Explicit Content label was introduced in 1985 (around when Stranger Things S3 takes place), and it hilariously had the opposite effect of deterring the sales of explicitly labeled music.

Cliff Burton, the bassist for Metallica, died on tour in March 1986 when the bus skidded then rolled on the road; Burton was thrown from the window and crushed. “To Live Is to Die” is song dedicated to him composed with his unused riffs.

Other Metal facts:

Black Sabbath’s guitarist Tommi Lommi lost the tips of his fretting fingers (on his right hand) in a sheet metal factory accident, he was inspired by jazz guitarist Dango Reinhardt who played with only two fingers on the fretboard due to burn injuries. Lommi made prosthetic tips and tuned down his guitar so he could keep playing. This gave Black Sabbath its unique sound.

Ronnie James Dio is accredited with popularizing the infamous devil horns sign🤘 in interviews he said his grandmother used to use that sign to ward off evil. Speaking of,

While he isn’t Power Metal (a genre that heavily incorporates themes of fantasy with clean and fast guitar that emerged around the mid-80s), Dio is basically the father of it as he had such a big influence over this genre along with bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden

Side Bar: I think if he was given the chance to properly establish his own sound, Eddie would’ve been the frontman of a sick ass Power Metal band beloved by DnD nerds.

Patches on Eddie’s Battle Jacket:

Motörhead, Megadeth, Iron Maiden, Dio, Mercyful Fate, Judas Priest

[spectrum-spectre]

Tommy has three brothers.

You may think that this would have taught him how to share, but it didn’t. It taught him that if he wanted something to grab it quick and hold it tight.

Which is to say that he does not like Carol.

He is not thrilled when Steve asks their teacher if Carol can sit with them during snack time because Steve is his best friend. He found him first and he’s not letting go of him.

Especially not to some dumb girl that plays with dolls.

“Mr. Whiskers isn’t a doll. He’s a cat.”

“Mr. Whiskers is a dumb toy,” Tommy grouses, pulling on Steve’s backpack strap so he follows him. Steve says he likes toys and Tommy concedes because he likes toys too just - “Not dumb toys. I have cool toys. I can show you.”

And Tommy does. He drags Steve onto the bus with him. None of his brothers mention it when Steve gets off at their stop.

In fact, no one mentions it at all. Especially not to their mother so it’s something of a surprise when she turns around to find a boy in her kitchen. Not one of her boys but - “Hello?”

The little boy looks away from the pot boiling on the stove and asks, “How come you don’t have a microwave?”

“Mama says that I can’t use the stove ‘cause I’m not big enough,” He continues while Maria stares dumbfounded at him. “Tommy’s not big either and you don’t got a microwave. Does he just eat cereal?”

The boy blinks at her, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Steve,” She says slowly, connecting the name to Tommy’s friend from school. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I know I’m here.”

“Anyone else?”

“Tommy knows,” He says. “He’s in his room. We’re playing nascar.”

“That sounds fun,” She says, slipping into mom mode. She crouches down so they’re eye-level and smiles, “Why don’t I call your mom and let her know that you’re having fun?”

She can see the clogs turning in his head before Sleve slumps his shoulders. His bottom lip juts out and his eyes get shiny. She’s about to ask him what’s wrong when Tommy slides into the room on his socks and Steve tells him in a sad little voice, “Your mama wants me to go home now.”

Tommy promptly bursts into tears.

He doesn’t want Steve to leave. He’ll miss him and he hasn’t even showed him his GI Joe yet.

It takes a lot of soothing words, many reassurances that she’s not kicking Steve out, and the recruitment of her husband before the situation was calmed down. It’s only then that Steve - dry-eyed now - suggests, “I can call my mama.”

This is what Maria was trying to accomplish in the first place.

She takes Steve into the living room where their landline was. He dials his phone number carefully as her, her husband David, and Tommy watch. He gives her a reassuring smile, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Mama! It’s Steve,” He says into the receiver. “I’m at Tommy’s. He’s my best friend and his mama said I can stay the night. Love you. Bye. Love you.”

He hangs up the phone before Maria could ask for it and informs her, “Mama is a super busy lady. She’s goin’ to the - to the store. She says she loves you.”

The boys run off to continue playing while Maria processes what the hell just happened. She’s still processing when David picks up the phone and presses the same buttons Steve had.

He holds the phone to his ear and gets the answering machine for, “The fucking Harringtons?”

[spectrum-spectre]

Tommy’s brothers find out that not only is their dweeby little brother considered cool but that his weirdo best friend is being called the king of Hawkins High. They’re like, “Is this the Twilight Zone? What the hell’s happening at that school?”

They’re like, “Carol, I get. Carol is cool but Tommy? But Steve??”

Tommy is truly considering fratricide while Steve is currently attempting to eat everything in the Hagan’s kitchen like, “I hate that nickname.”